Têtu : le magazine des gay et lesbiennes

It’s official! My hibernation is over!!! No more hiding inside with the cats, watching trashy television, held prisoner by the frosty climes. Spring has sprung and I’m once more bursting with energy and can’t wait to take on the world. Well it’s not like I’ve been a total hermit or anything, but it’s amazing what one can justify to oneself in order to not have to venture outside, promising that you will go out tomorrow just after finishing that Revenge marathon – or any other suitable trashy American soap.

But no more!!! This time of year is always associated with the renewal and rebirth. For me it will mean actually getting to the gym and dance class and working hard towards that beach ready form. It sometimes can come as quite a shock when the temperatures climb and one ditches those ever so forgiving winter coats only to realise that one’s winter body is quite a bit removed from that summer body you imagined you already had.

It’s also a time of change and for us that means moving. Don’t fret I shan’t be abandoning my favourite arrondissement  – the fabulously bobo 10^th – as our new love nest is a quick ten minute sashay up the canal. Not that we don’t love our current abode, indeed it has seen us through many loving years, it’s just that with our growing family – the cats are getting so big – not to mention our seemingly constant stream of guests, we thought it high time to relocate to more spacious surrounds.  Located in a charming Haussman building – could we be more Parisian – it has everything we could ever need. There’s even a rather large cave in which to house our growing wine collection and possibly a sling – what’s a home without a sex dungeon after all?

Anyway, all this space means that I finally get a dedicated workspace, so while I may still spend as much time at home one hopes that I shall actually work as opposed lazing about being a lad of leisure. The change has also inspired my creative juices and you shall be able to look forward to even more of my madcap musings – seeing that I’ve been a bit tardy with my posting of late.

Speaking of which, due to recent changes at Têtu it’s uncertain whether or not Skippy Sur Seine shall continue on this site.  But never fear, no need to fret, cry and throw yourself on the floor in hysterics. I shall soon be launching my very own blog site – www.jimify.me – where you will have access to more Jimi than you can possibly handle. Not only will you still get to experience the snippets of my everyday life but you shall also be able to enjoying my musings on a whole range of subjects, from my pet peeves to travel tips and of course my best tips for getting up to mischief all about the globe.

The best course of action for those not wanting to miss a word of my addictively amusing anecdotes is to join my facebook fanpage, so that you’ll be informed when my new site is up and ready for your perusal. I wouldn’t want to deprive my loyal readers after all.  If this does turn out to be my final post here then I would just like to say thank you to all of you sweet people that clicked on to see what I was nattering on about from week to week – I love you all !!!

Till next time my dears.

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.

The votes are in! The people have spoken and the winner of my little competition is the mouth-watering Matty!!! Now, as promised, I shall present a sordid expose on this delightful chap for your amusement.

Matty by Petez Imagez

He was born and bred in the Southern Hemisphere, New Zealand to be exact, although that’s practically Australia, even if they do speak with a funny accent  – not to mention their reputation for having an unsavoury fondness for their sheep. Quite a man of the world, he has travelled rather extensively and lived in a few far-flung locales – Sydney, London and all about Brazil. He is quite adept at foreign tongues and even speaks Portuguese.  Speaking of tongues, apparently he is in the possession of a rather long and skilful one – perfect to getting to all those hard to reach places.

For those desperate to know, he has indeed visited gay Paris and had a wonderfully pleasant stay each and every time. Personally, I can happily testify that the French are quite proficient at keeping exotic strangers thoroughly entertained.

Not only is he extremely pleasing on the eye, he is an altogether lovely guy; and yes dear readers he is single – although for the life of me I can’t imagine why. For those wanting to know how he manages to keep in such good shape, it does involve a great deal of time and dedication – 90-minute sessions, six days a week to be precise. Although he does claim to still eat desserts, but frankly I’ve never seen any proof. We’ve been friends for quite some time now, unsurprisingly given our mutual love of fitness – well the love of getting all hot and sweaty in a room full of buff men at any rate.

Matty by Petez Imagez.

I couldn’t tell you exactly when we met, not wanting to reveal either of our ages, but let’s just say that it was this century. That being said he has been called a DILF on more than one occasion!

This strapping sir certainly loves a spot of dancing. Indeed, I have managed to party with him on at least three different continents. As one can well imagine he is never wanting for attention at such events, but I can neither confirm nor deny that he may have been seduced by a lad quite a few years younger than he at last month’s Mardi Gras in Sydney.

Given his tendency to rip his clothes off at the merest hint of a camera, it should come as no surprise that he has had plenty of stalkers – including personal trainers, porn stars and a South American soap actor! Never fear he still has plenty of room for others, even if he does have an excessively long list of unanswered facebook friend requests from potential stalkers. In fact he told me quite emphatically that he’d love a few more obsessed fans – or was that absolutely didn’t want? I don’t recall exactly, although seeing he keeps prancing about topless I think it’s probably the former. He maintains that he owned a shirt back in 2009, but I think such claims are dubious at best.

Speaking of stalking, he has authorised me to give out his instagram id - #mattybman. Strangely, he seemed more than a little skittish about my broadcasting his home address and phone number, however, I can tell you that he currently resides in Sydney and that if you hang out at the beach or gym long enough he’s bound to show up.

If that seems like too far to go he recently won a trip to London – predictably based on a photo of him practically naked – so best book your Eurostar tickets now!!!

There you have it gentle readers! If any of you have questions for Matty then please feel free to ask away in the comments below.

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.

I’m sure that it comes as no surprise to my long time readers that I have always been tireless in my efforts to search out tempting images of hot men to delight you  – all in the desperate hope that you may actually read my musings as well.  Either way I still get the hits and continue to look popular, so it’s a win for everybody really. This week I decided to do something a little different and instead of choosing random buff gentlemen from the wonderfully helpful Internet, I thought that I’d use my friends instead. What’s the point of having good-looking friends if you can’t exploit them after all?

Also to spice things up, I thought that I’d have you – my loyal audience – vote on your favourite model. The winner shall then feature in a special post revealing all his sordid secrets – well the ones he’ll let me tell at any rate.  Not to mention even more tantalising photos for your viewing pleasure. To vote for your desired boy, simply go to JIMIFY.ME and click away.

Defy by Alex Photopaint.

The first lad for your consideration is the delectable Defy, an old friend from Australia and one very talented boy. We’ve been quite close over the years; well ever since I had the rather difficult duty of oiling him up before each performance in a theatre piece we did together – a rather fun show with the occasional bit of gratuitous nudity…ah good times.  Today he’s quite the Burlesque entertainer with a delightfully twisted bent – certain to arouse all sorts of interest.

Matty by Petez Imagez

Our next contestant is the marvellous Matty, another friend from the land down under who has travelled and lived all about the globe, spreading the international love almost as much as I have. As well as looking good enough to eat, he is a thoroughly lovely chap and very, very friendly – as oh so many men can happily attest to.

Kingsley by Andrew Bowman.

Lastly, but in no way the least, is the kissable Kingsley. Far from being a shy wallflower, this strapping young man is rather willing to expose himself in all sorts of ways for the entertainment of all – adult model, nude butler and camera star to name but a few. Please feel free to give him a buzz if you require his services – customer satisfaction always guaranteed.

So there you have it, three strapping specimens of manhood eagerly awaiting your decision – now go show them some love at JIMIFY.ME.

For those of you who think you could easily beat my friends in such a competition then never fear, for a solution is at hand. In line with my giving nature I’d like to invite my fabulous followers out there to submit their own photos for consideration, with the best ones being featured in upcoming posts. Not only will it give me the chance to get to know my readers more intimately – what a rousing thought – but who knows where such exposure may lead.

For those wishing to enter, keep in mind I do run a respectable blog here and all entries must be in keeping with my usual standards of naughty and arousing but nothing too explicit. Of course if you wish to send me more revealing photos as well, then who am I to try and stop you?  Please email them to jimi@jimi.com.au if you wish to be included.

Vote wisely my dears!

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.

Camp! Fabulous! Wonderful!  What more can I say really? Liza Minnelli’s concert, last week at the Olympia, was simply amazing. Having never seen this wonderful living legend before, I practically jumped for joy when a friend offered me a spare ticket to see her perform.

A long held icon in the gay community – possibly a genetic trait considering the reverence afforded her mother, the magical Judy Garland – Liza certainly can entertain the masses. Granted, her voice may not be quite as strong as it once was but she is still more than capable of putting on one heck of a show. Honestly, she truly is an inspiration and I’m ever so glad is still with us; after all her illnesses, marriages and bouts of substance abuse  – it’s a miracle she can walk let alone sing and dance.

She wowed the crowd with her energy and the sheer theatricality of it all, whilst wearing one of her trademark, sequinned tops managing to make her sparkle almost as much as her personality. Unsurprisingly, the spectators contained quite a few gentlemen of a certain persuasion – although they mostly tended to be somewhat of an older generation.

Ms Minnelli ably engaged with her audience gabbing away in French – always endearing when a non-native speaker makes the effort. She also received quite a few standing ovations during the concert and was treated to the entire whole concert hall singing her Happy Birthday – albeit a few days in advance.

In return, long time fans were far from disappointed as she belt out all her signature tunes – ‘Life Is A Cabaret’, ‘Liza with a Z’ and ‘New York, New York’.

Speaking of which, my beloved and I are headed to the Big Apple for our summer holidays and would be ever so grateful for any tips on what to see/do/eat/drink/buy or play with whilst there. I’m somewhat of a New York virgin so any and all advice is more than welcome – especially anything concerning dens of iniquity.

Anyway, back to the show. For me, there were two stand-out moments of the evening. Firstly, was her moving rendition of ‘What Makes A Man A Man’ – highlighting a question that I believe a good deal of gay men have asked themselves at some point during their lives. I know myself that my own ‘masculinity’ has come into question at times – hard as that may be to imagine. My tendency to run around my house with a face mask while dancing around to Kylie songs probably doesn’t help the situation.

The second moment that really left a mark on me was with her finale, where she sang ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ a cappella, all alone on the stage after her musicians had departed. A vulnerable and compelling sight – I’m man enough to admit it dear reader, I did tear up ever so slightly.

Walking away I was left with a sense of wonderment at such a remarkable performer. Some of today’s ‘superstars’ could learn a thing or two – Britney I’m looking at you! Did any of my loyal readers see the spectacle? If so, what are your thoughts on the irrepressible Liza?

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.

I love snow! No mind that I’ve been in gay Paris for nearly six years, I still find it rather magical to live in a city where it snows. Indeed, the sight of waking up to find the world coated in such wonderful white stuff fills me up with an insane childlike glee. Everything just looks so much better with that fine powdery dusting – plus it makes up for it being so damn cold.

Apparently I’m not the only one affected in this way as I often see people excitingly taking pictures and videos, and spontaneously breaking into snowballs fights whenever there’s been a proper snowfall. It feels like the whole city casts off the jaded facade and regains its innocence for the briefest of moments – if only I could be made innocent again so easily.

I believe my wonderment comes from the enchantment of seeing snow in such an unexpected environment. Previously I had only ever encountered it on a trip to Mount Kosciuszko near the end of my schooling. It may surprise some of you to learn that it does indeed snow in Australia but is strictly limited to more mountainous terrain. So, while I adore playing in the snow at Megève I don’t have quite the same sense of excitement, as it seems perfectly normal for it to be there. Whereas in the city, it feels like a wonderful treat from the gods – I may possibly be on a hot chocolate sugar high while writing this.

Now I’ve always been a fan of Paris’ beauty but the snow manages to transform it into like something out of a fairytale. All the things that contribute to make the city uglier – cigarette butts, the stench of urine, homeless people – are covered up and Paris once again becomes perfectly pristine. Everyday objects take up on a pretty fantastical aspect when the footpaths and roads disappear; leaving random trees, benches and traffic lights popping out of the pristine white surface like some kind of modern day Narnia. Obviously this effect is much more convincing later at night, or earlier in the morning, when there are no people stomping about spoiling the illusion.

Granted it’s all cold and wet when you’re strolling around in it, but I absolutely love it – of course my wonder lessens the wetter I get. That aside, I still get rather excited each time I have my first snowy promenade of the season; watching the waves of snowflakes scurry about covering everything – including myself. The light dusting all over my clothes makes me feel like a delicious powdered doughnut – well my husband assures me that I’m edible at any rate.

Not to mention the delightful squelchy sound that compacted snow makes under your feet as you prance through the town – needless to say it doesn’t take much to amuse me.

That being said, my favourite part of the whole experience is coming home, shaking off the wonderful wet whiteness, making a big cup of hot chocolate and looking at the snowfall from inside the comfort of a cosy apartment.  It also helps having little portable furry heaters – my faithful kitties – to reheat one’s chilled bones.

Before I sign off, I must say a big thank you to all those wonderful people that liked my facebook fanpage – after my shameless plug last week  – I definitely felt the love. Remember groupies are always most welcome.

Keep warm my dears.

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.

It would be extremely remiss of me if I didn’t at least mention last week’s celebrated day of love, seeing I do live in one of the most romantic cities on earth after all. I’ve always been undecided as to whether or not I should loathe Valentine’s Day. On the one hand it’s generally accepted to be a vast conspiracy between card companies, florists, restaurants and chocolate manufacturers but I am rather fond of getting presents.

Previously my feelings were swayed by the calibre of man I was dating at the time – a very mixed bunch indeed. Now, of course, I can always rely upon my most marvellous husband to lavish me with all manner of delightful gifts. In fact, I was toying with the idea of writing a post on just how wonderful he truly is, but I wouldn’t want to inspire hateful jealousy in the singletons amongst my loyal readers.

Instead, I’ve decided to give you a glimpse of my previous lovers to show you that my romantic life hasn’t always been so sickening sweet.  Not to say I’ll be mentioning all those I’ve been intimate with. Firstly, that list would be obscenely long and secondly I dare say I wouldn’t be able to remember all that belonged on it – let’s just say I’ve been rather social in my time.

For the sake of brevity, I decided to focus solely upon the special select few that made it to official boyfriend status. I have also omitted the three lovely lasses I dated before embracing my true calling, mostly because I doubted they’d be of interest to the majority of you. Of course I could wrong, in which case please feel free to let me know if you’re keen to read of my ancient heterosexual adventures. Not that I’ve stopped dabbling completely mind you – I prefer to think of myself as an equal opportunity hussy.

Anyway back to the boys. Naturally my favourite exes are the ones that I managed to salvage a friendship, from the wreckage of the relationship. It is a shame to walk away with nothing after all. Indeed, the two gentlemen in question are among my best friends these days – it’s always best to eliminate any opportunity for future blackmail where possible.

Sadly things didn’t always finish so pleasantly. There was one dastardly lad who ended things on Valentine’s Day by spending the evening with another gentleman, only informing me of his intentions the following day. Needless to say I had a few rather strong words ready for him when he eventually made his way home. That’s right gentle reader; we were actually living together at this point.  I’d be lying if I didn’t entertain fantasies of piling his belongings outside and setting them on fire as I danced about with maniacal glee – at least it would have been a nifty way to meet hot firemen.

That being said, he was practically a dream compared to the worst offender, who had me turning to the police for aid after he decided to turn his hand to a bit of stalking. I do like to drive men to distraction but not to such dramatic extremes. In his defence, he may have had something of a mental breakdown after our tumultuous relationship had run its course. Apparently the thought of losing me was too much to bear – completely understandable I think. It wasn’t entirely bad I guess, as for once I got to be the not so crazy one.

Fortunately, after a brief period of swearing off men completely, I managed to find the courage to once more put my heart into the fray. Suffice to say, I definitely earned my karmic relationship points before I met the altogether wonderful love of my life. May you all be just as lucky as I in meeting the perfect paramour with which to live happily ever after – even if I did have to travel to the other side of the globe to find him.

If you have a hankering to show me some love, then feel free to like my facebook fanpage - I never tire of the extra attention.

Till we meet again!

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.

In my former life in Australia as a party boy of loose morals – as opposed to the domesticated paragon of virtue you have come to know and love – I was not what one would call particularly politically minded. Granted, I always voted whenever the elections came along – more out of fear of being fined rather than any great sense of patriotic duty.  My only vague social protest coming in the form of marching in the Mardi Gras parade – and that was mostly for the glitz, glamour and gorgeous men.

Of course, this all changed when I moved to this wonderful country where politics is something of a birthright. It did come as somewhat of a surprise to sit down with my paramour’s friends for many a dinner party where we’d barely get started on the entrée before the fierce debating would begin. Fortunately my French was minimal at the time, so all I experienced was wave after wave of passionate gibberish splashing over me as I sat there nodding and quietly eating.  After a while, I was able to easily discern the topic of conversation, through catching the occasional name and the fact that the French only ever seem to get that worked up over politics or food.

Gradually, after many years of being exposed to such heated discussions, it started to rub off and I found myself becoming more and more socially aware. Not that one could tell from the topics usually featured in my posts I dare say, in which I attempt to raise superficiality and fluff to unheard of heights.

So it was with great pride that I found myself among the masses at Denfert-Rochereau last Sunday, fervently waving a placard that read ‘ Je veux épouser l’homme que j’aime pas ma cousine !’ For the non-French speakers – “I want to marry the man I love, not my cousin.” A jibe at the exceedingly conservative Christine Boutin, one of the very vocal opponents of marriage equality, who believed that marrying her cousin to be a perfectly acceptable option for her romantic yearnings.

Honestly, how that woman can justify preaching from the moral high ground – when she saw no issue with seeking to obtain a dispensation to allow her to marry someone society deemed unsuitable – I’ll never know. Funnily enough, I was not alone in bearing a placard ridiculing her blatant hypocrisy.  But I digress.

So there I was among the many thousands of similarly rational thinking people, for the second time in as many months, marching for the equality of all regardless of the gender of their beloved.  It was such a wonderful feeling of solidarity and made me wonder why on earth I had waited so long to become so passionate about such things.

Not to mention the abundance of ridiculously hot men about the place, among the ardent protesters. Who knew that the pretty folk actually cared? Honestly, if I weren’t already devoted to my wonderful husband, I would have fallen in love – instead of just deep lust – several times over. Don’t even get me started on the some of the more handsome members of the gendarmerie in their full Robocop attire – almost worth inciting a riot for.

Now I can’t wait for that splendid decree to be announced and my beloved and I can plan a marvellously elegant affair to once again declare our love to the world – my family being particularly keen to have another excuse to visit. Never fear, everyone will be kept well informed of any and all plans – in my usual shameless social-mediawhore style – and of course where to send all the presents.

Hopefully, France soon will truly be a place of  ‘Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité for all.

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.

At the risk of reigniting another passionate bout of rivalry, between those fine folk dwelling in London and Paris, I thought it high time for another post on that quaint city of debauchery across the channel. That and there seems to be quite a bit of interest in all things English, given the popularity of my fellow columnist Frère Jack.

In the vein of the recent missive on my favourite places in Paris, I thought I’d disclose some of my preferred London haunts. I’d also be interested to hear the thoughts on my choices, from those of my lovely readers who actually reside there.

Tom Daley

Although before such talk, I’d like to share some of the lifestyle differences I quite enjoy on my brief sojourns. First up, would be the novelty of using pedestrian crossings where the cars politely wait for you to cross, rather than the Parisian tradition of attempted murder.  Granted it’s pleasant to have a spot of exercise while trying to dodge homicidal drivers, but sometimes I appreciate being able to stroll at my own pace, without fear of imminent death.

Then there’s the fact that no matter what time of year I visit, the shops on Oxford Street always seem to be in the middle of a sale. I’m pretty much helpless in the face of a bargain – as anyone bearing witness to my frenzied shopping during the Parisian sales can well attest to. Speaking of being unable to resist, I can never pass up the opportunity to purchase an obscene amount of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, each time I encounter a Tesco. I admit it’s rather shameful, considering all the amazing French treats I could be spoiling myself with, but I just can’t get enough of their wonderfully trashy pastries. In my defence, it is the only time I ever eat them and I immediately feel guilty upon my return to gay Paris.

Anyway enough about my failings, let’s have a drink.  Why not try my two favourite London bars – Friendly Society and Frevd. They both have a slightly hidden feel – seeing they’re underground with not a great deal of signage – but that doesn’t hinder their popularity in the slightest. Handily located a mere ten-minute drunken meander from each other, they both offer up something a little bit special. The former is much like stepping into an underground kitsch wonderland, surrounding you with all manner of funky décor – such as dangling Barbies and a garden on the ceiling. Whereas the latter has one of the most comprehensive and thoroughly original cocktail lists I’ve had the pleasure to encounter – I’d heartily recommend the Fallen Angel and Chinese Lantern.

Anyone wanting to indulge their inner geek, can’t go past Forbidden Planet. Full to bursting with books, comics and assorted memorabilia, it caters to the excitable child in all of us. No matter your proclivities, you’re bound to find something to tickle your fancy.  Honestly I could spend hours – not to mention hundreds of pounds – on all the wonderful paraphernalia to be found there.

Which brings us to our last charming treasure for today – Scribbler. I actually used to be gainfully employed by this lovely bunch of card stores when I lived in merry old England. They have the most brilliant range of cards – from sincerely caring to playfully insulting and deliciously naughty. Not for those who are easily offended, although I dare say any regular reader of mine would be delighted rather than disgusted by their stock.

Well that brings our tour to an end today. On a completely unrelated note, I would just like to know if there any tall, handsome Frenchmen among my lovely readers that would like to meet/date/marry a tall handsome Australian? Of course I don’t mean myself  – not that I’m opposed to encountering beautiful strangers – rather I refer to a lovely friend of mine. All offers considered…he really isn’t that fussy.

Till we meet again my dears.

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.

Welcome to a brand New Year and a brand new Jimi – well the same old one really but we can pretend. So hopefully, you all had wonderful festive seasons full of excess, love and joy, and that your New Year’s Eve involved much kissing of beautiful random strangers – I know mine did. Well it was Berlin it would’ve been impolite not to, that and the fear of the seemingly out of control public use of fireworks forcing me to seek comfort in the welcoming arms of others, but that’s a tale for another time.

Back to new beginnings, I thought I’d kick the year off with recounting one of the most truly terrifying experiences I’ve ever endured. That’s right dear readers, I recently attempted to ski.

After enjoying many a star turn on the ice rink I thought it high time to turn my ice princess sights upon the snowy slopes. The first thing was to find myself the most beautiful and patient instructor on offer – my beloved husband.  Next up was to ensure that I was correctly outfitted – boots, skis and a snug red ski suit – very much like those of the buff Ski Monitors found throughout the Alps.

Although getting the damn boots on was more than enough work.  Honestly, I almost needed a strong cup of tea and a good lie down just to recover. It probably didn’t help that the first pair was slightly too small, despite my husband’s protests that I just needed to get used to it. My suspicions were proved correct upon taking off the original pair and feeling a tingling sensation, as blood was once again free to circulate in my feet.

So all kitted up, off we headed to the children’s practice area where we worked on the basics such as turning, stopping and not falling over. However, I did find that hedges and snow banks were more than effective at helping stop one’s momentum. At times I vaguely considered faking an injury to get the attention of the one aforementioned Monitors – a particularly hot blond one – just to see how good he was at playing doctor.

There I should have stayed gentle reader, instead of facing what I’ve now come to think of as ‘the piste of death’! On the second day my husband, showing far too much confidence in my abilities, decided I was ready for the easiest track at Megève – Les Sept Nains. Personally I found it far more akin to the seven circles of hell.

Indeed, I found myself appropriately going through the seven stages of grief. Disbelief – that people actually enjoyed this kind of thing. Denial – that we couldn’t possibly be on the right path and that we must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Anger – at my husband for foolishly convincing me that I’d be racing down the slopes with the greatest of ease. Bargaining – with any god that would listen that I promised to mend my ways, and be nothing but a good clean living boy from now on, if they’d just get me down. Guilt – that I was such a useless burden not being able to handle the most basic of ski paths. Depression – in coming to terms with the fact that I was never getting off the mountain and that I was most likely going to die up there. Hope – upon finally reaching the end and barely restraining myself from bursting into tears and kissing the ground in gratitude.

The whole ordeal lasted two hours – instead of the expected thirty minutes – with my experiencing a whole gamut of emotions from outright dread right through to humiliation as I  watched the five years olds whiz by – most likely on their way to even more deadly slopes. The most horrifying moment occurring when I got turned around and was rapidly headed down the slope in reverse with nothing to stop me except falling over backwards over myself  – which I promptly did.

Eventually we returned home where I needed a vin chaud, chased down by some champagne, just to settle my nerves. Surprisingly I was back on the practice area the following day, ready to fight on but stated to my husband in no uncertain terms that I would not be going back up the mountain any time soon.

How were your holiday adventures my loyal readers? Tell me all.

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.

As much as I do love being a freelance writer/lad of leisure, there are certain things I feel I’m lacking by not being required to attend any sort of regular workplace – office gossip, pilfering stationery supplies and most importantly the work Christmas party. Granted, I could stage my own such party in the apartment with the cats – we certainly have enough alcohol in the cupboards – but it just doesn’t quite have the same festive vibe to it. Not to mention missing the fun to be had watching the hi-jinks of drunken colleagues.

Fortunately my lovely husband works for a rather large American consultancy firm that certainly knows to how to party. Which is a good thing seeing that they insist on treating their workers like tireless robots that don’t need any sleep or any sort of home life. But I digress, that’s a fairly heated topic for another day.

Where was I? Oh yes the entertainment. All their dinners and varied events are always extremely well catered elegant affairs, with this year’s Christmas soirée being no exception. Held at the Pavillon Vendôme, the theme was Venetian Masquerade Ball. It would be fair to say that we were among the beaux of the ball, receiving many a compliment upon our stylish masks and sharp suits.

Of course we took great delight in going shopping for suitable face coverings before the big night. In our search we happened upon the most charming store Theatr’Hall, containing not only masks but all manner of wonderful items for dressing up – chic canes, pocket watches, capes and top hats to name but a few. Indeed, I fully intend on returning to pick up one or two items that caught my eye.

Anyway, back to the party.  It was a rather tasteful affair with an open bar and a constant stream of tasty treats brought out to tempt us, including those using a more experimental combination – white Truffle macaroons or chocolate coated foie gras lollipops anyone?

I couldn’t even tell you how many glasses of champagne I chugged down. Is it my fault that if you stood in the vicinity of the bar they would automatically top up your glass? It probably didn’t hurt that this also happened to be where the highest concentration of food platters were either. Although it must be said that some of the more delicious offerings were those serving us but sadly they didn’t appear to be for sampling – well not during the party at any rate.

It was also a good opportunity to meet some of my husband’s co-workers who had only heard of me by reputation. All of them ever so eager to discuss the exotic life Australian and very keen to know how I found living in the sacred Hexagon. I do hope that I did nothing to alter their impression of a devoted trophy husband, extremely content to be fortunate enough to enjoy Continental life.

Well I must away, as am currently up in the mountains at Megève and my beloved husband has promised to teach me how to ski. Expect a full report on all my madcap antics in the next post.

Till then eat, drink and be merry…Bonnes Fêtes !!!

For your recommended daily dose of Jimi – follow my musings on Twitter @jimify.me.