So, you may have noticed that the blog has dried up a bit in recent days? This is because I am focussing the majority of my orthographic efforts on writing a book. The subject matter is predictably expat, however hopefully I will be covering new ground in the field of Travel Writing.
To whet your appetite, here’s a brief extract:
It is at this point I have to make a confession. The reality of our situation was no more than the result of a series of events and decisions that we had made without a great deal of forward knowledge. In other words, it wasn’t as if we’d planned to emigrate six months after the birth of our son, it just happened that way. Nor did we end up in France as the result of any lifelong affection or affinity for the country. Indeed, my first real experience of France as a child was hardly an indication of things to come. We’d caught a coach from London Victoria and were queuing at the border (remember those?) to get into Belgium, where we were heading to stay with some family friends, when I decided that I desperately needed a nature break. So the coach driver obliging opened the doors and I stepped down onto French soil for the very first time – only to piss on it a few moments later.