too much too soon

Despite last evenings alarms, I slept like the proverbial top (why "top"?  Anyone know?) and was up, lark-like this morning intending to squeeze as much as I could from the rest of my time here.  (Yes I am back in my hotel room with my laptop but it is pouring down rain and it was either this or taking my credit card here).  I went down to the sea and sat in a superbly opulent cafe bar and drank coffee looking out at this:

The coffee was heavenly, there was light jazz playing in the background, there was a man raking the pebbles tidy on the beach, I was sitting in an armchair (an armchair!), the sun was shining and the sea was sparkling.  All that was needed was A to make me 100% happy in the moment, so I dug out my phone and sent him a text in NZ:
"I love you more than I have words to convey".

An hour later he texted back "Okay.  Well, I'm going to sleep now and switching off my phone.  Goodnight x"

Ah well.  Perhaps it was too soon in our relationship to make such a dramatic declaration...

vraiment?

So a couple of hours ago I was standing at my hotel room window, watching the rain and idly speculating over my dinner options for the evening when the sound of sirens drew ever nearer until the sickeningly familiar sight of a fire engine hoved into view.
And stopped outside the hotel.
And disgourged three fire-fighters who rushed into the building.  Moments later they came back out again and rushed instead to the adjacent building from which there was smoke issuing.

The hotel management told us to stay in our rooms with all doors and windows closed and await further instruction.  I slung my clothes into my backpack and my laptop, passport, train tickets and money into my handbag in a matter of minutes and then took up my post by the window again and watched and waited.

Two hours and a half hours later, all is well and the fire engines (there were 2 of them by this time) have departed.  But my bag remains packed and my nerves remain frazzled.  Because - really?  Really?

moved like Harlowe

This morning I took a train from Nice to Monacco. 

If you have never been to Monacco, it is everything you think it probably is.  Hugely wealthy, glittering, polished, stunning.  And expensive - I couldn't really afford a cup of coffee at 8 euros (£7, $11) but the views are free:

Oh, and the post title comes from this, which was in my head the whole livelong day :-)

Cote d'Azur

Charmed though I was by the BFG's ideas for things to do while A is away (and I am going to do option 2 next weekend), I decided to do something he didn't put on the list.

So, yesterday (Thursday), I hopped on one of these and then on one of these and now I am here. 

It's rather lovely here.  The weather is sunny and warm-ish, it is a very walkable place and this morning I partook of a cafe au lait looking at the Mediterreanean on my left and the Promenade des Anglais on my right.  Not a half bad place to be at 10.00 on a Friday morning.

 

tracking

Every time A flies somewhere I track his flight on the internet.  It struck me today, as I had his flight from Hong Kong to New Zealand minimised on my desktop at work, that this is surely a strange thing to do.  What do I think I am going to see?
11:00  taxiing
11:20  taken off
12:00  200 miles out
12:15  oops, fallen out of the sky into the sea - our bad.

Anyway, I have been doing quite well.  I decided that wallowing, while it has its place, is not really the way forward.  Instead I've been doing all manner of things I can't do when A is home.  Like watch old episodes of "Sex and the City" back to back while eating ice cream straight from the tub.  Or not bothering to cook over the weekend and instead eating toasted banana sandwiches for dinner.  Or playing Motown loud enough to be heard over the Hoover.

Still - twelve more days until he comes home

tales from a London bus

My journey to work yesterday morning was enlivened by two young (I'm guessing mid 20s) men, all suited and booted, heading for the city.  I was sitting behind them as they had a loud and bragging conversation:

Whippersnapper 1:  She's gorgeous, my girl.  You've never seen anyone so beautiful

Whippersnapper 2:  I've met her, mate.  She may be pretty but the lights aren't all on, are they?  Grant you my Milly isn't that much of a looker but she's as smart as they come.

Whippersnapper 1:  Bullsh1t! Kit is just as smart as Milly.

Whippersnapper 2:  Yeah?  If Kit's so smart, how come you were telling me she fell of the bed the other night?

Whippersnapper 1: (deep indulgence in his voice) that wasn't her fault, she'd been chasing her tail and got dizzy.

The memory of that exchange kept me entertained all day.

My journey home wasn't as fun.  The little boy sitting behind me thought that it would be the height of entertainment to grab a fistful of my hair and give it a suprisingly strong and vicious tug.  His mother chided him: "You mustn't touch other people's hair, darling.  It could be all dirty".

?!?!??!??!

blick

A left this evening for 5 days here, followed by two weeks visiting his parents here.

He's only been gone a few hours and I'm already unsettled, edgy and faintly miserable :-(