portobello road
i shouldn't be writing this. i should be cuddling up in bed with a fat biography and summoning sleep, because i have to get up early and meet a special someone at the airport. but...i'm feeling chatty and impulsive, mostly because i've had a very solitary day, lovely in its own way but a little lacking nonetheless.
i've also been guilty of talking to myself today. at the moment i'm alone in a "studio" (read: gorgeous 3bedroom with hardwood floors) in Notting Hill. it belongs to a family friend, and when i called her, i thought i would just be tucked away somewhere for the couple nights i needed lodging alone in London. when i arrived yesterday evening, however, it turned out that the whole family was off to Milan for baby boy David's christening (his daddy is Italian). so it's just me and one of the nannies in the whole house this weekend. i have puttered around tonight and eaten their humous. there's something about A. being alone and B. being in someone else's house that makes me talk aloud in a scattered, nervous sort of way. "forks...where are the forks?" "did i leave my water bottle upstairs?" "oh, remember to look up directions." i think i'm doing it just in case there is someone here, after all, watching me and wondering why i'm wandering back and forth like a crazy person. there's a dog, a shiny black lab, and he's nice, but a bit subdued, a bit of a loner himself (nothing like Gus).
the first leg of the vacation is over, though it will probably be compulsively extended into April, because i apparently can't get enough. this was my first adult, alone trip to Paris, my first anything trip in four years, and it was wonderful. i didn't even DO anything, besides sleep late in Amelia's apartment and smoke a cigarette in the Jardin de Luxembourg...but still: Paris. actually, there were a few classic Parisian moments, like Dinner with Jim, which deserves a whole post of its own; having a glass of white wine at a grown-up lunch; and being quizzed on literary quotations by a craggy old French man in a bar. i managed to get out of the city on what was possibly the last metro not to be commandeered by the over-excited, hollering students, who were busy taking the greve to the level of May '68. still, i was sad to go (though not to be going via Eurostar, yay). and i am very happy about the last few days, because i spoke lots of French, and the thing is, i still remember it.
i've also been guilty of talking to myself today. at the moment i'm alone in a "studio" (read: gorgeous 3bedroom with hardwood floors) in Notting Hill. it belongs to a family friend, and when i called her, i thought i would just be tucked away somewhere for the couple nights i needed lodging alone in London. when i arrived yesterday evening, however, it turned out that the whole family was off to Milan for baby boy David's christening (his daddy is Italian). so it's just me and one of the nannies in the whole house this weekend. i have puttered around tonight and eaten their humous. there's something about A. being alone and B. being in someone else's house that makes me talk aloud in a scattered, nervous sort of way. "forks...where are the forks?" "did i leave my water bottle upstairs?" "oh, remember to look up directions." i think i'm doing it just in case there is someone here, after all, watching me and wondering why i'm wandering back and forth like a crazy person. there's a dog, a shiny black lab, and he's nice, but a bit subdued, a bit of a loner himself (nothing like Gus).
the first leg of the vacation is over, though it will probably be compulsively extended into April, because i apparently can't get enough. this was my first adult, alone trip to Paris, my first anything trip in four years, and it was wonderful. i didn't even DO anything, besides sleep late in Amelia's apartment and smoke a cigarette in the Jardin de Luxembourg...but still: Paris. actually, there were a few classic Parisian moments, like Dinner with Jim, which deserves a whole post of its own; having a glass of white wine at a grown-up lunch; and being quizzed on literary quotations by a craggy old French man in a bar. i managed to get out of the city on what was possibly the last metro not to be commandeered by the over-excited, hollering students, who were busy taking the greve to the level of May '68. still, i was sad to go (though not to be going via Eurostar, yay). and i am very happy about the last few days, because i spoke lots of French, and the thing is, i still remember it.
posted by priyanka at 7:24 PM
5 Comments:
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1)See! I knew you would remember your French
2)How was dinner w/Jim??!
3)A cigarette in the Jardin du Luxembourg....ooooooh....you are SUCH A bad influence....that short sentence alone made me want to take up smoking...you are the MOST glamorous girl I know
4)your rare update probably saved my own blog, i've been crying all morning, and being slowly destructive, and I considered deleting the blog, but when I saw that you'd updated...well...I'm still considering it but thank you.
5)I've been CRYING all morning, and I mis you, and I wish I were in Paris so we could drink white wine and whine.
About meeting up in Europe, seriously....how to do it? How long will you be there this summer? I need a graduation present to myself...Maddy wants me to come to Japan, but that is le expensive. $$$$$
Oh Paris. I am jealous even though I was there this January. Speaking French + pastries (croissant aux amandes!!) + wine + kinder eggs + a few good college friends = goodgood times.
i like that you referred to gus without explaining who gus is. it's like referring to GOD. the important people just know.
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