Disclosure: You’ll probably see quite a few bloggers talking about Paris in the next day or so. You could just pretend there’s ’something in the air’ that’s making them discuss it. The truth is, there’s a competition running to promote Le Nouveau Paris and I couldn’t resist joining in…

The last time I went to Paris, I saw Eurostar, a cab, the inside of a posh hotel, a cab, and Eurostar again. I didn’t get to climb the Eiffel tower, I didn’t break into song on the steps of the Sacre Coeur (though I may have done that in my youth, surrounded by my school choir friends) I didn’t get to queue for ages at the Louvre, and I definitely didn’t get my wallet nicked out of my back pocket on the metro (*coughDadcough*).

I wasn’t, you dirty minded fools, there for a quick hotel suite ‘rendezvous’ (look! I used some French). I was actually at a blogger event for a skincare brand. It was lovely being taken to Paris, but the truth is I could have been anywhere. The only evidence that I was in Paris was the incredibly well-dressed PR person and the tiny portions of incredibly rich food we were served.

So I would love to go back. And this time I’d like to have the time to properly explore the places I’ve only seen from cabs or coaches in the past. I might even get to put that oft-forgotten French A’level to good use.

The Paris trip I’d like would be just like one of my favourite films, Funny Face. I would look like Audrey Hepburn, my boyfriend would be able to dance like Fred Astaire, and there would be a lot of pink, a lot of fun and more aspirational fashion than the latest issue of Vogue. I wouldn’t go as far as to pose in front of famous French buildings with balloons, but…ok, maybe I would!

The problem with my previous trips to Paris (as a teenager on French exchanges and choir trips) is that I’ve never had the funds to really enjoy myself. Staying in Formule 1 hostels in dodgy suburbs, you’d be forgiven for believing Paris is an absolute hole.

Of course, it’s not. It’s just not made for 16 year olds in bootcut jeans with backpacks and Brummie accents. Like Los Angeles, Paris is a city that’s best enjoyed if you have the money to do things; to stay in the nicest hotels, eat in the best restaurants and shop in the exclusive boutiques.

Hotel and restaurant wise, I’m sorted. My day job allows me to research these kind of things and call it ‘work’. We have a whole section devoted to the most stylish and A list places in Paris, and I’d be printing it out for reference. Hotel Lancaster definitely looks like my cup of tea.

Fashion wise, while I might never fit into the tiny clothing that Dior and Hermes stock for their ultra-chic Parisienne clientelle (especially after a Ladurée macaron or seven) I would definitely make up for it with handbags and shoes. I’d take this woman as my inspiration, but wear ballet flats (Repetto, natch) so I don’t tire halfway down the Champs Elysees. So many snooty shop assistants, so little time.

Once the shopping was done (if that ever happened) I’d head to the Eiffel tower, then the metro station named after Alexandre Dumas for cheesy photos (the boy’s a big fan – of Dumas, not having his photo taken). I’d finish my afternoon in Montmartre. Here I could stop pretending to be Audrey for a minute and pretend to be Amelie instead. This would involve a red dress, a spoon and an ill-advised fringe (maybe).

Evenings in Paris mean only one thing. Long walks by the Seine and a hundred and one photo ops, followed by dinner with champagne and an indulgent cocktail (dress).

Call me predictable, but my tolerance for London tourists having worked in Covent Garden (on and off) for a good four years has made me feel I have free reign to act like one myself in other cities. If I went back to Paris, I would gleefully do all the stuff I was supposed to do years ago, visit all the tourist haunts, spend way too much money and bore you all with 700 flickr photos at the end of it all. If you’re lucky, I’ll bring you back some runny cheese…