I liked living in Paris when I was young because falling in and out of love was a lot easier. I liked the little hotel room that got crowded if the cat wanted to stay. I loafed about the café’s all day, read Shakespeare in book shops, making wishes and meeting lovers, and I was happy then though I thought I was unhappy. It seemed to me the sun would never go down in those days, and when it finally did, I’d sit in my hotel room until the lively hour and the neighbourhood bars lit up. That was a time. Every girl had big eyes. And a glass of red wine was the price of admission to a long night of being wanted.

I was born in London, adopted, lived my youth on an island off the west coast of Scotland. I now live in California. I write to travel.

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