It’s a pleasant Spring dusk, the air is heavy with the scent of flowers, I am pedalling like a lunatic. Because I forgot to get my car back from the garage (d’oh!) and will be late for an appointment. At home the fridge is bare and a disturbing pile of laundry is making it precarious to get to the loo. I cannot seem to care.
In fact I cannot seem to care about much right now, bar when am I going to be able to party again. I have acquired the mental age of a dodgy-coloured-alcopop-drinking, miniskirt-by-minus-fifteen-wearing twenty year old overnight. Since we already established that I was a chav last week, I do believe this is quite befitting. I may just have to hang an English flag from my window or something… No wait, I’m in France and last time a friend of mine saw an English flag on my son’s football jersey, she asked if he was supporting the Red Cross.
I cycle through a red light, Taio Cruz’s song is in my head “I can’t get enough, I can’t get enough, I can’t stay on the ground”.