It all started with a drink in a central Manchester bar. Wait, no, it started with several drinks in a central Manchester bar. RedM, Cheshire and I gassed on about a girls trip and where we should go. The suggestions got weirder with each drink. Eventually we settled on a zorbing adventure in Switzerland. When we sobered up, we realised how fucking ridiculous that was. Plus, I have already done it.
So we threw the net out and pitched the idea of a girls’ weekend away to some fun-loving ladies. And they overwhelmingly agreed it was a bloody good idea.
It was Melba who provided the inspiration; little did we know it was her life-long dream to go to Paris. Who knew? And since it’s super easy and cheap to get to, we decided it was just the ticket.
So, on a drizzly Friday in September (hello Autumn, old friend!) we converged on Paris and rented an amazing apartment for a couple of nights. Here’s what six girls get up to in gay Paris…
First things first. A bike tour. To be honest, I was going to surprise them with a segway tour just to see their faces (and let’s be clear, not because I in any way want to be seen on a segway) but I stuck with a cycle ride through the streets and parks of Paris.
Looks idyllic, right?
This is Invalides, a Louis XIV building that our guide had all sorts of interesting factoids about. None of which I can remember. Blue skies abounded. Not initially though.
Yep, we were Team Poncho for the first half hour, but thankfully the grey skies cleared. Because it could have been Les Miserables.
So, like I said, it was idyllic. Cycling past the Eiffel Tower, down the Champs Elysee and of course to the Louvre.
If there is one way to arrive at The Louvre, it’s on bike, with a Mulberry bag strapped to the back, wearing a scarf, in a glamorous peloton.
After all that riding, we had really worked up a thirst. So we imbibed a few litres of fizzy french piss in the apartment and walked up the street to Moulin Rouge.
If you’ve been there before you’ll know the giant wind machine thingy across the street. On this evening, there was a kilt-wearing guy filming a music video. Don’t question it.
To be honest, this is sort of where things went a bit wrong.
Yeah, this about sums it up. It ended with two of us behind the bar (not me, honest) pouring drinks.
I managed to pull it together for one decent picture though.
The next day I awoke at the crack of noon to find that everyone else was patiently waiting for my hangover to clear so we could make the most of the day. Waited for hours, bless them. My head was banging like a chav’s car stereo but I managed to look ‘unlikely to spew’ long enough to get out.
So we collectively decided we needed some culture. And food. But definitely some culture.
Top tip for museums in Paris: if you have the attention span of a gnat, then head to Musee d’Orsay. It’s the crib notes of decent paintings. Plus it has decent architecture.
It used to be a train station, back in the day. See? I learned something.
I also learned that they like rules. But they don’t like to obey them.
We strolled around down the Seine, eating nutella crepes (and feeling all the better for the instant hit of sugar) taking in the sites and poking each other in the face with our umbrellas. One of my favourite sites was the bridge with a bunch of locks on it. You can buy padlocks for 4 euros and attach one, but we all decided it was a giant waste of money. Besides, it would be tough to find again owing to the millions of them on the bridge and the fact that the people selling them probably have a master key and they go around taking them back to re-stock the stalls.
Saturday night and I’d booked us the perfect place for dinner: O Chateau. Originally this was a tiny wine tasting company run by a hot guy in his loft. Now it’s a full restaurant, but the owner is still hot.
We tried for half and hour to get RedM to be in a photo with her eyes open and finally nailed it. I used up almost a full memory card to get it though. Totally worth it.
I’d like to say that we had a quiet dinner, a few drinks and left quietly. But if you know Skippy, you know she never leaves quietly. This was a re-enactment of the Sound of Music song (‘So Long, Farewall’) that she had belted out at the bar the previous night. It was met with applause, some strange looks and general bewilderment.
Sunday and it’s time for us to leave.
Problem was, no one wanted to. We’d grown quite fond of the apartment.
How could you not? So, we posed on the balcony in cute dresses until it was time to go.
We squeezed into the lift one last time…
Pretty spectacular. For someone who isn’t that much into religion, even I enjoyed it.
With so much food and booze left over from the apartment, we lugged it to the Eiffel Tower for a
baguette-jousting-match picnic and got the all-important picture.
L-R: Eco-Ninja, G, Melba, RedM, VegemiteWife, Skippy
Then we found there was only one thing left to do…
Adieu, Paris. To you, and you, and you…