Yesterday I took my courage (and my credit card) in my hands and set out to reserve tickets to Paris in September. I have some conspiracy theories: 1) it's better to book at the beginning of the week; 2) as soon as you begin searching prices, they go up, as if the computer knew that you--you personally--were looking to buy a ticket, the way they target you with furniture ads, because they know you like furniture, or porn. Better take the cheapest price of the day, because tomorrow, should you 'think it over' (as my mother used to say when she was shopping for clothes), they'll know you are trapped and the price will be higher. "Only two seats left!' Air France warns in red letters, but when I jump on it and try to select a seat, it turns out there are no seats left. Presumably I am overbooked...

I hope our apartment building roof will be done before we go. They began mid-June when I was last in Paris. For two weeks no workers have turned up, and meanwhile it has looked like rain a few times. "We can't afford to cover rain damage" for the top floor apartments, another resident warns the project manager. The roofer promises a big team as soon as the inspector comes. Today there are a couple of workers up there; I hear some desultory--perhaps I'm unfair?--hammering. Every now and then we send up an ollalieberry pie as a bribe.

Today the air is blue, the chute that runs past our window to the dumpster is orange, which is fortunate, because orange is my sitting room accent colour. We watched the eclipse yesterday from the building roof and found it (not total) underwhelming. UPS has just pulled up, part of the daily ballet of deliveries. Now I'm going to return a couple books to the university library: a Philip Kerr mystery I didn't dislike, but didn't love either--too wisecracking; and a fascinating book called Retour a Reims, by Didier Eribon, a combination of sociology and personal history.

Beverley Bie Brahic