” It is raining in Paris, or at least in that part of le douzième arrondissement which contains the Holiday Inn Paris Bastille. Presumably it also rains on the sex shop (‘SEX SHOP’) next door, though I haven’t checked. The rain provides un bon atmosphère and has helped to disperse the faint smell of sewage that was in my room when I got back today.

” The bathtub makes a belching noise. I have just washed my hair and piled it atop my head. Today was eventful. I walked first to the Marché d’Aligre, in search of patisserie; the market was full of vegetables which in retrospect I perhaps should have bought. There was a stall with a vast mound of mint leaves and you could smell it, clean and bright, walking past.

” Some streets away from the market I eventually found Square Trousseau, as quaint as its name sounds and surrounded by discreet, interesting shops. At Blé Sucré I purchased un pain aux amandes and un cafe, which despite not being ‘au lait’ was actually terribly nice. It had a toffee-ish taste, was not bitter, and the crema (bubbles) made up for the lack of creme. These things I consumed outside; it wasn’t raining then.

” In the square I sat on a tree-shaded bench and watched children climbing what I’m sure was a clever, diminutive reference to the Louvre Pyramid. There, postcards were written. ”

(Eagle-eyed readers will note that the photos are not of what is written about in the text, but I find cameras get in the way of enjoying your breakfast. They also function far less satisfactorily with buttery pastry stuck to the lens).

It’s Friday evening, and in approximately four minutes the local symphony orchestra will start playing an outdoor concert in a park just a stone’s throw from where I live. As a true supporter of my local classical music scene, here I am sat in the garage, hoping to be able to hear a little bit of Prince Igor et al. without having to walk down there (or pay for a ticket)!
(eta: you couldn’t actually hear anything from my house so my plan was thwarted – just as well, really)!

What I do rather love is the behind-the-scenes stuff; I love watching what goes into a concert like this, the unpacking, the huge amount of human activity building up to the main event. I glimpsed the orchestra tuning their instruments this afternoon, as I walked home from work (exhausted from moving pillow cases – requires more effort than it sounds!). If I hadn’t had an urgent appointment with a cup of tea and my own pillow, I would have stayed and watched, eavesdropped, peered (creepily) at them from a distance and scratched incomprehensible sketches on the back of a leaflet in near-spent blue biro. But alas, readers, I did not do this.

I did go out yesterday, under threat of rain, and sat on a bench in the park and sketched the stage as various crew members finished setting it up. As I finished the drawing, they turned on the coloured lights, appearing more dazzling in contrast with the steel-grey sky and the grey light on the trees. Fortunately my watercolours were with me (and a flask of redbush tea for sustenance) so I was able to capture the effect.

Or attempt to, anyway. Unfortunately my scanner eats colours for breakfast.

An altogether less highbrow subject matter is the absolute ridiculosity of the outfits in the Autumn-Winter range of a certain high-street clothing store, which for the purposes of this blog shall remain nameless. One woman wears an outfit all in yellow, with tights, a cape and strange headband; possibly she fights crime. Another is wearing wet-look leggings; a thick, neon-orange jumper; and an equally-chunky neon-pink cardigan over it – with the sleeves rolled up. I fail to see what climate that would be practical for. Reader, I am not a fashion illustrator; I would never be able to keep a straight face!

I saw this and made a mental note to draw some of these combinations, and here is Quatringa to model one of the (actually slightly more sensible) ensembles:

Quatringa, who I do not think has been previously introduced here, is a character of mine from olden times.

I’m still learning with the watercolours, but taking the pans out of their original giant plastic casing and depositing them neatly into an empty Cinnamon Altoids tin has made them a lot more convenient to use. A miniature jam jar does for holding water; a brush tolerates being stored with my PITT drawing pens in a small case (or, failing that, a paper bag).

More paint adventures soon.