Summertime is here and that means cruising around on pink Vespas, lazing in gardens and keeping your Dalmatian hydrated. It also means grass stains, 160° on metro line 4 and more Eiffel Tower key chains than normal.
What it doesn’t mean is palm trees, parasols and yachts. And that’s why I’m moving to Nice. Nice is nice. Nice is colourful. Nice is strolling around with a gelato and The Girl from Ipanema in your head. On the French/Italian border I’ll be able to croissant around town in the morning and play bocce ball in the afternoon. Bien! Bene! Buon…… wait, what?
Thanks, Paris, it’s been a slice. A slice of the creamiest quiche Lorraine with the perfect ratio of cheese and bacon. We’ve had good times, we’ve had bad times. But most importantly we’ve had times. Times I’ll never forget.
Now blog off.