Nightcap

This is my current theme song. If you’ve never heard it, you should find a copy, stat.

WHERE DO YOU GO TO MY LOVELY
Peter Sarstedt
26/02/1969 – 4 weeks at #1 – 16 weeks on chart

You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like Zizi Jeanmaire
Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there’s diamonds and pearls in your hair, yes there are

You live in a fancy apartment
Off the Boulevard Saint-Michel
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records
And a friend of Sacha Distel, yes you do

But where do you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

I’ve seen all your qualifications
You got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on, yes it does

When you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-les-Pins
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit
You get an even suntan on your back and on your legs

And when the snow falls you’re found in Saint Moritz
With the others of the jet-set
And you sip your Napoleon brandy
But you never get your lips wet, no you don’t

But where do you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
Won’t you tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

Your name, it is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh, a-ha-ha-ha

They say that when you get married
It’ll be to a millionaire
But they don’t realize where you came from
And I wonder if they really care, or give a damn

Where do you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head, yes I do

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly-born tags, so they try

So look into my face Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
But I know you still bear the scar, deep inside, yes you do

I know where you go to my lovely
When you’re alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
‘Cause I can look inside your head

(Thanks Miss Alex!)

Exfoliating All the Way to the Champs Elysees


Four more days.
Can you believe it?
I can scarcely contain myself.
What I also can’t believe is that the entire lower half of my body is smeared with splotchy orange streaks that are actually getting darker as each day passes. Thank you Kiehl’s.
With spring in the air and all of my favourite skirts taken out of storage, it occurred to me that my legs are not unlike the pasty, clammy flesh of a freshly plucked chicken. So on Saturday, when I ran all of my last-minute trip errands (on foot, thank you very much) I added some very expensive self-tanner to the mainicure, pedicure, and…er…other bits of grooming that took place.
I got home, read the directions, and even consulted the internet, applying liberally here, and sparingly there, and low and behold, I look like one of those unfortunate souls with a pigment deficiency. Splotchy, Sexy, Good…
A dear friend (who is also very pale – but on her it’s lovely!) suggested hydrogen peroxide, but guess what? It doesn’t work either.
Perhaps someone has a belt sander that I could borrow?
On the up side, a very kind Facebook friend, (who barely knows me, but who must be psychic) sent me this link! Guess what I’ll be doing next Monday morning?

http://www.parisperfect.com/paris-flea-markets/text/paris-flea-markets.html

Is this thing on?
I’m new to this world, and feel a little out of my element. The world I speak of isn’t just this crazy world of bloggy goodness either. One or two of you (maybe three or four) will know exactly what I’m talking about, won’t you? For the rest, suffice to say that many a great story will be told here in the coming months. At least that’s the plan right now. But it’s just so big, isn’t it? The possibilities are crushing in their hugeness. I swallow back that familiar lump and keep noticing how one thing after another right now is lining up perfectly. Unfolding exactly right. The ducks filing neatly into their rows.
Stay tuned for true stories of living on air-mattresses, and in guest rooms, that will culminate with an amazing journey to the City of Lights just in time to see the tender buds of May. Such a cliche can really only be fantastic, can’t it?