Patterns In Repeat (song)

put out to pasture on a balcony in Paris

I wrote a song last year on the balcony of a crappy hotel in Paris. I realise ‘crappy’ does little to garner sympathy — it was also noisy, I’d like the records to show, and overpriced. GJ and I had come to Paris on very short notice to attend the funeral of one of his relatives, a beloved matriarch whose passing, though not unexpected, had nonetheless taken everyone by surprise, perhaps because she had the spirit of someone who could never die.

A friend of a friend had kindly offered us his apartment in St Germaine, and though he had warned us it was small and five floors up with no lift, it wasn’t till we lugged the baby, buggy, suitcase and guitar all the way upstairs that we realised he wasn’t at all kidding. And so, an emergency hotel was booked - at the height of the summer tourist season - for which we paid a heavy and unsatisfying price.

The night before the funeral GJ and various members of his family were reuniting for dinner. I stayed in with the baby at the hotel - pleased, as ever, to have the ultimate pass of new motherhood as an excuse to decline attending social events. After she went down at 7pm, the room plunged into darkness and sound machine roaring, I had no choice but to contort myself and my guitar onto the tiny balcony for the next few hours. Nothing throws your new reality as a parent into sharper relief than the experience of your first hotel room with a baby. I had had the good sense to buy a bottle of wine. As I got comfortable, the sun began setting. It was one of those rare corners of time- like flying - where limitation narrows your scope and feels something like freedom. A few hours later, I had written this song. Below is a rough version recorded on my phone, which doesn’t include a closing section - written later, which will appear at the end of my upcoming record. I’ve no doubt our reason for being in the city played a large part in the song's subject matter.