La ‘Nouvelle’ Eve

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.

Sorry for cutting the reservation number short.

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