One is the loneliest number

Up until the morning of my departure for that weekend getaway I was thinking of just cancelling it. But in the end I forced myself out of my bed and on that ferry. I really wanted to be able to escape my life, even if just for 2 days. And of course it didn't work out like that.

I tried every trick in my gourmet-obsessed book: the creme brûle tart from my favourite patisserie, lunch at this wonderful restaurant surrounded by the most amazing courtyard I've ever seen, dinner at a French wine restaurant, breakfast at my favourite French chocolatier followed by lunch at one of my favourite restaurants in the world. But no food, fine wine or orange and ginger infused hot chocolate could fill the emptiness inside me. I felt so alone.

Everywhere I looked, there was another wonderful something that I would have loved to share with The Man. Everywhere I looked there were people in pairs. Feeding each other roasted almonds, snapping pictures for their Instagram album of happy moments. Giggling, kissing and holding hands. And then there was me, sat alone on the park bench furthest away in the pee-smelling park corner that the drunks use as their loo. With just my iPod and its pathetic music library to keep me company.

                                         

In all its raw brutality that loneliness envelopes you like a Medieval torture device. It's horrible. Not to a point that I'd start buying cats, but not far from it.

Even after numerous trips to that town I still get lost. It's not my fault though- they've laid the street out all wrong. They're never where they're supposed to be on the map. I actually think they hire people to just move the streets around to keep visitors confused. It's all very dada.

And then, when one of those ridiculously loved-up couples pass you on those narrow, cobble-stone pavements what do you think they do? There are two of them and they take up the entire pavement so you think they let go of each others' arms to give way to someone clearly in a rush to make yet another lunch reservation? NO. It's like you're invisible! They just gaze into each others' eyes, knocking you off to the street that is flooding with late September rains. 

So not only am I alone, but my shoes are ruined and after crawling through puddles up to my knee I'll probably get a pneumonia too. I hope those smug bastards are happy...