This sort of thing, I kid you not, is roughly what I had in mind when I moved to France. Clean, simple, a little elegant, a little unexpected-but-nice. That was it. I’d get my photographic technical chops down. I’d always have my camera handy when I wanted it — not like now, when I am in Paris and the camera is hundreds of miles away, thus forcing my to break out the mobile phone or take no photo at all. No, I’d have it together.
I was going to be an amateur still life photographer. I’d have my pretty house in the countryside. It would have a garden and a potager from which I would select lovely items to present in a pristine fashion, then photograph. If that ever felt a little small, I’d vary the routine with some landscape shots. Maybe I would learn to play the piano. What a great life. If only.
This was yesterday and is actually a little more like my life right now. No one is hurt. I think they’ll even save the wheel. But hitting a nail on the motorway was not fun. By the time I was towed to the garage all I could think was, it could be worse. The motorway wasn’t flooded, for example, nor was my house; a lot of people in France right now would happily trade places with me. I ground to a halt at the side of a busy road but I did not flip over. I did that once, a long time ago. I do not recommend it.
And the house? Well, like a snake, it is shedding its skin. Down at the far end they are popping a doorway through a wall, so my imaginary potager will have an imaginary potting shed to go with it. Soon enough I will be able to show you how it looks all shiny and new. Well, more of a matte finish and new to the 19th century. Some day. You might even find a piano inside.