August 22, 2012
I arrive in Paris on 1st sept 2012, and I'm staying for 6 months depending both on how well my book is coming along and the buoyancy of my mental health, which is in jeopardy considering I'll be holed up in a Parisan garret writing a tragicomedy about a guy who's steadily alienating himself from society and becoming increasingly mad because he - perhaps justifiably - believes everyone in the world (but himself) is an idiot. It's an autobiography... not really, but I am going to delve into solitary confinement -albeit voluntarily - to see what it does to one's mind. I'm normally a rather gregarious and genial kind of guy so this promises to be quite a gloomy thing to do, especially as I know no one in Paris. So please keep an eye on me and send me home if I start to actually go mad. Please do this for me. You are my only friends. And I haven't even met you yet.
I'm in Paris for 6 months to write a book. "oh that tired old cliche," I hear you say. well, yes but this book is about a bloke who goes to paris to write a book, and you should only write about what you know, so I have to come. secretly delighted.