No Boys Allowed

After going to the Culture Rapide night last night with a very tolerant friend who waited an hour for me to turn up (way beyond fashionably late), and luckily before any of the acts started- although apparently I had missed a questionable opening MC- I was inspired by the underground anglophone poetry scene that’s going on…so much so that I rashly promised to read myself the next time *gulp*. I am also taking advantage of another slow day to hunt down the blogs of Rapide Regulars, nosing out their habits and hang-outs…although admittedly it does feel a little bit like stalking.

So after this productive hour of snooping around the blogosphere I luck out on a Irish Parisian lady (as far as I can tell) and find this….

Crammed with places to shop, drink, dance and sleep (in that order), I’m especially enjoying the Arts and Culture section, as well as the posts on flea markets and antique shops. Once again I am prompted to go to the Village Saint Paul, if I can ever find it again, disappearing each time like platform 9 and 3/4 (did I just Potterise my blogpost?), sinking into the Bermuda triangle of streets that is just below the Rue de Rivoli.

Mind made up, team of hot hit-girls assembled, this weekend I am storming the Village Saint Paul when it leasts expects it, and not leaving until I have aquired some cultural connaissance. No boys allowed.



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