Lyon

113 – The End

Tomorrow I leave this city and Blogley in Lyon will be finished.

I was so upset at this news that I decided to read it all again. To remind me of my days here. And it was incredible. Like reading somebody else’s life story. So many things I had forgotten.

That I used to eat Cordon Bleu Dinde everyday when I arrived here. My walks up Mt. Verdun and Mt. Thou when I was sad. The World Food Fair that didn’t have a British stall. The first time I rode a Velo’v and cried. My trip to the absurdist theatre in Villeurbanne. The concrete thick ice on the lake in the park. My drunkenness in the Smoking Dog Pub. My knuckle grinding days at the chocolate factory in Tain L’Hermitage. My cycling chats with Frederique Moreau. Watching Old Matey pack up his bed every morning in what is now the entrance to an Intermarche Express. Reading The Great Gatsby five times in a row in the hope of one day writing something similar. The piles of stinking rubbish below my window caused by the strike. My chemical war with the mosquitoes. My revulsion at seeing a Segway for the first time. The hatred I still feel for them. My fights with the French system. My fights with the French. The Cotswoldliness of the Pilat National Park. The dullness of the people who work for EDF. Collecting walnuts in le Bois de St. Clair under Autumn skies. The Roman aqueduct that wasn’t really there. The crazy erratic Arctic/Saharan weather. Retracing the steps of my father on Mont Ventoux. The extreme crowds of the Fete des Luminere. The blizzard at Alpe D’huez. Sunset at Lake Paladru. Eating watered down curry in the New Taj Mahal. The screeching prayers from the Mosques in Guillotière on a Sunday night. The catastrophe of turning 39. The terror of approaching 40. My legendary swimming holiday in Corbières. The killer mosquitoes at La Ferme. The pointlessness of the archaeological site at Larina. The joys of running the circuit at Tete D’or. The glorious Tour De France.

If you’ve enjoyed reading it then I’ve enjoyed writing it. It’s kept me going and will act as a reference in years to come. ‘What the hell was I doing in Lyon exactly?’

I plan to continue to write. Maybe even a book. Not about Lyon of course. Something else about someone else somewhere else. A book I could finish if I was the reader. A page turner with angry butchers, police cells, stray dogs, missing money and hot gypsies from St. Etienne. But that’s another story.

So that’s it from me. Another day, another dollar, another Blogley. Thanks for the time you’ve spent reading it. I’ll be back. Bye.

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5 thoughts on “113 – The End

  1. Răzvan says:

    Hey! I’ve been reading your story for about 1 year and a half, when I moved to Lyon, I discovered your blog by accident and I enjoyed all your updates ever since. Thanks for sharing your tales with us and good luck with your future endeavors :)!

  2. Pingback: 164 – The End Of Queaux | BLOGLEY

  3. Pingback: 248 – The Sunbed of Malcolm Todd: A Short History – Blogley: The Blog of Philip Ogley

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