I attach a video of the cake my partner baked yesterday, complete with candles, singing, and blowing of the candles at the end.
It is my brother’s birthday today. Instead of exploring Lyon, he is trapped in his studio, the day unfurling as any other. At least it is the week-end and he doesn’t have to work. I worry about him sometimes, isolated from the rest of the family and without a garden to stretch his legs, but he is okay, mostly.
I continue my exploration of alternative photographic processes today, making the most of the bright sunshine. Tomorrow clouds will come. While the UV rays work on the photographic paper I head to the studio for a much needed tidy. I transform the desk, rearranging papers and notes to make space for my scanner. I spread my developing kit under the sofa bed, the tools more readily accessible than they used to be. I discard paper that should have long ago disappeared in the bin, flatten boxes, and within an hour the space has been transformed. There is space again.
I check my phone and find for the first time of the day a European flag floating in my Twitter feed. It is Europe Day today but I have not heard any mention of it yet. The thought has been at the back of my mind for most of the morning but I have not said anything. No one around me has ever seemed to care about Europe Day. Growing up and into my university years the European Union was just a fact of life, something taken for granted that allowed easy travel in neighbouring countries. As an adult, it has meant moving from France to the UK without sparing a thought to paperwork and immigration services, but recently it has been in my mind a lot. The European Union is not perfect and people are quick to criticise it and I find myself having to play Europe’s advocate, an exhausting and ungratifying role. Today though, I do not have the strength to defend my convictions so I remain silent. I turn my phone off and head outside to collect the prints. I have just enough time to process them before I need to start cooking. In a little more than an hour I have a lunch date with friends.
We chat about this and that over Skype, our feast more reasonable than our last lunch date. We say our goodbyes and return to the world of our houses. It is Saturday and there is little else to do than laze on the sofa, scan my prints, and write. I pause to recollect the day before to write about it for this diary. I want to write about VE Day, about flags and nationalities, about identity and place, but the words slip away from me. I am adrift and have been for the last few days, my mind and body unable to settle down. I have cleaned, tidied, and moved a lot in order not to think. I delete the jumble of mismatched words I have written and replace them with an account of my day. It is not what I want to write about but it is all I am able to write.