The conversation moves from French food to ‘Emily in Paris’, the new offering from the ‘Sex and the city’ creator. Critics have panned it and the french are up in arms about it. I don’t have Netflix and so need not worry about whether to watch it or not. I watch the trailer to see what the fuss is about. I quite enjoyed ‘Sex and the city’ and watched the reruns till I realised that I knew most of the storyline. I think it was the friendship between the four women that attracted me rather than anything else. The films that followed were pretty pointless. I read two more reviews by writers who have lived and worked in Paris. They seem to like the drama series. The glamour, glitz and colourful portrayal of the city is just pure escapism and a much needed diversion in this period of doom and gloom. The crime dramas I’ve watched portray the more realistic aspects of life in the city, not the criminal aspect but the grittiness and lacklustre suburbs away from the tourist hotspots and cameras. The same as anywhere else in Europe and the UK.
My head feels as if there is a dead weight in it. I try to shake it free but it gets worse. It could be all the caffeine I’ve been ingesting. Even the decaffeinated brews add up. Or it could be Lavinia’s happy screams that she’s been practicing. Whatever it is, it is starting to get annoying and oppressing. It didn’t bother me on the gym floor or treadmill, but is slowing me down in the pool. I managed to do 3k in 18 minutes today on the treadmill. The first time I have kept this pace going for that long. Something I thought I could never do. Running for one minute in the past was too much for me. It just goes to show how much we underestimate ourselves. Back home the paracetamol doesn’t help, I reach for the ibuprofen tablets. I need to free my head.
A sullen looking PM stares from the front pages. Three tiers of lockdown and that too just as we were about to set off for a mini staycation break. I glance through the pages. Some are worried that the lockdown has come three weeks too late. Some say lockdown is not the answer. The statistics are staggering. Three million people have missed out on cancer screening in the UK since March. World wide, a million children missed their vaccinations and a hundred and thirty million people are predicted to tip over the poverty line and face starvation. Doom and gloom indeed. So if Emily is here to cheer us up, let her try. She is played by Phill Collin’s daughter. He is in the papers today looking a very sorry state with his ex wife. From the photo of the couple taken not too long ago, the suitably pouted and enhanced 46 year old is the perfect example of how money can transform your appearance from a meek happy youngster who married the singer over twenty years ago to the current state she is in now. It also tells you that money can indeed buy you happiness. The amount spent on her appearance hasn’t gone to waste. She’s gone and found herself a husband 15 years her junior, changed the security code to PC’s house and locked him out of his own house. Perfect.
Here we are in Bracknell in Berkshire. The weather is dismal, cold and drizzling. There are a number of country parks and nature reserves within walking distance of the hotel, but staying in seems a better option. At least here I can relax, and that’s what I intend to do.