I’m back in Glasgow.
I arrived yesterday afternoon, Michelle and Barry drove me up here from Leeds where I spent Friday night visiting with them and their new baby Isla. It was a funny feeling coming back. It was nice. Sad & nice at the same time. I kept expecting things to have changed. It’s only been 3 months but it feels like a lot longer. I spoke to Michelle on the phone last night and told her how wonderful it was to be back and how I had been wondering why we even left in the first place, but she reminded me how nice Paris is too. How amazing it was to be living in Paris. How lucky we were. It made sense.

Underneath all the bad, underneath all the mistrust and resentment I feel at the moment for the French and their infuriating beaurocracy, I can recognise that she’s right. One day soon, hopefully, things will work out and I’ll be able to return to Paris. Home.

If you didn’t already know, I’m not sure if you do, I’m on a forced exile from France & Europe in general. My residency application is still to be approved so in the meantime, I only have the right to spend 3 out of 6 months in France (or any other European country) other than a few eastern European states, Switzerland and the UK. That’s why I’m wandering around the UK, visiting, seething, bitching. Things are looking up though. I’m back in Glasgow and I have some wonderful friends who although they are off travelling in Asia have left me their keys and invited me to make myself at home in their flat in their absence.

It’s such a relief. Although I’ve been spoilt by friends opening their homes, opening their lives and welcoming me in, nothing compares to having your own space, being free to do or not do whatever it is you want or should do. If that makes any sense….

So. There you go. The apartment is on the southside of Glasgow, an area that I don’t know very well, so I’m just about to head out to do some discovering, that is, after I take that long bath I’ve been dreaming about…