petite anglaise

Petite anglaise, strolling carefree through the streets of Paris on a sunny autumn day, casually elegant in her floaty skirt and pale beige mac. (Well, if you must know, she was dashing frantically to the nearest Decathlon sports shop during her lunch break to purchase a swimming cap for the Tadpole, but the rest was accurate).

*SPLASH!!!!!!!!! (or *PLOUF!* if you want to do this the French way)

Petite anglaise swears and gesticulates angrily at the back end of the open-top bus which has just soaked aforementioned skirt and mac. And yes, I do gesticulate when I speak French. It’s compulsory.

Parisian streetcleaners have an ingenious way of disposing of the debris they sweep off the city’s pavements. First, it is swept or blown with a leaf-blower type device into the gutter, and then they turn on special hidden taps – whose existence you would never suspect – in the gutters themselves so that water gushes out along the roadside and carries the detritus far away into a distant drain. Special rolled up pieces of mangy carpet appear as if by magic and are strategically positioned so as to ensure the temporary stream flows in the correct direction. I have no idea where these pieces of carpet come from/go at night but they do not look very hygienic and I wouldn’t like to get too close to one.

So of course I wasn’t just wet, I also had bits of leaves and I dare not think what else all over my person.

Another glamorous day in the city of lights.