How often do you think about the fact that you have a body? This isn’t a grand philosophical question, even though it may sound like one. I realised some years ago that I am more aware of my status as the owner of flesh and bones when I am in France.
Because I grew up there, I didn’t notice it straight away. It took moving to Britain and occasionally returning home to have this epiphany about my corporeal state. Again, I am not seeking to make some deep metaphysical statement here. It’s just that when you’re in France and you’re a woman, some men like to remind you of the fact.
