“Mais, tu es française ou anglaise?” This is one of my favourite questions. Although my English heritage is obvious well before I can open my mouth, much of my heart will always be, in the immortalised words of Bonnie Tyler, “lost in France, in love”.
After ten magical days, I boarded a plane bound for home. My red fleece coat was balled up in my suitcase, replaced by black cigarette pants and pumps. I didn’t want to simply be recognized as someone who had travelled to France; I wanted to be mistaken for someone who was French.