A picnic in the Bois de Boulogne

In the UK, the sun can be a little shy. It's like a timid quivering deer, peeping out cautiously from around clouds and then scooting away again as if afraid of the pasty, eager looking little Brits yelling "come on you bugger where are you!?".

This has it's downsides, ruined BBQs, summer holidays at the beach spent huddled up in coats etc. But, on the plus side, us Brits really know how to make the most of the sun when it appears.

Which is why, on the first sunny weekend of 2012 I was bouncing up and down in my apartment almost ready to pop with joy at the prospect of a couple days of actual real bona fide only need to wear a t-shirt and shorts sunshine.

And which is why, at 10.30am on a Sunday in MARCH I was shivering a little as I shopped for Pimms (you can take the girl out of middle England...) and fruit to take to a picnic in the Bois de Boulogne.

The French lunch hour (and a half)

If you were to ask me my favourite things about living in France, the French approach to lunchtime at work would definitely make it into my top three. Just after fresh croissants and just before brioche. (And behold the reason my skinny jeans don't fit anymore.)

I don't know how it works in other countries, but lunchtime in the UK (in offices at least) is mainly defined by a quick dash to the caff downstairs and a sandwich inhaled in front of the computer. Not exactly restful or conducive to team building.

In France, predictably, things are a little different. Taking a lunch hour here isn't seen as "taking the mickey" it's just what everyone does and what everyone thinks is sensible to do. They take their food seriously and they respect it by giving it the time and attention it deserves.

How to make friends in Paris

For some reason I have launched myself into 2012 with a sense of excitement, energy and optimism. I am waiting for the crash. For the (inevitable?) time when I say, "nahh, actually I can't be bothered." But so far, it hasn't happened. And until it does I am embracing my willingness to get out and about, meet new people and do new things.

So I have set myself a challenge: every week I need to either try somewhere different, whether it be a cafe, bar, museum, park etc., or I need to do something that involves meeting new people.

Now, the trying somewhere different part of my challenge is not too difficult. (Although saying that if you've read my post on table service in Paris you'd know that actually going somewhere on my own is immensely stressful!) However, the meeting new people part could be tricky, especially with the famous Parisian friendliness. I'm not about to start striking up conversations with people on the metro now, am I.

But there is another way, and it comes via the saviour of all mankind's problems, the internet.

The Hammam at the Mosquée de Paris

When my friend said she was coming over for a visit from England recently I wanted to line up something special. "I know!" I said to myself one afternoon at work as I ignored our policy on internet usage. "We can go to the Hammam at la Mosquée de Paris for a few hours of pampering and relaxing."

Sometimes I wonder if I know myself at all. I tense up when my own Mother hugs me, massages really aren't my thing.

My first thought when we walked into the Hammam (once we'd actually found the entrance door which is cleverly hidden behind a sweet counter) was that I'd clearly had no idea of what a Hammam actually was. I was expecting hot baths to lounge lazily about in, but no, it's actually the setting of a teenage boy's wet dream.

My attempts to learn French

I have no idea how many hours of French lessons I've taken. However I can tell you that I started learning French at school when I was 11 years old and carried on right up to include it as one of my botched up A levels. I then did a module at University, followed by evening classes after University, and I've now done two terms of classes in France. That's plenty to get you fluent you may say, well you'd probably be right. But unfortunately I still stumble through French with the eloquence and accuracy of a...well I can't think of an example but something that sounds bumbley and stupid. Oh I know, Boris Johnson!

Bonjour monsieur!

Table service in Paris

For anyone not familiar with Parisian bars and cafés, table service is pretty much everywhere. The majority of places you visit will be swarming with smiling waiters ready and eager to take your order and cater to your every whim. Oh hang on, this is Paris, isn’t it.

Let me just go back a bit….The majority of places you visit will be swarming with scowling waiters ready to ignore your most simple request.

But I jest, of course. In my experience of waiters in Paris they are just as friendly, or rather just as ambivalent, as anywhere else. But I don’t want to talk about whether or not Parisian waiters are friendly today, I want to know whether you agree with A or B below when I say, Table Service...

Paris' dirty pavements

Paris is a beautiful city, or so I believe. Despite having lived here for over a year I’ve not actually had chance to look yet as I’m too busy with my head down hopping over and dodging the masses upon masses of dog turds that cover the pavements and streets.

Sometimes I wonder what I look like with my random steps like something out of the Ministry of Silly Walks. 

But then I remember that no one’s looking at me, they’re all dodging the dog poo too.