(listen to the podcast ici!)
Here – I’m here with you, Paris. A bit sleepy today and almost bailed out of writing the memoir after the 70s dance party at La Coupole last night, but no hangover – I drank cleanly: champagne only. I’ve been in you for a week already, this time. I had to fly to Edinburgh for work the other day – a last-minute assignment as usual, but I flew straight back to you the next day.
Here, my life in London is fading, this time anyway. I even made my cool daughter spend a few days of her half-term here recently (whilst her brother was exploring Hong Kong and China and my boyfriend was staying with with my much-loved flat mate in London), which she nonchalantly enjoyed, to breath the Parisian air and the arts, to meet my beloved friends, to consume proper baguettes and touristy French food, to experience going up and down the fifth floor without an elevator and even to catch Flash Invaders’ street arts on her phone so that her ibu (read: mummy) is not at the bottom of the score list in the game anymore. From Di Attic, my vintage corner in Wimbledon, is doing rather well in my absence and pays for its own rent with those hand-picked vintage clothing and accessories (mostly sourced from Paris), but it seems I spend less and less time in London.
My life in London is fading, especially with my extensive travels, for work or otherwise, and yet, I don’t know what I’m doing in Paris. Well, not really (you seem surprise), apart from hanging out and catching up with friends; spending quality time with my boyfriend and, sometimes, with his parents; sourcing vintage items for From Di Attic; going to museums (I have annual double pass to Grand Palais and the Louvre now), galleries, cinemas, theatres, art events and parties; eating out or cooking and sometimes inviting others for a meal or an apéro; walking to parks, cafes or to no destination in particular; and, apparently, writing for the blog and recording for the podcast too now!
Wait – doesn’t that sound like I live here? Maybe, but what about work? Oh, yes, I travel a lot for work anyway, and I have now started flying to wherever work might be from Paris whenever I get a call and I feel like doing it, and the children live in two other different places anyway – for school and otherwise, for now. Wait – have I, unbeknownst to myself, made Paris my first home?
Wait – what? Okay, I’m shocked and I don’t think I can write anymore right now. Also, I think I’m hungover suddenly – must have been the odd sips of tap water! No? No takers? Ah, no one cares how many words I write, or if I write at all… apart from me, and me is very important so let’s continue on for a bit longer, so that I get a chance to wrap my head around the dangerously harmless fact that I, en effet, live in Paris while travelling to different places every so often, for work or otherwise; so that I find a space in my mind that is at peace knowing that I’m not just running around and floating about aimlessly. Well, I’m still running around and floating about, but at least not aimlessly: this is how I live. And Paris is where I live – unless living is dictated by where you make money and pay your rent and taxes, because I ain’t paying VAT for my Louis Vuitton and Chanel purchases in France!
Ah, what a revelation! And what a roller coaster to get to this point of understanding! Wait – one more thing… What would happen to living in Paris if something happened to the relationship? Oh, don’t worry, trial period is over – joking, trial period is never over! You know what’s over, though? My worrying about where home really is, because it doesn’t matter: it doesn’t matter, when you’re living authentically, true to your own (chaotic or otherwise) self.
paris, le 8 juin 2025
je t’embrasse!
–d.o.
Imagined Paris 