BAD WRITER, NO BISCUIT

BAD WRITER, NO BISCUIT

Here I am on the Navigli canal in Milan at the weekend. Don't I look like I have just sprung athletically off that bicycle? I haven't. It just happened to be leaning there.

Since I last sat my butt down and did myself some blogging I've been to Madrid, London and Milan with lone stints in Paris in between. This weekend I'm in town to see Madonna and then it's off to Berlin next week before heading home on the - eeeerrrccccchhhhsssskkkkkkkrrrrrttttttt (or whatever a needle being yanked off a record sounds like).

Heading home? Why would I? Isn't this still my birthday YEAR? Home schmome. I'm going to London for the Olympics. My friend has an apartment that looks over the village so while I don't have tickets to anything and have never, to be honest, been that interested in anything but the gymnastics with the ribbons, I'm going to watch the Games on the telly as they unfold in real life across the street.

Then I'm going to get on a train and go to Spain. And Italy.

I'm also working on a wee project that could turn into a book.

As you can see, I have not blogged every day.

And I have not learned another word of French.

Indeed, I think I have forgotten some of the ones I used to know.

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