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The girl I met It was 2013. Early Autumn. I picked up the phone. She sounded French. Very French. I love the movies of Truffeau… his movies are all about life being crazy… that’s French! And French is such a musical language… the language of romance… but I’m digressing. “I saw your advertisement” she said, in perfect English (with a lovely accent) “I would like to sail with you”. “OK, but not today, I am in the middle of painting the bathroom floor.” “That’s all right, I can help!” No sailor can refuse an offer like that! Anyhow, it turned out that Anne was pretty good with a paint brush. Then we left for a weekend away, sailing South down the Channel. The autopilot wasn’t working, as usual, but it didn’t matter as Anne liked the helm. “Can’t we go any faster?” she asked. She particularly liked it when waves broke over the bow. After we found a cosy bay to anchor, Anne cooked a great meal – without me asking! When we finished eating “Would you like a massage?” Actually…. yes! Some years since I was asked that question. This was all too good to be true… I must be dreaming… and I didn’t want to wake up! But it wasn’t a dream. She was intelligent, articulate and funny – all in a language which was not her mother-tongue. Perhaps she was an angel – in disguise as a human? But there were her shoulder-blades, just like any other human – no trace of angel’s wings. She was definitely human, in spite of appearances. There was something else, too. To be with Anne was to immediately feel at ease. At ease with her, certainly, but also at ease with myself. A presence both strange and at the same time familiar… as if I had known her all my life. A girl from the other side of the world. A girl who, so far away, I thought about whenever I admired the painting she had done…and that was every day that I visited my boat. Looking back now over those weeks and months and years, I think of the words of the song:
Her golden hair flowed in
the air
And out of all that I recall
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