Find your inner A**hole, mine is in Paris!

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By: Miss Delish

“I don’t mind if it’s a little late”, said my editor and I breathed a sigh of relief. She really is very good with her flexible due dates, but I was still none the wiser as to what I was going to tell you in my first little tattle for 2013. I have spent the Christmas period gallivanting around Europe, so therefore I have zero gossip or local hap hazards to report. Further to that, 2013’s first Wednesday night dinner with my friends consisted of tales from other states- it seems most had ventured away from St Kilda until work required our presence. As we sat around the summer outside tables at Phamish and devoured the pizza menu, it got me thinking that as much as it’s nice to come home -it’s also necessary to get away at times and remember the world is a large place.

The last Pizza I had eaten was ten days before, in a very small Spanish owned Canary Island called La Gomera. It was there I had nearly argued with a waitress about the ridiculous amount of food that was being served at every restaurant on the island and begged her not to overflow our table tonight. Some places we visit really make you feel good and bad at the same time. Every little Spanish restaurant or café in the Canary Islands serve your meal of choice with outrageous amounts of bread, bowls of potatoes, extra salads and truly monstrous triple shots of alcohol in your drinks. When the bill comes, two things happen- 1.you are shocked at the feeble amount you have been charged, particularly if you have had three drinks over dinner and you know damn well the servings per drink are triple the size you would get in any country where alcohol is taxed heavily (so you can’t help smiling) and 2. You feel as though you have wasted a ridiculous amount of food and worse, you know the person who handed you the bill is being paid an even less feeble amount than you want to imagine. If it wasn’t for the magnificent scenery and mild climate all year round and the fact that life for those who live on the sleepy island seems Smillie, one could feel a little sheepish.

France, on the other hand, had the opposite effect on me. Total arrogance and looks of distain are on display for all to see. Set amongst such historical architectural grandeur, fashion aplenty, the home of my beloved liquid gold and food to die for, this town really brought out the inner asshole in me (I’m not ashamed to say it – it’s in every one of us). I spent a week in the heart of Paris, walking, watching and filling my gob with bread, cheese and champagne. Thank God. Champagne for lunch and dinner… every menu, be it just a café, had a spectacular list of bottles to wet your whistle. Why wouldn’t it be in its native country? I was in heaven. What struck me most though was the attitude. Everyone is perfectly groomed and fashioned for a photo shoot and when something doesn’t please them, they tell the world. I watched a full scale argument between a restaurateur and a supplier burst onto a busy street in front of a crowd, packed with magnificent swear words and sarcasm screamed in French “agh Merde…S’il vous plait Monsieur…..Vous et un c…” ooh it was deliciously nasty and ever so sweet at the same time. The patrons giggled smugly whilst listening to the exchange and I watched them in delight from my prime position under my heater in the enclosed conservatory of the restaurant where I sipped my glass of bubbly and smoked away. Dare I say it, but HOW CIVILISED? I am converted! Champagne for no reason, smoking in doors, waiters who answer you “No!” and walk away with out a second glance (if they are no longer doing breakfast when you ask them at 12.30 in the afternoon), women who eat carbs all day and no one is fat and shop assistants who outright refuse to take the dress out of the window for you to try on if they don’t think it will fit you (yes, that really happened….asshole). Yes, yes- it was with a heavy heart that I left Paris.

Back at Phamish around the table, the conversation eventually swung back from holiday tales to everyday topics- work, love lives and events to come. St Kilda Fest is the next thing on the agenda. There is something comforting in the fact that you may have grown a little, learned a little, strayed a little, but some things are constant. Bit like St Kilda- it never really changes too much, well, not today anyway.

See you in the village.

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