Sexy brunch at Hotel Amour
A stroll in Montmartre
Travel buddy Kit
Military jacket – Zara. Cable-knit dress – Mango. Knee-high boots – Sergio Rossi. Leopard-print bag – Kurt Geiger
The morning after the Dior x Printemps Christmas windows launch I woke up under a tangle of clothes, magazines and bedsheet – everything about that evening was fast-paced and it wasn’t until wee hours in the morning we stumbled back in our hotel and crashed head-first into a corner of the bed. I’d fallen asleep in Kit‘s room to the dull rumbling sound of French TV, which occasionally switched channels whenever we’d turn in our sleep (that remote has seen intimacy like no other). In the morning we arose to a BBC World breakfast show, and felt ourselves right at home. I fetched water from the bathroom tap to make us coffee, while Kit fished out her outfit from the sheets. Rue des Martyrs was a ten-minute walk from the hotel, which is where we were to meet Alix for brunch at Hotel Amour. I felt first-love again with a bite of my eggs royale, and the heavenly cafe crème replaced the sachet coffee and I bounced into life. Fueled by amour, we braved one flight of stairs to Montmartre, then surrendered at the foot of the next, and explored laterally a neighbourhood of brightly-coloured ponies and doll houses.
I wonder what organ allows me to write corny things like this. Actually, I bet it’s my appendix, the sentimentalist that plays dead while I sit in my sarcastic panties in our freezing grey warehouse-flat in London.
