A Shropshire lad in Paris.


At the bottom of my heart, I am a Shropshire lad. Though never having been to Shropshire, I think this status of a man describes best the mind of someone who gets excited about nature in spring, about daffodils and crocuses, lilacs and violets, and who is going “Oh, look, a bumble bee!”, when he sees one cruising on Avenue Montaigne, totally forgetting about shouting out “Oh, look, there’s Inès de la Fressange!” first – or worse – at all.
Where ever I went in Paris this late March, there were little squares, backyards, museums and parks, filled with proof of spring that made me do just that, forget about all the things I came to see in the first place, but then again, how could I not get distracted? After all, I am a Shropshire lad.


3 thoughts on “A Shropshire lad in Paris.

  1. The idea of you as a Shropshire lad is very close to my heart as my mother’s family all came from this area. I have never been there myself but have a special fondness whenever I hear it mentioned. These photos are exceptionally beautiful – a moveable feast for the eyes – and you make us realise that the little things around us are just as important as the buildings and fashions.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love the idea of you as a Shropshire lad and am mightily impressed that you know of A E Houseman’s sequence of poems.
    Nestled next to my bed (partially hidden by the Collected Short Stories of Saki) in the pile of ‘current’ books is a new(ish) biography of the man. I look forward to reading it. However my thoughts of you, whom I’ve never met, don’t exactly coincide with my thoughts of the fictional Shropshire Lad. Perhaps I will see both you and him in a different light.
    The Champs Elysées seem wildly distant from the Elysian Fields of England, charming though it is to think of you (or he) wild and free shouting with glee at a bee or a tree in gay Paree.

    Liked by 2 people

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