Paris

• On the Ship where every one knows your name
• Paris is perfect, if you ditch the men! - France
• An appetite of Venice - Italy
• Party time in Tapas Central - Spain
• Croatia uncovered! - Croatia
• I'll have the state room please - Portugal
• Seeking Spain's hidden gems - Spain
• Let's tryst again - Sicily
• Dallying with Delia - Majorca
• Wax gets the works - Majorca
• B&B at the Palace - Italy
• The Golden Oldie - France
• Amazing Amalfi - Italy
• Follow the Stars - Europe
• Tuscany - Italy

THE QUAINT BATEAU MOUCHE glides across the Seine. Stars hang in the balmy spring night air. Couples link arms and coo to each other; the air is filled with romance. Mercifully, not for long.

‘And that’s where we had a blazing row,’ announces my friend, gaily pointing at the steeples of Notre Dame. ‘And just over there,’ she waves, ‘is where the taxi driver threw him out for being ungentlemanly.’

That’s amazing, I tell her – the last time I was in Paris, I met a girlfriend and was on the steps of Notre Dame when a bloke she knew intercepted us and dragged us off to a club to ogle a topless dancer he had fallen hopelessly in love with.

And if there’s one thing no girl needs on holiday, it’s to have her assets compared to those of a dancing lovely.

Anywhere else in the world, a gogo bar could be seen as a bit of harmless fun.

In the French capital, though, anything other than a perfect weekend of romantic bliss – Love Actually meets Sex And The City with the Hollywood budget and looks to match – is a letdown for a girl.

shopping is a serious business

But the harsh truth is that, despite all the energy spent advertising romantic mini-breaks to couples, men and women simply want different things from a weekend away.

She wants to be Carrie Bradshaw, played by Sarah Jessica Parker, momentarily breaking free from the seductive charms of Mr Big to throw open the shutters of her sumptuous corner suite for a better view of the Eiffel Tower; to explore new shopping avenues; to sip ludicrously expensive cocktails in equally ridiculous shoes.

He wants to find a bar showing highlights of the Premier League.

Little wonder, then, that I gleefully accepted my friend’s invitation to join her in Paris for a girly weekend.

Alison was determined to do it without a man in tow — she had just fallen out with hers.

We were still congratulating ourselves on our great wisdom as we met in departures. A quick comparison: matching luggage, check! Inappropriate footwear, check!

After we’d thrown our bags into our hotel on the edge of the Latin Quarter, the very serious business of shopping began.

An hour later, we emerged happily from the changing rooms of a stylish boutique, just yards from our hotel. Between us we’d tried on around ten dresses, none of which we needed and none of which we bought.

And now it was raining.

Shame. We’d have to take shelter in Galeries Lafayette where, after a merry rummage through the homeware departments, we stumbled upon a fashion show on the fifth floor. Imagine our menfolk standing for that.

Next morning we meandered to the nearby Marche Mouffetard, an outdoor food market with bustling cobbled streets, mouth-watering breads and pungent cheeses.

Markets are institutions

We found a Belgian bakery called Le Pain Quotidien (which has just opened its first UK outlet in Marylebone High Street, London) to provide us with a fabulous brunch while we discussed the merits of the movie Amelie, which was filmed around the market area. To walk off brunch we decided to take in a flea market. Well, we hadn’t been shopping for a good few hours.

These are a Parisian institution, and there is a dizzying number to choose from.

They tend to be quite a way from the centre and can close at 1pm on a Sunday, so it’s worth checking before you set out. The largest and most famous is the Saint-Ouen, based in the north of the city at the Porte Clignancourt.

It is divided into 13 smaller markets and takes at least a weekend, preferably a week, to negotiate.

We opted instead for the one our guide book described as the smallest, at the Porte de Vanves in the south.

We arrived just an hour before closing, which turned out to be long enough for us, as even a ‘small’ Paris market can stretch to almost a mile in length.

Undeterred, we found some wonderful retro house items and linens mixed in with the old toys and books, and we would no doubt have purchased something cumbersome and unnecessary, had the market stayed open any longer.

Luxurious yet charming

Next we headed to the Alma underpass, scene of Princess Diana’s fatal crash and now a makeshift memorial.

The ceaseless traffic thunders by on what is one of the city’s busiest roads, and the impromptu memorial is graffiti-strewn but there is an eerie atmosphere about the place.

By this time our inner Carrie Bradshaws were becoming restless.

Where were the cocktails? The glamour? We obeyed and found our way to the Plaza Athenee on Avenue Montaigne, the luxurious yet charming five-star hotel where the final episode of Sex And The City was filmed.

Naturally it costs a fortune to stay there (up to £4,485 for the Royal Suite) and looks like something out of a fairytale, bursting with flower-packed window boxes.

But you don’t have to be a resident to spend an afternoon perusing the cocktail list and walking in Carrie Bradshaw’s Manolo Blahnik-clad footsteps.

Actress Anna Friel was leaving the hotel as we entered, but for us, the highlight was recreating all those Carrie moments.

In just ten minutes you too can lean over a balcony to gaze at the Eiffel Tower, or run up the stairs and trip flat on your face – just as Sarah Jessica Parker did when she bumped into Mr Big in the series’ penultimate scene.

We lounged in the hotel’s busy courtyard restaurant, peoplewatching furiously.

The hotel walls are lined with testimonies from celebrities such as Jackie Kennedy and Naomi Campbell.

No matter how much we enjoyed our final afternoon of decadence, I was troubled by SJP’s note to the hotel management.

In it, the New York actress said she had enjoyed filming at the hotel so much that she hoped to return with her husband, Matthew Broderick, and baby son, James.

Sister, NO! By all means return, but take it from me, Paris is lovelier when the boys stay at home.