Excuses for my absence but I’m excited and distracted by painting, decorating, trying to remember my French and unpacking boxes to make a new home in Paris- back again after 18 years of much longing and the distractions of London and Amsterdam in between, but the pen once again found paper today, while I ignored the temporary loss of electricity and the contents of the new fridge melting within, on a sun filled terrace in the 14th, former home to Hemmingway, Fitzgerald, Stien, so I’m hoping for a little ghostly magic to rub its way into my little lines of literature. It’s now evening and still 29 degrees which perhaps means the candles I have lighting to distract from the smell of paint and turps are only causing a rise in temperature and means that nothing will dry as quickly as one hopes but I think it was Maupin’s legendary Anna Madrigal who once said that even shit looks good in candle light so I’m sticking with her philosophy. Until next time, a bientôt- I’ll be back…