The other day I ran into the mother of the kids I used to babysit on the street in Paddington. She was wheeling her brand new baby around and I cooed for a bit over his mop of curly hair and easy, toothy grin. She asked me what I was doing next year and I mumbled something vague about wanting to move to Paris and she grabbed me by the shoulders and said "do it, don't even think about it, don't even worry, just do it. You'll never regret it but you will always regret it if you don't go." She was so serious and so earnest that it was quite shocking. But after the initial surprise wore off I couldn't stop thinking about what she said. Don't even worry, just do it. I'm a little way off to committing myself to anything at the moment - I barely know what I'm going to be doing tomorrow let alone next year. But it got me thinking. And then I watched some french movies, and then I ate a macaron, and then I went on freunde von freunden and I saw this house, and yes I'm not silly and I know life in Paris won't actually be like this - all breton stripes and messy hair and une fille comme les autres - but at the same time I am silly and I know in my heart that life in Paris would be totally, utterly, completely, unashamedly, forever-and-always kind of perfect and that if I lived there I would have great hair and fantastic skin and the best wardrobe and I wouldn't have to worry about a single thing, not ever, not at all.