It's about a writer/songwriter/poet who talks about this apparently fetching young girl named Marie Claire, and he's a bit jealous and bitter about the fact that she won't hang with him, and instead passes her time with Russian counts in her Paris apartment, with nice bedsheets, and a few other nice details that I now forget...It had kind of a Jacque Brel sound to it, a nice melody, probably 15 verses. I awoke to a radio station in Madrid to this song hearing half of it in my sleep, but I really liked it a lot; it was followed by Love Chronicles by Al Stewart which I also liked.

I would split my pants if someone could direct me to the source of this song...

Recorded on his eponymous 1969 album on United Artists.

Malcolm

Dang nabit! Where else could I go but to mudcat to get this question answered? I'm sure jeeves wouldn't have a clue...

Malcolm

You talk like Marlene Dietrich
And you dance like ZiZi JeanMaire
Your clothes are all made by Balmain
And there's diamonds and pearls in your hair
Yes there are.

You live in a fancy apartment
Off the Boulevard Saint Michel
Where you keep your Rolling Stones records
And a friend of Sacha Distel
Yes you do.

You go to the Embassy parties
Where you talk in Russian and Greek
And the young men who move in your circle
They hang on every word you speak
Yes they do.

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head
Yes I do.

I've seen all your qualifications
You got from the Sorbonne
And the painting you stole from Picasso
Your loveliness goes on and on
Yes it does.

When you go on your summer vacation
You go to Juan-Les-Pins
With your carefully designed topless swimsuit
You get an even sun-tan
On your back and on your legs.

And when the snow falls you're found in St. Moritz
With the others of the jet set
And you sip your Napoleon brandy
But you never get your lips wet
No you don't.

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head
Yes I do.

You're in between 20 and 30
A very desirable age
Your body is firm and inviting
But you live on a glittering stage
Yes you do, yes you do.

Your name it is heard in high places
You know the Aga Khan
He sent you a racehorse for Christmas
And you keep it just for fun, for a laugh,
Yes you do, ha ha ha

They say when you get married
It'll be to a millionaire
But they don't realise where you came from
And I wonder if they really care
Or give a damn.

But where do you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
Tell me the thoughts that surround you
I want to look inside your head
Yes I do.

I remember the back streets of Naples
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their lowly born tags
They tried...

So look into my face Marie-Claire
And remember just who you are
Then go and forget me forever
But I know you still bear the scar
Deep inside.

I know where you go to my lovely
When you're alone in your bed
I know the thoughts that surround you
'Cause I can look inside your head.

Peter Sarstedt, 1969. Published by Mortimer Music, London.

The song was very successful in the UK Singles Charts at the time. The follow-up, "Frozen Orange Juice" (why on earth do I remember that?) did ok, but was, so far as I know, his last hit. He made at least 2 solo albums (WDYGTML comes from his first) and I seem to remember him recording, later on, with his brother Clive (the Singer Formerly Known As Eden Kane).

Later. I've had a quick look at Amazon.com, and it turns out that there's a compilation CD of some of Sarstedt's songs available: entitled (surprise!) "Where Do You Go To My Lovely". How about that?

Malcolm

Tom

--Stewie.