It didn't feel quite real somehow to be moving to Paris three years ago, and now it doesn't feel quite real to be leaving. An apartment becomes a home, even in a different culture and surrounded by a different language. Inside our Paris apartment that we've called home for the past few years, it's often easy to be complacent about the surroundings and the opportunity it has been to live here.
Yesterday was the first time that I really felt sad about moving away. A few months feel like plenty of opportunity to still spend time with good friends and enjoy some favourite places. A few weeks or less suddenly feels very brief. I know some people love Paris unreservedly, but to be honest I don't count myself as one of them. There is much that I do love about the city, and some things that I don't. To my eyes it's beautiful, passionate, vibrant and wealthy but also often arrogant and in need. More than anything though I've met some incredible people here. Kind, creative, intelligent, aware, skilful, imaginative and generous. It's each of you that I'll miss most.
I'll remember Paris as the place I started my business, held a first solo exhibition and wrote and published my first book. I ran the Paris-Versailles and Paris 20km races, and along the routes of many (but sadly not all) of the métro lines. I've walked and photographed much of the city, joined in and lead some photowalks, and taught classes on Lightroom and general photography. I've spent a month photographing sunrises and have been privileged to meet and make portraits for many people here. It's been good.
I'll remember picnics by the river, summer days in Bois de Boulogne and strolling by the canal. And the tower. Living in this part of town it becomes so familiar but rarely fails to make me smile, especially at night.
I know it's going to be a painful goodbye.