That’s Latin for Don’t Let the Bastards Get You Down.
Years ago, when my sister got screwed by the company she was working for, my Mum sent a bunch of flowers to her office and the card read: ‘nil illigitimi carborundum.’
I wish she’d sent me a card like that these past months.
I’ve had to face ‘them’ down on my own. Not completely on my own, thankfully. On the other end of my skype camera each night there is always my beautiful Donato. Telling me I am doing the right thing. Keeping me sane.
I’ve just written a book that is a lot about why French people would be better off if they weren’t so afraid of taking risks. So it would have been very hypocritical of child-less me not to follow my own advice, even if I was terrified. Even if I just bought a house and have a mortgage to pay.
And now what’s done is done. And the upside — and it is a huge, awesome, frighteningly wonderful upside — is that I’m going to be an author. And now it’s done, they can’t squeeze the excitement out of me anymore.
I went for a long jog this morning. And as I rounded the turn of the hill in the Buttes Chaumont park, I caught sight of the delicate china-white Sacre-Coeur church crowning Paris’ skyline. And my adrenalin finally flushed out months of worry and self-doubt and for the first time I felt a thrill of exitement about what I am doing. I am about to publish a book. And everything is going to be fabulous.