It’s often a battle getting my child to eat, so what she needs are distractions. Yeah.
Authenticity versus making a plate of food which gets your blood pumping. Yes, I am aiming for, and excited about, the latter; the problem is that my ego always wants me to go to the former.
One of them was asleep on my front; the other one tugged at my hand, slouching her way down the wet, cobbled street. Both were deathly tired.
It was only a few streets away from the hotel, and they were open about the fact that they spoke English.
That was important, as neither of us had a whole amount of Swedish that we could rely upon.
I dream of fantastic patés, bought wrapped in paper from the local charcutier, but then I shop in the local Monoprix, scared to set foot in artisanal shops.
My partner has no interest in going to the United States, but I would go tomorrow if you let me. I’m no longer in a position to do solo travelling, but that’s the life I have chosen.
The tide came up a few hours ago, and so we are pleasantly stuck on this rocky outcrop. And we couldn’t be any happier.