My neighbour's kitchen window.


I started a blog in french, thinking I would write lots and lots...in french; this is not happening, for some reason, the minute, I posted a photo and had written an intro, the flood stopped and I was struck by the white page syndrome and all I could think of were reflections and reasons why and my thoughts were forming in english, all this with the added annoyance of not even being an english national. The more I try to shake the englishness out of my brain, the more it flares up. The festive season does not help. I even wrote a whole poem in english this morning. Last night, I made origami snowflakes and they are all english (it is very warm and sunny in Avignon). My daughter's english class nursery rhymes are on a path with haikus, the language rolling like pebble. And you know what, even the few photos I am taking are english. This I really can not explain. I do not think I have one french bone left in me. That should be perfect to live the british expat dream, I just didn't expect to have to go through the whole language barrier again.


Eat your heart

When you're unemployed, you leave in joy. Hum, no, you don't, you just have time to make preserve to give as Christmas present because you are so broke, your budget for family' s present is about £3. per head. This is a white watermelon or squash called a citre and it makes a delicious jam.

Martine Schopenhauer has a little bike in her head