What the hell is it about a holiday. The moment you get back you forget you were ever there? All the dramas and stories disperse into the foggy backstreets of your brain. So I burst out laughing when my travelling companion sent me this photo.
Me playing the piano in the middle of Paris Austerlitz station. They had a beautiful perfectly tuned wee upright sitting there to be played by anyone passing.
We had time to wait so watched as not one thumping pillock went up and whapped it. We heard a little bit of classical, a little Scott Joplin, some Fur Elise- of course and bored I took the stool for a little boogie woogie.
Would it work here?
Not a chance. Some half cut, fish and chip wielding lunatic would sit on it or perhaps an out of control toddler whose parents are intent on letting him expess himself would wallop the keys until the station guard ran towards it with the key and and shut the lid.
Still when in France……..Je ne regrette rein.