I love the way Paris has hosted the Olympics . OK, so the opening ceremony was flatter than a dry crèpe with no Nutella on it, but so what? Only that city could give you a terrible fashion show involving a Smurf and a woman with an aerial on her head – interspersed with people from Nauru waving on a boat – and make you feel grateful for it. The fact that Paris refuses to make allowances for anyone is part of its charm, of course, but it’s always terrified me.
Whenever I go there I am gripped by the stinging humiliation of Not Being French, and worse, being a lardy British rosbif who can’t find the Metro. If there were an Olympic medal for Not Understanding The Rules of A Patisserie, Running for the Ryanair Airport Bus, or Being Glared at By An Elderly Woman With a Small Dog, I’d be dripping in gold. And like Simone Biles, I would have pushed those disciplines to their limits with brand new signature moves, such as Triple Humiliation in a Restaurant Using GCSE French.
Get the latest news and insight into how the Big Issue magazine is made by signing up for the Inside Big Issue newsletter Perhaps that’s why I’ve developed an abiding love for a character so resilient in the face of haughty Parisian indifference that she has changed the rules completely. Yes, as soon as the pommel horses are packed away and the Olympic village is disinfected, our old friend Emily In Paris will be returning to Netflix for a fourth season, possibly wearing a skirt made from Tunnocks.