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My first effort was disastrous, a creepy middle-aged so-called businessman who I went to see in his office and who wasted no time at all in making it horribly clear that there was rather more on his mind than just a bit of grammar and conversation. I managed to get out with my dignity pretty much intact, but it put me off trying that particular line of work for a while!

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Meanwhile I went and found the man of my dreams, a gorgeous guy called Luc - tall, long dark hair, blue eyes, sensitive, intelligent, funny, everything you could wish for - and of course he turned out to be totally one hundred per cent gay and although we really got on well together he just wasn't interested at all in anything physical, so that was another disappointment.

 


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My Parisian hat-trick of crap experiences with men came with the lover of my next private student. This one (the student) was a woman called Danielle, who lived in a lovely flat in a wealthy part of town. Her husband was a businessman with a talent for making money that was bettered only by his talent for never being at home. She was tall, thirty-something, and very, very, attractive.

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Her talents were mostly for blowing his money as fast as he could make it. My job was to give her an hour's conversation twice a week, for a payment that was no doubt small change to her but made quite a bit of difference to an impoverished student like me.

 


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It didn't take me long to figure out why Danielle wanted English lessons. She was bored to tears. No kids, no job, no money worries, and a husband who was either away on business or came home so late he might just as well still have been away on business. Not that I minded. She wasn't the world's most exciting person but she was nice enough and I suppose that for her our part-English part-French conversations were a break from her constant round of beauty salons, fitness clubs, shopping, lunches, galleries, and all the rest of it. Which, of course, included a lover.

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She loved talking about him, but he turned out to be a bit of a parody, actually, a hairy-chested macho imbecile with no buttons on his shirt and a mobile phone that kept going off at the most ridiculous moments. The first time we met he propositioned me the minute she was out of the door, and he wasn't exactly subtle about it. I wasn't very subtle in my reply, either, and from then on we would no doubt have been at daggers drawn if we'd met again, but I think Danielle probably knew him pretty well and made sure our paths didn't cross.

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I'm not sure why, but for some reason she took quite a shine to me and took it upon herself to introduce me to various aspects of Paris life that I wouldn't have come across otherwise. Some of them were pretty interesting, such as one or two wonderful restaurants she took me to and some out-of-the-way places I'd never have stumbled across in a million years otherwise, but one of the real low points was the afternoon parties her group of female friends used to have, which were basically just rampant with bitchiness, jealousy, gossip and boredom.

 


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The format was pretty much the same at all of these, about a dozen of these very glamorous but generally nasty women being civilly unpleasant to and about each other but scared not to turn up for fear of what might go on during their absence, and after I'd been to two or three of them I was fed up to the back teeth and was all set to stop going, but Danielle was hosting the next one and I didn't want to insult her and so I let her persuade me. And I'm glad I did, too, because that's where I met Natalie.

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