Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman had been back to the hairdressers since she didn’t really like that colour – too blonde and not enough red, she’d been looking it the colour chart in the salon, and eventually she plumped for something called ‘cardinal’, a vivid and warm-shade with auburn undertones (just like a little bird).

‘A wise choice… and definitely for you,’ said the hairdresser, as she began to trim the hair; the red-haired woman smiled as she waited to drink her coffee, and as usual it would be tepid by then.

Several hours later, the red-headed woman joined the queue with Francis, Joan and Scatty, everyone was excited, and wearing very nice clothes, since it was the open night in the ‘Opera de Paris’ – fabulous place, expensive but worth it, as they began to walk up the stairs.

‘At least we have a box,’ grinned Joan, ‘much more classy, don’t we think,’ – ‘oh yes, definitely… should I order some champagne, the best of course,’ asked Francis, while he opened the door, and waved a hand, ‘we don’t want to be dry while we enjoy the beautiful ballet.’

Meanwhile, the two gargoyles had climbed up to the top – ‘best view from there,’ they muttered, then one of them dropped a programme down using a particularly good aim.

Scatty suddenly saw it and caught it: ‘what is this?’ – there was a note inside – it said: we are going to see the Tour de France, and we will jump on to ride a big motorcycle.

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman (although still rather blonde) waved back to the lovely two gargoyles, but it seemed that the two of them were about to leave; ‘hey,’ she said, ‘just a minute, tell me what you both have been doing for all those weeks?’

‘Sorry,’ they both stopped and grinned, ‘we had been rather busy,’ – ‘you see, we had been watching the tennis at Roland Garros in Paris,’ – ‘yes, that’s right, we had to pay with plastic at the start, but we were able to get into one of the commentary boxes, and after that it was free, no charge, gratis, for us,’ – ‘what do you think about that,’ as they smiled happily.

Just then, Scatty appeared wearing big rubber boots, also known as wellingtons, – rather fetching, thought all of them.

The two gargoyles then decided to leave for the moment; the red-headed woman was about to say something, but Scatty managed to speak first: ‘ah ha, I have a little magic to use later, but just now I’m removing some plants, you can watch if you want, but I’m happy to do that on my own – in fact, it’s probably better to be just me.’

‘It’s much more important that you enjoy yourself later,’ said Scatty, ‘since it is the summer solstice tonight, and we will be having a gorgeous party.’

‘You should wear something fresh and light… maybe a cotton dress, something long and flowy – it’s going to be fun, and you will definitely like some margaritas later!’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman, although rather blonde at the moment, was still wondering where the two gargoyles were; it had been several weeks since she had seen them, although she was convinced that they would pitch up at any moment.

She had been wandering around in that nice cemetery – the one called the Large Quarries, in Montmartre – she smiled to herself, after she saw Scatty a couple of days ago, where she had turned into a fantastic black panther in the night, because she was a shape-shifter, although it was the first time she’d seen that happen – and she almost pinched herself, since it was not the obvious thing to see.

Still smiling, the red-headed woman turned to walk in another direction, and a less used path; and then she saw them.

‘Come on, throw that properly, that’s right, now bowl a ball so that it bounces near to the batter, okay, better… and no, roll it back to me again, and don’t throw it underarm, a bowler will always throw it overarm.’

‘What are you both doing, for heaven’s sake,’ grinned the red-headed woman, ‘I’m so pleased to see you both, by the way,’- ‘likewise,’ said the two gargoyles, who also grinned happily, ‘but can’t you tell what we are doing?’

‘Well, I can see what you are both wearing, nice creamy-white jumpers and long trousers, and also you have those bats and shin-pads at the ready, and yes, it’s called cricket, but playing it in Paris? …are you mad?’

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