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I’m struggling to keep my eyes opened, Paris. Only in the physical sense, fortunately. My inner eyes are still as discerning and understanding as ever. I’ve been falling asleep a lot throughout the day and through the night the last couple of days and I’m still feeling defeated. Again, only physically, luckily. My mind is still looking forward to all my projects current or prospective, and my heart is as joyful as ever. In fact, I am feeling extraordinarily calm and content with my surroundings while at a distance with a place, ou bien with someone, I’m clearly in love with. No – no distance. Only space. Hence the calm and contentment. Reassurance is probably the word I was looking for, and this time it comes from within effortlessly.

A few days with you last week was quite an intense few days, Paris. Two artist interviews and three social visits to artist studios within less than 48 hours, and I could still fit in a few Flash Invaders with my partner in crime and art curation Sandy as well as a catch up with my wing girl Katie. Last but not least, I still got my solitary walk along the Seine for a couple of hours, thanks to Sandy who sensed my low energy following a full social day and decided to drop me off near the river to recharge, skipping a gallery visit, before my second unscripted interview, which turned out to be successful and energetic.

The morning of my return to London I missed my early morning train. In any case, it’s easier to blame line 4 for not running past Châtelet than my decision to sit longer to have coffee with Sandy and Julien at home in Nation instead of at the lounge. The Eurostar staff dealing with my case were treating me like the Étoile status that I am, which clouds my left-wing mind for a moment, helping me with getting the next train with sympathetic smile, care and patience no French person in a uniform usually has time for. It was unclear whether it was because they could smell I was all for the unions and manifestations or my Chelsea breath. Oh well, I guess I was destined to lounge before returning to my barge under the Albert Bridge.

London welcomed me with a gust. The pier master saw me and didn’t miss a chance to joke about me staying for a couple of hours only this time. I told him it was actually for an hour; just to get changed before I had to catch my train to Crawley for work. I didn’t tell him the full information: I’m better as a mystery, or so I keep saying. Am I still a mystery to you, Paris? Ah, you know I don’t mind how much or how little others know about me, as long as I know myself completely, or close enough. Funnily enough the job had to be cancelled when I was already outside Clapham Junction so I just made my way back to the boat, dropping my body like a heavy luggage on the bed as soon as I got in.

I guess I was supposed to rest, but my mind was restless and so was my heart. The next evening, I was supposed to throw an Indonesian dinner party with my Rock n’ Roll lighting guy neighbour slash my Irish boat bestie, a film star boat neighbour from the downstream pier and my Irish date. Alas, my gorgeous film star neighbour had to cancel last minute so I had fun with my two Irish boys instead. I had a lazy morning the next day, meaning I was doing house chores slowly in between thinking about how to edit the interview videos and playing online scrabble with Katie and pretty much her entire family while having café alongé and listening to Chante France 60s on my Roberts Radio before my afternoon train to Dorset to be with my daughter for the weekend, you know, while her social calendar was empty.

Oh, how I wanted to go deep as usual, Paris! But my sleepy body could just about share my itinerary retrospectively, apparently. So much more I’d like to share, but I guess I’m supposed to be resting, before my train back to London for Mariam Batsashvili’s piano concert tomorrow night, and some other deep stuff on the agenda.

dorset, le 26 avril 2026

je t’embrasse !

d.o.