It was a surprisingly good, morbid reminder of reality and, in fact, the only way to end the heated argument.
He spoke slowly, methodically, as if his words were part of the straining process. I was sitting in a tea-tasting class in O’ways Teacafe (go there). As he spoke, I felt a lump in my throat – the kind of lump that comes with conviction. I had been living life too fast. After recently getting back from a month-long adventure overseas, I somehow hadn’t found the time to reflect, look through photos or even remember why I went in the first place. Life has a way of carrying on like that. Continue reading →
Her posh British accent made it that much better. Although it’s probably rather a sad statement, I chuckled at the abruptness that seems to come with age – no one to impress, nothing to prove, just telling it like it is.
She looked about 9 years old – blonde hair and blue eyes, staring up at the high ceilings and ancient paintings of the old church. She spoke French, so I hadn’t actually understood what she said, but when translated, was shocked to discover her young and, in my opinion, tragic scepticism.
I can’t say who said it, or who it was said of, but it was one of those moments where you know exactly what they mean, even if it is a bit mean.
Normally I would object. But standing in the middle of Montmartre, one of Paris’s many tourist hubs, watching couples as they bought paintings, ate croissants, drank coffees and tasted chocolates…somehow it seemed true.
Ah man, it was just the kind of humour I needed on a six hour train ride. The son had reached peak ADD levels and the father had clearly had enough. It was a surprisingly effective parenting/threatening technique.