LOST IN FRANCE

I believe that this was a Bonnie Tyler hit - it sounded like her well-gravelled emotional voice which belted out the lyrics of this song. I've been humming it intermittently all day, not because I've any particular liking for the Welsh vocalist or her music, but because of the song-title's aptness in my present situation.

You see, the painting, which was commissioned by my friend and regular client Magnus Schmidt, which I have spent the last three months producing, and which I had placed in the hands of Royal Mail's Parcelforce, on 28th September, for shipment to Provence, was last heard of in a depot belonging to Chronopost Roissy on 2nd October. Since then, it has disappeared.

I had insured the parcel for a sum which I felt was reasonable to compensate me for its possible loss, and I will make "bien sur" that I am compensated financially, at least, but what gets my goat is that I will now have to spend another three months producing a replacement artwork for my client. This time could have been spent on my next exhibition, for instance. The person who is responsible for the disappearance of this painting has stolen three months of my life, and I am annoyed about that. I don't know how many productive three-month periods of life are left to me, and I don't want to spend any of them repeating myself - I do enough of that during conversations with drunks and bureaucrats. And the nagging notion that a summer's work may have gone to provide a fix for a sticky-fingered French junkie isn't improving my mood at the moment.

I promise I'll be in a better frame of mind for my next post.