PARIS. Guillaume is a fraud. Has to be. The lover who ran off with a priest is back. Said the priest wasn’t sincere. Come again? We’re supposed to be looking at the Edvard Munch, l’oeil moderne 1900-1944 at the Centre...
Paris. Must stop coming here in August. My friends take off on day one and leave the place to the middle-aged in below-the-knee shorts, find-it-if-you-can guide books, and no known French. Du café Wilbur, du café. It’s so easy to...
London. Guillaume calls from Paris to say that his lover has run off with a priest. I say, don’t they all? Guillaume’s humour level is fragile. I tell him that romance is not dead. Sotheby’s has just sold an unfinished...
