To France
Nervously getting ready this morning, breaking off to chat to Betty. Hopped on a bus and into town, then a train up to St Pancras. Arrived early and hung about in St Pancras for a while looking at the sculpture of John Betjeman, and phoned Mum and Mas. Then onto the Eurostar, the closest thing to a Shinkansen in the UK, zoomed across Kent and even remained calm under the channel trying not to picture myself at an average depth of 48 metres below the seabed, with all the English Channel overhead. Distracted by seeing a Toby-lookalike and also an actor who was in the Spiral TV series we saw on TV (although it took me several minutes to work out who he was).
Strangely once the train surfaced in France I felt as if I'd crossed a weird Rubicon. My apprehension was replaced by pleasure looking out at the flat greyish landscape of northern France punctuated by churches poking up from little villages. I glanced at the man sitting across the isle from me and he was reading Proust's Swann's Way in French on his iPad.
Into Gare du Nord and having used Google Earth for reconnaissance yesterday simply found the Hotel. Paris rainy, but still curiously magical. After dropping off my stuff I deployed my execrable French with abandon and found a Thai restaurant nearby where I enjoyed a couple of Singha beers, and a red chicken curry. I snapped it down quickly as time was running out, what with the clocks being an hour in advance of the UK. To the hotel to iron a shirt, to speaking to Lorraine and write this blog looking at French TV, which as I type is currently featuring giraffes.
And so to bed.
Strangely once the train surfaced in France I felt as if I'd crossed a weird Rubicon. My apprehension was replaced by pleasure looking out at the flat greyish landscape of northern France punctuated by churches poking up from little villages. I glanced at the man sitting across the isle from me and he was reading Proust's Swann's Way in French on his iPad.
Into Gare du Nord and having used Google Earth for reconnaissance yesterday simply found the Hotel. Paris rainy, but still curiously magical. After dropping off my stuff I deployed my execrable French with abandon and found a Thai restaurant nearby where I enjoyed a couple of Singha beers, and a red chicken curry. I snapped it down quickly as time was running out, what with the clocks being an hour in advance of the UK. To the hotel to iron a shirt, to speaking to Lorraine and write this blog looking at French TV, which as I type is currently featuring giraffes.
And so to bed.
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