With a list of remarks and notes of my editors, I steadily rewrote ‘De stille stad’ (The Silent City). Next to me a huge fireplace, which was continuously burning, in front of me the window overlooking a wintrily garden in the north of France.
The hindrances these last two weeks were not the telephone, email or other unasked interventions but the birds, which were constantly fighting for the leftovers of the baguette I gave them.
And of course some new chairs from Normandy in my collection garden chairs.