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Low life

My addiction to literary pilgrimage is akin to masturbation

And here, a mile from the hotel, was my 'everyone gone out, have a soak in the bath first, put some music on' wank of the decade

17 January 2015

9:00 AM

17 January 2015

9:00 AM

The hotel and its bright tan prayer rug of a beach were one. In the early morning the distant image of Cannes, the pink and cream of old fortifications, the purple Alp that bounded Italy, were cast across the water and lay quivering in the ripples and rings sent up by sea-plants through the clear shallows.

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