“Vader in German means father. His name is literally Darth Father.”
Two cups of coffee. Three croissants. Plain yoghurt and watching the other guests at the hotel.
I’ve started reading an excellent book - oh, excellent books, how I’ve missed you - but that doesn’t quite cover up how I’m missing les enfants ce matin. (Not enough to head home already, but enough to be staring at a busy family a few tables over.)
But look at that sky.
Off on hols. Piles of books, Mad Men box set, a few swimmers, suncream, pack of cards. C'est tout. C'est bon.
English summer
Between me entering the shop and leaving three minutes later, the sky has bloomed from a dark bruise to the blow-to-the-head glow of a computer screen, and the rain is thick. The few people visible are clotted in shop doorways, staring up at the sky like peasants in an illuminated manuscript. I am alone on the pavements, John Wayne in a ghost town of pedestrianised shopping streets, feet sliding in his flip flops, plastic bag of M&S soup and Nice biscuits hanging from his curled fingers. All he’s thinking about is how quickly he can get back to the saloon, and whether his Amazon order of comic books might arrive there today.