Le Weekend avec L

Feeling a bit French today. My chic Parisian housemate is attempting to revive the A grade French student that once was me. It's almost all forgotten.

...speaking of which, whilst holed up in the almost-countryside that I'll be residing in until the New Year, the memories of brighter and better cities does teasingly slink through the mind. I did a quick stop in Paris in August and I almost forgot how amazing it was. Why does everyone look so good?! Even L, said French housemate has her cute mahogany bob thing going on and always stands poised.

"It is very class, no?" is her current favourite phrase, one used frequently during our laborious trawl from one end of Selfridges to the other dans le weekend when I took her back home to London for her first time in 10 years. I accompanied her at a necessarily militant pace as she clocked up the Euros, grabbing off the shelves everything from Links of London jewellery for her sister ("this is big brand in London?") and patent courts in the designer shoe lounge ("ahhh this is good price" - WTF? Really?!).

My shopping bag consisted of a Clinique foundation; the queue in MAC was too long.

Me and 2 girlfriends took L out to Ghost, Farringdon on Samedi and you could almost see her physically recoil at the half naked dancers in skirt-tankinis dancing on the bar and the too-small lurid floral printed New Look bandeau dresses stretched to their limit and bandaged over the thighs and backsides of London's finest wannabe wags. Standing in her high necked 30's style cocktail dress, opaque tights and towering stilettos (the new additions from the shoe lounge), she whispered to me with distaste, "these girls are like prostitute, no?" Indeed L, indeed. Although I suggested 'tramp' may be a better word to use in English.