I’ve finally made it back to Bam Bam Madame having neglected her for weeks due to an unending pile of tasks of which I still haven’t managed to dig to the bottom. Since I am currently stockpiling cappuccinos at my dad’s house on a wet Monday morning, I have decided to take a few minutes break from job searching to do what I do best to calm my frazzled nerves: write.
So here I am, writing.
A couple of weeks ago (it feels like a lifetime), Jack and I went to Nice on the French Riviera for a break from the greyness of Dublin life in autumn. We are becoming quite the connoisseurs on European coasts, having spent some time last summer on the Amalfi Coast, and, like our last experience, we felt we could have stayed forever (if anyone wants to sponsor us to sip wine at Villefranche-Sur-Mer for the rest of our lives, you are quite welcome. Just drop me a message.) As some of you will know, I have a particular penchant for Ernest Hemingway, and tend to spend every holiday virtually following him around and visiting the spots frequented by him and his mad writing buddies once upon a time. Obviously I drag Jack along for the ride, though I don’t think he minds too much aside from my cripplingly bad sense of direction. I like to think of us as Ernest and Hadley 2.0, but a lot more fashionable (and a lot less philandering…).
There are going to be a couple of posts on this to squeeze in all the pictures (an unending mass of pictures), so I won’t go on too long with the writing; I’ll just let you enjoy the visuals. In my next post I will list the Peaks and Pits of the trip and try my best to give tips, should you have an urge to jet off to the South of France sometime soon. For now, however, I am off to enjoy the rest of my day in the homeland – as I’ve said, it’s bucketing down outside but I like to take advantage of this weather and spend the day curled up with twenty cups of tea and a pet or three.
Talk to you soon, chaps.