We took the St Joseph to dinner for cheese. For the fish, we took a Macon-Villages and a Bourgoyne Blanc. The party was a delightful success, as were the Fine Wine gifts for the Birthday Girl.
The St Joseph raised eyebrows; because it was re-imported from England, or ‘Tesco,’ and also because it was so bloody good. Ha! You guys still need to learn from me about wine you! If it tastes good it's good! Even if it's not French or tainted by export to England!
After rising at 11 this morning (my other half likes to sleep through at least 50% of his life), we had a lite brunch and went for a walk in Montmartre in the 18th Arr. What a delight. Scene of Edith Piafs teenage years and discovery, no sooner had we exited the Metro than we were confronted by a four-piece Dixie-land Jazz band singing and playing impromptu to an audience of Sunday Strollers what I can only describe as ‘happy’ songs. ¾ from the US and ¼ from France, they held the audience in rapture and sold dozens of CDs at EU15 a pop... I bought 2 and took a business card, telling them they should be playi8ng Ronnie Scotts club – and they should. Check them out on MySpace, they are the ‘Buddy DiCollette Band.’ They brightened up scores of us on a Lazy Sunday Afternoon.
Our walk around the winding streets of Montmartre took us to a host of beautiful Cul-de-Sacs, Secret Gardens and fairytale French cobbled streets. Using my partners camera, I did my best to travel back in time through black and white and Sepia toned pictures before we reached the tourist clogged area where we relented, sat outside and had Crepes and Red Wine. A delightful way to spend a day.
As we wandered past the beautiful white dome of Sacre Coeur, we were some-what annoyed to have our peace pierced by the haunting beat of Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’. Ironic to hear a dead man singing about a dead woman... The focus of the ever present crowd of onlookers was a troop of four ridiculous black youths, kinda dancing at the most average of levels and spinning on their heads while they bayed for applause – white glove and one trouser leg pulled up in imitation of their mannequin idol. Life does sometimes imitate art and I dearly would have loved to re-arrange their faces – like Michael – for disturbing my peace in Paris.
