petite anglaise

March 30, 2006

bloggerers' social – update

Filed under: good time girl — petiteanglaiseparis @ 11:02 am

Just a little note to say that if anyone who dropped me a line to say they wanted to come along on Saturday 1st April has not received the meet up details by email, due to my poor dizzy blonde head being all spinny and full of interest rates, please drop me another line on and I will forward you the info.

March 26, 2006

things I will really miss…

Filed under: city of light — petiteanglaiseparis @ 8:26 pm

…if the offer goes through on my Belleville 2 pièces.



wine_view.jpg  balustrade_view.jpg


update: it has gone through. OHMYGOD! I’m officially stressed now at the prospect of having to woo banks and look at reams of paperwork. If any kind reader can recommend a good courtier based in central Paris I would love to hear from you!!!

March 23, 2006


Filed under: working girl — petiteanglaiseparis @ 4:22 pm

“Now, about Monday…” my boss continues.

I have no idea what is supposed to be happening on Monday. What haven’t I organised? Whose hotel haven’t I booked?

“Monday… Now, let me see…” I reply, in the calmest, most in control super secretary voice I can muster, while hastily opening his calendar in Outlook to see what I’ve missed.

The computer responds at a leisurely pace, mired in the middle of some pesky spysweeper scan.

“Oh, you’re breaking up, can you hear me? Hello? Hello?” I improvise, praying that he is not, in fact, calling from a landline.

And then the window pops up and I notice “[PETITE] OFF” on Monday 27 March 2006.

“Ooh! I’m on holiday! I’d forgotten! What a lovely surprise!” I cry, unable to curb my enthusiasm.

Miss Moneypenny would never have lost her composure like that. I have a lot to learn.

I can almost hear in my boss’s silence his chagrin at having reminded me of my forgotten holiday. There is a good chance that had he not, I would have appeared at 9.07 am sharp, none the wiser, and done a full day’s work.

So. My question is, what shall I do with this day of freedom, which has fallen unexpectedly out of the sky and into my lap?

Suggestions in my comments box please. Preferably inexpensive ones, as the end of the month is approaching.

March 22, 2006

lost and found

Filed under: Tadpole rearing — petiteanglaiseparis @ 9:33 pm

The door to Mr Frog’s apartment is ajar, so I venture in. The cosy scene which greets me is of Tadpole, seated on the sofa, cheeks a fiery shade of crimson, watching her favourite “Oui Oui” DVD. In stark contrast, Mr Frog, slumped by her side, is an exhausted shade of grey.

Tadpole has been suffering from a particularly nasty cold and tummy upset virus (a French doctor would no doubt refer to this as “gastric flu”, making it sound emergency ward, code red serious) which has been doing the rounds in Paris of late. Mr Frog, due to unfortunate timing, has borne the brunt of the horrorshow nappies and sleepless nights, while I galavant around Paris, full of the joys of Spring.

I take a seat beside Tadpole, while Mr Frog pours me a glass of coffee flavoured coca cola (not bad, but not exactly good either, whatever will they dream up next?) to taste.

We chat, mostly swapping favourite Tadpole anecdotes, and recounting flat hunting experiences, until he recalls something she had told him the previous day which made a lasting impression.

They were looking at the letters of the alphabet depicted on her coloured jigsaw floor tiles, and Tadpole had seized upon the letter “J”.

“It’s a J for Jim,” she announced, proudly.

“Oh yes,” replied Mr Frog, uneasily, wondering what to say next.

“Maman, elle a perdu son ami Jim, et elle pleure,” added my daughter.

“When was she crying?” Mr Frog enquired, concerned.

“Yesterday,” came the reply.

I am amazed. She has not mentioned his name once, not since that first horrible day when she knocked on the door, expecting him to answer. I truly thought she had already forgotten him.

I hasten to reassure Mr Frog that by yesterday, Tadpole actually means two whole weeks ago. Because, actually, after shedding a thousand tears during that first weekend of disbelief, I haven’t cried since. Not once.

There are moments when I fall victim to feelings of overwhelming panic about the prospect of being alone. Moments when I experience little pangs of regret about the plans I have been forced to cast aside. But on the whole, I’m surprised to find that I feel little remorse about this aborted relationship.

The future beckons, pregnant with promise. And I walk slowly towards it, with only the slightest hesitation, and not so much as a backward glance.

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