I grew up in the Paris 16th Arrondissement, born in 1948 just after a world war.  The 1950s came, flourishing time when the world was rebuilding itself in neon light.

My home on Boulevard Émile-Augier was a place of "books and tests," of strict parents.
But just beyond our walls, sex, music, dancing, but also the "vicious circle", were spinning in the 60s.

I was a neighbour to the "Erzog", the international "Jet Set" that haunted the Villa Windsor.  
Watched the young Prince Charles at the Jardin du Ranelagh, a young boy pulled away from the skating alley of the Ranelagh by the "ladies" of the court, a captive of a crown one could never truly envy.

I was one of the lucky ones. I was the girl who could jump from her rez-de-chaussée bedroom to find freedom and the music. 
I was the girl who "borrowed" Sylvie Vartan dresses from Avenue Victor Hugo and danced in the red velvet shadows of the Pierre Charron, while the bribed police looked the other way. 

I saw the "undesirables," the movie stars like Alain Delon, and the high-rated women of the hotels, yet I remained an observer—protected by my own innocence and a bare, unpainted face.
Decades later, as the world reflects on the shadows of Avenue Foch and the Epstein scandal, I see the same patterns I witnessed as an adolescent. The names change, but the "vicious circle" remains.

In these pages, I recount the 1950s austerity, the 1960s music, the dancing and the rebellion, the 1970s move to the UK, the 1980 and 1990s career and happiness, the 2000 new aera for technology, the internet, mobile phones, intelligent knowledge base but also the world spinning back to conflicts, greeds, exploitation of girls, bribes and a decline in democracy.