Up until now, I’ve been virtuously writing up events in the order they happen, but I really do have to start with Paris today and go backwards. You see, I’m sitting right now at a beautiful, old-fashioned, fold-out desk like my grandmother used to have, with the fireplace on my right and the open window on my left, through which I can see a courtyard garden and hear what I suspect is a blackbird singing.
My bedroom has wallpaper with little sprigs of flowers, and antique-looking furniture and a rug on the floor, and is basically the most idyllic possible place to be writing. I might never leave.
This is my room in Paris. Continue reading