Bathtubs and blissfulness

I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.

The opening line to Dodie Smith’s ‘I Capture the Castle’ springs to mind. Indeed, I write this sitting in the bathtub.


After months (years, decades) of feeling awkward and out of place, I’ve come home. Le Pavillion des Canaux is my idea of heaven on earth.

I arrived 3 hours ago, which in Paris, is in itself telling. I started with an iced latte made on almond milk on the sunsoaked, Canal-side terrace. When the blue sky inexplicably started dripping on me and my computer, I ventured inside.

And I’m so glad I did.

For the next two hours, I installed myself at the ancient corner desk in the ‘living room’. A jade green feature wall, a quirky cane armchair covered with gloriously colourful cushions and the cutest little armchairs. And a window view. And an antique typewriter in the corner. I must have looked extremely officious and hard-working, because though many other similarly enchanted patrons stuck their heads in or snapped a quick photo, not one other person installed themself in my room.

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Around 2ish I started to get peckish and so wandered into the bar to see what was on offer. A quinoa salad with pomegranate seeds, slivered almonds and apple sounded amazing (and indeed, for my first ever quinoa experience, I’m impressed).

I popped upstairs to collect my food, and that’s when I saw it. A bathtub, complete with cushions and writing table, and a second-storey view over the Canal. And so here I am.

I’ve written an unprecedented 2,000 novel words and already checked the opening times for tomorrow. And Monday. And the first half of Tuesday. And for every evening after that. And so if you’re looking for me this summer, you know where I’ll be.

I’ll be in the bathtub.


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