The Blogley Roadshow has moved on. Or to put it slightly less dramatically, I simply shoved a few pants into a bag and drove down the D106 to my new home in Andernos-Les-Bains on the Arcachon Basin. Famous for seafood, gentle weather and the setting for countless French films depicting well-heeled Parisiennes sitting around eating oysters, arguing and drinking wine.
I’ve only been here a day but already I like it. It’s very quiet and I feel very relaxed. So relaxed in fact that I’m worried that I might melt into the bay, dissolve into the brine and be reconstituted as an oyster. Maybe a pearl.
It’s tranquil, but not isolated. The continuous strip of houses from Ares in the north to Arcachon in the south ensures a drip-drip of human activity to keep my mind anchored in reality. Yet it doesn’t feel built-up. More ‘built-in’ owing to the low level buildings and tall fir trees that line the coast giving the town the feel of an old-fashioned 1950s campsite.
I’ve done well to be here. But not through luck. More by believing in that what I’m doing is the right thing to do. And that you can’t win races by not trying. Writing is not a race, I know that, but you’ve got to write to get somewhere. Just like running. Just like playing the guitar. Just like the painters I know who need months of practice ‘to feel the brush in their hand’ before embarking on a major piece.
When I haven’t written for a while, I feel sluggish. The ideas are there in my head. What is lacking is the mental agility to get them down quick enough before they are lost. I have to write a lot to fire up my brain. Just like a steam engine. The hotter it gets, the better it goes.
This is the reason for the blog. It’s been a running track for my mind. A training circuit. To test things out before I lay them out on paper.
So this is Blogley in Andernos-Les-Bains. The fifth incarnation of Blogley. How many more I can do, I’m not quite sure. A man has to lay his head down somewhere. Even me.
So here’s to another year of Blogley. Another selection of half-truths, lies, clichés, erroneous trivia and the occasional slice of hard won wisdom thrown in like a shot of vodka into the final cocktail of the year. Here’s to 2015. Happy New Year.