Tag Archives: France

Dear Sacha

Posted on 28 February 2018 by

Yes, you will undoubtedly find me ungrateful. No, I will not just keep my big mouth shut. But, honestly? All I asked for last week was your intervention to help make the never-ending raindrops stop falling. I imagined you may … Continue reading →

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Raindrops keep falling on my head…

Posted on 19 February 2018 by

Ever wondered why Sacha Distel snatched this song from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and sang it ever so suavely on his own TV show? Not just to show off his chic Gallic style and toothy white smile. Not … Continue reading →

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Sweet Sunday

Posted on 26 November 2017 by

Fire’s on. TV’s on. Feet are up on the coffee table. The poor girl in ‘Don’t tell the Bride’ is going to hate what he’s preparing for her. And even if I am loving this moment there are still two … Continue reading →

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Thank the Saints

Posted on 1 November 2017 by

For once the Lord is not to be thanked today, over here in the land of baguettes and days off galore. Usually he’s the one giving us a mid-week Sunday here, a welcome Friday at home there, or a random … Continue reading →

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In Memory

Posted on 21 October 2017 by

Exactly one year ago today my mother-in-law died alone in a stark hospital room near our home, after fighting hard for three months against an unknown, unnamed enemy. Nobody could tell us exactly what disease she was suffering from, but … Continue reading →

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Just one minute

Posted on 23 May 2017 by

Sixty seconds.  A hundred steps. That’s all it takes to remove myself from the humming modern city and walk into a minute’s worth of discovered peace. And I have an anonymous selfish git to thank for this discovery. An individual … Continue reading →

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Shaking in my shoes…

Posted on 6 May 2017 by

What a strange sensation to wake up inside a dream. To realise that I was sleeping within my dream and was woken (but I was still sleeping really) by a news presenter announcing on a television set beside my bed … Continue reading →

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It’s a small, small world

Posted on 28 April 2017 by

What was the likelihood of our paths ever crossing? Pretty much zilch in a million, I estimate. If she hadn’t bent down to tie her loosening shoe-lace or if I had had time to clean my greasy glasses before leaving … Continue reading →

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