So we read The Alchemist (a bit) and had some issues with The Witch of Portobello (a lot), but when Mon Oncle is showing at the beautifully, crumbly, sun-damaged Cinema Rif in Tangier, on the very day we roll up, parched and hungry – mere days after blogging about it – we think we believe in some kind of destiny…we’re not sure what kind…but still…
No Talitha Getty, no opium, no kaftans, no sex parties, and most certainly no Karl. But still the most beautiful fall in Marrakesh.
We were turned onto Jacques Tati’s film, Mon Oncle, for the first time today. We think we’ve finally found the house that fulfills all our modernist fantasies – if there’s anywhere you can eat lemon soup and wear white, it’s here.
And don’t even get us started on the woman in red.
Massive accessory envy.
Monday: Lunch with Karl – I can’t finish all my lemon soup so we share, and talk about the best way to kill an Eskimo. I don’t need carbs when I’m with Karl.
Tuesday: Madame Bruni calls – always got trouble with the garçon that one. I tell her what I tell all my girls – get some Dior, write some folk songs and chill the eff out.
Wednesday: I call in to Le Marais, and drink Remy Martin at La Perle and smoke at least neuf Gauloises before I realise I have to rush off for a fitting on Avenue Montaigne. Monsieur Galliano hates me to be late.
Thursday: Life is fabulous and exhausting today. I wear three new dresses and change my shoes twice. I smoke cigarettes on the terrace of the George V and drink aperitifs with Pierre and Jean-Luc. I dance at Le Baron, kiss pretty garçons and all before midnight. Jean-Luc wants to take me home…it’s so soon…and then I ask myself, what would Karl do in this situation?
Friday: Jean-Luc leaves before dawn and a day of pleasantness and relaxation ensues. I drink eau mineral and think only nice thoughts; Sonia Rykiel stripes, Le Tour Eiffel, new shoes and pain aux raisins. Later, I skip through the flea market at Vanves, cigarette in-hand, buying pretty embroideries and swathes of toile de jouy.
Saturday: I wake early and take petit dejeuner on the bank of the river – trois Gauloises, and a café noir. I wear a beret and a book and my black dress with the black bow and I channel Chanel.
Sunday: A morning spent brushing the cat is a morning well spent. Afternoon tea is spent at Laduree where Karl and I eat only lilac food. Jean-Luc calls, twice, but I decline to answer. This girl is busy.
