I warned you a few newsletters ago that we were arriving in the danger zone. And here it is, bursting in without warning, tired of having waited 9 months for its placid snout to come out again (you've got it, I hope!). I'm talking about the season that sparkles and moves, that turns everything into a beautiful bouquet of parsley. I'm talking about spring, of course. Holy spring.

I don't need to go back over the sensations it gives me. Instead, I'd like to tell you about a rather funny story that happened to me when I went to England for the first time. Alone, in Leeds. A city north of Manchester. And I had to pinch myself to believe it, because for me there was nothing north of Manchester.

Once there, I was placed with a large family. The parents were adorable. And so were the children, all younger than me. I was 13 at the time. I rarely saw the father of the family, who spent part of his time at the pub down the street. He never drank there anymore, as he was suffering from a severe form of hepatitis. But he liked to spend his time there playing darts and chatting with his mates. 

He'd sometimes take me there to familiarize myself with that thick Nordic accent. I didn't understand a word of it, and even had the feeling they were talking German to me. But it was rewarding, and I became a pro at the Amazon Hunt pinball machine. It's far from my favorite, but the other one kept breaking down. Apart from my jaunts to the pub, I was taking a reinforced English course, as my parents were convinced that English would become a necessity in the future. No English, no job, and even less so in import-export, where the money is made. But I didn't care about that.

I dreamed of kissing my first boy. And here it was perfect, far from the gaze of my father, who would have stopped me in Paris. There was one who caught my eye and whom I looked at in the corner. And against all odds, as I was eating the last of my Raiders, I was called by a young girl in uniform. Summoned to follow her by a hedge formed by other students, there was this boy at the end. I thought he was as cute as a biscuit. His hair was like a brush and his nose was like a trumpet. He was the perfect Paul Young look-alike at a time when Paul Young was a Top 50 hit. I swear, the little studs. It was amazing. 

The Billy in question was very engaging and dreamed of making out with me, but I was innocent. I was looking for love and a kiss on the lips at most. So after several days of dating and my refusals, he finally stood me up on our way to see the latest James Bond film starring Roger Moore. I was proud to have seen the film before anyone else in France, but sad to have been dumped like a common James Bond girl in the pre-generics. That's it, that's the end of my little story. I'll let you get back to business as usual, without forgetting to give you a big hug. 

Here it is: