So there was a moment this evening, walking out of Sainsbury's. A moment where I realised I had made it. Whatever that yard stick was, I was at the end of it. Because in that moment, I was twenty-one and I had blisters on my ankles from shoes too small. And I lived in Europe. And then I asked myself if I really did live in Europe, like is the UK really considered Europe? Sometimes it's referred to as its own separate, distinct entity, and I'm never quite sure whether or not to include it. But for the sake of this, I'm including it. In that moment, I was a young girl, living on her own in Europe, walking to the tube station with a bag of shopping and a baguette tucked under her arm. Please. Please. Somebody stop me and ask me if I'm French.
No, but actually I was really pleased with myself, life, the cosmos and all that, and while I was gloating, I must have squeezed my arm too tightly because all of a sudden this beautiful 90p baguette fell limp against me. It had snapped in half. And there's no glamorous, graceful way of carrying a severed baguette. And then my train terminated three stops too soon. And then when a new train came, it was so crowded that I was worried that the doors had closed on the strings of my knapsack, and I was terribly paranoid that at my stop "doors will open on the lefthand-side" and I was definitely umbilically attached to the righthand-side. And this is where you remember all the bad things, the things you're not doing that you should be doing.
Like not being trapped in doors.
But it was nice while it was nice.
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