Dearest Harold

Its 10:30am in Paris. I’m currently sitting in bed, the balcony door open to provide a view of the city streets below, and I’m not as hungover as I thought. Quite the opposite, actually, as I find my thoughts in total clarity. 

You’ll be pleased to know that on my first day of this solo holiday, I made some friends. It’s taken me 22 years to find a group of people I reluctantly call my mates back home, but in Paris, it took a few hours. Funny how open you can be when your environment changes, isn’t it?

I met them whilst going for a few beers in Les Marais. I was in the smoking shelter, so no change there, thinking that I am either incredibly sad to be here alone or incredibly brave. My conclusion was that I was both, and that was okay by me. 

They were stood next to me and were discussing the most iconic moments of Kat Slater, “I’m not a little bit of a slag, I’m a total slagggg” – you get the picture. naturally, I chuckled to myself, and one of them noticed me laughing and asked “you’re british you lad, arent ya”. Can you smell the scouse accent through the phone? I thought as much. He was with his friends Richard and Ryan, one was a yank and the other was from Yorkshire. Them pair, put together with the scouse, was like I was being fucked in the ear all night, but I digress. 

We soon became friends when my amazingly quick-witted self commented on Ged (the scousers) leather computer case, saying he had a lovely handbag and that it looks like Mrs Doubtfires purse if she was bent. It went on from there. 

What went from a laugh in the smoking area became 5 hours of drinking and getting to know each other. All three of them are in Paris for different reasons, yet all were as interesting as the next. One for work, one to study for a PhD. and one for the natural relaxation that comes with the Parisian lifestyle. I was in total admiration of their outlooks on life. I couldnt help but think, where am I going wrong, why am I so reluctant to be brave and make the move that I know will make me happiest? It’s now clear to me that this is what I want, so why haven’t I made the move? I face the same realisation whenever I visit, but I tell myself it’s the wrong decision every time I go home, and that its simply a delusional fantasy you read about in crap romance novels or see on TV.

I know I am unhappy back home, for more reasons than one, but whenever I’m here, the best word to describe it is ‘comfortable’. I am in awe of all three of those men I met last night, but Ged’s description of Paris was particularly poetic. It was an enlightening experience to see this beautiful city through not only my own eyes, but through the eyes of those who have lived here yet also originate from England. It filled me with confidence to know how well this move has worked for him, and gave me hope I could have something so similar. 

I was fond of Ged, there was something about him, and i’m still unsure as to what it is. For you reading, Harry, by which I’m sure you can relate, it is incredibly rare to find someone you instantly get on with, yet I did it off pure chance and over a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. 

I live in hope that when I return home on Monday evening, the decision to move to Paris comes back with me and doesn’t stay forgotten, as it has been for so long. It is a dream each time I visit. 

I am due to have a cheese board with Ged overlooking the city in a couple of hours so im signing off.

Au revoir, mon amis.

Jack x