I just had a Sex in the City, ‘Carrie in Paris’ moment. Remember the one where she falls flat on her face in a humiliating manner? That moment. Unfortunately, or fortunatly, not in Dior but instead outside my local Carrefour discount supermarket due to a combination of stacked heels and poor neighbourhood pavements. I don’t know if anyone saw me but certainly no one rushed to my rescue. So I quickly picked myself up, dug the gravel from my knee and scurried off into the nearest café.

There I proceeded to have a Miranda moment. Remember the one where she becomes convinced she is going to die alone and be eaten by her cat? That moment, that long long moment, which if SATC and Bridget Jones are anything to go by, comes to us all, or at least all us singletons. After all, imagine my fall was in the house I’m borrowing and had been fatal. Until Celine came back from her holiday and found my body, bloated by the summer heat, who’d notice? I doubt the next doors neighbours’ cat would even bother to eat me as it’s already managed to chew its greedy way into its 2kg food bag.

Meanwhile my pal Rachel is away and the Meet Up Paris people surely wouldn’t notice. The locals in my nearby café might vaguely register my absence but would probably put it down to foreign writer flightiness. The only person who would possibly actively wonder where I am is Married Man whom I’m meeting for lunch tomorrow. But then he’d probably just figure I’d had a crisis of conscience and toddle home to his wife instead.

So then; inevitably, I started to wonder if moving to a country where hardly anyone would register if I died was such a good idea. However I quickly tried to comfort my self with the thought that if I died alone at home in Ireland, as a writer whose friends all lead busy lives, it could also be a while before I was discovered there also….and then I realised that this was no comfort whatsoever!

This led me to wonder how many marriages are made and children exist just because of thirty-somethings suffering panic attacks that they are going to end up as fodder for household pets! So basically if I don’t blog at least every second or third day, send out the search parties. Please!

Still, on the bright side, I am writing this in the sun, sheltered by a canopy of grape vine, listening to live music from the incongruous Slavic Music conservatoire down the road. There would be worse times and places to die.

Oh sweet Jesus, a quick reflex away from spilling a full glass of Orangina into my computer! My heart!