Today’s Star columnist: Anouchka Santella

Anouchka Santella moved from Paris to Sheffield last year.
Anouchka Santella moved from Paris to Sheffield last year.
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So I’m back in Paris for a couple of weeks.

The first thing I saw as I came out of the station was a guy being held down by policemen. The next day a homeless guy spat next to me and an old lady insulted me for wearing shorts.

I missed this.

Paris is smaller than I remembered. You know how you always run into someone you know in Sheffield? People love to complain about it, blaming the city’s size. To be fair, you do have to ALWAYS be prepared. You’ll see your ex on your way to work and the one you fancy on your way to the bar and the one you’re outrageously flirting with even though he has a girlfriend on your way to the doctor’s.

It can come in handy when you run into someone who’s not calling you back and it can be annoying when you run into someone you’re not calling back.

But Paris is bigger and more people live here and there are 20 arrondissements so coming back here, I thought I would leave all that behind. When I saw two girls I hated in high school, an ex’s new girlfriend and some guy whose name I forgot in less than two days, it became clear Paris is as bad as Sheffield.

But at least it was entertaining. After three days of walking among American tourists and seeing old friends I had to have my wisdom teeth ferociously removed. Keeping your mouth open for 30 minutes while some instrument opens your jaw and pulls your teeth out is not much fun, but it’s NOTHING compared to the swollen face, black eye and pain that comes next. I always say Paris is boring but the outdoors life seems pretty attractive from my balcony right now. For the last week, every time I looked in a mirror I’ve seen Elephant Man staring back. I watched Mandela change South African rugby in Invictus, Carrie overthinking her relationship with Big in Sex and the City and Angelina Jolie being crazy and irresistible in Girl Interrupted. Twice.

Now the pain’s that bad no dentist in the world seems to know whether I can fly to America on Thursday or not. So in a week I might be sipping cocktails on a beach in LA or back in Sheffield having a glitter birthday party.

I just hope I won’t be in a place where people spit on me.