Day 1: the most traumatic of transfers...

there was this moment in the car on the way to the airport, when the rare edinburgh sun shone on me, and I felt ok, almost good. my unease over leaving moose for a month was gone (Andy the dog walker is great), and Duncan was kind enough to drive me to the airport.

I had a brief 1950s moment on the stairs of the airplane - remove the easyjet sign and put an outrageous hat on my head and I could be a 1950s housewife yet...







after passing out on the plane, as I always do, I was most happy to see my lovely Paris again... that was until I had to get to my hotel. an easy enough concept, no? 1.5hrs later, 1 missed shuttle due to overcrowding, 1 terrifying journey on another overcrowded and ill-fitted shuttle bus, and then a problem finding my booking, I am sitting in a putrid green hotel Etap room... cursing the lack of money that stopped me booking the fucking hilton. one foot in the door of my room and I was sobbing. fail.







I had a wee moment (as you do when you travel alone), as we landed at sunset and the sun streamed through the plane window... that it would've been nice to share that moment with someone. I get that when i travel alone though - so, blog, you are my travel companion. suck it.

I will take spacey reflective self-portraits and bore you with my need to lay a history down where ever I go. I will drive you mad...







never have I appreciated a Lidl cereal bar more than I just did - having missed the dinner service thanks to the fucking shuttle. Lidl, I love you.

and so now I sit cross-legged and write some music... cos that is what empty ugly green hotel rooms are for. tomorrow I head to canada. phew.







distinctly yours, O.

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