As Susie Lau finds herself reliving on-screen moments in the haunts of Paris, she ponders why London’s best spots haven’t been hijacked by TV

I“I’d love to see an uncomfortable TV date among the shouty staff and watery won ton soup of Wong Kei”

’ve spent a protracted week in Paris where once again the throng outside Angelina’s hot chocolate is heaving, the selfie sticks are out in force on Pont Neuf and the inexplicable human panda is doing his panda thing on Place du Trocadéro in front of the Eiffel Tower. Everywhere is postcard ready, especially when drenched in sunshine and restaurant staff are once again batting away your sub-par French with the sass of a perfect English response.

That’s a Parisian tick that is well-observed in Netflix’s Emily in Paris, which I’m not ashamed to say I squirmwatched during the quiet ebb of January. Say what you want about its hammy love tryst storylines, mystifying outfit decisions and ludicrous xenophobia, but those well-trodden haunts such as Palais Royale and Cafè de Flore suddenly take on a new TV-imbued sheen having featured prominently in the series. I found myself having a gleeful private pastry moment and then my mind automatically flashed to Lily Collins’ Emily in her kitschy co-ordinating bucket hat and handbags doing the same.

Similar to what Sex and the City did for the restaurants Pastis and Balthazar in New York, establishments suddenly come with a TV location tag line, and you go not merely just to eat or drink, but also to pick your character weapon and live that forever-brunching fantasy life.

‘It got me thinking…’ (she types on her backed-up MacBook Pro) that our own fair city surprisingly lacks a pointedly illuminating series that deliberately anchors spots to storyline moments. While London has served as a dutiful backdrop to endless notable films and TV series, you couldn’t quite conjure up, say, a fully fleshed out bus tour of Richard Curtis’s white stucco west London that someone in their right mind would actually pay for. In more contemporary examples, London’s hubs are hinted at rather than talked about. Exposed brick hipster living in Hackney is alluded to in Michaela I May Destroy You. In HBO’s Industry, the smoke and mirrors of the Square

Mile’s glass and steel skyscrapers feature heavily but are made to look deliberately anonymous. And so London is for the most part an impressionistic background and never the main protagonist.

Not to say that we’re lacking in spots for shameless name-dropping and exposed TV characterisation. The dark wood and tablecloth loveliness of The Delaunay could contrast with the tension of a double-crossed partnership. I’d love to see an uncomfortable date among the shouty staff and watery won ton soup of Wong Kei.

But maybe the nooks and crannies of London aren’t up for their close-up moment and gawky tourist exposure. If you were to close The French House for an extended length of filming, there’d be a furious Facebook petition. Maison Bertaux’s owner Michelle might object to the TV-ready dressing-up of her creamheavy cakes. And if you were to televise the messiness of Mare Street’s The Dolphin, the hardcore fans of its sticky dance floor and late-night licence might regret going to the lengths of having the door stamp tattooed on their wrist.

I might have spoken too soon though. There’s a rumour being bandied about that Emily in Paris might be filming its third season in London. Her on-screen crush Alfie is moving back and Emily might be following her heart and his unconvincing cockney accent. But are we ready for the city and its local haunts to have its glossy blowout and fantastical makeover? We say nahhhhhhhh.