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Whether you are in London or Paris, some things never change. Gossip never stops. Right now, someone must have said something about us moving back to France. This means that, whenever I meet an acquaintance, they ask me: “so, when are you going back to France?”

Well, here is a news flash : I am not going back. Unless they know something I don’t, I am still staying in London.

So why does everybody want to send me back to my home country? What did I do to make them think that I am going back to France? Did I piss everybody off? What is wrong with me?

Maybe I don’t conform. Why is everybody convinced that I don’t belong here? Come on, it is a little bit hurtful. And guys, let’s be clear: I am not going anywhere.

Why would I have spent all this time, effort and money on be becoming British if I wanted to move back?

The thing is, there is something condescending in the way I am told ‘so, when are you going back?’. It sounds a bit like ‘well, you had a lovely time in London, now it is time to go back home sweetie’.

Give me a break.

In Paris, there was gossip too. It was quite different though. Let’s just say, it was more about who was in a relationship with whom. And if it wasn’t true, it wasn’t a big deal. That’s what gossip is for.

So things never change. Please don’t stop the gossip.

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Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London

Posted by / Category London /

London is a very competitive city. Whatever you do, someone will always want to do it better. Or stronger. Or higher. And, worst of all, they will succeed.

Arcelor Mittal Orbit In Olympic Park

Take the Arcelor Mittal orbit for instance.

It is quite a high structure (114.5m, if Wikipedia is to be believed). It was the symbol of the Olympic park. But, over the last few months, we have seen a newer, taller and more expensive building. It is called The Shard (more than 300m high, if you must know).

Where does this race to the top stop? Well, never.
London has competition in its blood. We go faster, are more stressed, work harder, get drunker.

London is the city of never enough. 
Our kids go to more and more selective schools. Childcare is more and more expensive. Houses are smaller and smaller. We have to get fitter and fitter (this is a general statement obviously. I am not any fitter, especially today because I stuffed my face with more and more Iranian pastries).
Why do I like it here then? Well, I have no idea. I always know why I don’t like something, but never why I like something. Go figure.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact London is more fun. London doesn’t take itself too seriously. London has more parks than most cities. OK, I have no idea why I like it.  What about you? Why do you like London?

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Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London

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Everywhere I look, I see a man wearing red trousers. Red trousers are simply all over the place. Is this the latest trend in London? I really wonder. Where is this coming from? Did you get any warnings? I certainly didn’t.

I have to come clean here. I don’t own a pair of red trousers. Never have, and probably never will. I love the colour red and I have a red dress that I am mad about. That said, frankly, I don’t know what to think of red trousers, especially for men. It is very metrosexual, isn’t it? It doesn’t do it for me.
My Red Dress

OK, I will be honest here. I have never fancied a man wearing a red pair of trousers. I don’t know why. I think that a red shirt is OK, especially on tanned or darker skins. I love wearing red in summer. But not red trousers. It is too much.

Why is that? When did I become so judgmental about red trousers? Is it time for me to get some counseling to try to get to the bottom of my aversion to red trousers?

I don’t remember seeing red trousers this summer in France. Am I becoming colour blind? Are the red trousers the latest British thing? How come?

Maybe it is just a summer thing. We have an unusually lovely summer in London. Maybe that’s why men are wearing red trousers. Or maybe they are all becoming a bit too metrosexual to my taste…I might be more conservative than I thought. Who would have thought?

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Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London

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I met some friends for a long overdue catch-up a couple of days ago. After a few drinks, one of them explained to me with tears in his eyes that he had had his first girlfriend in France. Here we go again.  The French girlfriend, or its well-known alternative the summer fling in France, seems to be a mandatory stage of anyone’s emotional development over here. Don’t even think of being a grown-up if you haven’t experienced it. Not having done it will condemn you to a life of regrets and a bad reputation as a lover, no less.  I was shocked to read that some have even written books about it. The latest of such accounts seems to come from a seemingly respectable mother-of-two who experienced a complete sexual awakening in Paris (if you don’t believe me see here )

What did I miss? The only things I experienced in France were high taxes and a dysfunctional family. I must have done something wrong. Sigh. That said, I feel that my emotional development is complete. Phew. Crisis adverted!

Can someone tell me why my friends have to go to France to experience such awakenings? I simply don’t get it. Is it because, according to them, all things a bit dirty are French? What is it that makes them freer in France or with a French partner? Why can’t they experience such epiphanies in the comfort of their own country? I think that they have fallen victims to the myth that French are more liberated. Years and years of cliches and books telling them all sorts of non-sense about ‘the French’ must have taken their toll. They ended up believing everything they read. What is wrong with them? They are supposed to be an intelligent bunch of people.

Because I am French, my friend ended up telling me everything about his love life and I didn’t know how to stop him. I just nodded. What else could I do? There was no point in telling him that I don’t believe in all the clichés.  It would be a little bit like telling my little one that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, right? That said, there is only so much rubbish I can take. After the start of a graphic description of one of their encounter, I told him that I badly needed the loo and left. Cliches might go wrong but some tricks never do, right?
Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London

Posted by / Category London /

I am having a wonderful time in London with my friend Nisha, doing things that I normally don’t have the time or simply the opportunity to do. She took me to the Ivy club to meet one of her friends and after one of their ‘Twinkle’ cocktails I felt properly sloshed. What can I say, I am not getting any younger…I barely drink these days. As some of my friends tell me, that’s not very French. There was a guy near the lift that was totally made of glass (the lift, not the guy, obviously) who was trying to calm down his girlfriend Jules on the phone. We had to pretend that we couldn’t hear anything when we could follow the whole conversation. The thing is, you are not allowed to speak on the phone in the club. The poor guy had no choice but to talk in the staircase, I suppose. Jules was indeed very angry, I can tell you.
We had to walk to our restaurant but were feeling a tiny bit tired and disorientated. Help was at hand. Dan the Rickshaw man found us and gave us a lovely ride around the small streets of Mayfair. Nisha was very surprised to see a rickshaw in the middle of London. The world is a global village now. Nisha couldn’t believe it. It was also my first time in a rickshaw in London and it felt great. We arrived at our restaurant, Sketch, in style, and had a lovely dinner. 
It feels really good to go out and have fun. I should definitively do it more often. I am becoming far too reasonable.
Muriel – A French Yummy Mummy In London