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About Lille

Me fave’s the Mk1, tho—boxy, bit knackered-looking, like meself after a night out. Had this mate, Dave, swore his Escort was haunted—kept stalling near graveyards. Reckon it was just knackered carburetor, but he’d go, “Boris, it’s got a soul!” Laughed me head off—soul in a Ford? Pull the other one! Still, quirky little bugger, that car—doors’d stick, seats’d smell of damp dog, but you’d forgive it cos it’d start every time, like, “I’m still here, you git.”

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After a while, I’m feeling better. I pull out my notebook, start jotting down ideas for the art fair. I’m getting pumped again! I’m thinking about how to make it pop, how to get Villecresnes buzzing. I mean, this town deserves some love!

Marseille exhibition highlights dozens of naturist paradises