Bonjour 2011

It's 2011, and I'm settling down to have my breakfast cum lunch meal of self-prepared seafood fusilli marinara.. at 530pm in the evening. The London sale buys are scattered haphazardly around my sofa and living room, evidence of a pretty disorganized unpacking strategy.

"Oooh these are the shoes i bought!" *tries on* *hmm looks good..* *then gets distracted*
"But what's this? Aaah my 50-pound Karen Millen dress which used to be 250 pounds!!* *grabs dress to try on, and shoes lie forgotten*
Repeat for the next 5 handbags, 2 pairs of shoes, 8-9 boxes of sprungli and laderach chocolates, tea boxes, soaps, accessories.

Flew home from my Europe holiday, and flew right into 2011.

The reality of the matter is, after spending the bulk of last year on sleepless nights, report launches, and killing myself over my job, I have absolutely no idea what to do with myself in 2011. All I know is I do NOT want a repeat of 2010, which explains why I told my boss yesterday I want another day's leave today to spend it curling up with vongole, blogging and distracting my friends who all went back to work today. I had to settle a whole lot of personal admin stuff like paying bills, doing laundry etc, but it's extremely boring to talk about one's laundry.

But shall I tell you about Paris? Yes, I shall. It started on a pretty sad foot (literally!) as I got hit with a bout of rheumatism on my legs. Yeah, shut up. Rheumy Achilles tendons are for 70 year olds apparently, but I've had them off and on since I was 10. It hits every time I sleep without covering my ankles in a blanket, and stupid me slept that way in the middle of a London winter.

Asking to die, seriously.

So we were waiting at the Gare du Nord metro for the train to go to our hotel when an old French dude taps me on the shoulder and starts sputtering away in French, pointing at my limping leg. I started stammering... "aahhh.. Je ne... parle pas..." when he said the word "Massage". So i decided it would be much easier to nod and say "oui, oui" than attempt to carry on a conversation with the ancient old dude who probably lived through the French revolution.

The rest of Paris, minus the bad leg, was breathtaking. Especially the *only* RM3k large Epi leather Noir LV Speedy I managed to bag! Those sort of price tag is unheard of! Oh but yes, the view from the Sacre Coeur was similarly mindblowing, too. This picture does not do it justice.

It was just very cold. Nearly got frostbite waiting at Trocadero to see the Eiffel Tower light up. And my ears nearly fell off in pain wandering around St Germain des Pres on an escargot hunt. The Notre Dame was depressing, mainly because we kept being accosted by people asking for donations and because I secretly am afraid of the Hunchback. And the only thing I remember from visiting the world-famous treasure trove of masterpieces and historical objets d'art, also known as the Louvre, is this picture.

C'est Paris pour vous.