The Living is Easy.

I spent the summer travelling; sea-kayaking along jagged cliffs and into the Calanques in the south of France, climbing mountains on foot, overlooking Alpine horizons and glassy blue lakes, and then tearing back down again on 90’s style Scooters that throw you on the gravel at the slightest hint of hesitation, staying in a strange man’s outer-Nice apartment decorated with hunting knives and bad erotic art that looked as if it’d been painted by Nabokov’s Humbert Humbert,  running away from said strange man when he suggested a forest ‘BBQ’ with his friends *cough, cannibals*, squeezing into steaming hot and over-crowded ad-hoc venues at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival and laughing and laughing and laughing until almost doing unthinkables in my pants, picking the brains of Social Dissidents from the likes of Syria and Czechoslovakia, and deliberating with Danes and Germans and Argentinians and Americans over the power of the people to cause resonant change on the world stage, commuting to art fairs in nothing but a bikini by bobbing down the rapids of the Rhine clutching all my belongings in an air-tight sac, exploring Swiss cities by day and returning to the world headquarters of the Anthroposophical society by night to sleep amongst the hills in one of the last houses Rudolf Steiner ever designed, lolling about on the sun-drenched lawns of Russell Square quivering from the experience of a squirrel mounting my leg just moments earlier, getting lost in the rain-drenched back alleys of Venice island on the way to the Peggy Guggenheim to drool uneducated dribble over Ernst and Bacon and Tanguay and Picasso… among others. In fact, I did quite a lot of drooling and getting educated this summer; living, learning, and learning how to live.