Mark's visit to Lyon was postponed and he arrived in town this morning. So there's me thinking I'd be in Berlin when he visited, and so saying he can sleep at my place.
Anyway, he spent all day in meetings, which was fine by me. Whenever I'm here I'm speaking to people who are elsewhere. Today I've been trying to sort out the sale of my UK house. It's so strange, but I feel no sentimental attachment to that house - to me it's just walls and windows.
So the house is being sold, and I'm not sad. It's where I was living when my father died, when I lost my job, when nephews and nieces were born. It's where lovers came and lovers went; friends came and friends went.
I look at it now and feel nothing. I just wish it was sold, end of part one. Let's get the adverts over and move on with part two - after all, the scene has been set, it's about time we had some action.
The working day over, I go to the bar to meet Mark. He's had a bad day too, I can tell. We have a drink, we eat some dinner.
We make our way across the bridge to my place. I love this river, this view of Fourviere at night. We're both quiet, introspective. Neither of us wants to talk much. Both of us want to sleep.
I get the feeling that two people will walk away from this with broken hearts. Mark isn't one of them.