Tuesday, 21 September 2010

Friday and Saturday- Argh Eee Argh


On Friday I went to stay with Amo at Euro Disney. I was going to use pseudonyms in this blog so that nobody could discover my true identity but I can’t be arsed, so Amo is Amo and if you don’t know who Amo is she’s my chum who has worked at Euro Disney for a year.

To get there I had to get the RER which is the French train, although I have no idea why it’s called that and not le train. Anyway, I set off into the night at about nine pm after I had finished looking after les enfants and getting my shizzle together and I realised it was the first time I had been out and about in Paris of a night time (as Amo would say).

It was most thrilling, until I got lost as a sock, not on the streets of Paris, but inside one of the metro stations. They have been built specifically to entrap human beings so that they are reasonably easy to get into, but impossible to escape. In millennia to come they will find fossilized humans with metro maps and unhappy faces.

I was wandering around getting myself into a State and a Panic when I decided to ask a passer by for help. ‘Excusez-moi, ou est le RER?’ I asked a nice-looking girl who was not a lot older than myself. She looked puzzled and asked to look at my ticket. She said she didn’t know but instead of leaving me to my slow metro-entrapped death like most French people she took me round the station with her asking other people for help and asking to see their maps. I can not believe how nice she was, I kept gazing at her like she was Mother Theresa in Capri pants. Eventually, I tried pronouncing RER a different way.

‘Ergh Ay Ergh?’ I asked.

She understood immediately and I was a bit ashamed that I had been pronouncing it Arr Eee Arr like an ancient Cornish person. Still, even when she knew what I meant it still took us twenty minutes to find the right place and then she sent me on my way with a smile and a nod.

Vous etes tres sympa.’ I said, which I hope means You Are Very Nice.

Once I got on the Ergh Ay Ergh it was clear it was Paris’s answer to the 192. I thought it was underground all the way until some fireworks went off in the far off distance and I realised I was in fact looking out into the night, not at a brick wall, which was a revelation.

Once I got to Euro Disney, I met Amo no probs and enjoyed reading shitty magazines and drinking vodka in her apartment, which she shares with her French Boyfriend which was also a revelation. It felt so good to have a drink and as I drank my vodka and cranberry I said to Amo ‘I’ve not had a drink for months’. Then I remembered it had actually been exactly a week since we went out for Leaving Drinks but I decided not to mention that to Amo because obviously one week is not as dramatic as Months. (Although she will probably be reading this now so really I don’t know why I even bother exaggerating sometimes.)

The next day Amo got me into Euro Disney for free. Which is good news seeing as I am the Lowest Paid Au Pair in Paris. We had a very good day, although it got off to a shaky start when I woke up in the early hours of the morning and thought smugly ‘I now wake up naturally early, how grown up of me.’ Then Amo came in, opened the curtains and announced it was half 12 in the afternoon.

It was so nice being with a friend. I had to be careful not to well up because I am a Nostalgic Person and being with Amo reminded me of being with her and Chaz when I was fifteen and we used to buy Jammy Dodgers and take-away pizzas and ice creams and sweets and cakes and eat them all on the way to the park or the street corner where we used to chill and I can’t think of cake at the moment because it makes me weep with longing.

Anyway, Euro Disney was very surreal. If you were on drugs you would FREAK. OUT.
















As Amo works there, she asked all her pals to come and have their picture taken with her special friend. They kept looking around for a toddler but it was me. People around us kept whispering and I think they thought I was terminally ill or quite disabled because all the characters kept walking over to us in the parade so I could have my picture taken.

I don’t care though, I love Disney and I always have but my day there was bittersweet. On the one hand, I was in the magical land where dreams come true and all the Princesses and Princes I love so much were walking and talking around me. But on the other hand, it was a harsh reminder that instead of three years of breathing out of my chakras and pretending to read the future out of a dustbin, I would have been better off spending the twenty grand I spent on a drama degree on plastic surgery and dentistry work. Then I could be living the dream already as a Disney Princess.















Now I’ll never be a Disney Princess and I’m so envious of them. I don’t even mean the people who act as them in theme parks, I mean I’m actually envious of Cinderella and Mulan. (Actually, Mulan, not so much. She wasn’t so much rescued as she rescued all of China and I don’t think I could be arsed with that.) You have to have a perfect profile to be a Disney Princess and some people have it and some people don’t and it’s not fair. But hey, life’s not fair.

I hate reading Vogue when there’s some Bright Young Thing profiled in there and they look like Aphrodite and they say ‘I just kind of fell into acting, I don’t know how it happened, I don’t even like it…’ I’d like them a lot better if they just told the truth and said ‘I’m beautiful, so I can do whatever I want.’

I wasn’t born with a Disney Princess Face and there’s nothing I can do about it!!!! It makes me want to jump off the tallest tower of Sleeping Beauty’s castle.




















Incidentally, I took over thirty photographs of that castle, I am obsessed. I would give ANYTHING to live in a castle like that. In fact I would give anything to live in a universe where I could live in a castle like that and have dragons and fairies skipping around the grounds whilst I worked on a tapestry and waited for someone sexy to come climbing up the turrets and ideally he would bring croissants.

I asked Amo where the red light district is in Paris because I would sleep with someone for a croissant and she didn’t believe me but I didn’t mean it literally. It would have to be at least seventeen croissants or a box of those little pastry tarts with glazed fruit in.

Last night the dad of the family said I ate like a bird. I have to say I have been eating bird like portions but there’s only so much ‘grain and peas’ one can eat. Ahh I don't mind really, it all makes me feel like I'm starring in my own Cinderella story...

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