"The night of all my dreams came true, and like all happy endings, it was a tragedy. Of my device, for I succeeded. I had cut myself loose from Joe, from the past, from the gulf, from poverty: I had invented myself. I'd done it cruelly, but I had done it. I was free!"

Great Expectations

Ventimiglia: beauty in the unlikeliest of places

--

Soundtrack to an epiphany

Sur la plage (Derniers Baisers)

--

If Monaco is essentially cosmopolitan, Cannes is all French.

Everybody owns a tiny white dog that has been thoroughly combed.

Creperies and lingerie stores line the streets.

The air is thick with the smells that pour from the bakeries, cheese sellers and wine shops.

And I saw a young Madame carrying two baguettes in her purse.

It looks, sounds, smells and feels French. I'm willing to bet if you tried biting a bit of Cannes off, it would taste French too.

--

La Mirabelle

--

She got on the train to Nice and sat in front of me, in her purple old sweater, four sizes two big and probably thirty years old (that is to say, half her age). She had messy, short grey hair that struck out at all kinds of impossible angles, lending her airs of gentle lunacy. As soon as she sat down, she produced from her bag a brush and a small plastic mirror, both of them pink, and touched up her hair with three or four light, random strokes. They had the curious effect of leaving her hair exactly as it had been before. She stowed the brush and the mirror back in the bag.

She smiled, satisfied. We all have silly rituals that make us feel at home.

--

Last pictures from Monaco:

--

Peter Sarstedt in 1969, Top of the Pops

"So, how's the Ni? Is it nice?"

I breathed in for a second. I had found out my hotel was only 3-stars and had been rehearsing this answer since.

"It's nice - it's ok. A bit like walking into a spaceship," (laugh here, as rehearsed) "I had to learn how to use everything again. Spent half an hour figuring out how to turn on the lights." (Laugh again, don't mention how long it took to open the door, or to get the Tv started - you're going for funny here, not stupid)

"It's very colorful isn't it?" The girl cut in. We had just been introduced. "Very flashy?"

"Oh, yes, it is," - that drowning feeling. Everything slipping away.

"... very tacky." The girl finished off.

"But the basics are all there. I mean, the bed's comfortable and the sheets are warm... and ... great location..."

"Yeah," the kid, the girl and their friend nodded and went back to talking about ex's and holidays in San Moritz and Saint-Tropez.

--

Like a tacky spaceship, I guess.

La frontiere de l’aube (2008), from European Son

--

Lights on. Onstage, the italian bartender with the brown beret and the tourist - middle-aged, middle-classed. Yours truly sits at a corner, pen in hand.

Bartender: What brings you to Monaco? Work?

Tourist: No.

Bartender: Holiday?

Tourist: No. There was a girl... [Finishes his beer.]

Bartender: I'll file that under work then. [Pours tourist another.] Say, I have a joke for you. Back in the day, God called Adam and said "Adam, I have good news and bad news," and Adam said "It's such a beautiful, sunny day, gimme the good news." And god says: "Adam, I gave you a brain to think with and sex to reproduce with." But Adam is confused, he says: "God, I don't understand. This sounds great - what's the bad news?" "I'm sorry son," God says, "you only have blood enough to use one at a time."

Tourist: We've been suffering ever since.

Bartender: It is always the same story with love. If one person loves another, the other's never as interested.

They toast and speak no more.

--

Happy Valentine's Day,

(Grumpy Love by M.H. Jeeves)

Eternamente Uomo

--

At Freddie's, I was received by a big, biker type woman in a leather vest, with skulls round her neck and long gothic hair.

'I hope you don't mind; we're smoking inside,' she said with a thick French accent and an air of indifference (-is one possible without the other?).

'No, no, that sounds great.'

'At this time of the night, nobody stops us,' she said, sukcing on her Camel through a short black filter. I'd seen Monaco's policemen, and even if they had the whole palace guard for support, I'd be very surprised if they could have stopped that bartender if they tried.

Outside, blue-faced, red-nosed, teeth clattering, sat two couples who had obviously minded, drinking wine. (-on Freddie's Bar)

Fight like trees: Monaco cityscape

Morning light

--

The cafe' is a nice little place with some great looking gateaus, a white dove that insists on flying in, and a sweet but forgetful old lady watching over the counter. Her hair is painted an impossible black and her lips an impossible red. If I had seen her anywhere else, I would have taken her for a fortune teller. (-on Gateau du Roi cafe)

It's a lovely yellow

--

'What do you want?' He asked, as I ogled the lifejacket the stewardess had left on his chair. I reached for the red string, tugged at it strongly.

'It's just for show,' he said. 'It doesn't work.'

'Let's hope the others work better,' I said, disappointed the jacket hadn't inflated.

'Let's hope we don't have to find out,' he said, and laughed.

Train to Manchester

The man took from his basket several tinfoil wraps and lined them one after other, covering the four-person table. The woman on the other side of the corridor was lining up her table with drinks.

'Does anybody want a sandwich?' He asked. 'Ham and coleslaw? Tomato and cheese? Sausage rolls?'

'What about drinks?' She asked. 'I brought gin and tonics, beers, some wine...' All around them, their friends mixed and matched as they pleased.

'Look at that!' My elderly companion said, stretching so she could see over my seat. 'How delightful! It's like a picnic on a train. Ooh, but it's awful early to be drinking isn't it?'

Sound Advice

Wake up to a frosty morning

--

I've been spending a few days in Hull - a town where I spent three years. It feels weird to be back: I remember feeling trapped here, even if I had a good time. In a way, coming back is like going for a coffee with the guy who kidnapped you that sunny morning in Colombia. It's the uneasy familiarity; that "we've been through a lot together, but maybe sometimes I wish we hadn't" feeling that I can't really explain or describe any better than I just have.

Everything is the same here, nothing much seems to have changed. Cafe's and chippies are all still there. The University is just as I remember it. They still spend the morning slipping takeaway leaflets under your door. For better or worse, Hull is exactly as it was when I left. I suspect it'll continue being exactly as it was for a very long time.

Tell you what, though. Nothing beats seeing old friends who inexplicably all converged in on the town that very same weekend I decided to drop by. Nothing beats a long night at the pubs with good mates. Nothing beats walking down the street and bumping into people you didn't even know were still around.

I guess I'm trying to say that it's alright, being back in Hull. It's not so bad at all.