The City of Love

Paris is a city for lovers. There's no two ways about it, it's officially the most romantic city. Ever. Stepping off the Eurostar 8 months ago young, free and single I made a silent promise to myself that I'd get myself a French boyfriend, improve my French and spend evenings wandering around Paris with my new beau. Well, it didn't exactly turn out like that, but I've had enough amorous encounters to realise that the men outre-manche are slightly different to our boys in Britain.

For a start, they're incredibly clingy. Giving someone your number in a club is practically like signing the marriage papers right there and then. They'll come up to you multiple times throughout the night to check that you've still got their number, maybe they should take yours as well and maybe they should drop call you just so we've both definitely got each others' numbers. 

They'll then follow you around asking if you'd like to "try the French kiss" with a smug wink, to which you reply with an awkward "hahah I need to find my friends hahah bye!" and praise the heavens above that Apple included a block feature in iOS7.

To truly give you an idea, here are some of the best texts I've received over the past 8 months...

"maybe if I go through all the different ways of saying how are you she'll reply..?"

Appreciating the English translation here...

The one that was obsessed with the fact that it was shocking I drank Diet Coke... but also ate Nutella. Even though I hadn't brought up Diet Coke... or Nutella.

No words

No words #2

The one who thought he was some kind of message subscription service

One of my problems with French men, and to be honest it really is my fault for being nearly 5ft9, is that they're incredibly short. The day after one of my first nights out the backs of my legs really ached. After a few nights out I worked out that it was because I spent most of the night out in a kind of squat so that I wouldn't be walking around emasculating half the dancefloor. Fortunately I don't have the ache so much anymore, as I think my legs have got used to it!

Shout out to the Eiffel Tower keyring stealer for ruining my photo with his Lidl bag

Obviously I had to include a photo of my friend Eiffel, especially considering it was in front of it that I learnt how to say "it's not you, it's me" on a rainy Monday evening in November when my first French (kind of) boyfriend dumped me. He was a great laugh but unfortunately it just wasn't meant to be, but he definitely taught me a lot about French men.

I've had a great time going out on dates here in Paris, if only to practice my French for an hour or two over a glass of wine, but I have to say I think I prefer the simplicity of an English man.

Anyways, I best be off, because well... I'm going on a date!

Sophie