I could have told you long ago this week would be a classic,
Paris always has potential – it’s just knowing how to tap it.
Two experts in the matter hailed from the fair city of Leeds,
Were looking for a good time to celebrate finishing their degrees.
The two of them arrived hungry and fairly tired,
But not too knackered to go out as it later transpired.
I took them on my standard tour of sights not far from me,
A lap of impressive sights associated with gay Paree;
Hotel de ville, Notre Dame and of course Gustave’s Eiffel Tower,
They all look fantastic lit up and they can be done within an hour.
Once we’d had some food and they’d unpacked their bags,
We set off to Social Club to see what fun could be had.
Kill the D.J. records night with Chloe and Remote,
Who played minimal beats with which my lethargic feet could cope.
Halfway through the night about 1 maybe 1:30,
I was grabbed by a bouncer in a manner that perturbed me,
But this was no time to be matey or try some cheeky charm,
He was clearly very angry and would not release my arm.
He demanded that I stopped asking for ecstasy,
I could not believe it and thought Beadle was filming me,
But his odd-sized hands were not in sight and this was not a joke,
I explained to the bouncer that I’m not that kind of bloke.
That muic is my only drug-my blood pulsates to its rhythm,
However my dancing is erratic- so the guy can be forgiven.
Later on that night just before I left the club,
Some English kid approached me asking for a-class drugs!!
That night’s sleep was just pure hell as I failed to catch the z’s
The Friday I spent at work I was crying out to rest my head.
But never to be beaten and rarely to be outdone,
That night we headed to Rex club to conintue the fun,
Boys Noize, Agoria and the Modeslektor pair,
Filthy, dirty beats in a famous electro lair.
Agoria- amazing, Modeselektor quite hardcore,
But Boys Noize stopped at nothing and tore up the dancefloor.
This architect of pleasure and maestro on the decks,
Turned music into romance and made love to the Rex.
One amazing night but the best was on its way.
We were in his city so Busy P would surely have his say!
Anyway, who can visit Paris and not sneak in a few old sights?
Even if we turned nocturnal and mostly went out late at night!
We hiked up the Arc de Triomphe in the middle of a storm,
But us Brits, we persevered -that’s staying true to form.
We also visited 'Beauborg’ then settled on the ‘Pont des Arts’,
Where all the social drinkers and the social smokers are.
But Sunday was the big one, a must on the clubbing calendar.
A special Sunday Seine cruise courtesy of Ed Banger.
The turn-out was outrageous, just a list of the big names,
With So_Me, Sebatian, & Gaspard of Justice fame.
Busy P & Mehdi and that other Justice chap,
DSL and Mr Flash also turned up and played some tracks.
Let’s not forget this was held on a dingy little boat,
Whose location was hidden and consequently quite remote.
No more than 300 others experienced this crazy, floating rave,
And the event will prove to be one of the most memorable of all my days!
Monday was just a quiet one, since there was no way that we could match,
Such an amazing night that we were so lucky to catch.
We spent some time at Trocadero and took a long relaxing stroll,
Back through the city centre before exhaustion took its toll.
The boys packed up their stuff and left the following day,
Taking a few extra memories back to the UK,
It took me a while to feel normal, and get back in to my routine,
But those few days were well worth it and still feel like a blurry dream.
Thursday, 19 June 2008
Weeks 15 & 16
This last week has been busy and pretty varied too,
A new exhibition at the gallery has created much work to do,
The gallery was closed while we changed the paintings round,
Nakagami’s work went up as Olaf Rauh’s came down.
The artist was quite particular about where his work should go,
Some of it hung really high some of it hung low.
But it was left to me, to ascend the heady heights,
Since the gallery owner’s vertigo gave him quite a fright!
I’d also like to point out that he’s afraid of spiders,
Which makes me the man of the gallery-funny to outsiders!
I’ve never felt so unsafe, as I did up that ladder,
The nerves made me sweat profusely and played havoc with my bladder!
As I tiptoed up the rusting steps I offered prayers to god,
Praying the cheap frame wouldn’t buckle and I’d safely finish the job!
I’d reposition the painting until everyone was happy,
Then I’d sprint down the wobbly contraption pretty fucking snappy.
Once everything was done and I had my feet back on the floor,
Once everyone had tired of saying, “up, down, left right a little more”
We went for a bite to eat with the talented artist,
Only he didn’t speak a word of French and not much more English.
So during a meal in his honour, where we toasted his success,
The best way he had of understanding was to take a wild guess.
So in foreshadowing the opening night he kept on drinking beer,
As everyone else talked on in a language of which he had no idea.
The weekdays passed by seamlessly as the gallery took shape,
Being bossed around by a man unable to communicate.
But you don’t always need language to establish a rapport,
Those instances where words fail are what smiling is made for.
On the Saturday, the opening kicked off at 5,
But I strolled in a 7 because I’m a cheeky little skive.
It was a holiday in France so there was no-one wiling to serve drinks,
So I offered up the services of two cheeky little minx(es?),
As a way to practice their French and to see the arty world,
The drinks for this pretentious evening would be served by two small girls.
Sarrafan & Meacher-a combined 6 ft tall at best,
Dished out the Campari to our invited guests.
The artist was in attendance and got very pissed indeed,
Proving the biggest lightweights are certainly the Japanese.
He started pulling faces which strangely made good sense,
But I’m glad he can’t read English otherwise he might take offense,
Since he seemed quite convinced and certain of the fact,
That what he said was intelligible not utter mumbling crap.
On Sunday I did the d’Orsay along with the Sacre-Coeur.
The day was blessed with the very best bright and sunny weather.
We, that’s Amy, Soph and two of Amy Coates’ friends,
Pick-nicked in Montmartre- an ever increasing trend.
But the d’Orsay was my favourite, it’s a beautiful museum.
Paris has it’s fair share, it’s a privilege to see ‘em.
This one is quite special though-put it on your things to do,
A converted old train station, the building is stunning too.
Responsibility loomed large, very very large,
The owners left the gallery with me in complete charge.
The went off to an art fair, somewhere in Amsterdam,
While I looked after the paintings-a very worried man.
Fortunately it went quite well and there was a national holiday.
The French are hardly workaholics with an extra four days off in May.
I went to “Bois de Boulogne” with Amy and Sophie,
I fancied myself as a right pimp-two blonde girls and me!
We saw that rowing boats were completely free to hire,
But under the direct sunlight my pale skin felt like it was on fire,
So after an hour or so we moored the boat back up,
Found some ice creams to lick and some ice cold drinks to sup.
It wasn’t until later-once the girls fell asleep under the shade,
That I discovered that the boats weren’t free, in fact we should have paid.
It seems someone had hired a boat and the moored it to the side,
And as they enjoyed a tasty lunch in the restaurant inside,
We cheeky three young scallywags quickly nicked their boat,
Enjoyed a pleasant row and saved a 20 euro note!
A new exhibition at the gallery has created much work to do,
The gallery was closed while we changed the paintings round,
Nakagami’s work went up as Olaf Rauh’s came down.
The artist was quite particular about where his work should go,
Some of it hung really high some of it hung low.
But it was left to me, to ascend the heady heights,
Since the gallery owner’s vertigo gave him quite a fright!
I’d also like to point out that he’s afraid of spiders,
Which makes me the man of the gallery-funny to outsiders!
I’ve never felt so unsafe, as I did up that ladder,
The nerves made me sweat profusely and played havoc with my bladder!
As I tiptoed up the rusting steps I offered prayers to god,
Praying the cheap frame wouldn’t buckle and I’d safely finish the job!
I’d reposition the painting until everyone was happy,
Then I’d sprint down the wobbly contraption pretty fucking snappy.
Once everything was done and I had my feet back on the floor,
Once everyone had tired of saying, “up, down, left right a little more”
We went for a bite to eat with the talented artist,
Only he didn’t speak a word of French and not much more English.
So during a meal in his honour, where we toasted his success,
The best way he had of understanding was to take a wild guess.
So in foreshadowing the opening night he kept on drinking beer,
As everyone else talked on in a language of which he had no idea.
The weekdays passed by seamlessly as the gallery took shape,
Being bossed around by a man unable to communicate.
But you don’t always need language to establish a rapport,
Those instances where words fail are what smiling is made for.
On the Saturday, the opening kicked off at 5,
But I strolled in a 7 because I’m a cheeky little skive.
It was a holiday in France so there was no-one wiling to serve drinks,
So I offered up the services of two cheeky little minx(es?),
As a way to practice their French and to see the arty world,
The drinks for this pretentious evening would be served by two small girls.
Sarrafan & Meacher-a combined 6 ft tall at best,
Dished out the Campari to our invited guests.
The artist was in attendance and got very pissed indeed,
Proving the biggest lightweights are certainly the Japanese.
He started pulling faces which strangely made good sense,
But I’m glad he can’t read English otherwise he might take offense,
Since he seemed quite convinced and certain of the fact,
That what he said was intelligible not utter mumbling crap.
On Sunday I did the d’Orsay along with the Sacre-Coeur.
The day was blessed with the very best bright and sunny weather.
We, that’s Amy, Soph and two of Amy Coates’ friends,
Pick-nicked in Montmartre- an ever increasing trend.
But the d’Orsay was my favourite, it’s a beautiful museum.
Paris has it’s fair share, it’s a privilege to see ‘em.
This one is quite special though-put it on your things to do,
A converted old train station, the building is stunning too.
Responsibility loomed large, very very large,
The owners left the gallery with me in complete charge.
The went off to an art fair, somewhere in Amsterdam,
While I looked after the paintings-a very worried man.
Fortunately it went quite well and there was a national holiday.
The French are hardly workaholics with an extra four days off in May.
I went to “Bois de Boulogne” with Amy and Sophie,
I fancied myself as a right pimp-two blonde girls and me!
We saw that rowing boats were completely free to hire,
But under the direct sunlight my pale skin felt like it was on fire,
So after an hour or so we moored the boat back up,
Found some ice creams to lick and some ice cold drinks to sup.
It wasn’t until later-once the girls fell asleep under the shade,
That I discovered that the boats weren’t free, in fact we should have paid.
It seems someone had hired a boat and the moored it to the side,
And as they enjoyed a tasty lunch in the restaurant inside,
We cheeky three young scallywags quickly nicked their boat,
Enjoyed a pleasant row and saved a 20 euro note!
Week 14
With birthday celebrations over there was no excuse for acting mad,
I was back to the old routine, but I refused to become sad.
So many reasons to be happy, so many things that make me smile,
Presents and cards from friends will keep me beaming for a while.
I won’t dish out a list of names of people who went the extra mile,
They did it because they care so a mention here isn’t quite their style.
My birthday has been and gone it’s about time I let it go,
It could not have gone better-that’s the last thing I’ll let you know.
Every single day I feel more settled here in town,
Giving out directions is proof I know my way around.
This last week I’ve been asked at least four times maybe five,
For a road, place or metro station and only once I’ve told a lie.
I knew most the places no problem- the fifth I had no clue,
But since she asked me rudely, I reflected on what to do,
It was clear she didn’t like me when she heard my foreign voice,
So either stay lost or follow my directions-she had to make a choice!
So faced with a rude, obnoxious Frenchie I knew exactly what to do.
Instead of pointing her in the right direction I nudged her towards the Pompidou!
Where there’s nothing but foreigners, I thought that would ruin her day,
But I took time to smile politely and waved her on her way!
In far more exciting news I found somewhere new to get my lunch,
Where the chicken is covered in mayo and the bread crisp to the crunch.
Helen hunt serves behind the counter, well it looks like her at least,
She titillates my tastebuds and serves up a scrumptious feast.
I’m not only mentioning this because it makes fascinating news,
But it’s discovery led to an encounter that left me so bemused.
To get to this special shop I have to take a different track,
Along which I was waved at by two men in a Fiat.
I thought they wanted directions, which I’m always happy to give,
Turns out they’d mistaken me for a right dumb, gullible div.
These Italians were flogging suits on the pavement from their car,
When I saw the label read ‘Armando Gunchi’ I had to stifle a laugh.
Apparently they’d been selling these at Galeries Lafayette,
They showed me the store on a map in case I hadn’t believed them yet.
I passed up this glorious chance despite their very best attempts,
My mum told me not to speak to strange looking elderly gents!
Friday night was spent with Yoann a mate from the gallery.
I spoke to his boyfriend Matthias as they cooked a French speciality,
Conversation faltered as I dug an awkward hole,
But thankfully we were saved by his Wii console.
By the end of the night, French chat was nicely flowing,
Yet when the couple got amorous it was time that I got going.
Saturday was beautiful and a hint of what’s to come,
Paris, more than anywhere looks so much better in the sun.
I met up with Michael Allen, a friend I know from Uni,
And with all his friends we checked out some cool photography,
Outside of the Sorbonne was an exhibition of 1968,
How the French rioted and how the police were to retaliate.
Outside my favourite gardens were hung a myriad photos,
All of which had once appeared within “le Figaro”.
Sunday I went to see some mates & was in for some surprise,
It was my first visit to “La Defense” with its imposing skyrise,
A frightening concrete jungle peppered here and there with glass,
But it’s well out of the city, which is an altogether different class.
“La Defense” is impressive though and made an impact on me,
But I felt like I was in the Truman show with all its CCTV.
Laura and Lilli cooked as I put up my feet,
Spending time with these two girls-the perfect way to end my week.
I was back to the old routine, but I refused to become sad.
So many reasons to be happy, so many things that make me smile,
Presents and cards from friends will keep me beaming for a while.
I won’t dish out a list of names of people who went the extra mile,
They did it because they care so a mention here isn’t quite their style.
My birthday has been and gone it’s about time I let it go,
It could not have gone better-that’s the last thing I’ll let you know.
Every single day I feel more settled here in town,
Giving out directions is proof I know my way around.
This last week I’ve been asked at least four times maybe five,
For a road, place or metro station and only once I’ve told a lie.
I knew most the places no problem- the fifth I had no clue,
But since she asked me rudely, I reflected on what to do,
It was clear she didn’t like me when she heard my foreign voice,
So either stay lost or follow my directions-she had to make a choice!
So faced with a rude, obnoxious Frenchie I knew exactly what to do.
Instead of pointing her in the right direction I nudged her towards the Pompidou!
Where there’s nothing but foreigners, I thought that would ruin her day,
But I took time to smile politely and waved her on her way!
In far more exciting news I found somewhere new to get my lunch,
Where the chicken is covered in mayo and the bread crisp to the crunch.
Helen hunt serves behind the counter, well it looks like her at least,
She titillates my tastebuds and serves up a scrumptious feast.
I’m not only mentioning this because it makes fascinating news,
But it’s discovery led to an encounter that left me so bemused.
To get to this special shop I have to take a different track,
Along which I was waved at by two men in a Fiat.
I thought they wanted directions, which I’m always happy to give,
Turns out they’d mistaken me for a right dumb, gullible div.
These Italians were flogging suits on the pavement from their car,
When I saw the label read ‘Armando Gunchi’ I had to stifle a laugh.
Apparently they’d been selling these at Galeries Lafayette,
They showed me the store on a map in case I hadn’t believed them yet.
I passed up this glorious chance despite their very best attempts,
My mum told me not to speak to strange looking elderly gents!
Friday night was spent with Yoann a mate from the gallery.
I spoke to his boyfriend Matthias as they cooked a French speciality,
Conversation faltered as I dug an awkward hole,
But thankfully we were saved by his Wii console.
By the end of the night, French chat was nicely flowing,
Yet when the couple got amorous it was time that I got going.
Saturday was beautiful and a hint of what’s to come,
Paris, more than anywhere looks so much better in the sun.
I met up with Michael Allen, a friend I know from Uni,
And with all his friends we checked out some cool photography,
Outside of the Sorbonne was an exhibition of 1968,
How the French rioted and how the police were to retaliate.
Outside my favourite gardens were hung a myriad photos,
All of which had once appeared within “le Figaro”.
Sunday I went to see some mates & was in for some surprise,
It was my first visit to “La Defense” with its imposing skyrise,
A frightening concrete jungle peppered here and there with glass,
But it’s well out of the city, which is an altogether different class.
“La Defense” is impressive though and made an impact on me,
But I felt like I was in the Truman show with all its CCTV.
Laura and Lilli cooked as I put up my feet,
Spending time with these two girls-the perfect way to end my week.
Saturday, 26 April 2008
Birthday Weekend
I’ll start off where I finished that always makes good sense,
If I ended where I started i’d use a different tense !
I’d just spent the weekend at my mothers, being pampered like a king,
Receiving the red carpet treatment and all that type of thing.
With a belly full of good food and a suitcase full of treats,
I said bye to the family for at least a couple of weeks.
My TGV arrived on time and I let the common rabble pass,
Since it was my birthday it was first class for my arse !
But less of that I must be succinct since i’ve got so much to tell ;
A very british contingent spent the weekend raising hell.
Some of my best pals came to Paris to help me celebrate
Although the celebrations that we had were a little late.
My birthday was a Wednesday, the definition of midweek,
But this didn’t get me excited or cause me to lose sleep.
What got my full attention was the arrival of O’Callaghan
As far as birthdays go, i’d rather be with no other man.
He arrived quite late on Tuesday, but not too late for a tour,
Aidan only saw three sights but they made him gasp in awe.
Hotel De Ville and Notre Dame with the Eiffel in the distance,
I’m desperate to memorise these sights and i’ll manage with persistence.
Wednesday was low-key, yet the gallery made a fuss,
Jean-Luc treated the staff by forcing Champers down all of us !
Because it had been three years since my last proper drink,
That champagne made my head heavy and made my whole brain shrink.
I became quite clumsy and now that I reminisce,
I realise I wasn’t tipsy but for a while there I was pissed.
Aidan, Amy and Sophie visited me at lunch,
Off we went for falafel and in the sunshine ate our munch.
When I finally finished work and met the whole gang back at mine,
I realised the cheeky buggers had turned my flat in to a shrine !
A shrine to being 21 with balloons and tasteless banners,
And it looked as if all the effort had taken at least 1 quarter of an hour.
Next we decamped to Amy’s who fixed me up a feast,
A tasty homemade lasagne that took two hours to make at least.
So I tucked in to my meal with some very spcial guests,
Rose turned up with two fellas that I had never met.
But we had a laugh and ate good food and toasted to my health,
I raised a glass and smiled and then thought to myself ;
Shit i’m 21.
Thursday meant arrivals ; Renwick and the Vest,
Two of my very good friends, two of the very best.
Graham arrived so early that he went straight to bed,
Well if you were up at 4 o’clock you’d want to rest your head.
Aidan was out adventuring on a mass crusade for culture,
He finds cultivated bits of flesh and picks at them like a vulture.
Perhaps it’s worth highlighting that last comment is ambiguous
I meant it metaphorically but he loves French women, he does.
Once Vesty had arrived and i’d finished at the gallery,
We got ready at the legobox and I opened stuff addressed to me.
Sentimental gifts that made me want to cry,
But that’s enough of that since i’m a really macho guy.
Laurent Garnier played the hits at Social Club that night,
But what got my attention was Aidan’s paler shade of white.
I laughed the whole night long, I danced a merry dance,
Whilst poor old O’Callaghan didn’t really stand a chance.
I had a dance-off with a gay, a contest that I did win,
While Aidan made a friend which was made of porcelain.
Vest, Graham and I loved every single minute,
Apart from that nasty shock of hearing Aidan vomit.
I tried to be a mate and to look after him,
I’ve always thought when a friend is ill, i’d do the right thing.
But when we were in the toilets I faced a real dilemma,
Go dance to my favourite tune or look after my favourite fella.
Could I ditch my helpless friend-would that be in bad taste ?
In favour of a rave to ‘The man with the red face’ ?
What would you have done, had you been in my shoes?
I shamelessly ditched Aidan for that ‘Crispy bacon’ tune.
When the night calmed down and we returned to the legobox,
The deteroriation of Aidan’s health left us in real shock,
While he stayed by the toilet, we perched out on my ledge,
Taking photos from the windowsill or from the roadside edge.
The fours of us eventually managed to squeeze in to my room,
But with little space there was no option but for Vest and I to spoon.
I know exactly what you’re thinking- is there much more to go ?
I’m afraid we’re only halfway through, just to let you know !
Friday was not an early start- no danger of that.
But finally we moved ourselves and got out of the flat.
Sadly Aidan had to go - not feeling his best,
His stomach was still throwing up what he tried to digest.
Now that we were Aidanless we went off to see some sights,
We went up Tour Montparnasse, all 59 flights.
Yeah we had a look and saw most of if not all the city,
Yet it was at the Louvre that we saw something far more pretty.
I’m not talking about paintings, which is normally ‘De Rigeur’
But a gorgeous foreign bird who had an amazing figure.
Renwick grabbed his camera but pulled it out too late,
We were left to look at paintings as that stunning bird escaped.
After a quick change we went to Dorny’s for a pre-drink,
And I was in for a surprise from a nutty Bingley bint!
Hudson had previously told me that she wouldn’t be attending
Oh how naive was I ? She had only been pretending.
She turned up with Lilli and there were others too,
Rory, Allchurch & Faulkner completed my birthday crew.
So off we went to Social Club ; same place a different night.
What with Erol on the decks the music was just right.
In fact I shook the geezer’s hand which was so very sweet,
I have touched the king of cool the man behind ‘geek chic’.
But it’s not the music nor the nightclub that will stay with me,
Instead it’s Dorny’s drunken antics that will haunt my memory!
You would have thought that three whole months would have me well prepared,
But the drunken side of Dorny always gets me running scared.
After struggling to stand, it was decided he go home,
However shortly after leaving he ran off on his own.
Two pretty fruitless hours followed as we tried to track him down,
But in his drunken state he didn’t plan on being found.
At seven in the morning once we’d all but given up,
Dorny rang my mobile still well out of his nut.
It seems he’d come to his senses, and was in a taxi home,
I kept asking myself what he’d been doing all alone.
Turns out he’d received a kicking, courtesy of two French men,
Then he made that classic promise, ‘‘I’l never drink again’’
For our part we were knackered but didn’t go back to my box,
Amy Coates had flown to England and left her keys to all us lot.
So we crashed out in luxury with two comfortable beds.
But rather than share with Vest again I slept on the floor instead.
Saturday was another late affair, we didn’t wake till three,
Before heading out for a meal with Hudson and Lilli.
Time was passing quickly, as it does with friends,
Yet when you find yourself alone-time drags and never ends.
With our dancing socks and shoes thoroughly worn out,
We couldn’t hack another night so we stayed in and messed about.
Graham quickly became a hero on the Nintendo Wii,
Brushing aside opponents with little difficulty.
The early night was needed for we had so much planned,
I jumped in bed with Vest my number one spooning man.
I aimed to show the lads parts of Paris I love and adore,
Not the standard tourist traps I dislike and abhor.
We ended up settling for a little bit of both,
The Eiffel followed Jardin du Luxembourg- the bit I love the most.
But midway through the day the lads went really week,
They saw the ‘‘golden arches’’ and craved something to eat.
We’d met up with the girls by now and Anna Naether also,
On entering McDonalds I said ‘‘I can’t believe you’ve sunk so low’’
I pretended to be offended and claimed ‘‘I don’t eat fast food’’
As I watched them eating I regretted my stubborn mood.
After chilling in the jardin on some lovely steel chairs,
We all decided as a group that we should go elsewhere.
What tourist’s trip’s complete without the Eiffel Tower?
Waiting in a queue for the best part of two hours.
But the trip, the wait, the cost- you forget all of it,
When you see Paris at night well and truly lit.
The city unfolds beneath you and spreads as far as you can see,
And the view is never really captured in shoddy photography.
The final day, Monday, we did the Stade De France,
This was not a lad’s need for Football, this was pure romance.
Most straight, red-blooded males love their football stadia,
But just how impressive it would be, I had no idea.
Tennis-court-sized tv screens large enough for all to see,
And the changing rooms had been designed by Michel Platini.
The players’ tunnel is heated to warm them head to toe,
And the pitch can be transported to let the green grass grow.
In an attempt to be more French we went for a coffee and a fag,
Before the lads obligingly packed the last stuff in to their bags.
The boys left on seperate jet planes and I don’t know when they’ll be back again,
But what a weekend in ‘Paree’ that was funny to the end.
I began the tidy up in mine then Amy’s flat,
And smiled at the times i’d shared with Aid, Graham and Matt.
The tidy up is finished now but some things you can’t erase,
Since all the classic moments leave an indelible trace.
If I ended where I started i’d use a different tense !
I’d just spent the weekend at my mothers, being pampered like a king,
Receiving the red carpet treatment and all that type of thing.
With a belly full of good food and a suitcase full of treats,
I said bye to the family for at least a couple of weeks.
My TGV arrived on time and I let the common rabble pass,
Since it was my birthday it was first class for my arse !
But less of that I must be succinct since i’ve got so much to tell ;
A very british contingent spent the weekend raising hell.
Some of my best pals came to Paris to help me celebrate
Although the celebrations that we had were a little late.
My birthday was a Wednesday, the definition of midweek,
But this didn’t get me excited or cause me to lose sleep.
What got my full attention was the arrival of O’Callaghan
As far as birthdays go, i’d rather be with no other man.
He arrived quite late on Tuesday, but not too late for a tour,
Aidan only saw three sights but they made him gasp in awe.
Hotel De Ville and Notre Dame with the Eiffel in the distance,
I’m desperate to memorise these sights and i’ll manage with persistence.
Wednesday was low-key, yet the gallery made a fuss,
Jean-Luc treated the staff by forcing Champers down all of us !
Because it had been three years since my last proper drink,
That champagne made my head heavy and made my whole brain shrink.
I became quite clumsy and now that I reminisce,
I realise I wasn’t tipsy but for a while there I was pissed.
Aidan, Amy and Sophie visited me at lunch,
Off we went for falafel and in the sunshine ate our munch.
When I finally finished work and met the whole gang back at mine,
I realised the cheeky buggers had turned my flat in to a shrine !
A shrine to being 21 with balloons and tasteless banners,
And it looked as if all the effort had taken at least 1 quarter of an hour.
Next we decamped to Amy’s who fixed me up a feast,
A tasty homemade lasagne that took two hours to make at least.
So I tucked in to my meal with some very spcial guests,
Rose turned up with two fellas that I had never met.
But we had a laugh and ate good food and toasted to my health,
I raised a glass and smiled and then thought to myself ;
Shit i’m 21.
Thursday meant arrivals ; Renwick and the Vest,
Two of my very good friends, two of the very best.
Graham arrived so early that he went straight to bed,
Well if you were up at 4 o’clock you’d want to rest your head.
Aidan was out adventuring on a mass crusade for culture,
He finds cultivated bits of flesh and picks at them like a vulture.
Perhaps it’s worth highlighting that last comment is ambiguous
I meant it metaphorically but he loves French women, he does.
Once Vesty had arrived and i’d finished at the gallery,
We got ready at the legobox and I opened stuff addressed to me.
Sentimental gifts that made me want to cry,
But that’s enough of that since i’m a really macho guy.
Laurent Garnier played the hits at Social Club that night,
But what got my attention was Aidan’s paler shade of white.
I laughed the whole night long, I danced a merry dance,
Whilst poor old O’Callaghan didn’t really stand a chance.
I had a dance-off with a gay, a contest that I did win,
While Aidan made a friend which was made of porcelain.
Vest, Graham and I loved every single minute,
Apart from that nasty shock of hearing Aidan vomit.
I tried to be a mate and to look after him,
I’ve always thought when a friend is ill, i’d do the right thing.
But when we were in the toilets I faced a real dilemma,
Go dance to my favourite tune or look after my favourite fella.
Could I ditch my helpless friend-would that be in bad taste ?
In favour of a rave to ‘The man with the red face’ ?
What would you have done, had you been in my shoes?
I shamelessly ditched Aidan for that ‘Crispy bacon’ tune.
When the night calmed down and we returned to the legobox,
The deteroriation of Aidan’s health left us in real shock,
While he stayed by the toilet, we perched out on my ledge,
Taking photos from the windowsill or from the roadside edge.
The fours of us eventually managed to squeeze in to my room,
But with little space there was no option but for Vest and I to spoon.
I know exactly what you’re thinking- is there much more to go ?
I’m afraid we’re only halfway through, just to let you know !
Friday was not an early start- no danger of that.
But finally we moved ourselves and got out of the flat.
Sadly Aidan had to go - not feeling his best,
His stomach was still throwing up what he tried to digest.
Now that we were Aidanless we went off to see some sights,
We went up Tour Montparnasse, all 59 flights.
Yeah we had a look and saw most of if not all the city,
Yet it was at the Louvre that we saw something far more pretty.
I’m not talking about paintings, which is normally ‘De Rigeur’
But a gorgeous foreign bird who had an amazing figure.
Renwick grabbed his camera but pulled it out too late,
We were left to look at paintings as that stunning bird escaped.
After a quick change we went to Dorny’s for a pre-drink,
And I was in for a surprise from a nutty Bingley bint!
Hudson had previously told me that she wouldn’t be attending
Oh how naive was I ? She had only been pretending.
She turned up with Lilli and there were others too,
Rory, Allchurch & Faulkner completed my birthday crew.
So off we went to Social Club ; same place a different night.
What with Erol on the decks the music was just right.
In fact I shook the geezer’s hand which was so very sweet,
I have touched the king of cool the man behind ‘geek chic’.
But it’s not the music nor the nightclub that will stay with me,
Instead it’s Dorny’s drunken antics that will haunt my memory!
You would have thought that three whole months would have me well prepared,
But the drunken side of Dorny always gets me running scared.
After struggling to stand, it was decided he go home,
However shortly after leaving he ran off on his own.
Two pretty fruitless hours followed as we tried to track him down,
But in his drunken state he didn’t plan on being found.
At seven in the morning once we’d all but given up,
Dorny rang my mobile still well out of his nut.
It seems he’d come to his senses, and was in a taxi home,
I kept asking myself what he’d been doing all alone.
Turns out he’d received a kicking, courtesy of two French men,
Then he made that classic promise, ‘‘I’l never drink again’’
For our part we were knackered but didn’t go back to my box,
Amy Coates had flown to England and left her keys to all us lot.
So we crashed out in luxury with two comfortable beds.
But rather than share with Vest again I slept on the floor instead.
Saturday was another late affair, we didn’t wake till three,
Before heading out for a meal with Hudson and Lilli.
Time was passing quickly, as it does with friends,
Yet when you find yourself alone-time drags and never ends.
With our dancing socks and shoes thoroughly worn out,
We couldn’t hack another night so we stayed in and messed about.
Graham quickly became a hero on the Nintendo Wii,
Brushing aside opponents with little difficulty.
The early night was needed for we had so much planned,
I jumped in bed with Vest my number one spooning man.
I aimed to show the lads parts of Paris I love and adore,
Not the standard tourist traps I dislike and abhor.
We ended up settling for a little bit of both,
The Eiffel followed Jardin du Luxembourg- the bit I love the most.
But midway through the day the lads went really week,
They saw the ‘‘golden arches’’ and craved something to eat.
We’d met up with the girls by now and Anna Naether also,
On entering McDonalds I said ‘‘I can’t believe you’ve sunk so low’’
I pretended to be offended and claimed ‘‘I don’t eat fast food’’
As I watched them eating I regretted my stubborn mood.
After chilling in the jardin on some lovely steel chairs,
We all decided as a group that we should go elsewhere.
What tourist’s trip’s complete without the Eiffel Tower?
Waiting in a queue for the best part of two hours.
But the trip, the wait, the cost- you forget all of it,
When you see Paris at night well and truly lit.
The city unfolds beneath you and spreads as far as you can see,
And the view is never really captured in shoddy photography.
The final day, Monday, we did the Stade De France,
This was not a lad’s need for Football, this was pure romance.
Most straight, red-blooded males love their football stadia,
But just how impressive it would be, I had no idea.
Tennis-court-sized tv screens large enough for all to see,
And the changing rooms had been designed by Michel Platini.
The players’ tunnel is heated to warm them head to toe,
And the pitch can be transported to let the green grass grow.
In an attempt to be more French we went for a coffee and a fag,
Before the lads obligingly packed the last stuff in to their bags.
The boys left on seperate jet planes and I don’t know when they’ll be back again,
But what a weekend in ‘Paree’ that was funny to the end.
I began the tidy up in mine then Amy’s flat,
And smiled at the times i’d shared with Aid, Graham and Matt.
The tidy up is finished now but some things you can’t erase,
Since all the classic moments leave an indelible trace.
Monday, 21 April 2008
Weeks 11 & 12
Weeks 11 & 12
14.04.08
I decided to get my head down for a week at least,
Since I had an idea that my birthday would be something of a beast.
Getting odd jobs done, relaxing and chilling out,
These are the types of things that Paris life should be about.
I began to feel improvement with my level of French,
Confident enough to develop a rapport with the Patisserie wench.
Every working day I buy a sandwich and sable au pomme,
But one day I mixed it up a bit and asked where she was from,
She told me she’d lived here all her life but the ‘rents came from Normandy
She said she’d learnt to cook all the cakes traditionally.
Recipes passed down the generations, with all their secret tricks,
These treats laid out on display just begging to be picked.
Next day we had a giggle, I didn’t even order.
She’d already picked out what I wanted as she saw me move toward her!
All this makes me feel good, puts a smile on my face,
It makes me feel welcome in this city- not a kid that’s out of place.
Elsewhere in the week I lost some serious culture points.
By recklessly frequenting a dodgy Scottish joint.
I only went to “The Thistle” to watch football but I did it nonetheless!
I might return there for the next leg though I ashamedly confess.
I met up with Anna Naether sometime in the week,
Us, a Brit and a German in the capital of chic.
It’s good to catch up with friends that are in Paris too,
To talk about experiences to see if they agree with you.
Saturday the 5th was set to be a grand, grand day,
We had a pic-nic planned but the weather swept that one away.
So we ate our homemade brownies and set off for the Sacre-Coeur cathedral,
Hoping to watch the sunset amongst tons of cultured people.
We got there just in time to watch a gorgeous glowing sky
Soundtracked by masses of people singing along to Maroon 5
When “she will be loved” began to make my ears bleed,
We decided to descend feeling content and pretty pleased.
Enough time for a change of clothes before setting out for Showcase,
The Count, Sinden & Jahcoozi provided the music for the place.
My ears had, by this time, stopped bleeding but Herve turned it up a little more,
Unleashed some dirty beats and turned my ears red raw.
The second week was busier with lots more friends to see,
Who happened to be in Paris but not particularly to see me.
I met up with Kirsty from Nice and we chatted about old times,
Neither of us that cultured- preferring coke and beer to wine!
Thursday night I went to Rex club with two lovely girls on my arms,
Although they went home together somehow resisting my charms!
But Amy and Katie did invite me round the following evening,
Admittedly not because they fancy me but because of who I’d bring.
That’s right Allchurch was back, he’d returned to the Legobox,
He needs Paris as much as Samson needs his locks.
The weekend was spent in Strasbourg with my brother and my mum,
Family time can be special events and this was definitely one.
Meals out, day trips and being spoilt rotten,
My favourite apple crumble—the taste of which I had forgotten.
All of this of course prepared me for turning 21,
I got all the rest I needed before the carnage had begun…
14.04.08
I decided to get my head down for a week at least,
Since I had an idea that my birthday would be something of a beast.
Getting odd jobs done, relaxing and chilling out,
These are the types of things that Paris life should be about.
I began to feel improvement with my level of French,
Confident enough to develop a rapport with the Patisserie wench.
Every working day I buy a sandwich and sable au pomme,
But one day I mixed it up a bit and asked where she was from,
She told me she’d lived here all her life but the ‘rents came from Normandy
She said she’d learnt to cook all the cakes traditionally.
Recipes passed down the generations, with all their secret tricks,
These treats laid out on display just begging to be picked.
Next day we had a giggle, I didn’t even order.
She’d already picked out what I wanted as she saw me move toward her!
All this makes me feel good, puts a smile on my face,
It makes me feel welcome in this city- not a kid that’s out of place.
Elsewhere in the week I lost some serious culture points.
By recklessly frequenting a dodgy Scottish joint.
I only went to “The Thistle” to watch football but I did it nonetheless!
I might return there for the next leg though I ashamedly confess.
I met up with Anna Naether sometime in the week,
Us, a Brit and a German in the capital of chic.
It’s good to catch up with friends that are in Paris too,
To talk about experiences to see if they agree with you.
Saturday the 5th was set to be a grand, grand day,
We had a pic-nic planned but the weather swept that one away.
So we ate our homemade brownies and set off for the Sacre-Coeur cathedral,
Hoping to watch the sunset amongst tons of cultured people.
We got there just in time to watch a gorgeous glowing sky
Soundtracked by masses of people singing along to Maroon 5
When “she will be loved” began to make my ears bleed,
We decided to descend feeling content and pretty pleased.
Enough time for a change of clothes before setting out for Showcase,
The Count, Sinden & Jahcoozi provided the music for the place.
My ears had, by this time, stopped bleeding but Herve turned it up a little more,
Unleashed some dirty beats and turned my ears red raw.
The second week was busier with lots more friends to see,
Who happened to be in Paris but not particularly to see me.
I met up with Kirsty from Nice and we chatted about old times,
Neither of us that cultured- preferring coke and beer to wine!
Thursday night I went to Rex club with two lovely girls on my arms,
Although they went home together somehow resisting my charms!
But Amy and Katie did invite me round the following evening,
Admittedly not because they fancy me but because of who I’d bring.
That’s right Allchurch was back, he’d returned to the Legobox,
He needs Paris as much as Samson needs his locks.
The weekend was spent in Strasbourg with my brother and my mum,
Family time can be special events and this was definitely one.
Meals out, day trips and being spoilt rotten,
My favourite apple crumble—the taste of which I had forgotten.
All of this of course prepared me for turning 21,
I got all the rest I needed before the carnage had begun…
Week 10
Week 10
30.03.08
You’d think I’d be upset, or a little sad this week,
Memories of Northampton perhaps causing me to weep.
But with a mate visiting me on Friday my mood was always sky high,
Rather than flooded with tears my eyes remained fairly dry.
Work was very slow, time was in no rush,
But this meant I spent all day browsing the internet for stuff.
I don’t mind the quiet days I spend them talking to Yoann,
Who’s as close as it gets to being my French wingman.
He often breaks out in a laugh at something stupid that I’ve said,
I try and brush it off but my face turns scarlet red.
Whether it’s my pronunciation or just a grammar mistake,
My confidence is substituted by embarassment and hate.
But I always have the last laugh because if he goes too far,
I’ll speak nonsense in English and I’ll say it far too fast.
I’ll invent neologisms that he could never understand,
Or just to prove a point I’ll use cockney rhyming slang.
Normally we just have a laugh and piss-taking is rare,
But the odd humbling from time to time helps my French out to be fair.
Allchurch arrived on Friday, we went to a nightclub on a boat,
Batofar’s well known despite being quite remote.
Docked up along the Seine, somewhere in arrondissement 13,
This little boat bobs up and down and is part of the music scene.
We got chatting to some ladies from the United States,
One of them was rather fit but the others weren’t that great!
They told of us America so I cracked an exchange rate joke,
If they’d have hailed from Texas perhaps they’d have slit my throat.
But as it turns out they decided to leave before the minimal began,
Just as well considering they were massive freak folk fans!
Batofar was pretty sweet and a new venue for me,
Although Allchurch is so cool he’d been there previously.
The stereotype of England must be far worse than I thought,
Since once we’d got in the taxi the driver dished out sick bags that he’d brought.
He realised we were English and assumed we would be sick,
The fact that we were both sober meant nothing to this dick!
The following night we were more relaxed and the evening had a different feel,
We returned home after a weird night out and quite an odd ordeal.
But a night with drunkards and gays - will never go to plan,
Especially when Graham Allchurch, is your diminuitive wingman.
A meal in Bastille went slowly, I was told a girl’s life story,
She went from start to finish unconcerned that her life might bore me.
From there we went to a dungeon, a hellhole of a place,
Full of strange dodgy people matched only by their bad music taste.
The night was full of promise, we left for some dirty dubstep,
But arrived in the middle of nowhere at a club I would rather forget.
So we walked down Boulevard Magenta, a street John McClane would rather avoid,
Since it’s packed with tramps and gangsters and a handful of deluded rude boyz.
But we got back safe and sound and tucked in to a bowl of porridge,
And reflected on a wonderful weekend that was quirky if at times horrid!
30.03.08
You’d think I’d be upset, or a little sad this week,
Memories of Northampton perhaps causing me to weep.
But with a mate visiting me on Friday my mood was always sky high,
Rather than flooded with tears my eyes remained fairly dry.
Work was very slow, time was in no rush,
But this meant I spent all day browsing the internet for stuff.
I don’t mind the quiet days I spend them talking to Yoann,
Who’s as close as it gets to being my French wingman.
He often breaks out in a laugh at something stupid that I’ve said,
I try and brush it off but my face turns scarlet red.
Whether it’s my pronunciation or just a grammar mistake,
My confidence is substituted by embarassment and hate.
But I always have the last laugh because if he goes too far,
I’ll speak nonsense in English and I’ll say it far too fast.
I’ll invent neologisms that he could never understand,
Or just to prove a point I’ll use cockney rhyming slang.
Normally we just have a laugh and piss-taking is rare,
But the odd humbling from time to time helps my French out to be fair.
Allchurch arrived on Friday, we went to a nightclub on a boat,
Batofar’s well known despite being quite remote.
Docked up along the Seine, somewhere in arrondissement 13,
This little boat bobs up and down and is part of the music scene.
We got chatting to some ladies from the United States,
One of them was rather fit but the others weren’t that great!
They told of us America so I cracked an exchange rate joke,
If they’d have hailed from Texas perhaps they’d have slit my throat.
But as it turns out they decided to leave before the minimal began,
Just as well considering they were massive freak folk fans!
Batofar was pretty sweet and a new venue for me,
Although Allchurch is so cool he’d been there previously.
The stereotype of England must be far worse than I thought,
Since once we’d got in the taxi the driver dished out sick bags that he’d brought.
He realised we were English and assumed we would be sick,
The fact that we were both sober meant nothing to this dick!
The following night we were more relaxed and the evening had a different feel,
We returned home after a weird night out and quite an odd ordeal.
But a night with drunkards and gays - will never go to plan,
Especially when Graham Allchurch, is your diminuitive wingman.
A meal in Bastille went slowly, I was told a girl’s life story,
She went from start to finish unconcerned that her life might bore me.
From there we went to a dungeon, a hellhole of a place,
Full of strange dodgy people matched only by their bad music taste.
The night was full of promise, we left for some dirty dubstep,
But arrived in the middle of nowhere at a club I would rather forget.
So we walked down Boulevard Magenta, a street John McClane would rather avoid,
Since it’s packed with tramps and gangsters and a handful of deluded rude boyz.
But we got back safe and sound and tucked in to a bowl of porridge,
And reflected on a wonderful weekend that was quirky if at times horrid!
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
Back to Blighty
I’m not normally the type to get excited in advance,
I don’t really get hyper or break out in to dance.
Birthday’s come and go, Christmas passes every year,
I’m rarely filled with xmas spirit or lots of birthday cheer.
But all last week was different I kept checking the date,
Perhaps subconsciously I was worried I’d be late.
The week began to drag as I wished for the weekend,
Knowing it would take me home and back to see my friends.
I left Paris for four days for a timely change of scene,
A weekend in Northampton where skies are blue and fields are green.
Four reasons for returning, four people’s birthdays,
Ashley, Bryony, Bruce and my brother James!
A mad and hectic party lasted Friday through til Sun,
And while I may have spent a lot, it just had to be done.
Bryony’s party Friday - a late night out in town,
Who needs a Parisian landscape when you’ve got your pals around ?
We partied hard we partied late, the sun rose before we slept,
But I think it was a special night that Biri won’t forget.
Saturday belonged to my brother as he turned 23,
Poor old sod had a hangover and me for company!
But we caught up a bit - it’s not often I see his face,
Busy lives mean rendez-vous just aren’t that commonplace,
The night brought another party , another 21st,
An occassion for more small talk and to quench my dancing thirst.
Ashley was my prom date many moons ago
So a dance with her at her party was worth returning for alone
A few closet blog readers came out to me that night
Farrow admitted reading this, so hello you ugly shite!
Sorry, just joking Simon - just checking you tell the truth,
I know there’s at least one other reader - watch out i’ll find you too!
But another party, another dance, this time to cheesy tunes,
The DJ was none other than the ‘narcissistic’ Ollie Pugh.
I danced to Luther and MJ and admittedly to Grease,
I can only imagine this went on to keep the parents pleased.
The night ended far too early so we piled back to foghorn’s place,
Craig fell victim to abuse as ‘‘goat’’ was written on his face.
But sam looked after me, kept me sheltered, kept me fed,
Although I spent half the weekend dodging his clothes pegs.
Grand slam Sunday passed without any incident,
It’s lazy days like this for which the Brampton Halt is meant.
Brucey’s and Bryony’s birthdays spent in familiar surroundings
Everybody happy while their wallets take a pounding.
But sometimes you just need to go where everybody knows your name,
As we continue to grow older our favourite local stays the same.
Yet again it was back to Sam’s for barely an hours kip,
Before Robert Turner picked me up for my return trip.
I fell asleep before take off and woke up once we’d arrived,
I’d already collected my luggage before wiping sleep out of my eyes.
I got back to my lego box and slept for one day and a half
Then prepared myself for work as a gallery member of staff.
By Tuesday I was back at work sitting at the desk,
Laughing at facebook photos til it began to hurt my chest!
I don’t really get hyper or break out in to dance.
Birthday’s come and go, Christmas passes every year,
I’m rarely filled with xmas spirit or lots of birthday cheer.
But all last week was different I kept checking the date,
Perhaps subconsciously I was worried I’d be late.
The week began to drag as I wished for the weekend,
Knowing it would take me home and back to see my friends.
I left Paris for four days for a timely change of scene,
A weekend in Northampton where skies are blue and fields are green.
Four reasons for returning, four people’s birthdays,
Ashley, Bryony, Bruce and my brother James!
A mad and hectic party lasted Friday through til Sun,
And while I may have spent a lot, it just had to be done.
Bryony’s party Friday - a late night out in town,
Who needs a Parisian landscape when you’ve got your pals around ?
We partied hard we partied late, the sun rose before we slept,
But I think it was a special night that Biri won’t forget.
Saturday belonged to my brother as he turned 23,
Poor old sod had a hangover and me for company!
But we caught up a bit - it’s not often I see his face,
Busy lives mean rendez-vous just aren’t that commonplace,
The night brought another party , another 21st,
An occassion for more small talk and to quench my dancing thirst.
Ashley was my prom date many moons ago
So a dance with her at her party was worth returning for alone
A few closet blog readers came out to me that night
Farrow admitted reading this, so hello you ugly shite!
Sorry, just joking Simon - just checking you tell the truth,
I know there’s at least one other reader - watch out i’ll find you too!
But another party, another dance, this time to cheesy tunes,
The DJ was none other than the ‘narcissistic’ Ollie Pugh.
I danced to Luther and MJ and admittedly to Grease,
I can only imagine this went on to keep the parents pleased.
The night ended far too early so we piled back to foghorn’s place,
Craig fell victim to abuse as ‘‘goat’’ was written on his face.
But sam looked after me, kept me sheltered, kept me fed,
Although I spent half the weekend dodging his clothes pegs.
Grand slam Sunday passed without any incident,
It’s lazy days like this for which the Brampton Halt is meant.
Brucey’s and Bryony’s birthdays spent in familiar surroundings
Everybody happy while their wallets take a pounding.
But sometimes you just need to go where everybody knows your name,
As we continue to grow older our favourite local stays the same.
Yet again it was back to Sam’s for barely an hours kip,
Before Robert Turner picked me up for my return trip.
I fell asleep before take off and woke up once we’d arrived,
I’d already collected my luggage before wiping sleep out of my eyes.
I got back to my lego box and slept for one day and a half
Then prepared myself for work as a gallery member of staff.
By Tuesday I was back at work sitting at the desk,
Laughing at facebook photos til it began to hurt my chest!
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Weeks 7 & 8
As Paris becomes routine, weeks fly by incessantly,
Not that they’re monotonous-but they’re nondescript to me.
It takes someone or something special to affect my week,
Otherwise it’s just another seven days in the capital of chic.
But lucky as I am I keep busy and entertained,
Nights out til 5 am leave me feeling pretty drained.
But an altogether different kind of night was enjoyed,
When my mother came to see one of her three favourite boys.
It was just a flying visit but it was just enough for me,
It was exactly what I needed to see some family.
We only had an evening but we made the best of it,
We watched the Eiffel tower dazzle, which really was the shit !
Every hour on the hour the Eiffel tower sparkles,
Pissheads probably think they’ve lost some, if not all, their marbles
But for ten minutes every hour, when the sky grows black,
The famous rusty sculpture pulls a rabbit from its hat.
A classy little trick that really hits the mark,
The massive ugly structure looks stunning in the dark
Now that last line might work well when used about the Eifel Tower
But i’ve tried it on a bird and my slapped cheek was raw for hours !
Mum and I shared a tasty meal that was typically French
The food was matched only by the waitress- a tasty bit of wench.
In the absence of my mother my diet’s pretty lame,
My enthusiasm lacking, my imagination tame.
Lucky for me the girls I know only live for food
It is their ‘raison d’être’ and i’ve been rather shrewd
I get round Amy’s for tea time and stuff my gut with munch
I get round hers for lunch time, breakfast and Sunday brunch.
We’ve eaten salmon and lasagne- the latter made from scratch
Plenty of fruit & veg mean scurvy’s something I won’t catch.
Musically lots to report on, including a new venue,
In a rough area of Paris that’s dangerous but attractive too !
At the familiar Showcase I saw some average bands
The dance floor was full of all their rowdy fans,
We saw a band from Paris-they covered ‘Cameo’
Who’s quality tune ‘word up’ should have been left alone.
But nevertheless the ‘Jukebox Club’ didn’t do too bad
They were better than ‘The Devices’ who used a cymbal and drum pad,
The American duo came on stage and simply shouted ‘merde’
Confirming my belief Americans should not be seen nor heard.
The night grew old, the hours passed and I went home to bed,
Knowing that my music hopes would be fulfilled next week instead.
The following week was M.A.N.D.Y. at the Elysée Montmartre
The line-up was pretty special the dress code wasn’t smart
The Presets had the energy, but the crowd had no response
The electro pair seemed about as popular as your average nonse !
Not because they were no good, they were rather accomplished
But due to the height of the ceiling the sound quality diminished
I danced on regardless until my feet felt really sore,
Then I got a second wind and I pounded them some more.
All of this nocturnal activity hasn’t helped my bank
My money has all gone there’s nothing left to spank.
I’m back to being skint, brassic and really tight,
I can’t give up a single cent from morning through til night.
The bank is such a nightmare- i’ve had to change my branch,
Since different regions have different rules throughout the whole of France.
So a branch in Paris is completely seperate from that in Nice,
And I have to pay to set-up a new account- feels like i’m being fleeced!
But perhaps my money situation will change now that I get CAF
A timely bit of pocket money that helps me rent my gaff.
It’s a bit like claiming benefit-for those who live in France,
I’m not sure how much it is but i’m praying silver will cross my palm.
But how much will they give me to subsidise my little flat?
50 euros a month? It can’t be much more than that?
Talking of the legobox it did receive a little visit
Rory’s first words on arriving were simply, ‘is that it’?
But I won’t get upset, the place is enough for me,
For it allows me to carry adventuring in gay Paree!
Not that they’re monotonous-but they’re nondescript to me.
It takes someone or something special to affect my week,
Otherwise it’s just another seven days in the capital of chic.
But lucky as I am I keep busy and entertained,
Nights out til 5 am leave me feeling pretty drained.
But an altogether different kind of night was enjoyed,
When my mother came to see one of her three favourite boys.
It was just a flying visit but it was just enough for me,
It was exactly what I needed to see some family.
We only had an evening but we made the best of it,
We watched the Eiffel tower dazzle, which really was the shit !
Every hour on the hour the Eiffel tower sparkles,
Pissheads probably think they’ve lost some, if not all, their marbles
But for ten minutes every hour, when the sky grows black,
The famous rusty sculpture pulls a rabbit from its hat.
A classy little trick that really hits the mark,
The massive ugly structure looks stunning in the dark
Now that last line might work well when used about the Eifel Tower
But i’ve tried it on a bird and my slapped cheek was raw for hours !
Mum and I shared a tasty meal that was typically French
The food was matched only by the waitress- a tasty bit of wench.
In the absence of my mother my diet’s pretty lame,
My enthusiasm lacking, my imagination tame.
Lucky for me the girls I know only live for food
It is their ‘raison d’être’ and i’ve been rather shrewd
I get round Amy’s for tea time and stuff my gut with munch
I get round hers for lunch time, breakfast and Sunday brunch.
We’ve eaten salmon and lasagne- the latter made from scratch
Plenty of fruit & veg mean scurvy’s something I won’t catch.
Musically lots to report on, including a new venue,
In a rough area of Paris that’s dangerous but attractive too !
At the familiar Showcase I saw some average bands
The dance floor was full of all their rowdy fans,
We saw a band from Paris-they covered ‘Cameo’
Who’s quality tune ‘word up’ should have been left alone.
But nevertheless the ‘Jukebox Club’ didn’t do too bad
They were better than ‘The Devices’ who used a cymbal and drum pad,
The American duo came on stage and simply shouted ‘merde’
Confirming my belief Americans should not be seen nor heard.
The night grew old, the hours passed and I went home to bed,
Knowing that my music hopes would be fulfilled next week instead.
The following week was M.A.N.D.Y. at the Elysée Montmartre
The line-up was pretty special the dress code wasn’t smart
The Presets had the energy, but the crowd had no response
The electro pair seemed about as popular as your average nonse !
Not because they were no good, they were rather accomplished
But due to the height of the ceiling the sound quality diminished
I danced on regardless until my feet felt really sore,
Then I got a second wind and I pounded them some more.
All of this nocturnal activity hasn’t helped my bank
My money has all gone there’s nothing left to spank.
I’m back to being skint, brassic and really tight,
I can’t give up a single cent from morning through til night.
The bank is such a nightmare- i’ve had to change my branch,
Since different regions have different rules throughout the whole of France.
So a branch in Paris is completely seperate from that in Nice,
And I have to pay to set-up a new account- feels like i’m being fleeced!
But perhaps my money situation will change now that I get CAF
A timely bit of pocket money that helps me rent my gaff.
It’s a bit like claiming benefit-for those who live in France,
I’m not sure how much it is but i’m praying silver will cross my palm.
But how much will they give me to subsidise my little flat?
50 euros a month? It can’t be much more than that?
Talking of the legobox it did receive a little visit
Rory’s first words on arriving were simply, ‘is that it’?
But I won’t get upset, the place is enough for me,
For it allows me to carry adventuring in gay Paree!
Tuesday, 18 March 2008
Week ? Losing track of time
I’m struggling to keep up, is this early ? Is this late ?
Time refuses to stand still, I can’t ask it to wait!
I have no Bernard’s watch, to halt time in its path,
And i’m no Hermione Granger who bends time to make a class
So as it is, I can’t keep track, time floats by non-stop,
Everytime I see the date I get a nasty shock.
How is it March already? I’ve only just arrived!
Before I know it, i’ll be finished saying my goodbyes.
Perhaps it’s because I only work four days of the week,
But still I barely have time to catch up on my sleep.
However looking back on things I don’t feel i’ve achieved that much,
In fact i’d go as far to say i’ve not done anything as such.
Unless you count the museums, in which case i’ve done alot
The first Sunday of March I barely even stopped.
I took in four museums and three quarters were sublime,
So much so that I can’t wait to return another time.
The Pompidou’s amazing, full of fascinating art,
I strolled around as best I could, pretending to be smart,
Thank God I had a guide to explain some things to me
Otherwise i’d look at half of it quite dismissively.
Auguste Rodin, the sculptor, had crafted some bad ass things,
Most of the works in his museum I found overwhelming.
‘The Gates of Hell’,‘The Thinker’ as well as his ‘The Kiss’
You must see these badboys when you next visit Paris.
The final treat was Monet and his famous Waterlillies,
I didn’t think i’d be impressed, I thought this was just for sissies,
But how wrong was I? Well, very wrong indeed!
The enormous life-like paintings really struck a chord with me.
But where there’s Yin there’s Yang, believe me this is true,
I don’t mean Asian tourists but how luck catches up with you,
Three awe inspiring visits to three impressive sites,
Is inevitably followed up by a trip to a pile of shit,
The final museum of the day was the Jeu de Paume
A blight on the Parisian landscape if ever there was one,
Arty-farty films that bored me half to death,
The nutty director must have been on crystal meth !
Incomprehensible rubbish that bored its audience,
I can’t believe I wasted time watching complete nonsense.
A very worthwhile Sunday, that was tarnished at the end
By some very dodgy films that I would never recommend
Nevertheless I love Sundays and wish they’d never finish,
Since Monday heralds a week of work and all it’s sordid business.
Other things i’ve done include delivering wine,
To a stunning flat that’s 20 times the size of mine.
But that’s no exaggeration, i’m not having a laugh,
Most of my appartment would fit in the bloody bath.
I helped out a friend who works in a wine cellar,
By delivering goods to a very wealthy fella,
The flat was in a quartier on a very trendy road,
I hoped to get a tip from the owner of said abode,
But no such luck, and not the slightest mention of any thanks,
The bloke cares less for politeness than money in the bank.
Despite saying i’d done little I have managed to write a lot,
But i’ve nothing else to say, so this is where i’ll stop.
Time refuses to stand still, I can’t ask it to wait!
I have no Bernard’s watch, to halt time in its path,
And i’m no Hermione Granger who bends time to make a class
So as it is, I can’t keep track, time floats by non-stop,
Everytime I see the date I get a nasty shock.
How is it March already? I’ve only just arrived!
Before I know it, i’ll be finished saying my goodbyes.
Perhaps it’s because I only work four days of the week,
But still I barely have time to catch up on my sleep.
However looking back on things I don’t feel i’ve achieved that much,
In fact i’d go as far to say i’ve not done anything as such.
Unless you count the museums, in which case i’ve done alot
The first Sunday of March I barely even stopped.
I took in four museums and three quarters were sublime,
So much so that I can’t wait to return another time.
The Pompidou’s amazing, full of fascinating art,
I strolled around as best I could, pretending to be smart,
Thank God I had a guide to explain some things to me
Otherwise i’d look at half of it quite dismissively.
Auguste Rodin, the sculptor, had crafted some bad ass things,
Most of the works in his museum I found overwhelming.
‘The Gates of Hell’,‘The Thinker’ as well as his ‘The Kiss’
You must see these badboys when you next visit Paris.
The final treat was Monet and his famous Waterlillies,
I didn’t think i’d be impressed, I thought this was just for sissies,
But how wrong was I? Well, very wrong indeed!
The enormous life-like paintings really struck a chord with me.
But where there’s Yin there’s Yang, believe me this is true,
I don’t mean Asian tourists but how luck catches up with you,
Three awe inspiring visits to three impressive sites,
Is inevitably followed up by a trip to a pile of shit,
The final museum of the day was the Jeu de Paume
A blight on the Parisian landscape if ever there was one,
Arty-farty films that bored me half to death,
The nutty director must have been on crystal meth !
Incomprehensible rubbish that bored its audience,
I can’t believe I wasted time watching complete nonsense.
A very worthwhile Sunday, that was tarnished at the end
By some very dodgy films that I would never recommend
Nevertheless I love Sundays and wish they’d never finish,
Since Monday heralds a week of work and all it’s sordid business.
Other things i’ve done include delivering wine,
To a stunning flat that’s 20 times the size of mine.
But that’s no exaggeration, i’m not having a laugh,
Most of my appartment would fit in the bloody bath.
I helped out a friend who works in a wine cellar,
By delivering goods to a very wealthy fella,
The flat was in a quartier on a very trendy road,
I hoped to get a tip from the owner of said abode,
But no such luck, and not the slightest mention of any thanks,
The bloke cares less for politeness than money in the bank.
Despite saying i’d done little I have managed to write a lot,
But i’ve nothing else to say, so this is where i’ll stop.
Saturday, 1 March 2008
French fancies
Stop abusing English food with tiresome, old remarks
What makes you so proud of your o.t.t French tarts?
I love shepherd’s pie so you laugh and take the piss,
Claiming I have no taste and that it’s such a simple dish.
If you had to name two things that the English love to eat,
You’d say trifle and potatoes are on our plates every evening of the week.
Oh, so do you eat frog’s legs and snails all the time?
And do you always glug it down with gallons of red wine?
Or do you only ever eat the finest French fromage?
You laugh at the thought of crumble, whether apple or rhubarb,
And call custard, “crème anglaise” but have you ever tried,
A really proper crumble with ice cream on the side?
Or cereal without chocolate that your kids demand in shops?
Whilst stuffing chocolate filled Brioche in to the big flat sloppy chops.
I’d take Jamie Oliver over your pretentious Guy Savoy,
It might not be “Haute-Cuisine” but English food fills me with joy,
And if I hear one more lame remark about English brussel sprouts,
I’ll forcefeed you dodgy sausages made by our friends the Krauts.
What makes you so proud of your o.t.t French tarts?
I love shepherd’s pie so you laugh and take the piss,
Claiming I have no taste and that it’s such a simple dish.
If you had to name two things that the English love to eat,
You’d say trifle and potatoes are on our plates every evening of the week.
Oh, so do you eat frog’s legs and snails all the time?
And do you always glug it down with gallons of red wine?
Or do you only ever eat the finest French fromage?
You laugh at the thought of crumble, whether apple or rhubarb,
And call custard, “crème anglaise” but have you ever tried,
A really proper crumble with ice cream on the side?
Or cereal without chocolate that your kids demand in shops?
Whilst stuffing chocolate filled Brioche in to the big flat sloppy chops.
I’d take Jamie Oliver over your pretentious Guy Savoy,
It might not be “Haute-Cuisine” but English food fills me with joy,
And if I hear one more lame remark about English brussel sprouts,
I’ll forcefeed you dodgy sausages made by our friends the Krauts.
6 weeks in Paris
28.02.08
Before Hudson arrived I’d made assumptions stupidly,
But nothing is predictable from the girl that’s from Bingley,
I thought we’d do the sights and I’d prepared myself for this,
Counting on the fact it’s her first trip to Paris.
And while we did the Louvre and the Basilique du Sacre-Coeur
In terms of Paris sights this was enough for her.
On the steps of the Sacre-Coeur we sat and watched buskers,
As February was providing us with as much sun as it could muster
Some weird old lady had had far too much and was dancing to the music,
Had no-one told her she was over the hill or was she refusing to believe it?
So whilst sitting in Montmartre, with views over the whole town,
My eyes scanned the horizon, left, right, up and down.
Thinking this is pretty French, I’m a real Parisian,
Before realising I found myself at another tourist attraction
But fortunately I saw it, I found what I was looking for,
Only five yards from me were a group sitting on the floor,
All sharing cheese and wine now just how French is that?
A simple sight like this made me a very happy chap.
You see I’m not happy being a tourist, I want to feel French
I want to be considered a native in every single sense.
This is why I persist in speaking French when a waiter speaks English
And why I force myself to eat the oddest tasting dish.
My accent is so obvious, people realise straight away,
That I’m an English university boy that isn’t here to stay.
Paris has got me in its grasp and I’m addicted to its charm,
Walking these streets at any time I feel safe from harm.
Hudson saw my frustrations at a café we went to,
When someone ignores my attempts at French it makes me feel like poo
The waiter spoke bad English as I continued in his language,
Perhaps he wanted us to know just how well he could manage.
The meal we ate was called “The French” and he asked us if we liked it?
I said yeah we liked “the French” at which he was delighted.
He said “haha, funny joke” in a very odd accent,
And just for the international relations that was 15 euros well spent.
We met up with Dorny and three lovely girls out here,
To go and see 2manydjs for the second time this year.
The girls will hate me if I talk too much about their drunken state
Better to say they behaved themselves than to lose three mates.
“Social Club” the venue, was just the place for me,
But not good for smokers or sweat, unfortunately!!
The place was rammed by one o’clock, I couldn’t move my feet.
It was like corned beef in a can, compacted greasy meat!
But the night was a success, and I’ll be going back
With mates on my birthday in a posse, group or pact.
Hudson’s time to go, came and quickly went,
But I’ll be forever grateful for the time over here she spent
Since I had a bit more focus, I had a better aim,
To integrate myself in France I really stood to gain.
So with a week off from work, (the gallery’s being rented out)
I thought I’d get my arse in gear and find out Paris is about.
I planned to do some research and some discovery
But truth be told the weather wasn’t kind to me.
I have done a few good things, went to a gallery outside of the Marais
All about immigrants and international djs
I tried to go to the Catacombs but this was a non-starter,
The bleeding thing is shut, so there’s no happy ever after,
It ruined my day and put an end to my concerted attempt,
To find more things in Paris other than work and paying rent.
But things are back on track, it’s free museum Sunday
I’ll take a stroll round some free places with Coates leading the way.
Before Hudson arrived I’d made assumptions stupidly,
But nothing is predictable from the girl that’s from Bingley,
I thought we’d do the sights and I’d prepared myself for this,
Counting on the fact it’s her first trip to Paris.
And while we did the Louvre and the Basilique du Sacre-Coeur
In terms of Paris sights this was enough for her.
On the steps of the Sacre-Coeur we sat and watched buskers,
As February was providing us with as much sun as it could muster
Some weird old lady had had far too much and was dancing to the music,
Had no-one told her she was over the hill or was she refusing to believe it?
So whilst sitting in Montmartre, with views over the whole town,
My eyes scanned the horizon, left, right, up and down.
Thinking this is pretty French, I’m a real Parisian,
Before realising I found myself at another tourist attraction
But fortunately I saw it, I found what I was looking for,
Only five yards from me were a group sitting on the floor,
All sharing cheese and wine now just how French is that?
A simple sight like this made me a very happy chap.
You see I’m not happy being a tourist, I want to feel French
I want to be considered a native in every single sense.
This is why I persist in speaking French when a waiter speaks English
And why I force myself to eat the oddest tasting dish.
My accent is so obvious, people realise straight away,
That I’m an English university boy that isn’t here to stay.
Paris has got me in its grasp and I’m addicted to its charm,
Walking these streets at any time I feel safe from harm.
Hudson saw my frustrations at a café we went to,
When someone ignores my attempts at French it makes me feel like poo
The waiter spoke bad English as I continued in his language,
Perhaps he wanted us to know just how well he could manage.
The meal we ate was called “The French” and he asked us if we liked it?
I said yeah we liked “the French” at which he was delighted.
He said “haha, funny joke” in a very odd accent,
And just for the international relations that was 15 euros well spent.
We met up with Dorny and three lovely girls out here,
To go and see 2manydjs for the second time this year.
The girls will hate me if I talk too much about their drunken state
Better to say they behaved themselves than to lose three mates.
“Social Club” the venue, was just the place for me,
But not good for smokers or sweat, unfortunately!!
The place was rammed by one o’clock, I couldn’t move my feet.
It was like corned beef in a can, compacted greasy meat!
But the night was a success, and I’ll be going back
With mates on my birthday in a posse, group or pact.
Hudson’s time to go, came and quickly went,
But I’ll be forever grateful for the time over here she spent
Since I had a bit more focus, I had a better aim,
To integrate myself in France I really stood to gain.
So with a week off from work, (the gallery’s being rented out)
I thought I’d get my arse in gear and find out Paris is about.
I planned to do some research and some discovery
But truth be told the weather wasn’t kind to me.
I have done a few good things, went to a gallery outside of the Marais
All about immigrants and international djs
I tried to go to the Catacombs but this was a non-starter,
The bleeding thing is shut, so there’s no happy ever after,
It ruined my day and put an end to my concerted attempt,
To find more things in Paris other than work and paying rent.
But things are back on track, it’s free museum Sunday
I’ll take a stroll round some free places with Coates leading the way.
5 Weeks in Paris
21.02.08
On my first weekend in the flat the apartment had a test,
My tiny little studio had to accommodate Jess.
My housemate from last year, booked a last minute flight,
Two days afterwards we were touring all the sights.
We managed all the attractions people associate with Paris,
I saw the Eiffel and Arc de Triomphe with the lovely “Bomber” Harris.
We toured the French capital, stopping off at Notre Dame,
Despite being an atheist and a Richard Dawkins fan.
We even saw the Louvre, which I’d seen the night before
Amy Coates, who loves to mother me, had given me a tour.
There are other things we did, that might bore you half to death,
But suffice to say we saw Paris, we walked it’s length and breadth.
If she was fatigued Jess showed little sign of it,
20 hrs without sleep didn’t stop her dancing to the Whip.
I showed her some Paris nightlife and took her to Showcase,
It wasn’t just the Whip, SMD supplied some tasty bass.
We went to Sacre-Coeur and place de la Bastille,
We meandered along the Seine and saw l’Hotel de Ville.
But everything went far too quickly, before I knew it she was gone.
Sad to see her go, but I’m not alone, well not for long.
Jess left me on Monday but Hudson comes today,
It feels like I’m running a B&B with the amount of guests coming to stay.
Work has been quite quiet with the owner in Berlin,
Searching for emerging artists he fancies exhibitionin’.
So things are ticking over, I’m managing just fine,
Despite man flu early in the week I think I will survive.
That’s it for now; I’ll tell you more sometime soon I hope,
And don’t forget to visit me, by plane, train or by boat.
On my first weekend in the flat the apartment had a test,
My tiny little studio had to accommodate Jess.
My housemate from last year, booked a last minute flight,
Two days afterwards we were touring all the sights.
We managed all the attractions people associate with Paris,
I saw the Eiffel and Arc de Triomphe with the lovely “Bomber” Harris.
We toured the French capital, stopping off at Notre Dame,
Despite being an atheist and a Richard Dawkins fan.
We even saw the Louvre, which I’d seen the night before
Amy Coates, who loves to mother me, had given me a tour.
There are other things we did, that might bore you half to death,
But suffice to say we saw Paris, we walked it’s length and breadth.
If she was fatigued Jess showed little sign of it,
20 hrs without sleep didn’t stop her dancing to the Whip.
I showed her some Paris nightlife and took her to Showcase,
It wasn’t just the Whip, SMD supplied some tasty bass.
We went to Sacre-Coeur and place de la Bastille,
We meandered along the Seine and saw l’Hotel de Ville.
But everything went far too quickly, before I knew it she was gone.
Sad to see her go, but I’m not alone, well not for long.
Jess left me on Monday but Hudson comes today,
It feels like I’m running a B&B with the amount of guests coming to stay.
Work has been quite quiet with the owner in Berlin,
Searching for emerging artists he fancies exhibitionin’.
So things are ticking over, I’m managing just fine,
Despite man flu early in the week I think I will survive.
That’s it for now; I’ll tell you more sometime soon I hope,
And don’t forget to visit me, by plane, train or by boat.
Wednesday, 13 February 2008
Paris week 4
After three weeks living at Andy’s, something had to give,
I had to stop being picky and find somewhere to live.
So now i’ve gone and done it, i’ve found myself a flat,
It’s not big enough to swing a mouse, nevermind a cat!
The flat’s ten metres squared and costs more than my place in Nice,
I’ll be living on my own but that’s no reason to be ‘triste’.
It may be very small but it’s got everything I need,
Having an open plan studio is very handy indeed.
In fact my flat’s so small I can make breakfast from my bed,
Turn the light off with my toes and reach the front door with my head.
I’ve seen a Lada with more mod cons, a phonebox with much more space
I can be in the kitchen cooking dinner while in the bathroom washing my face!
This studio’s unusual-here’s the proverbial pudding as the proof,
There’s a window in my bathroom that opens out onto a roof!
And even though this sounds quite shady and could even cause me harm,
It’s another little feature that gives this place some charm!
But does size really matter if it’s only for a while?
Could a box of an appartment wipe away my smile?
Well it’s big enough for me and it’l do for my mates trips,
None of them is naive enough to be expecting the Ritz.
It’s been comfortable at work, things at times are slow.
Yet i’m always given jobs as i’m just about to go.
My French must be improving, I speak it all the time,
I keep breaking into ‘Franglais’ a ‘melange’ that works just fine,
If i’m talking to an ‘etudiant’ or a ‘copain’ of mine.
‘Mais’ if i use it with strangers ‘ils pensent que je suis’ mad,
Which should be avoided snice it’s ‘vraiment, vraiment’ bad.
The nightlife here is rude and beats what i’ve left behind,
But drinks cost an absolute mint they really rob you blind!
Six euros for a coke ? There’s been some mistake surely!
After all i’m paying for a drink, i’m not paying for a brewery (copyright McDonalds 2004)
Everyone seems beautiful, yet no-one seems to smile
These over-inflated egos ought to try dancing for a while.
If you want to pose, I know somewhere that you could go,
Try booking a one way ticket to the Principality of Monaco.
Digitalism and Datarock proved to be good nights,
The French drink less than the British so i see far fewer fights.
But it’s not all work and dance, i’m a cultured boy at heart,
Which is why I never burp and never been known to fart!
I walked along the Seine on a sunny Saturday
I strolled right past the Louvre singing some Johnny Halliday.
Aimlessly wandering along or flaneuring in my lame ‘Franglais’
Soaking in the culture along my merry little way.
I’ve been thinking of you lot, i’m not completely self obsessed
Although writing about myself looks negative i confess.
For all my fellow students I hope the essays have gone well,
I hope exams felt effortless and not like hours of hell.
Those of you with 9-5s I can now empathise,
I also work 8 hour shifts although not as hard as you guys.
Best wishes, I love you all and I hope to see you soon,
And lads, sorry to miss the 21sts, it hurts me more than you...
Thursday, 31 January 2008
no more mr Nice guy
So I’ve started all over again, I’m sorting my life out in
It’s about as straight forward as building an airfix Toyota Yaris
Nice was a great 3 months, I made friends and enemies
Some I’m sad to leave behind some I’m glad to leave.
My former flatmate hates me, it seems I was pretty mean,
But in no way was it an attempt to keep her really keen.
It seems she’s found my blog and she has read most of it,
I got a tasty e-mail telling me I’m a piece of …..
In truth I’m quite upset; we shared some real good times,
She didn’t deserve to be ridiculed within these anecdotal lines.
But since she called me nasty stuff, I'm obliged to retaliate
And if the madam is reading this then she’s bound to get irate!
Oi, you! I’ll be Zidane to your Marco Matterazzi,
And if you’ll be Diana I’ll play the part of the paparazzi!
But times move on, I’m wiser now and I’m living in Paree,
I’ve got a full time job now in an art gallery.
First shift there the boss took us all out for a meal,
I ordered “tartare de beouf” and when it arrived I almost squealed.
Obviously I’m naïve, but I thought I’d get a choice
Of how I’d like them to cook my beef but I didn’t use my voice.
Now it was less cooked than a packet of co-op mince, and looked less healthy too
And although it tasted fine, there were moments where I forced myself to chew!
All that was bad enough but there were bigger fish to fry
My boss ate worse than those filthy animals from the sty.
He didn’t like to cut or finely chop his food,
He didn’t think talking with a mouthful was unpleasant or rude!
But this gallery job’s only half of it I still need an abode,
But the problem with the French is they all rent studios.
Symptomatic of Parisian life, everyone lives on their own,
Too grumpy to open up they’d all rather live alone.
Thing is, I love sharing houses, and I’m still looking to share,
Even if it’s another fruitloop, I really do not care!
Currently I’m staying with the wonderful Andrew Dorn,
His face is the first and last thing I see every night and every morn.
I’ve had a few dodgy encounters here, since Dorn lives near the Marais,
It’s famous for homosexuals and I was approached recently by a gay.
He asked me for a cigarette which is standard in
But then he became all sinister while I got all embarrassed.
He asked if I wanted a blowjob so I turned and fled the scene,
I’m not being homophobic I just didn’t want his penis near me!
Now I’ve been at work a week and it’s mostly quite relaxed,
I spend most my time working on my namesake, a handy apple Mac
My nerves do fray a little when it comes to moving paintings round,
I’m often handling pictures worth more than
But I’m immersed in the French language there, it’s a sea that surrounds me,
And I relish swimming in it, metaphorically!
Not much else has happened so not too much else to say,
When I’m not working I’m searching for a place to stay.
But I smile my head off all day long when I stop to think,
That these next six months in
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