My metro ride to work this morning was très surreal. A very earnest busker killed me softly with “Yesterday” sung ever so slightly off key and with a French accent (“my trobbles seemed so far awaiy…”) and played with odd little extra flourishes on a saxophone. He alternately sung a couple of lines and then continued with the sax. All this to a taped backing track played on one of the little portable amps the buskers all seem to have these days. He was so into his performance that he had his eyes shut. I hope his takings were somewhere safe from the pickpockets.
At the other end of the carriage, a group of Japanese/Chinese with surgical masks on. Do they know something I don’t? Has SARS hit Paris? Or like me, do they have trobble coping with collective French morning mouth in confined spaces?
Wish I hadn’t handed in the packet of Xanax my toddler found on the floor of the departure lounge at Charles de Gaulle airport this weekend.
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