By the time I arrive at the south coast of France, I’m living on tomatoes and yoghurt and have never been so healthy in my life.
However, the busking doesn’t go so well. Like the Parisian cinema queues, singing to diners in their outdoor restaurants proves soul-destroying both for me and the listeners. Entertainer after entertainer approaches the tables asking for money. If you arrive first, you stand a chance of earning a couple of francs. If you’re late, forget it.
Fortunately, I meet someone on the beach where I have been sleeping. A brilliant Flamenco guitarist, Mark is as English as I am.
When we start making music together, the combination of my voice with his accompaniment begins to create magic.
You’ll never guess what happens next …
Image by Dan Gold – Unsplash
