A while ago I went to Paris. With “the chap”, obviously. We didn’t “pop” and “hop”, we planned in advance, because this is what people with jobs do. Employers like their employees to ask for vacation days in advance, they don’t believe in free spirits that “pop” and “hop” to places out of the blue.
So, as I was saying, we booked train tickets and we used www.airbnb.co.uk for accommodation (we are free spirits with a limited budget).
Before “hopping” on the train, I had to make a quick stop at Harry Potter’s shop. I just had to. I love love love the wizarding world. I read the books in March and I am still trying to make some time to watch the movies as well.
We travelled to Paris at first class, please envy us. (We paid £5 extra, it was a special offer but please don’t tell anyone, we want to look posh). I didn’t take pictures of the carriage or of the food or of me at first class. I know I should have but I was busy reading a Paris travel guide as it was my first trip ever to Paris and snoozing from time to time as I went to the station straight from work. Not glamorous at all, right? Right! So then I won’t mention I had sand in my shoes from a play at the sandpit that day (I am a nanny).
Now I feel sorry I didn’t document the trip and made a big deal out of it. It was a great achievement for a Romanian girl, not even from Bucharest but from a random town, who grew up in communism with scarce food and electricity. Silly me, not putting this trip in my CV!
In Paris we had breakfast in our little studio every day, mostly because I am one lazy bum and I like sipping my coffee in bed, for an hour or so, before I actually start doing something productive. I can’t always spoil myself, so weekends and holidays are for lazy mornings.
We had lunch and supper in cozy brasseries, in quiet neighbourhoods, far from the tourist crowds (“the chap” is Parisian, he knew what he was doing). We didn’t take pictures of food, of course. We ate it to the last bit. Every single time.
Rosie’s chap takes lots of photos of Rosie, especially crossing streets. Mine couldn’t be bothered. He would have probably given me the most bewildered look if I had asked him to stay on the pavement and take pics of me while I was crossing the street in a daze, taking my time.
He did take some, though:
Last picture was taken in Jardin des Tuileries. I don’t know where the scarf or the dress are from but the cardigan is from Boden. God no, I didn’t buy it! My boss gave it to me after she shrank it when washing it. As always, best item of my outfit is the book. That time I think it was The Help by Kathryn Stockett. Reading makes you smart and smart makes you sexy. Trust me on this.
Rosie went to see a football game and so did I. Except I went to a big stadium, I forgot the name, where there was a finale going on, I forgot which finale. The teams playing were Paris St. Germain and Lyon. With the chap being Parisian and all, I had to cheer for the Paris team, which won, only because I cheered for them, I am sure.
Few days later we “hopped” on the train, not first class this time as no promotion was going on and “popped” back to London, to our ordinary, out of style but real lives.
Speaking of real lives, I’ll end this entry here because I have to go grocery shopping. There is no Waitrose where I live, not even a Sainsbury. But for the sake of poshness, I’ll go to Tesco, instead of Aldi. That’s all I can do upscale today. Oh, last night I had a £6 Peroni at Salvatore’s Bar in Mayfair. Is that glamorous or what? I went there for the Sinatra-like music, by the way…You should give it a try. No, the bar didn’t pay me to say this. They gave us lots of free nuts, though.