The Old Lady in my Bones

#Ad: The Place Dauphine is illuminated with bright pink blossoms. People stroll along the cobblestones, sit on benches beneath the trees and listen to the dulcet sounds of a piano filling the perfumed air with jazz. I sip champagne at an outdoor café with a book of poetry by Charles Beaudelaire in my hands. This is the dream. A writer in Paris – but it took s...

The summer flew by in a beautiful collage of shows, travel, festivals, and morning swims beneath a big summer sky. For most of the summer, RA did not take centre stage, although it sent little reminders now and then, a twinge in the joint, a flush of lava to the surface, as though it would not be forgotten.

Autumn is creeping in with its blood red leaves, and brilli...