It is no secret that I was not over the moon at the thought of moving to Paris. I was no less displeased to actually be here – a fraud, living someone else’s (many others’) dream. Mr S was a little peeved about this as there wasn’t much he could do about it and, after all, Paris is in France and being French, France is the best country in the world: rejecting Paris was rejecting the best country in the world, his family, his heritage..all the way to his toenails. Ok, I exaggerate, but it certainly seemed like that.

It’s getting better, as logically I knew it would – it had to. Yesterday afternoon I was organising my photos from the past few months. It was nice (can you hear the heavy sarcasm) to come across photos like this:

and then as I got closer to the present, they were starkly contrasted with this:

What? You can’t see the top of the tower? Aaah, that’s because there’s freezing fog.

You think I’m kidding about the weather? That almost-vertical (my bad angle, not a rival to the Leaning Tower of Pisa) structure in the background is the Eiffel Tower. The spots just in front of the lense: sleet.

The same day that we moved from Cairo to Paris, some good friends of our moved from Cairo to Mozambique. I was insanely jealous, a radioactively glowing green. That has changed a bit as the months wear on, especially as the working spouse’s job involves outsmarting pirates. ‘Nuff said!

This change is faltering a little now, however, after talking with them on Skype yesterday. Mr S and I were wearing about three layers of clothes. She was in a sleeveless top and he was topless.

Later on at dinner, Mr S said to me, “Do you think you could change the calibration of your webcam? It makes us look white.”

“We are white.”

“No, I mean it makes us look really white, it’s not normal.”

“We are really white – we’re living in Paris in the Winter.”

Might it be, just perhaps, Mr S is realising that while Paris, and by extension France, has everything*, it does not have the best weather?

*I have to admit, as evidenced by my rapidly disappearing waist, that France’s food is indeed, excellent.

I lived in Egypt for 8 years straight. Before that, I was there the two prior years for extended periods with the rest of the time spent as a student in Scotland. In total, that is 10 summers, 9 autumns and winters and 8 springs in Egypt. Of course, “Winter” is a rather loose term in Egypt. It certainly gets cold, exacerbated by the fact that Egyptian homes are built only for hot weather, but snow, horizontal rain, sleet, sub-zero temperatures and weeks of grey skies are not a feature of the “Winter”.

And now I’m here. In Paris. The city of Style.

Before leaving Egypt, I decided that altruism would be a nice parting gift and gave away all my clothes, other than evening gowns, wedding dress, two t-shirts and two winter coats – neither of which I liked).

My name is Trailing Grouse and I’ve been wearing the same grey marl jumper since early October. And the same pair of jeans, changed with one of two crappy (read drawstring AND elasticated waist) trousers that sag in the bum after the first wearing. And one of three t-shirts (two came from Cairo, one I bought here).

My name is Trailing Grouse and last week I found myself wearing sky blue velour trackie bottoms (10 years old) with a fuschia fleece (bought exclusively for skiing two years ago). I hasten to say that I did not leave the house in this fashion hideosity.

My name is Trailing Grouse and until a week ago, I had not had a haircut since late June 2009.

My name is Trailing Grouse and I can’t watch TV with my glasses on because the lenses are so scratched that I can’t actually see it.

My name is Trailing Grouse and I feel completely overwhelmed by all the brands, types of clothes and products in general, so much so, that I have not been shopping.

My name is Trailing Grouse and I’m really not kidding about these shameful facts.

And so it is, after reading the delightful Peonies that I have decided to join Operation Stop Being a Minger (in comparison to her, my reasons for joining are pretty crap – when has apathy been a good excuse –  but somehow, I’ve ended up at a similar point!).