"Because it feels right", I answered. "I think that something will happen as a result of these 12 days in Paris. I don't yet know what, but I trust myself and my instincts and my instincts tell me to be here."
Sebastian is my charge for the next couple of days. His father was Mervyn Peake (author of Titus Groan and Gormenghast) and Sebastian has been telling the story of his father's illustration work to audience's since 1983. We work out our 3 steps remove from each other is very simple and we share the location of Pooh Bridge in a small village in Sussex called Hartfield.
Later in the evening he tells me the tale of how, as a result of successfully imitating a Guernsey accent and selling a sizeable quantity of wine to a a client who previously refused to buy from him Sebastian won a) a trip on Concorde (which he gave to his wife), b) a chunk of cash and c) a race horse (which he sold). People who I know who have won a race horse as a sales prize I can count on the fingers of one hand. This is why I am doing this...
Returning via the same path we stopped to watch the Eiffel tower sparkle - it has changed colour. The lights were silver, the sky pewter, the tower steel. A moment etched in memory - two near strangers watching the most romantic sparkle in the world in the distance between the apartment buildings of Auteuil. I have a new friend.
I cross Baudelaire's Pont de Mirabeau and looked over once more at the tower, now lit from within by Yves Klein blue. For a static form it is very adaptable. Paris' canvas.
Back at Vicky's I climb the ladder into bed and delve into The Great Gatsby. I need to read each sentence at least three times; for meaning, for sub text and finally to appreciate the beauty and economy of each of Fitzgerald's chosen words.
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