When I receive Instagram DMs reading “You are beautiful, for which brand are you a model?”, I can’t stop laughing hard.

How to explain that I am 47, that I am not tall at all and that the photo shoots that accompany my texts may be professional (thanks to my photographer) but also amateurish (because of me).

This explains why I carry 408 pairs of shoes in a large wicker basket and wear two skirts, wondering how I will succeed in getting changed in the Bagatelle park.

This amateurism also explains why I have to walk in tall grass a hundred times (I must add that it tickles when you’re in shorts).

This also explains why the inevitable “make love to the camera” injunction causes my equally inevitable stupid reaction.

This amateurism also explains some unexpected dance steps.

This amateurism finally explains the now well known goofy grimaces of your humble servant.

Sometimes the photos are quite good but the Covid stickers on the ground ruin everything.

(Yes, stickers are absolutely everywhere, and for once, my photographer used Photoshop on the photos published for the purposes of my article “The English Patient”. Wrinkles are totally acceptable, but stickers or cigarette butts, absolutely not).

April 22, 2022