The Sound of The Sea

Well, Le Coin Perdu was not meant to be: sold to another, just as inquiries were being made! However, it may well be possible to find a garden plot over on the lagoon and travel there by boat. I have to say that I should miss sleeping and waking to the sound of the sea forty yards away and so it is at least a blessing not to have had to make the choice.

However, a friend is one of those who is busily trying to satisfy himself that his life, significantly spent in buildings with walls for a view and in underground trains, is The Good Life. Of course, he is able to spice up his accounts with tales of the Travellers' Club; Annabel's, old cherry brandy and shooting parties, involving small talk with some rather thick-sounding old buffers - and then I wonder about it all and consider that there is just no way in which I could possibly be persuaded to return to all that, after having been here for five years. It seems rather curious too because I know just how such people, knowing that there must be some advantage in living close to nature in a tropical place, forever fantasize about making a break for the border but can never quite bring themselves to give up what they think they have, in return for bliss in their own Coin Perdu.

One thing is for sure, nightingales or no nightingales, there is no sound of the sea in Berkeley Square.