Britain's Bag Ladies

For some girls it's shoes, for others it's bags... and for a few of us, well, we have a fetish for both! When I was at school I used to hang my handbags on the back of my door, until the sheer weight of all that leather (and faux leather) caused its hinges to buckle. I thought a count was in order... I stopped at 54.

At the age of seventeen I sold half of these to friends and family - not for much mind you, maybe 5 bucks a pop? I can't quite remember... Five years later when I found myself packing for my move overseas I realised that I would once again need to shed some leather. I had bags-a-plenty, and shoes a-cupboard-full. So, I took myself off to Roselle Markets - that's just one of Sydney's favourite weekend market spots, for my Northern hemisphere readers - and managed to make back a mini fortune ($1,500 or thereabouts), enough to fund a portion of my flight and I think, a top from Bettina Liano (oops!).

Naturally I felt heaps better on the commute to work today when I read in my morning paper that the average British woman owns 111 handbags in her lifetime. This is according to study undertaken by the Lakeside shopping centre in Essex, who surveyed 1,500 women. Spending an average of £76 per bag, that's a hefty £8,436 over the course of her handbag career. Nice.

Unpacking all my boxes last Saturday (thus finally putting an end to my nomadic lifestyle over the past two months), I realised that I also have a lot of shoes. Practically, I can only wear three or four pairs (which is in line with the Lakeside study that suggests of their 111 bags most women use only three on a regular basis), as most are heels that pinch and make me wobble on my toes... but their abundance, while absurd, does actually bring me some comfort. I feel slightly Carrie-esque, you know, when she realises that she's spent the equivalent of home deposit on her footwear. If it's good enough for SJP, it's good enough for me!

Sweet Enough?

I think most girls would agree that it's nice to have a little sweetness in your life. Like many women I struggle with my weight, and chastise myself about the foods I indulge in. My guy friends think I'm crazy, and my girlfriends call me stupid... but the truth is they all have the same insecurities... although, I suppose that it's better they tell me not to be silly, than confirm my fears and tell me to put the chocolate bar down!

It's always interesting when you live or travel with other girls - but getting to know their game plan when it comes to food can be both helpful, and harmful. My new flatmate is stunning. Tall and lean, totally lovely and super active - her game plan: sugar substitutes. You name it, it's in the cupboard or fridge... diet jelly, diet fruit juices, sugar free ice blocks. And, if I'm honest, it does work for her, but not for me. I tried the sweet'n'low thing for a few years and found that it just made me snack more. Now I limit my sugar intake to occasional dark chocolate treats, and have found that my taste buds are less hyper, and I can go a whole day without craving a sugar sensation.

My recent sojourn to Paris saw me living with a girlfriend for two weeks. Having been besties through school I knew she had always been mindful about what she ate. Travelling together made me realise the intensity of her resolve. Her game plan: portion control. Be it sunflower seeds with a teaspoon of honey, or treating herself to some dark chocolate, my girlfriend fit her sweets into a macchiato cup, so that she knew she wouldn't binge.

My new motto for the sweet stuff is to keep it real. Ultimately all the preservatives in sugar substitutes can't be good for you, and while sugar contains no real nutritional value it is a concentrated form of energy, and in moderation it can be just the boost you need.

Lady turned Ladette

As a girl who has always prided herself on her avoidance of alcohol, London is definitely challenging my resolve... It's not that I'm being more social in my new town, both in Sydney and New York I met with friends most days of the week, it's just that we met for coffees or tea... Whereas in London, you catch up for a bevvie or two, and more than likely indulge in a bottle or three! My poor body doesn't know what's hit it.

Reading my fave free afternoon papers London Lite and Metro, it appears I'm not the only one in London binge drinking. Over the past few weeks there have been countless articles on the forming of a new 'ladette culture,' and a study reporting that female office juniors (influenced by the heavy drinking practices of their male co-workers) are twice as likely to die from alcohol misuse as the general population, with overindulgence in the UK estimated to cost the country £10 billion a year. Sadly, we're turning into a bunch of Bridget Jones' before she's saved by Mark Darcy. At least the new smoking bans are ensuring the air is clear while we're drinking away our young lives!

Scarily for this Intern, the Daily Mail (23 August, 2007) suggests that young people who carry out tasks such as "photocopying, delivering mail and data entry," are the highest at risk... could it be that the lack of brain power required for these mundane tasks is forcing us to drink?

Last night I went out to celebrate my birthday with friends. Determined not to drink myself into a stupor I imposed a 3-drink limit... those glasses were downed before the dinner was even served, and as a group we proceeded to get through another four bottles. This morning I woke up feeling every one of my twenty-four years, and then some. Lucky I'm only inputting stats into Excel today, otherwise my brain would be enduring the same strain as my liver!

Holidays and Carnivals

This long weekend past, London enjoyed three days of sunshine, and the Intern enjoyed her first Notting Hill Carnival. To celebrate both the heat and festivities, said-Intern donned her new red dress (fresh from its purchase in Paris), and took to the streets.

Held each August Bank Holiday since 1966, Notting Hill Carnival is the largest celebration of its kind in Europe. What started as a local festival for West Indian immigrants, now spans two days and boast scores of massive sound systems, traditional steel drum bands, colourful floats and best of all, street-side food stalls selling all-things sweet and spicy from the Caribbean.

Sunday is 'Children's Day' - and allegedly less crowded, (spot the cuties below)... While Monday's parade includes the big floats from South America, Africa and the Caribbean.

One tip: If you want to celebrate the day with friends, go there together... finding each other amongst the chaos is madness itself... As Murphy would have it, the only people you do run into are those you wished you wouldn't when you've drunk far too many rum cocktails!

Washed Out in a Curry

Brick Lane, in London's Whitechapel, is a street laced in history. For this Intern, the name will forever remind her of high school history lessons about the blood thirsty Jack the Ripper -nearby Flower and Dean Street was the address of most of Jack's victims at some stage of their ladies-of-the-night careers - with images of wet and foggy alley ways, and barefoot children calling out for tuppence. Nowadays Brick Lane is heralded as the place to grab a good curry... and it is... but you might have to battle a London storm to enjoy one!

Meeting my girlfriend at Aldgate East tube, torrential showers forced me to take shelter in a nearby McDonalds. As the smell of the deep fry began to overpower me, and the rain outside fell like sheet metal, I was tempted to ditch the curry idea and cut my losses with another London staple, a cheese burger and fries. But no! Locals have been on at me for ages to try a curry in Brick Lane, and by golly, I was going to indulge. When the image of my girlfriend, similarly drowned-out, appeared in the doorway I took up my brolly and together we braved the wind and rain.

With our umbrellas blocking our view of the street, we found ourselves shuffled into one of the first curry houses we passed. The lane boasts more than twenty Bangladeshi restaurants, and it's not uncommon to spot a celebrity or two dining out every now and then... but last night, we would have been lucky to see our feet for the puddles. Bengali men wait in the doorways offering free bottles of wine and price-fix menus in a bid to win you over. We were 'won' by the offer of a free bottle of Merlot (with our jolly waiter pronouncing the 't')... too funny to say no!

The dinner itself wasn't quite as fabulous as I had hoped - although my six-week stint in India a few years back raised the bar on my curry expectations - and the dishes marked 'hot' offered merely a mild kick. But the bottle of wine was nice enough, and the service quick, and best of all they allowed my friend and I to sit and chat well after out plates had been cleared, and our glasses emptied. And at £11 each, I'll be back in a curry!

Waxing Lyrical

Being a girl in a new city there are a few key characters you need to source out, namely, your hairdresser and your waxer. I find with the latter it's all about the wax. There are friendly beauticians, and ones that make you feel frumpy and inadequate, but when it comes to the rip you want it painless and the hair removal to be long lasting. And that means using a high quality wax, and some post-wax oil treatments.

In Sydney I was spoilt by the services of Dimi Leo, from Dimi's Tips & Toes... Dimi made her own wax for those extra sensitive areas, using a secret recipe she had devised - the wax was lilac and smelt divine, and I never got any red patches or spiky regrowth. In New York, however, I battled to find a waxer that didn't treat my bikini area like they were tearing off old wallpaper. With most of the beauticians in Manhattan being run by illegal Asian immigrants, there were generally language barriers... but one experience with a salon in the East Village left me feeling raped and pillaged. The young girl managed to complete my half-leg wax and Brazilian in less than 20 minutes! I left the small treatment room in a burned and blotchy-haze... to say I felt violated doesn't half cover it.

So moving to London I decided to undertake slightly more thorough research. As always in these situations, it's best to ask your girlfriends. At the pub a few weekends ago, conversation turned (as it does, sorry boys!) to hair removal, and I was instructed to pay a visit to Gina Conway, in Fulham. And I wasn't disappointed. The salon itself (which also provides hair and other beauty and spa treatments) was just gorgeous. I got in early last Saturday and was offered tea or coffee, and still or sparkling water - how posh! - and then was escorted down a cast iron spiral staircase into their spa treatment rooms, which were complete with aromatic candles and plush leather couches. My beautician, Casey (an Aussie ex-pat), pampered me with relaxing aromatherapy oils and lavender infused bees wax, as we shared stories of back home and about the trials and tribulations of moving overseas. At the end of my treatment, I was even given a little courtesy pack containing some Aveda products. Nothing makes you feel like more of a lady, than smooth legs and a bag full of cosmetic freebies... I think I have found my waxing home-away-from-home!

For those of you in Oz...

Dimi's Tip & Toes

Level 1 125 Military Rd, Neutral Bay NSW 2089

p: + (612) 9909 0993

And for my fellow Londoners...

Gina Conway Aveda Concept Salon

612 Fulham Rd, London SW6 5RP

p: + (442) 07731 7633

Calling For Some Class

At the weekend I had the opportunity to pay a visit to The Redback Tavern, in Acton Town. Apparently, the No. 1 Australasian pub and live music venue. Their calling card: "If it is a taste of home your after? The Reddy is your place". Ummm, yeah... perhaps not.

I found a few of these so-called, 'Aussie' venues during my time in New York City (namely, Eight Mile Creek, on Mulberry Street in Nolita and The Sunburnt Cow, in the East Village on Avenue C)... They were always a fun hangout, a place to watch the rugby, the cricket or the AFL (okay, so maybe I didn't go there to see the footy much, but I didn't judge those who did!). But it appears the London equivalents - which have been around a little longer, I'm sure - seem to endorse all things 'Occa' about being Aussie, and they're giving us a bad name!

In New York, there's still a bit of mystery surrounding the Down-Unders, but in London we're a dime a dozen, and not so well thought of as that! While we do have a reputation on the jobfront for being hard workers, we have a bigger reputation for being the drunk and rowdy people stumbling out of establishments like The Reddy, and the equally debaucherous, Walkabout (an Australian themed bar with locations throughout Oz and the UK). And I for one, am calling for action!

The day, as an Australian, that you hope the Brits watch shows like Neighbours and Home & Away in order to develop a more well-rounded opinion of our way of life, is a very sad day indeed. But, I'd prefer people thought all Aussie blokes were like Ramsey Street's Toadie Rebecchi (played by Ryan Moloney) than like the drunken yobbos getting wasted on 'Snakebites' and calling out to their 'Sheilas'... and it's placed like The Reddy and Walkabout that indulge the small portion of Aussies (and Kiwis) that truly act like this. It's up to the rest of us to put an end to Fosters and Snakebites, and call for more brunches and lunches... and go kick the footy in the park.

Markets, and Me

Saturdays in London mean just one thing to this would-be Londoner... Markets! Actually, if I'm honest, Fridays and Sundays enjoy the same definition if other social events don't intervene. A Saturday spent bustling through the crowds at Notting Hill's Portobello Road, or sashaying round the stalls down near London Bridge's Borough Markets, is a day well spent.

Borough Markets is the gran-mummy of London Markets. There's historical evidence of marketeers trading in the area since AD 43 when the Roman Legions arrived at the south bank to sack the then city of London... and even a series of Royal Charters by Edward III, The Confessor, (in 1406, 1442 and 1462), moving the markets from one part of the Borough to the next, in attempts to appease the locals disgruntled by the traffic congestion the markets caused. They've been at their current site for 250 years, and according to its supporters and organisers, they plan on trading there for another 20 centuries. Excellent, so I might just get a few more Saturdays in!

The difference with Borough is that it's all about the food. While Portobello enjoys a mix of street-side shops and road-side vendors (selling anything from antique jewellery to first editions, from genuine furs to up-and-coming designer wears, and cupcakes to paella), London's Borough Markets celebrates all things wholefood. There's fresh seafood, fruits and vegetables in all the colours of the rainbow, homemade confectionery, organic burger stalls serving up patties and good ol' bangers and mash (and kransky to boot!), and my personal favourites, cold-cuts, cheeses and pates. And the best part is that the traders let you sample anything you like. And they're just so excited about all they produce that if you have any questions, no matter how silly - from identifying their goods to how to roast the perfect lamb - they're right there to offer animated, and helpful, suggestions.

My advice, get there early and arrive hungry. Oh, and bring a friend... that way you can go halves in more dishes, and won't find yourselves too full to indulge in a fresh baked brownie or bag of organic Turkish delight. Can we all say, "yum"?!

Borough Markets
8 Southwark Street, London SE1 1TL (closest tube station, London Bridge)
Thursdays: 11am-5pm
Fridays: 12pm-6pm
Saturdays: 9am-4pm

Portobello Road Antiques Market
Portobello Road (closest tubes either Ladbroke Grove or Notting Hill Gate)
Saturdays: 5.30am-5pm

Other gems around-about-town...

Old Spitalfields Markets
105a Commercial Street, London E1 6BG (closest tube station, Liverpool Street)
Monday-Friday: 10am-4pm
Sundays: 9am-5pm

The Camden Markets
Including the areas of Camden Lock, Camden Stables, Buck Street and Inverness Street (closest tube stations, Camden Town or Chalk Farm)
Most stalls open 7 days, with busiest trading days Friday-Sunday


And just a little word from our editor(!)...

The Intern sincerely apologises for her absence of almost a week (eek, so, so sorry), but she has found herself in between homes and without the Internet... As a girl who considers her laptop a fifth limb this has been tragic for all concerned. She thanks those of you who asked her if everything was okay (it means some of you actually read her blog!), and she promises to do all in her power to keep up her weekday posts in the future... Cheers!

Say 'Buy' to Yesterday, and Farewell Old Paris

I have a little 'thing' about vintage clothing... I just don't like it that much. The tops sit funny, and the pants are always too high in the waist and baggy in the legs. And the sizing, what's with the sizing? Buying vintage always makes me feel obliged to stop eating for the day and run a mile to work off breakfast! I know, I know, by those in the know, it is deemed 'oh-so-hip.' But, if you're anything like me, the nostalgia of yester-year brings tears to your eyes, because of the dust, and gives you 1970s polyester-pandemonium nightmares. I prefer retail shops without the moths and sales baskets, where the clothes are neatly hung and even (heaven help me) arranged by colour... In saying all this, a trip to Paris just wouldn't be the same without checking out the new with the old... and the Marais, according to New York magazine, is among the three best districts to go delving (see also: the Palais Royale and Left Bank).

In the last two weeks - haven't we been spoilt - Jess and I have wandered in and out of stores-of-styles-past, but our favourite would have to be the one just a hop, skip and a jump from our apartment, Free 'P' Star Bretonnerie (8 rue Sainte Croix de la Bretonnerie, 75004 Paris). We entered it by chance on one of our post-dinner strolls and were blown away by the hoards of people (mostly tourists... eek!) siphoning through the racks, and racks of dresses, shirts, leather jackets, army gear and bags... boy did they have some bags. Yet, this scene didn't disgust me. Somehow, being in Paris, I found this chaos acceptable, even attractive. It might have also had something to do with my reading of a recent WhoWhatWearDaily.com post (if you don't subscribe already, you really should), that had Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen espousing the prodigiousness of Paris vintage. Hey, if it's good enough for M.K. it's good enough for me!

The cutest thing about this store is the spiral staircase leading downstairs to a room full of summer dresses (it seems they restock as per the season). Then there's the presence of a ladder up to a floor devoted entirely to bags... Can we squeal, "woo hoo"?!

So, Jess bought a bag (5 euros), and a belt (3 euro), and I bit my tongue and bought a gorgeous brown leather satchel for 5 euros... I'd have been stupid to resist it.

Feast your eyes on these babies...

And if you're in the area: check out Coiffeur on Rue des Rosiers, 75004 Paris

And with that, I say, "Adieu Paris, a bientôt!"

Friday Night and Feeling Alright

What to do in Paris, on a Friday night, in the summertime? During the month of August most Parisians up and leave their favourite city to avoid the hoards of tourists that crowd the markets along the Seine, and ultimately ruin the chic landscape with their sneakers, shorts and fanny-packs (note: Jess and I are donning none of these items... just so ya know!). Those who stay behind are often taking holidays from work as well - but closer to home, so they spend their days at cafes sipping Kir, smoking cigarettes and animatedly discussing politics, sex and... qui sait que!

So come the end of the 'working' week, where's a girl to go? Here are a few suggestions from the locals themselves:

Buddha Bar

8 Rue Boissy d' Anglais M. Concorde, 75008 Paris

We were introduced to this little hot spot last weekend. Listed at No. 34 on worldsbestbars.com, Buddha Bar offers both a full restaurant and a stunning, 18th Century bar mezzanine. Think amber-coloured lighting (so dark you'll consider crawling to your seats a safer option), and rich mahogany furniture... Add the dulcet beats of their resident DJ (chillout/electronic lounge), and you're just about ready to experience French trend-setting at its best. While the food is apparently amazing (unsurprisingly Asian-inspired, but we didn't dine... this time round), the cocktails are tasty too - if not a little on the pricey side... Jess nursed her 17 euro vodka-lemonade tenderly, as I enjoyed the complementary prawn crackers, yum!

Kong

1 Rue du Pont-Neuf , 75001 Paris

Another terribly trendy (and expensive) Paris must-see is, Kong - that's according to fellow twenty-something, French local, Marie-Agnes, a chick with whom we struck up a conversation on one of our many wanderings. Ultramodern, it is a two-storey space above Kenzo's Paris flagship store. Of note, its see-through perspex Louis XV Armchairs with Asian faces printed on them, and a glass rooftop that overlooks the Seine. Described as halfway between Paris and Tokyo, it also boasts a fluorescent staircase and a carpet of pebbles. You have to book ahead though, (which we learned), as it has a very long waiting list!

Le Paris Paris

5 Avenue de L'Opera, 75002 Paris

Okay, so this one was funny... All psyched for our big night out on the town, we took to the streets in search of another of Marie-Agnes's suggested haunts, the tiny but trendy, Le Paris Paris (where apparently big hair and 1980s excess are not only encouraged, but expected!). After pacing up and down the Avenue de L'Opera we finally asked some passersby, who shook their heads in disdain and replied curtly, "It is closed." Apparently anybody who is anyone knows that this club closes for the month of August. When I later jumped on their website, I came across this friendly message:

Le club est en vacances tout le mois d'aout. Paris est la seule ville en europe ou rien ne se passe en aout donc, partez et rendez-vous en septembre

which translates as...

The club is on holidays all August. Paris is the only city in Europe where nothing happens in August so, go away and see you in September

Sounds better in French, doesn't it?!

Let them play Hamlets

While Sophia Coppola's 2006 rendition of Marie Antoinette enjoyed more hype prior to its public release than it did at the box office, her film arguably brought France's most romanticised monarch back into the spotlight - she even dressed her better. And who are we kidding, it was only the elaborate costumes that kept most of us from either falling asleep, or exiting the cinema.

Today's outing to the Château de Versailles confirmed Coppola's depiction of royal extravagance and frivolity... Marie Antoinette's Garden Hamlet, designed to allow her to experience 'peasant life' (complete with a dozen full-size cottages, a chapel, pond and trout farm), totally enforced the notion that the Queen lived in anything but réalité. And boy, did we wish we could have played for just one day in those gardens like M.A. would have done - with maid servants, cream cakes and pink champagne. We settled for a monstrous walk around (most) of the 250 acres open to the public...

Have a look:

The main palace... all 700-rooms: a former hunting lodge that King Louis XIV decided needed a make-over in the 17th Century

Just some of the gorgeous flowers on show

The view from somewhere in the middle...

And just a little farther back - although still well within the palace grounds

Two of the many statues on display... there is so much symmetry in the garden you feel as though you're standing on one big chessboard

The Queen's bedchamber, within the main palace

Aside from having to line up for over an hour just to gain entry, and having to maneuver around the other thousand tourists visiting the Château, a trip to Versailles is definitely a must on any Paris sojourn. If you're lucky you'll even get serenaded on the metro home. Yes, for the benefit of American tourists there's a crooner belting out Frank Sinatra and Broadway tunes from his karaoke box, as you ride the 40-minute trip back into the city centre... Or maybe you might prefer to drive!

Lost Without Translation

My mother didn't bring me up to take the easy road. And neither, it seems, did Jess's. Some might call us gluttons for punishment, but we want our time in Paris to result in our growth as individuals. Believing ultimately, that what doesn't kill us will make us stronger - nothing ventured, nothing gained... and so, tonight, sans the map (although we did practice the route there and back this morning), we set out to see our very first Parisian play. A comedy entitled, J'aime Beaucoup Ce Que Vous Faites (or... I Like Much What You Make). As you can imagine, the entire hour and twenty minute production was en français!

Now before you all sigh, and say we wasted our money - because admittedly, we understood almost none of the dialogue - we did in fact prepare for our endeavour. Call it research, if you will. A lovely Parisian boy told us about it the other day and gave us a brief plot summary. Basically, there are two couples. One is visiting the other at their home in the country, and on their way there they phone to confirm directions. The country couple decide to let the call go to the answerphone, and then low-and-behold, the couple in the car forget to disconnect, and the machine records the rest of their conversation... in which they say what they really think of the friends they are visiting! Needless to say, their comments are less than positive. The country couple are at first horrified, but then they concoct a little scheme to get their friends back. This includes a little mocking, and even a devious taping of the other guy calling his girlfriend a halfwit (although, admittedly, she is a few clowns short of a circus).

And yes... it was very funny. At least everyone else in the audience was laughing. I understood words here and there and thoroughly enjoyed each character's facial expressions and interactions, but I have to say, that a whole lot of the play was lost in translation for me. What made me feel worse was the young girl sitting next to us with her grandmother. She obviously found the whole play hysterical, and kept urging us to see the funny side. A huge part of me wanted to turn to her and admit, "Je ne parle pas le français"... but my pride wouldn't let me. Whether I understood what was happening or not, I refused to destroy the illusion of being Parisian (for a night). And when the lights went up, we clapped along and so hard that the actors got three bows out! A successful evening for all concerned, vous ne pensez pas?

ps: bought another cheeky item today... a gorgeous little ring from a equally lovely jeweller (that specialises in imitation designer rings) in the Jewish Quarter: Camille et Lucie, 6 Rue des Rosiers, 75004 Paris

A visitor's guide to those places on the side

Okay so I thought you all might appreciate a little less blog and a little more colour... Add to this the fact that Paris just shone for us today, I want to share some amazing sites and stores with you. If ever you're in Paris, you must, must visit:

Les Deux Magots, 6 Place Saint Germain des Prés, 75006 Paris

This cafe is all about history. In the 1940 and 50s this was the hangout for French philosophers Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre, Spanish painter and sculpture Pablo Picasso and even a American novelist Ernest Hemingway. Now... it's home to un trop cher menu et touristes American!

Princesse Tam Tam: 5 Rue Montmartre, 75001 Paris

So, you're in the city of romance and your undies and bra aren't even fit for the gym change room. Make your way to one of Paris's most gorgeous lingerie stores. Just beware when trying on your brassieres... French shop assistants aren't shy when pulling open the curtains!

Le Jardin des Plantes, off Quai Saint-Bernard, 75005 Paris

The Botanic Gardens of Paris - owned by the Natural History Museum and just off the River Seine - think, manicured lawns and all-sorts of brightly coloured flowers. There's even a menagerie (basically, a fancy name for a zoo), and a massive greenhouse. Just opposite the gardens is the Grande Mosquée de Paris, where you can indulge in Turkish sweets in their tea rooms, or courtyard, or even relax in their Turkish baths.

L'Arche de Noe, on Rue Saint-Louis l'Ile, 75004 Paris

If you're lucky enough to have some petite bébés in your life (thank you sisters for my little nieces and nephew), then you won't want to miss out on this gem of a toy store, located on the luxury (read: expensive) island named after King Louis IX of France (one of only two islands on the Seine)... If the plush dolls and bright coloured wooden race cars aren't enough to draw you, then the antique stores, boutiques, fromagerie and ice creamery should ensure that you enjoy yourself. And, the whole island is only three streets wide! You can visit it like we did, after the gardens, on your way to Le Marais.

Raindrops on roses and shopping in Paris!

It's not often that the sound of thunder in the morning, especially when you're on holiday, would bring a smile to your dial. But, this morning I embraced the clouds, and the drizzle... for what better way to spend a rainy day than shuffling between boutiques in Le Marais?

Like any self-respecting girl I acquainted myself with the must see shopping locales prior to my arrival in the hometown of French "grand couturiers," (think Christian Lacroix, Chanel, Dior and Yves Saint Laurent). This involved cornering friends and friends-of-friends who had recently lived in or travelled to Paris, and forcing them to divulge all of the City's fashion secrets. Armed with my list, a quick Google maps search confirmed the stores within (and near) our 75004 area code - then we were off (brollies in hand), ready to lose ourselves in the wonder that is French fashion.

Introducing, Rue Vieille du Temple.

This unassuming cobblestone street is not only home to lush boutiques, but to some little ones too (you know, the one's we can actually afford to buy things in). Ever the discerning travellers (yeah, right)... we simply moseyed in and out of the first few, lovingly strumming our hands along racks of silk, chiffon and gorgeous lace... By the third shop our confidence had grown, and we had begun exclaiming little ditties like, "C'est bon!" and "C'est trop cher!" and after a slightly awkward broken-English/French conversation with one friendly shop assistant, we mastered the French version of "I'm just looking," "Je regarde soulement." Although in this particular boutique I ended up parting with a cool 125 euros (on a stunning red silk/cotton blend summer dress and pair of strappy leather sandals - both 50 per cent off!).

Suddenly the puddled-streets and dreary skyline only added to the romance of Paris. A few more stores and a successful trip to the post office (speaking only in French), we were acting unabashedly Parisian. And loving it.

my little shopping bag of luxury: 98 Rue Vieille du Temple, Paris

Enraptured by Rodin

Oh to be the muse of a brilliant artist. To have their trained and eager eyes study every aspect of your form, and be inspired enough to mold you in clay or marble, or depict you in all the bright colours of oil on canvas. Can anyone honestly say that the scene in Titanic where Jack sketches Rose didn't make them shiver? I doubt there to be one woman who wouldn't have given her right foot to trade places with Kate Winslet, and not simply because of Leo, but for the chance to have a man so openly and honestly adore their naked body in all its glory.

Exploring the gardens of the Rodin Museum, located in the middle of Paris, the city of romance and home of lovers, I was consumed with the desire to be carved out of marble and placed on display... Okay, so maybe this is just me... But in all seriousness, it is hard not be swept up in the beauty of the museum's gardens, the towering trees and manicures lawns. And then there are all the gorgeous bronze statues perfectly positioned throughout the grounds to best show off their all-inspiring beauty.

Auguste Rodin (1840-1917), France's most famous sculptor, was widely criticised in his time for departing from traditional mythological sculpture and instead celebrating the human body with high realism - flaws and all. When his model for "Eve" - depicted in The Gates of Hell, based on Dante's Inferno - turned out to be in the early stages of pregnancy, Rodin simply worked that reality into his sculpting, depicting Eve as a mother. Above all, he sought to keep true to the human body, and lavish all his attention upon it.

The museum itself is housed in an 18th Century mansion where the artist once lived, hidden from view behind the glorious walled garden. I could easily spend an entire day strolling the grounds - many people do, both Parisians and tourists alike - maybe next time I'll take my iPod and listen to some James Blunt or Michael Bublé to further torment the romantic in me!

Searching for the Sacré-Cœur

Religion and reverence have never been high on my agenda, but staring out one of the windows at the Orsay Museum yesterday, my girlfriend and I noticed perhaps the only hill in Paris, and atop it, the most gorgeous white triple-arched portico, and just had to find out a bit more about the basilica beneath...

Keeping with the 'no maps' policy, we set off early this morning for our white-wonder, the Basilique Sacré-Cœur. The Roman Catholic church (with its first stone laid in 1875, and completed in 1914) enjoys stunning views of Paris, perched upon Montmartre Hill. But even with its massive presence, we managed to lose it from our sights... and an already long (long) walk turned mega, full of wrong-turns, and back-tracking. A number of times our eagerness faded, but we were resolute - we just knew we'd stumble across it eventually. We soon realised that asking locals for directions was a waste of time as it appears Parisians don't walk as much as is rumoured... our polite requests of, "Où est le sacre-coeur, s'il vous plaît?," were met with amused looks and replies that it was, "Tres loin!" (very far), and encouragement that we take the nearest Metro. Never!

Just over two hours after our departure we managed to find Rue du Lagat that led us up the mighty hill, past Montmartre's gorgeous cobbled streets and sandstone terrace buildings, covered in French-shutter windows overflowing with flower-boxes, and all the way to le Sacré-Cœur. And I have to say, the view was most definitely worth all the effort.

Built of Château-Landon (Seine-et-Marne) stone, that bleaches with age, the basilica is so white it takes your breath away. Add to that the crisp blue sky that graced Paris today, we could even forgive the hundreds of other tourists and the pushy portrait-painters, all we wanted to do was sigh, "C'est Paris!"