I can explain.

Some images from the last few months.

It is so difficult to feel, deep down, sometimes, that there really is more that unites us than divides us, particularly at the moment.

And then, I go on a massive anti far-right March. I visit Ypres, a city rebuilt as a city of peace after it’s complete destruction after WWI. I visit a branch of The Louvre built in a the equivalent of Sunderland – a city built on coal mines and a strong sense of community; the museum free to enter with a River of History permanent exhibition  – 5,000 years of art and human connection.

And visiting the War Grave of Corporal Charles W Ramsay, killed in WWI in Northern France in August 1918. He was my great uncle. A much loved brother and husband, I found reference to him when looking up the Dobrantz side of the family – two Dobramtz sisters including my great grandmother married two Ramsay brothers. One killed; one died in the 1920s but not before bringing forth my grandfather. I think I might be the first of my immediate family to visit his grave. I cycled from Arras to the cemetery, Bucqovoy Road WWI Cemetery. There are so many roadside war cemeteries as this the front line for 4 years. It was a very peaceful and humbling bike road to this and other cemeteries. 

Mid-afternoon I realised I could continue to live off Prince biscuits, like a proper road cyclist, or I could finally fulfil a wish of many years living and exploring abroad: pizza from a roadside pizza vending machine.

It was proper lovely and ready , as advertised, in 9 minutes. A nine inch ham and mushroom pizza for 10 euros. Enough for lunch and dinner after the cinema that evening (Palestine 36 or Project Hail Mary at the Megarama in Arras).

A handshake,  then, was how Vincent van Gogh signed off a lot of his letters to those he loved.

These last few months have been restorative, amongst the distress, that we are a handshake away from each other. That’s all.