Happy holidays

Happy holidays lovers. Christmas eve in France.


Empty bottles of champagne. Old wooden floors punctuated by high heels throughout Christmas dances. When I was little I used to hide behind the two large glass doors that made the entrance to the parlour. There I could admire the wonderful skirts that twirled around the room to the rhythms of old jazz. The men were tall and handsome. The women beautiful with pale skin and blood red lips. Their diamonds made reflections of the sun on the walls, through the lights from thousands of candles. This Christmas was filled of that old jazz and dad poured whiskey from the old crystal carafe I love so much. He served endless amounts of macrons and sang to me with closed eyes. I dried empty three bottles of champagne myself and hummed all night.


When the party had died, all the presents had been unwrapped and all the guests were either in their guest beds or long gone home, I took the last bottle and emptied the tray with macrons. Danced to myself while humming. Then I fell asleep on the floor and dreamt about the Parisian sky and C and the sunrise and him and more champagne. It was quite a silent holy day. To be honest.

numb night, saturday it is

So, my father called. I needed the night to recover. I needed the time to sort out the thoughts, to figure out the words, to let it sink in. After 53 minutes since the first giggly sound from mother, she jumped off the chair and walked across the dining area and up the stairs covered in soft velvet. She knocked, did not wait for an answer and entered my kingdom of solitude. She handed me the phone without a word, turned around and left. Mon coeur, enfin! was his first words. The six following minutes contained phrases without any real meaning. He described that when a glimpse of sunshine came, he turned his face against it, just to feel a little bit closer to us, his loved ones. He told me that he visited Christophe et Jean-François the other day. Their big house on the countryside was my childhood heaven. Big house filled with surrealistic art, antique porcelain behind glass doors and books, so many rooms just for books. I could hide away from the world for hours behind hundreds of bookshelves, reading dusty books that made me cough. He told me that he missed me. That I should come visit, some time very soon. I will, I thought quietly to myself. He sounded so eager to get me there, not like usual, but as the world and our future depended on it. I shivered when I understood that the funny undertone in his voice was panic..


C is hospitalised chérie. You must come home. She needs you, they need you, I need you.

A punch in the face. A sudden indisposition. A lump in my throat. Then all black. I fell on the floor, dropped the phone under my bed. Mother came running when she heard the noise. She helped me up in my bed, picked up the phone and closed the door behind her. A few minutes later she came back, wrinkles on her forehead and a troubled face. She brought me tea in my favourite cup, asked if I wanted company and went off again. She knows me too well. 


I left my tea untouched. Situations like that require something stronger, something calming, something to numb the feelings. So I spent the night in my window sill, shivering, numb, anxious and totally empty. Long time no see, I haven't had one of those nights in a very long time. It was overwhelming so I spent most of the day in bed while listening to tragic jazz tones . Mother left me alone. I smoked cigarettes, put rum in my tea and continued to be numb. I can't think about the consequences quite yet, I need some more time..

paris calling

Came home this afternoon and heard giggle from the kitchen. It was mother. She was sitting on a chair, dangling with her legs. The image of a little girl. I knew who she was talking to. There is only one person whose calls will transfer her into that. I knew it had to be my father on the other line..


My father. Tall, dark and mysterious. The one they talk about in movies, the one they describe in literature. He lives in Paris, Jean-François. Mother ones lived with him but decided to move back home to England, because she missed the weather she explained. But I knew that was not the real reason. So she moved, well we moved. But they continued to be together. Long distance romance. Every once in a while he'd be in England and they'd carry on like nothing had happened. Same thing when we were in France. Then father met his french love and they moved in together. But nothing could change the great love between my parents. One or two or even three persons to love is only natural. And I got along really well with his new female friend. So who would care..


So our lives were filled with love. Everybody loved everybody. C'est l'amour, elle est comme ça, explained my father. And I never questioned it. I never thought about it as something other than perfectly normal. I just lived with it, like everyone else..

there's no sugar in france

Today was a war. No soldiers, no weapons, no fire. Me against myself. It's very simple really, you just don't do it. You just don't put that kind of things in your mouth. You just don't put yourself in that position where it's available. But today I did, and so I had to fight it..

When I was a little girl I learned that the white crystals were no good for you. They existed only for you to hate them. It was my fathers french wife who taught me. She was the most beautiful woman, tall and slender. She never wore Chanel but I always imagined her as an aged model. Those tall legs were mostly captured in flats, but when she wore heels, she became the most compelling woman, she was a queen. Not only to my father but also to me. Her long dark hair, flying free in the wind. Her scent, filled my nostrils whenever she was around. She was the perfect mixture of bohemian and chic. A simple nod and you'd obey, still when she smiled at me - she filled me with pure happiness.

The memories of her are clear, like a framed picture on a wall in my mind, still I somehow try to cover them in fog. I shouldn't remember her as I do. There's too much pain, too much confusion, too much shame..