France. Day 3: Le Docteur De La Tête.

Today I was introduced as un poète. Which was nice. Though untrue. Today I was also introduced as un docteur de la tête. Which was also nice. Though even more untrue. I'm not sure, of course, what I am. Never have been. Intruder Syndrome's a powerful thing, but sometimes it stems from several grains of truth, not merely self-effacement or a lack of self-worth. I've always avoided wrapping myself in any of the cloaks I might have done - nurse, teacher, lecturer, writer, astronaut, whatever - because I don't feel I fit them and they don't really fit me. In the last six months of not working (or at least not doing real work...) I've stumbled even more when people have asked me what I do. I've been tempted to make something up, but I'm never convinced I can convincingly carry off the whole 'defensive midfielder for Spurs' or 'designer of the G-Wiz' things for very long. 

I can choose though - and I can choose to describe myself as a father, a friend, a partner, a man, a human being, a woolly liberal. But I'm not going to. Instead, tomorrow I'm going to be un philosophe. And, at the weekend, I'll get them to introduce me as un mime.