I can see that I am a walking, talking cliché of a person right now. But, apologize I will not, instead I intend to embrace it with all the blithe spirit that only youth can get away with. Yes, there is a possibility that I may have cut all my hair off before I came to France (a chic coiffure, c’est obligatoire, non?). And today I did sit on the windowsill, watching the rills of smoke from my flatmate’s cigarette taper off in filmy ribbons over the adjacent rooftop. Oh and I ate a fromage frais. But I have something that tops all of that. Just LOOK at this video (turn the sound up):
This is my room from now on. Really, this is just silly. I mean please, my new home couldn’t be more French if someone cycled over to greet me astride a baguette exclaiming ‘Welcome to zee Moulin Rouge!’. The bow-wowing of the saxophone drifting through my shuttered window from the leetle café-ed squarre – that really takes the biscwee.
I wouldn’t say that I’m homesick yet, but I have succeeded so far in getting tipsy enough to go on a Facebook rampage, indiscriminately commenting on and liking nearly each, every and all of the things on my News Feed. Experiencing a nostalgic burst of endearment for every English person I know, I think I did well in restricting myself to pestering only my housemate from last year with tempered assertions of my undying love. But worry not fellow Brits, when sober, this wistfulness and strong feeling is very well suppressed. It was quickly remedied by a trip to the Guardian homepage where I was greeted with Miley Cyrus’ bottom and other such depravities. This is really the most read article today? Maybe I don’t miss England.
Honestly it’s amazing. I couldn’t be luckier. I have two very cool and beautiful French flatmates (mes colocs) who are extremely patient with my word-mangling. One is called Pierre and likes to drink rum in the afternoon and the other is a fille svelte with eyes as wide apart as an avatar, whose long hair conceals what looks like a maritime compass tattooed on the back of her neck. I have sunshine, a one-man-band parked outside my window and, as of yet, no capacity to imagine that the last one could ever get annoying.