Bloody hell that’s two months gone and only one to go,
Until I have to move on and to where I still don’t know!
Finding somewhere else by Christmas is priority number one,
Although the date I should have sorted is well and truly gone.
But nevermind that’s standard and part of who I am,
Leaving it to the last minute is my steady back up plan.
But something will come up, it always has before,
Which is why I’m not screaming out I can’t take this anymore.
This week at work’s been humbling, no more compliments or praise,
They had me packing envelopes to fill up half my days.
This might be a plan, to stop me getting too big for my boots,
But do they know who they’re dealing with? I’m a journalist of some repute!
Monday was spent on Excel, filling in tables for my boss,
I even thought about striking to get my point across.
How could they treat me like this? I’m the best journalist they’ve got,
I’m the treat at the end of the rainbow, I’m the f*****g honey pot!
Maybe they thought I was getting arrogant after being published in the press,
But I’m far too clever to let that happen, is what I would suggest.
Tuesday things were back to normal which suits me just fine,
If they dare do that again, I’ll leave them for the Times!
Now, of course, I’m only joking, I’m not getting carried away,
How could I seriously boast when I’m part time and on no pay?
In other news, things are sweet, I’ve discovered Hi hotel,
An amazing hotel bar concept that makes Wayne’s (week 4) look like hell
Above all else the music’s good, and the décor’s a work of art,
And I finally found a DJ that didn’t remind me of Pat Sharp.
Yes I really meant that, I didn’t just use him for the rhyme,
All DJs here have shocking hair and all use corny lines.
There isn’t really a dance floor and it’s not supposed to be a club,
But since there’s nowhere else to go apart from the world’s most despicable pub,
I’ll treat it like it’s Pacha or a warehouse near Uni
And enjoy the music as if it’s 1973 (James Blunt reference just for Cad)
Other ‘goings on’ have gone on here in France,
Apart from work and my tired quest to find somewhere to dance.
An unprovoked Frenchman attacked a friend of mine,
He kneed her in the stomach, it was pretty out of line.
I’d love to tell you all that I acted hard and tough,
But true to the little wimp I am I was giggling too much!
Maybe, had it been serious, I would have taught a bloke a thing or two,
Shown him why I’m feared from here to Timbuktu,
Told him Karate kicking’s no way to treat any girl at all
Even if she’s American and doesn’t understand Football!
He was a very messed up man, not the kind you’d like to meet,
After attacking her he pirouetted, then ran off down the street!
He obviously found his pleasure in hallucinogenic drugs,
Which made him believe that he was Bruce Lee or at least a Triad thug.
I really wish I’d hit him, since Katie’s pretty cool,
She didn’t deserve her Karate chop from the random homeless fool.
If you haven’t heard of her, she’s left a comment on this page,
She’s here living in Nice and she’s about my age.
As you’ll see from her comment, she thinks ‘heart’s a verb but not a noun,
Just like all Americans she brings the language standard down.
The only other thing that’s worthy of me telling you,
Is that a trip to the hairdressers did not go very smooth.
I don’t know the French for mullet so there’s no way I could have said,
“I really want a mullet to dangle from my head”
At no point did I ask to look like a dodgy Russian kid,
But that’s precisely what the French Hairdresser did!
It’s fair to say my hair vocab isn’t up to scratch,
But there’s no reason for him to leave me looking like a rat.
It’s not that bad, I exaggerate just to make you smile,
But he gave me the beginnings of a mullet that’s growing all the while.