8 November 2013


You wouldn’t believe the people you meet when walking the streets of Paris. Here we were, my daughter and I, minding our own business in the Bar du Marché over a cup of coffee, when a woman walked in.

She looked vaguely familiar. Wearing a pair of dark shades and the latest fashion colour in earphones, she was madly nodding her head to an unheard beat. It must have been something fab she was listening to, because she kept smiling in a sort of transcendental way.

Then the waiter came and asked her what she wanted, but she obviously couldn’t hear a thing.
‘Que?’ she said dreamily, which I took to be Italian for ‘what?’

The waiter, no doubt used to the endless flow of foreign visitors, made a gesture with his hand that suggested a drink. Well, he shouldn’t have done that, because the Smiling Lady became inordinately irate. She knocked off the waiter’s cap, took a carafe of water from a table, poured it over his head and walked out again. We could see that she was smiling again.

Comments are closed.