Peter and I spent New Year’s Eve the way only Brits can: deeply embroiled in a murder mystery costume drama.
And when I say embroiled, I mean that we were the players.
We spent most of Monday speaking to each other, and mumbling to ourselves, in French accents. I hope no one noticed me in the grocery store…zee ice crheem – sheck; zee sheeze incre-ah-bluh – sheck; zee cham-pu – sheck.
Introducing, Pierre Paysanski, poet rogue and Trotsky-ite, chain smoker, lover of women:
And his 18 year-old socialite amour, Nicole le Grandbutte – supporter of the French Resistance, governor’s daughter at large (Morroco):
She commonly tries to look mysterious, and ends up looking at a cobweb on the ceiling.
They are a secretive, good-for-nothing pair.
The good news is: they didn’t do it! However, they did manage to nab the true murderers in one fell swoop. As close to heroes as you get in a murder mystery party.
What did you do on New Year’s Eve?