I first came flat-hunting in Paris back in March 2016, sent by my boyfriend’s company to find a suitable abode before he began his new job here in the Spring. In our search for the perfect flat we stuck mainly to the more buzzy, going-out type areas (look, you can take a girl out of London) so that 48 hours saw us exploring a lot of Le Marais, Canal St. Martin and Pigalle.
Whilst walking in Pigalle, I stumbled across this sign. It was quite a shock, these words suddenly glimmering across the road at me, it felt like the shiny gold letters were winking at me with all the promise of a new adventure. Seeing it felt affirmative – maybe this literally was a good sign? (A few minutes later I worked out it was a ‘nude cabaret’, so I ended up cutting the symbolism off there.)
It had therefore obviously crossed my mind to call this blog ‘Nouvelle Eve’, but then I realised that with that would come all sorts of big expectations. It implies that with this new move comes a whole brand new me; a phoenix risen from the dirty London ashes, emboldened with that mysterious ‘je ne sais quoi’ that you always expect Parisians to have. But no, I am pleased to report that I am still tripping over my own ankles and somehow managing to get croissant crumbs in my eyebrows. And anyway, the star of this cabaret is Paris, not me.