Armed with little more than a camera, a dog-eared Wallpaper guide and a pocket full of Euros, Dr B and I explored Paris over the weekend (view the pics here). A jolly good time was had, and we’re now very tired. Very, very tired. In summary:

  • It’s possible to get a little bit tipsy simply by eating a Crepe Suzette.
  • You know that tiny little nobble at the top of the Eiffel Tower? It’s basically a room of a hundred people queuing to get into a lift. Once you’ve been up there and done that, it’s impossible to look at it in the same way again.
  • The new Apple Opéra Store is just lovely. The French AZERTY keyboard layout is not. Where the hell have they put the full-stop?
  • Merci is an amazing shop and I want everything in it. Particularly the recycled motorcycle helmet that I tried on and then couldn’t get off again. Whilst helping me out of it, Dr B pointed out that I don’t actually have a motorcycle. Pft. Women.
  • We managed to drink champagne five days in a row. Plus we developed a pretty serious addiction to espressos and fancy cakes.
  • Every now and then I thought I was in Inception.
  • It’s shockingly touristy, but I jolly well love getting to a city and jumping on a big open-top red bus and being driven around the place. It’s a great way to get your bearings and contextualise everything in one go. Plus it’s nice to have a bit of a sit down every now and then, isn’t it? 
  • … I appear to have turned into my parents.
  • As Morrissey once uttered, some Croque Monsieurs are better than others. Croque Madames are particularly good (thanks to the addition of a fried egg slapped on top. Actually, everything is better with a fried egg slapped on top. This shall henceforth be known as the Fried Egg Slapped On Top rule). We’re currently working on developing a Croque Docteur.
  • The rather splendid poster for Notre Jour Viendra was everywhere.
  • The Metro is great value, clean and incredibly easy to use. Frankfurt, please take note.
  • The Pompidou Centre and the Musée d’Orsay are both fantastic buildings, and fantastic galleries. We learnt that French art is basically an ongoing experiment to find the optimum medium for displaying ladyparts to large groups of school children.
  • Pointing at a priceless Van Gogh painting and loudly exclaiming “ooh it’s that one from Dr Who” does not make you a philistine or a nerd, okay? It’s a cool thing to do. Yes it is.
  • The French love Comic Sans. There is nothing we can do about this.
  • Watching a Peruvian pan flute band in France playing Swedish pop songs written in English is a bit confusing.
  • There’s nothing wrong with walking around Paris in a breton top humming the Allo Allo theme tune to yourself. Nothing at all.
  • Our grasp of the French language is still a little shaky. For some reason, my brain kept throwing in random bits of German, and at one point Dr B came out with “I would like a pomme juice, s’il vous plait”. After a while we just went to our fallback position of stuttering like Hugh Grant until they worked out we were English fools.
  • I popped the question and Dr B said yes.