A tale of my cities

Between the two you can get lost. Twice. Or find yourself – whichever comes first.

Come to Paris for the wine and leave with he macarons. Come to London for the Thames and leave chased by gin-infused memories.

Gorgeous spring time mornings, crisp and bright. Sickly sweet summers in the spotless sunshine. Rainy autumnal streets reinventing the city. Chilly winter evenings, dark and glorious.

Sometimes London has that much awaited hot summer, bathing in sunshine and smelling of tonic and lime. Sometimes Paris awakens in the rain pouring down the Notre Dame. Sometimes promises are made in the tiniest of streets and hands are held in the shadows, but kisses are always out in front of the tower. Its glorious figure tearing up the skies and taking over the landscape, defining the city and your romance.

London can be icy in January and boiling in September. It can surprise you with snow in April and sunshine in October. It can seduce you with its parks, its lush pub gardens, its charming smile of a bridge separating you from the other side.

Paris is always a promise, London – a concept. One is the bread, the other – the butter. You can live in both or maybe neither; when you are in one you think of the other. Never ending longing for a place pretty as a picture…or unattainable as a dream. Like a fickle mistress always running between two lovers, always loving one and desiring the other.

A love affair like that can go on for ever. Why shouldn’t it.

Notre Dame in the rain

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