The great Paris cliche

Paris lends itself to cliches. If you’re not sure of the latest ones, just read your weekend edition of the newspaper.

Judging by the tripe printed weekly about Paris in overseas press, journalists are the most adept at exploiting a cliche. Thus it should have been no surprise when I found myself walking into one last night.

I was walking around the grounds of the Louvre, with a fiesty Parisienne on my arm, and under the umbrella. It was a stormy night, which turned the night a troubled purple. All the better against which to highlight the magnificent facade of this historic building.

I was so close to the Mona Lisa, I could smell the lingering grubby tourist pawprints on her face.  What should happen next BUT LO AND BEHOLD A SAXOPHONE SHOULD START PLAYING! He was a busking nearby, and somewhat hopefully playing ‘Summertime’.

“Well that’s blown it,” I said, “you’ve gone one cliche too far Valentine. All that’s missing is some guy hussling me for alcohol, smokes or 20 cents change”.

I didn’t have to wait long for that either.

After which I called it a night, went home put on my stripy blue t-shirt and fell asleep to the sweet smell of my onion necklace.

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