Sunday, July 15, 2012

Rainy Sunday Gare de l'Est

Kiki Speak

Kiki's first words were Wassat and ffff. Now she says Flower and Oh Wow and Nah and Harow (hello) and GoGohh (all gone) and Ovwa (au revoir) and CarCar. CarCar is a tough one because it sounds just like the French word for Poo and in the park and cafés it garners a markedly different response from the clappings and marvel she gets at home when she points at a wheel. What is actually a brilliant example of precise object recognition and expression, for the French public is random nappy humour. Oh, isn't she cute, everything's poopoo. Poor Kiki. I hope we can help her before she starts at crèche.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Old Prune New Prune

Since I first arrived in Paris eight years ago, Chez Prune has been my local. At midday they stop letting you sit at tables, you have to sit at the bar to allow the lunch clientele to eat, whether there's a single lunch client in the joint or not. It used to drive us nuts because we wouldn't crawl out of bed until at least 11:45. And that was because we'd been there the night before for apéro and ended up staying until it shut at 2. I still go to Prune, but now I'm there waiting for the roller doors to open at 8 and I can't fathom that there was a time in my life that I'd roll out of bed at 11:45. Today I was there with Kiki and J and JL. Kiki will attend the crèche directly across the road from Prune in September and we waved to the graffitid roller doors over there in anticipation. It appeared like a mirage that crèche - I had never noticed it was there, nor that it contained children. Seems I have a new head on with a brand new set of eyes.

In the rain in the night

Walking home in the rain in the night in the summer is particularly beautiful particularly after one too many cocktails with someone excellent. The roads shine with so many reflected lights you know you're somewhere full of life even though it's raining and it's night and you caught the almost last metro. I love the shining streets. The feeling that all that muck might be washed away. The knowledge that soon you will be inside. Hoping that the men in the park will be ok.

Friday, July 13, 2012

Fifteen Minute Nothings

I stopped writing because time was precious and I thought - if I can find time to write a blog post a day, then I can find time to work on a chapter of a book, a short story, a something. And then yesterday I realised that since I made that pact I had written nothing at all - except the odd facebook status update. And I thought - if I can write a facebook status update then I can write a blog post. So I thought - ok - fifteen minutes a day - go on. A little something, a nothing.

So, I'm back! 


I'm in Paris. 

It's raining.

And fifteen minutes is up! Ah!

Pekka Jylhä 'With Tremor and Respect'