For nightlife, go to Paris rather than London

I wanted to hate this stay. A few weeks before I arrived in Paris, I kept hearing that the city was a hole full of quick-handed pickpockets hidden among mountains of garbage. I warned against tap water. French ficus.

Being British in the spiritual sense – meaning beyond the phlegm “be quiet” and embroidered cushionsUnion Jack -, above all it means: hating the French. And how can you not hate them? The Undrinkable serversBidets, frogs and snails, willful incompetence in managing the side of the tunnel, Kiss on both cheekstheirs Cheese obsession, the appalling corruption of agricultural subsidies. The French aren’t weird, they’re cheeky. My stay in France was subject to only one rule: not to praise anything. There is no question of making them win.

Know how to live

Still, I have to admit one thing: it didn’t take me long to understand that everything in French is absolutely not. Disgusting*. As I went to restaurants and strolled along the boulevards, I began to think to myself that the French were not such bad traitors. And, as much as it pains me to say it, The