Rain was promised, but the sun is pouring in through the windows here – I’m sitting on my bed in the spot of sun, to write. I’ve just come back from a pilgrimage which would thrill only me – to see the Palais des Sports. It’s an old amphitheatre, part of the Foire de Paris at the Porte de Versailles, but for me, a hallowed spot – in June, 1965, when I was 14, I saw the Beatles twice in one day here. In between the matinee and the evening show, I got the metro home to Gentilly, to leave a note for my father on where to pick me up after the evening show. And he was there, bless him, even though I still have the note and it’s incoherent.
Summer continues, bewildered but happy Torontonians out in tank tops, shorts, flipflops. On October 1 Lynn and I swam in