Thursday, October 27, 2016


I told a friend I spend my days painting watercolours, strumming my ukulele and writing my blog.

I was watching "Les revenants" last night and thought about a place I was last year on my big bike trip around Europe. I came out of a range of high hills and this town was in the valley, with more hills - the Massif centrale I think - on its further side. It was late, already dark. I was there for a night, camped at the nearly empty Camping Municipale near the footy fields. Had a pizza for dinner from a little place that was just about to close - nothing else was open - wrote my diary and read a bit in the empty recreation room, breakfast at a blissfully quiet and warm McDonalds the next morning on the way out, heading north along an old railway bike track lined by fields full of dead brown sunflowers, to... another place I'd never heard of, a town of pink stone on a river, whose name I can't recall.

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