PARIS DIARY

Sunday 28th June

Sunday morning and the church across the street is bleating out hymns. They need to up the tempo. On the other hand it may be suited to the world at the moment. 

Street noise most of the night: car doors slamming, people screaming. I listened to an audio production of Medea yesterday and some of the screams sounded like the climax of the play. But I couldn’t bring myself to close the window: the cool air after three days of 90/30+ heat was soothing.

Cool air and breezes. One knocked my insect—bird?—kite off the window where it does double duty as ornament and curtain (there are neighbours right across the courtyard). I lay it on the bed, then I stepped on the pushpin that held the kite and had popped off. Tried to push it back into the wood with my thumb, too hard; the hammer was in a cupboard in a toolbox and I was feeling lazy. My eye fell on the long, smooth, black, flat-on-one-side stone I beachcombed somewhere (Vancouver? Brittany?) that I use as a paperweight I thought of my stone age forebears and used the stone. Bang, bang. Perfect! The kite is back up.