Sunday 3 December 2017

All That Glitters by Theresa Sainsbury

Theresa is an avid reader and writer, currently working as a private tutor in Richmond Upon Thames, specialising in hauling teenagers through the demands of GCSE English Language and Literature. She has two children of her own who both prefer Science to the Arts and her husband programmes computers and will only read books with a number in the title! Theresa writes every day and enjoys every single second of it.

I remember that Christmas so well. It was my first year in France and I was lonely. Desperately lonely. The language barrier, the strange school system, the frostiness of the French people and the general misery of being a spotty, misunderstood teenager, all seemed to conspire against me 
My salvation was the festive season itself. Shop windows at Christmas promise so much. Their well decorated stage sets remind me of the possibilities of the season. Santa Claus, presents, trees, baubles, glamour and glitter.
But I ignored the big department stores, eschewing their corporate, bland, over coiffured displays, preferring the intimacy and quirkiness of the independent shop owner, who tends to curate a more eclectic look.
I spotted the item purely by chance, deviating from my regular journey home, running an errand for my mother, spinning out the walk so I could daydream, invent new stories, think of ideas in my home tongue and take a rest from the complexities of my new language.
The labyrinth of narrow streets off the main thoroughfare are my favourite routes. And Paris delights in these narrow winding boulevards as much as it does with the small specialist shops that inhabit them. The city seems able to support this more dedicated purveyor of gifts, where time stands still and as the shop door opens the customer is treated not only to a visual feast but the knowledge that they are in the safe hands of an expert.
I’d passed Maison du Stylo before, but it had been raining, one of those heavy, biting winter showers that chases all but the hardiest off the streets, so I had rushed past, making a mental note of the location and promising myself a return trip.


Post a Comment

Search This Blog


Bridge House Publishing © 2010

Blogger Templates by Splashy Templates