La Vie en Rose

Sitting in the surprisingly modern foyer of the health clinic, waiting for my cardiac rehab appointment, I leafed through a magazine (another surprise, it was in date!) and found a small article on Petit [sic] Anglaise. I immediately went into an internal rant about how it should be Petite with an e if it was Anglaise, but fortunately there was no-one to hear my tutting, and it was a mistake on the part of the journalist, not the writer herself of Petite Anglaise, first a blog, now a novel. I spent the next few days catching up on her blog, and, through it, remembering all the things I loved about Paris when I lived there. Do take a look at her blog - it's a wonderful slice of Parisian life and a great unfolding story of a young Englishwoman's life.

I'm sure I can't have been deliriously happy for the whole of the six years I was there but, looking back through the inevitable rose-tinted glasses, I loved my time in Paris. Most of my friends and family have heard all my anecdotes and incidents a dozen times before and I don't often get the chance to tell my tales these days, so I thought I'd commit some of them to the blogosphere before they fade from my memory.

Every day for 6 years I walked along the Rue de la Folie Régnault, turned onto the Rue de la Roquette and walked to Place Léon Blum. I made my way down the steps of this metro station, Voltaire. I'd travel two stops to Oberkampf, change lines, travel to Place d'Italie, change lines again for another two stops and get off at Maison Blanche on the Avenue d'Italie. I worked as a PA in a company that made photographic accessories - flash guns, tripods, lens filters - and the reels that were used in the good old days of movie and audio tape, before things went digital.

Every now and again, in between my rants about my current life in England, there will be the odd reminiscence about 'the good old days' in Paris, so do stop by from time to time!