“La Sauvageraie wasn’t just a house — it was four floors of elegance, chaos, music, and mischief. But my true kingdom was the attic: a teenage paradise of Pink Floyd, secret drawers, and whispered midnight conversations… and one unforgettable laugh that still lingers in memory.”
“From childhood evenings at Marseille’s Prado to hitchhiking in the ‘70s — and even a chance encounter 6,000 km away in Philadelphia — the same street, the same family pharmacy, and the same whiff of pastis kept finding me. Some places just refuse to let you go.”
Quiet… Too Quiet?
A week of long lunches, firefighting planes, accidental website deletion, and mountain detours—because even “quiet” weeks in my world come with Bourbon temptations, Top Gun moments, and the occasional digital catastrophe.
Marseille dans le sang, Paris sur la carte d’identité. Entre les étés ensoleillés chez ma grand-mère Alphonsine, les marchés parfumés, les après-midis à la Pointe Rouge et les histoires hautes en couleur de tonton Maurice, chaque souvenir est une bouffée d’air salé et de chaleur humaine. Monte à bord du Mistral avec moi : direction le Vieux-Port, les calanques… et un Marseille qui bat toujours dans mon cœur.
When Technology Stages a Mutiny
Before sunrise, three keyboards, two computers, and one overbooked morning decided to collapse in unison—forcing me into a pre-coffee battery hunt while a window cleaner waged war on my glass. Forget caffeine; nothing wakes you up like a full-scale gadget rebellion.
Ever stumbled on a word that makes your childhood come rushing back? That’s exactly what happened when our English friend Julia discovered an apéritif called Pardi! Between laughs, fig jam, and a splash of pastis, memories of Marseille, sun-baked streets, and Pagnol’s films came flooding back—proving some words, some tastes, and some moments are impossible to translate. Curious why a simple Pardi can feel like a small miracle? Click in, raise a glass, and join the story.
Retirement: the ultimate full-time job, complete with coffee contemplation, garden inspections, and the sacred afternoon nap. But when I try to trade screens for books, curiosity—and a certain shiny drone—intervenes, dragging me into a whirlwind of aerial shots, AI photo experiments, and artistic rabbit holes. Free time? A myth. But a wonderfully creative one. Click in to see where “purposeful screen time” can take you.
Wildfires, soaring planes, and a nostalgic dive into fountain pens: today in Carcassonne, the heat is unbearable, the skies are alive with firefighting aircraft, and I’m rediscovering the quiet joys of Seyes-ruled notebooks and cursive practice. Chaos outside, calm—and a touch of absurdity—inside. Click in to ride along through smoke, memories, and a mid-life tech adventure.
Day 37 without booze, and I’m clinging to my minty mocktail like a life raft while the sun tries to roast me alive. The scales are mocking me, the trousers still judge me, and whisky still whispers from movie screens — but I’m holding the line. Click in for heatwaves, humour, and the tragic comedy of one man’s quest to drop a few kilos without losing his mind.
Some nights aren’t just concerts — they’re time machines. Last night in Carcassonne, Robert Plant’s voice soared through the summer air, blending blues, country, and a touch of magic that made us all seventeen again. Friends flew in, memories flooded back, and for a couple of hours, the golden god reminded us the soul of rock ’n’ roll never fades. Click in for the full, star-soaked story.
