Paris in the spring is the stuff dreams are made of. But springtime in London ain't shabby either. I stumbled into this tiny park by the courtyard of an old cathedral in Covent Garden (picture complete with Perfect English Gentleman enjoying marvelous afternoon), one day last week after purchasing a book I intend to devour. I had picked it up off the shelf and turned to a random page, which read,
"'They told me it rained every day in London-and look at this!'remarked Will as we sat one lunchtime in a restaurant in Covent Garden. 'Incredible, and I brought only pullovers'".
I'm a big believer in signs when it comes to novel selection, so there it was ('Essays in Love' by Alain De Botton..a die-hard Londoner with an awfully French name..very interesting so far). Paris is breathtaking all year round in a village-y yet magisterial sort of way. Everyone is so bothered and uptight during winter, though, and the city breathes a sigh of relief with the arrival of the season for which it is so well known. A waiter might smile at you, a cab driver may agree to drop you off without muttering under his breath, and some brave souls go so far as to dress in primary colors. London under the sun, however, is just incredibly bright, easy and happy, and you just want to be at a pub terrace downing pints all day long. My days & nights of intense conversation in dimly lit cafes are behind me..til autumn at least.
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