Tuesday, 6 September 2011
In the bubble
After work the Parisian sky drifts over us and each evening there is a sort of happening outside. Mild dancing, mild eye-snagging, more champagne. Then gorgeous food. In our off-beat area the food does not disappoint.
I've yet to go into town, let my eyes graze over the buildings I used to love. It is bubbling up inside of me - memories of the skinny pram-pushing au pair crossing bridges, crossing parks, selecting 'tarte au citron' in her favourite patisserie, shifting through the secondhand stalls. That young cropped-headed thing without a clue, typing her first novel above the Indian sweat shop, with her father-figure lover nourishing her education in film, and the lady with the whip next door to Bruno-the-Swiss-banker, her stilted admirer.
I wonder where that tough determined young woman has gotten to. It's time to shake that Bubble Card.