Revolutionaries and beheading aside, I want to be Marie Antoinette sooo much. I'd never say that to a French person because they would probably spear me, but watching the (supposedly historically inaccurate but who cares) Sofia Coppola film makes me so jealous. That is my perfect life- parties, cake, spending, champagne and a little country side retreat complete with perfumed lambs grazing in the wild flower meadows. Obviously it wouldn't be very cool to live like that without helping out the peasants, but I reckon I could balance out all the extravagance by buying a Big Issue or two...
Watching Marie Antoinette made me long to surround myself with pyramids of prettily-coloured macaroons, so this morning I went to the bakery. I had to remind myself I'm not actually a queen so I bought four instead of forty but it was hard to restrain myself.
Apparently the best way to enjoy macaroons is with a glass of champagne and as I was eating mine this morning I suddenly realised that the only thing standing between me and this dream is a ten minute walk to the shop...
So there I was, lounging away eating macaroons and making plans for champagne and cake consumption when a knock at the door put an abrupt stop to my fantasy. At first I ignored it but then whoever it was had a key and they started opening the door. I leapt up and opened it myself to find a man standing in the corridor with a long syringe. After establishing that I was English (all I said was 'Bonjour' which just goes to show how awful my accent is) he asked me “Have you seen any cockroaches?”
“No...” I said suspiciously.
“O.k!” he said breezily, “I put this in your kitchen and bathroom.”
(By kitchen and bathroom he meant the alcove containing my wash basin and hot plate- I have neglected to mention that while my new abode is 'ghetto fabulous', the emphasis is very much on the first word of that description. I’m all for shabby-chic but the practice of washing my face and my dishes in the same sink has taken some getting used to. )
While Cockroach Man fanny-ed about with his syringe, I stood there in my mismatched pyjamas eating macaroons out of a brown paper bag. At that point I decided that if the opportunity ever presents itself; I would definitely agree to swap lives with Marie Antoinette. I'd have a few years of running amok in beautiful clothes, watching the sun rise at Versaille whilst drinking champagne (that's my favourite bit of the film) and then when my brutal end would come, as the enraged crowd cheered and I was forced to kneel down on the bloodstained wooden platform, I’d place my neck on the block, close my eyes and think happily of all the cake and champagne I'd consumed.