Keslake Chronicles Chapter 2. Gay Paris and the Lebesians

Ok, so this little tale began a couple of weeks ago, when the Keslakians decided that a little autumn trip to Paris was needed to clear out the cobwebs. I'm not sure that I really approve of the hour that we needed to get up to catch the 7.00am EuroStar from Waterloo, certainly the others weren't so keen on it either. ...Mental note, next time we catch the 8.00am and spend the extra time with an ice pack on the visage.

The trip over was quite pleasant, relatively child free, and fast. Never fly when you can travel on a rapid train. It makes airport check-in seem as enjoyable as ingrown nail surgery. And there is a buffet car that sells beer at 7.00am. That's obviously the French influence. What I loved though was the perky little guy over the intercom, with his sexy little french accent. They have such a cute turn of phrase don't they when they speak English, rather like Yoda reading a safety information card after downing a bottle of Bailey's..."Ladiies and Gentleman, we now are approaching Paris Gare du Nord stass - chion. Pleease check with you personal beee-longings ..."

Paris is so beautiful, really. It's just everything cliched and marvellous. Wandering around humming Edith Piaf (or Kenny Everett as Marcel singing Edith Piaf) made the saturday sojourn that much more special (or irritating, depending which side of the croissant you like buttered).
Le Chicken Cottage, Euro Style.
A quick bite with our lovely friend, Sax, or Kimmy as he is sometimes called by us, and so it was time to hit the shopping. I don't really know why we decided to tranfer pounds to Euro's, and muddle our way through the Paris 'Soldes' amongst 10 million desperate shoppers and tourists alike. But it might have had something to do with the wonderful deco splendour of the Galleries Lafayette Tiffany glass dome. Wow. However, it didn't really inspire me to part with my hard earned Euro. There were a few things I saw that I wanted, the pashmina pillows, the new leather bag, the kicky little argyle sweater...all things available at home... and the suitcase was already bursting with the inclusion of the Prue Acton 1988 Bicentennial wool fair scarf. What's a girl to do?

I think a defining moment on any trip is when the singalong to the whole of Danii Minogue's illustrious opus begins. What better way to gird yourself to a big gay night out on the town in Paris, part time home to sister Kylie, and epicentre of all things and people shiny, glittery, sequined and feathered...(hey, or was that Sydney?). Anyhoo, I think we managed about 4 songs before we finally settled on "jump to the beat" as the fave for the evening, and then proceeded to slaughter it as we had done so mercilessly to Crystal Water's Gypsy Woman so many weeks before (that's another story).

....

Eddie: "I'm going to have the Duck"

Fiona: "Ooh that sounds good.."

Peter: " I'm going to have the duck too!"

Copy cats. Not sure if it was our tryst over Dannii or the seventh glass of Pinot that made the bonding so much nicer, but certainly as the whole restaurant lit up as our meals arrived united us in our feeeling of disgust. I mean, how can a country with the best cuisine in the world allow smoking at the dinner table in a tiny restaurant. How can you even taste the food when you have a mouth and nose full of ash? hmmph. Its not for much longer kids.

Out for drinks later, we were intrigued at the general absence of any Lebesians, dans LeMarais. Not that we were desperate for some company of them type of ladies, but it's always more friendly to be in a bar where there is a good balance of men and women, or where 'oest meets test' - boomboom. Anyway, where are the Lebesians in Paris? Can anyone tell me? Where do you go if you enjoy lady to lady conversation?

Day two, and as Fiona scurried off to the fleamarket for some bargains, the boys took a long walk around la defense. An amazing conflagration of 80's architecture on one of the most impresive urban plazas I have experienced, comparable to Beijing or Mexico city, but with good coffee. A brisk stroll back to the city along the Champs and then lunch and then home. Weekend over. Nicely. Not so hung over, no MSG poisining, and certainly no excess, which, is probably not such a good thing considering what was on offer....

The scarf...

Next chapter, Copenhagen...