If you’ve met Shazza, my long-time, intermittent and extrovert friend from Newcastle, you would know and wouldn’t need to ask. If you don’t and wonder what I was doing in Paris I think the short answer is I was kidnapped. She’s like that.So there I was being shown to a table, petit dejeuner en Paris chez le Charles V. Shazza was already tucking into a bowl of porridge topped with fresh fruit and maple syrup. (I should mention we had separate rooms, just in case you were wondering)
“Hiya. Howay, now sit yerself doon, pet. I’ve ordered the full English, lashings of scrambled egg francais, bacon, sausage, mushrooms and fried bread. We had a problem with ‘fried bread’ in French but the lad knows now. Ee, man, wasn’t last night knackering? Well, it was for me, Pet. How was it for you? Anyways, you’ll soon perk up.”
Cutlery clattered noisily against plates at an adjoining table.
“Great those four posters. Talk about therapeutic; room to enjoy every position imaginable and some.”
Someone choked on a croissant, coffee spluttered onto a starched tablecloth.
“What do you have in mind for today, Shaz? Shopping, Faubourg Saint Honore or Haussmanns, or Eiffel Tower, Notre Dames, Les Invalides?”
“Nah, first I’m ganning to Shakespeare and Co’s antiquarian bookshop, there’s a rare first edition of Frederic Mistral written in Occitan I want. Then the Musee D’Orsay afters? I’ll nae bother seeing Francois Hollande this trip. Mind, you’d like the Elysee but I think we’ll have a quiet night. ”
The waiter collided with a table.
“Now, some Bucks Fizz with that fruit and yoghourt, Pet? You need to keep yer strength up.”
I’ll admit, the rest of the weekend passed in a hazy blur, but if you’re familiar with Paris or Shazza then you’ll know how it is!