01/04/23 09:06

I ordered myself 10 choquettes, a pain au chocolat, a mini beignet and a cup of tea.  Except I was given 10 choquettes, 2 pains aux chocolat and a mini beignet.  I’m not sure if it was my accent, my pronunciation or my mumbling, but the mademoiselle behind the counter didn’t catch everything the first time around.  And that’s fine.  It’s a Saturday morning.  And maybe my French skills aren’t truly as good as I’d hoped.  Take for example yesterday.  We, that’s Nev and I, were in La Compas in rue Montorgueil, for lunch and the expression « soupe pour deux » actually means a soup to share.  I guess in reality it does but as Nev said, “who shares soup?”  Nonetheless, the croque madame I had was delightful.

So, yesterday’s meeting with fabulously chilled Oliver Gee of The Earful Tower fame went amazingly well.  It was a combination of mates meeting for a catch-up, me being interview and him asking for reviews of his podcast.  All off the record but all delightfully executed.  It was weird as everything I knew about him, I’d extrapolated from his podcasts (<— link surreptitiously inserted here).  I can’t decide whether to link his show or his website.  Such decisions to make.

Today’s decision was also an early one.  Do I get Nev her coffee, go back to the hotel and write, or, take time to sit and write in this Gregg’s of a boulangerie whilst she gets herself ready in her own time?  My decision found me sitting in Gregg’s, writing.  But I’m not just writing this time.  I’m using a microphone to record with my iPhone, the ambient sounds of this little busy shop before heading back to the hotel to collect Nev and head to the Marais for some shopping.  She wants a coat for Springtime, I want some new trainers for casual smart appearances and she then wants to visit the bouquinistes along the banks of the Seine, like we did with the boys at the beginning of the month, to pick up a poster.

The first of the pains aux chocolat was incredibly flaky and appeared to only have one baton of chocolate contained within its buttery middle.  Maybe that’s how it’s done here.  I’ve not actually taken notice in all this time.  What I’ve been trying to do these past two years is work out how to order a black coffee for Nev.  I think it’s simply a grande café noir.  However, not all coffee machines make them.  The closest is an alongé which is like a bridge between an espresso and a small black coffee. 

The 6ft 3 Australian expat handed me his painting, titled The Cane Hoard and my excitement went through the roof.  It’s painted on a square canvas the size of my outstretched hand.  We took selfies and, once printed out, will sit in a frame alongside the painting and the signed letter of provenance that he supplied voluntarily.  A great little piece for the Reading Room, a wonderful start to my art collection and an unexpected beginning to my final destination of mixing in circles of a creative literature nature.  If ever I needed focus and motivation to crack on with my book, it’s certainly this.  And I’ll be checking out Romford to see if I can get the framing carried out by the same people who did my first book.  Then I’ll just need to find walls to hang everything.  I’ll also need to either clear my writing desk (again) or take time to sit in coffee shops and pubs to start writing properly once more.  Obviously, making sure my fountain pen cartridges are fully filled with bottled ink.

But for now, I need to start to focus on the run that I’ve decided to punish myself with tomorrow.  The marathon de Paris, 2023.