The thing about her is

French girl gets mixed up all the time.

"I am boring," she says.

"Bored," I say firmly. "You are bored, not boring."

"Okay, darling," she usually replies indulgently.

Tonight I am bored, bored, boring.

I find French girl fascinating. Part of the reason for this is because she is just so... French.

When we walk along the street together, she rests her wrist on my shoulder. Her arm isn't around me, it's simply draped on the shoulder closest to her as she lopes beside me. This strikes me as very French.

She makes me call her "mon petit chou" because she says it is sexy, the way we silly British people pronounce it.

"Would you like to hear a joke?" she recently asked me.

"Okay," I replied.

"What is the difference between a young woman and Paris?" she asked.

"I don't know. What is the difference?"

She shrugged and flicked the ash from her cigarette. "Paris will always be Paris."

She wanted to cook me Croque Monsieur for dinner, but I told her she'd have to do better than cheese on toast.

Things she finds in impossible to pronounce include: 'Desperate Housewives' and the difference between 'hungry' and 'angry'.

If left to her own devices, she will have a lunch that consists solely of fish-sticks and egg mayonnaise.

She once featured in a music video, in which she undresses and ties up someone she assures me is a famous French porn star. Her parents don't know about this.

Her home, near Lyon, has a pool, but for some reason she'd rather be living in a squat in Kentish Town.