Doris drove me to St Pancras. Took a couple of photos that I’ll no doubt regret. Kissed me. Smiled and shrugged her shoulders. You’re on your own, fella.
The Eurostar left on time at 0755, a lyrical French voice imploring us to use all available luggage space and keep seats free as it’s going to be busy – which it wasn’t. French chap seated beside me in our “duo”. Well-dressed and “scentless” – a good start, particularly in Summer because I have a very sensitive nose when it comes to body odor….and I am after all, going to the Mecca of body odor (France just beats Belgium by a nose, pun intended). He moved seats. Maybe read my mind.
I responded to a friend’s email, apologising for my recent hermit-like behaviour. I’m sharing it because it’s relevant: “I’m in this curious mental state of being increasingly relaxed but seeking a bit more structure, finding it liberating to be out but equally, missing the analytical work and knowing that I have to and want to go back to work but not knowing what the hell I want to do, or where. Screwed up, huh? If you hit a mid-life crisis, aren’t you supposed to buy a Maserati or a boat, get hair plugs or cheat on your wife? So, I do wonder what this is all about…and I’m becoming increasingly certain that walking alone in hot weather with a heavy pack on my back isn’t going to tell me, but it seemed like a good idea six weeks ago”. And that really says it all. We are where we are.
Right now, that’s Paris.