Lolling about, listening to Tori and Edith Piaf, reading art blogs, drinking tea; a little school work, nothing too serious. Today my fetish (only one?) is France. Went to see A Good Year at the cinema with Granny yesterday which has thoroughly made me want to disappear to some crumbling chateau in Provence to live with a happy little French family, spend my days parlez-ing in their language, writing and drinking wine with the windows open; riding my bike around with a basket attached to the front wearing a floaty dress. Picking fruit from the trees and letting my hair turn to waves…

not tonight, Josephine…

My memory shifts to a holiday I had with the family the year John F. Kennedy Jr. died in that plane crash. I remember it because when we got off the plane at Charles de Gaulle, billboards and newspapers declared mort and I knew enough to know that was bad news.

We spent two weeks in a holiday house in St. Giles Croix De Vie on the Western coast with my Aunt, Uncle, Cousin and Gran who had all come from Glasgow. We spent our days on the beach, in the pub, out back sun tanning with the geckos and laughing at my Uncle Brian’s antics.

Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a house like that to disappear to in the summer and just be… no pressure.
Sounds Delicious.

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