Full steam ahead

I have never found anything more exciting, or more perceptive for that matter, than dreaming prolifically. Could this be why the cult of Bonaparte and his prodigious saga continues to fire my imagination, as do the sombre and penetrating Ardennes of Arthur Rimbaud? ‘On the calm black water where the stars are sleeping’... The other day, in Juan-les-Pins, I had my hands on the wheel of a Porsche 550 Spyder and I am using it again for a quick trip through the photographic landscapes of Propriétés Le Figaro. Everything flashes past at top speed: country houses, towns, châteaux, apartments, Virginia creeper in Saint-Lô, wooden beams, beaches, swimming pools, sunsets, grape-filled wine estates, pondered and painted buildings, the sea and – oh! – almost always, fresh air. And in all of these places, I slept, dreamed, drank, shared and loved. My mind is empty and the crickets, the odours of the places, winds, snows and the Breton backwash are all so many essences in the bottomless depths of my soul. The hope of buying something among this bouquet of desires never deserts me, even though I cannot help but think that particularly florid tax regulations put many of these wonderful places far beyond the reach of mere mortals. But, heavens, what a beautiful place France is!