Sunday, 31 October 2010

Back to Black

I'm no longer home, I'm back in Paris, the city where people feed me grated carrot and UHT milk. Later I am meeting my new employer and she is taking me to my new 'place'. I say place because I have no idea if it will be a hole or a nice little bedsit... I had a dream last night that my old family wouldn't let me have my stuff back. I have no idea how this whole thing is going to go down, but I guess 'que sera, que sera'.

Saturday, 23 October 2010

After the Rain...

I remember when I worked in Corfu and on a day when things were bad and shit and very awful I was stood on the beach looking at the sky and I threw back my head and went 'Oh, give me some English rain!'. It was very dramatic and I'm glad nobody saw me, but every so often you have to give yourself a bit of theatre. I like to pretend I'm in a novel a lot of the time and will often narrate my life to myself. Even picking up a snotty tissue can become a moment of intense poetry. (She paused and scooped down, her fingers grasping at a soft cloud that had floated from her pocket down to the hard ground, a honey-like slick glimmering on the tissue like a smudge of sunshine...)

In the novella of my life- and it is definately a novella, not a novel, I don't know why but I feel I more of a Breakfast at Tiffany's than War and Peace, but maybe that's because, although undoubtedly a magnificent piece of literature, Tolstoy neglected to mention any cats in his 'magnum opus' and so there was a little piece of me never really bothered... Anyway, in the novella of my life, I feel I am at the bit where it starts to get good. And I shall tell you for why:

I got the other job!!!! I was at the airport on Friday, staring into space and slowly hating life because I had gone to the gate two hours early and there were no toilets and I had no book,when I got a phone call from the other family. Well I actually got a phone call while I was going through security but I've never flown on my own before and I didn't know if you are allowed to answer the phone or not. Actually I'm quite pleased with myself for managing to get on a plane all on my lonesome, considering that the last time I tried to see my cousin in Leeds I missed my coach even though I was sat next to it for twenty minutes, then I ran to Piccadilly and bought a train ticket for a large sum of money then nearly missed the train, then arrived in Leeds with no phone battery and no telephone numbers and no money.

The weird thing is, on Friday, I thought I had no phone credit because it wouldn't let me text anyone, but I tried to one bell the family anyway and miraculously it worked! Then they rang me back and told me I had the job!!!! YEEEEYYYYYY! My Own Place. Food. Money. No Curfew!!!!

The only snag in the cardigan is that now I have to tell my current family that I am giving them a week's notice when they are on holiday, which is pretty bad but no worse than giving someone grated carrot for dinner. I think I'll ring them on Monday, although really I should ring them today but I'm too scared. I have a key to their house though so if worse comes to worse I can hotfoot it back to Paris and grab all my stuff before they come back from holiday. I haven't booked my transport back to Paris yet which will be very expensive but who cares, as of next week I will getting a Proper Person's Salary!

Ahhhh being at home is amazing, I feel like I am in a dream. Last night I had Chinese take-away and watched the MOBOs on TV and drank tea and ate hobnobs then I went to bed in my nice, warm, clean bedroom. I feel like a princess.

I've already put Holiday Skin on. Making plans for money-spending and frolicking this evening. This week is going to be So. Good.

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

Home Is Where The HobNobs Is

On Friday I am going home for a week. (I told the family I am going home tomorrow night so I can have a night out during the week like a Normal Human Being Who Is Over The Age Of 13).

These are the things I will embrace and wail happy, happy tears over when I get to England:
-delicious food
-average food that hasn't been microwaved five times already and carried around in a sweaty child's lunchbox all day by the time it gets to me
-roast dinners/italian food/chinese take-away/chilli, spices, fat, salt, black pepper, fresh basil...
-pizza/chips/kebabs/deisgusting junk food
-nice tea with fresh milk in a clean cup, with a HANDLE (my au pair family really do take thrift to a new level)
-clean sheets in a comfortable adult-sized bed
-cheap alcohol in clubs
-bouncers whose ideal boy to girl ratio in a club is not 0:0
-cheap but fabulous high, high heels in St John's, Liverpool
-clean hair that doesn't feel like sticky carpet because Parisian water does something mysterious and sinister to English au pair hair
-fake tan
-false eyelashes

These are the things I will do ASAP:
-get my eyebrows threaded
-get my hair cut so I don't get mistaken for a Morman
-get very dressed up, go into Manchester with £15, come home at whatever time I like horrendously drunk yet still manage to cook myself spaghetti bolognaise
-stand in my room naked, either to moisturise or to breathe in and critically observe myself in the mirror like a vain, self-obssessed person in possession of an opaque door
- tell everyone that Paris is great and that there are no probs, having the time of my life, aren't you jealous of me and fantastic job/living situation?


Tuesday, 19 October 2010


Hmmm... hmmmm.... hmmm... trying not to let the waves of despair swallow me up like a jilted mermaid. I received a text message from that job saying 'Hey I have not forgotten you, I have other persons to meet. I will talk with you on Friday evening or you need to know yes or now immediately?'

My preferred answer would have been IMMEDIATELY, MY SANITY IS HANGING ON BY A THREAD but this sort of reply has the potential to put prospective empoyers off, so instead I texted her back saying Friday would be fine except it might be difficult because I am travelling back to England for a week, but I am still interested in the job.

But then I wouldn't be able to start asap so basically I am fucked.

Oh and did you know there is a fucking Second Revolution happening in France? Oh yes, I only found out today when I got caught up in a protest on my way to pick les enfants from school. There were millions of riot police hanging about which I took no notice of as I have got used to there always being hilariously-dressed futuristic space warriors hanging about. Paris is after all the city where people love to strike and protest. However this time something was different. I battled through the tide of banner-wavers as they marched down the road I need to cross to get to the school. After picking up the two kids and taking them to the park for an hour, there was still a heavy flow of people traffic. This means the line of protesters was at least an hour long. Not only were there protestors marching and singing and snarling at the riot police, but there little huddles of French people holding pink flares. (As in the firey SOS device, not the Comeback Queen of the trouser department) I'm not a pyrotechnician, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to prance about in a waterproof fleece holding a fucking flare.

The au pair mum and dad have gone out to a dinner party or some shit so I got my mum to ring their house phone so I could chat freely and bitterly. My mum told me there is a fuel crisis and that all the oil riggs are being barricaded so that it is nearly impossible to get out of France. She said they have cancelled half the flights from Charles de Gaulle so now I feel very panicky and also very fat as I have eaten 12 chocolate cookies today and yesterday I spend FIVE EUROS on chocolate eclairs.

So I'm fat and stuck in Paris with a family who fed me grated carrot for dinner plus the soggy cauliflower I refused to eat for lunch. I feel like a nine month year old baby and a fat whore at the same time.

What am I supposed to do? FUCK THE FRENCH AND FUCK VEGETABLES. Jumping in the Seine is very appealing at the moment, because at least if I commited suicide in Paris, people would forget all the cringey things I do. Seriously, how inappropiate would it be to say at my funeral 'Remember when she shagged that coach driver in Corfu?' or 'Remember when she put her hand in that guy's mouth when they were kissing?'

Very inappropriate indeed.

Monday, 18 October 2010

Fuck Off You Fuckers

Just tried to go the American Church to look at their notice board as Lauren told me they have lots of job vacancies and stuff posted there. I couldn't find it. If I see an American flag I'm going to spit on it and grind dirt into it with my boots and that will serve them right for building a fucking unlocatable church.

I have a feeling I won't hear from the other family, I may have to go home for the time my au pair family are on holiday. The dad just told me the dates and was like 'Why haven't you booked already it will be really expensive.'


Oh no, I am becoming enraged again. Need to calm down. I was marching around the 7th arrondissement with my dog-killing face on and people were doing double-takes because I looked so hideously incensed. I tried to watch Glee this morning to cheer myself but it was really sad episode and I cried into my 'mached potatoe' the whole way through. Yeah, smash for lunch. Argh. I don't want to go home because if I do I won't want to come back to stupid fucking Paris. You know what? I'm going to post that poem I wrote and if you think it's cringe and reading it makes you want to die insid a little, then fuck off you fuckers and don't read it.

There and Then
A living room painted post box red.
A yellow kitchen filled with light.
A pink bedroom with wooden floors.
Drapes that let in stars at night.

A long, wild garden, grass to my waist.
Then at the weekends; the Derbyshire hills.
We'd walk from the park along the canal,
stop and watch as an empty lock fills.

The streets of Manchester, Streets Ahead,
Affleck's Palace to see dad's works;
chainmail dragons and stain glass hearts,
in the air strange sweet smoke lurks.

Fireworks and fire breathing.
Smoky nights and cold black air.
Watching the soaps, then being tucked in.
A dreamcatcher traps my nightmare.

Then, skip forward, I'm walking home
at daybreak down Hardman Street.
The cries of the gulls are echoes
as I skip home in bare feet.

Cups of tea and chocolate biscuits.
Bowls of soup and bread.
We won't go out 'til two am,
then spend two days in bed.

Dancing, panicking, trying to forge
the night in my head like a brand.
Because, even in the moment I'm looking down
at myself slip through time like sand.

Sunday, 17 October 2010

Upgrade U

HAHAHA. Oh no, last night I was feeling most unusual and I wrote a post that was really melancholy and depressing. If you'd read it you would have wanted to rip your own brain out just so you didn't have to think about how embarrassed you were for me. Luckily the internet cut out just as I was trying to publish it. PHEW. I even wrote a poem to go with my deep, deep feelings and pain. It had the words 'time' and 'sand' in it. I think it's best for everybody if I never write a peom on here again, ever.

But that biatch didn't ring me back for the 800 a month job nanny job, so it seems all my agonising soul-searching was for nothing because I didn't even get the job anyway. She said the au pair she had was inexperienced but that she would give her til the end of the week, so I guess she came through in the end. In fact, I know she came through, because I fucking met her. I don't think I can take any more coincidences.

I was at the park on the street where they live and this English woman came and sat next to me. She kep saying things to me in English but I didn't really talk to her that much because she looked like she could have been an actual mum and once mums find out you're an au pair they act as though you tricked them into making conversation with a lowly servant. But I glanced at the kids she was with and had to do a double-take; it was the three girls from the 800-a-month job! The mother had shown me pictures of them. It was so strange. It was the day the woman was supposed to ring me to say yes or no and here I was sat with her current au pair/nanny. She didn't have the air of somebody who had just lost her job. I felt a bit snide making conversation with the girl then as if I was being sneaky, but luckily les enfants wanted to go to a different part of the park so we left. I said goodbye to her and she went 'Good Luck with everything' and then I felt really bad. She seemed confident and capable with the kids so hopefully it will work out for her. I wouldn't want to take someone's job. Erm, especially because she seemed better at it than I would be.

I had another interview on Saturday for a job that I rrrreally want. It's 600 euros a month, with my own place and the family seem really nice. I even met the kids. It's not as much work as the nanny job, it's more like an au pair position. But they said they were interviewing other people so I don't have high hopes. They said they will let me know by Tuesday at the latest. The thing is, if I don't get this other job, I am technically out on the street for two weeks because my au pair family is going away and for some reason (they are mental, is my guess) they don't want me in their house while they are away.

I'm trying not to worry too much though, I will let life flow through me like tea from a teapot and see what happens. If I am homeless, I think I can actually move in with the sexy homeless man. He is really moving up in the world (you can't really see the sign but it says 'Avenue de Suffren'):

Friday, 15 October 2010

Know Thy Enemy...

Just so you didn't think I was exaggerating about the food, here's some pics of my daily Food Instructions. Oh and don't get excited, the 'snacks' aren't for me, they're for les enfants.

Friday: corn, omelette (already cooked and waiting in the fridge for me...)

Monday: fish nuggets (?!) polenta (the lovechild of jelly and couscous), green beans (again already cooked and nicely soggied)

Friday: soft egg (boiled), rice and yoghurt (they buy little pots of natural yoghurt, which I guess is quite good for you but they're not as fun as Fruit Corners.)

If you've been wondering what polenta looks like, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I have a photgraph of Monday's lunch so you can finally see this gelatine-grain hybrid. The bad news is that once you look at the picture you'll be forever haunted by the image of your good friend (me) being forced to eat yellow playdough that molds itself to whatever container you use to store it in the fridge.
I've called this post 'Know Thy Enemy' so that you can look upon this chunk of polenta and make sure you never, ever let a morseful of it pass your lips.

Wednesday, 13 October 2010

'Don't be a skivvy eating shit...'

I have had so much advice over the last couple of days, every single person has told me to get out, leave. (In fact Lauren just posted the JoJo video on my facebook wall, no explanation neccessary.)It's nice to be reminded that I have some pals out there and it cheered me up a lot. But nothing cheered me up as much as this email from my nana. I haven't edited it at all, I've just copied and pasted it:

'Well Well! I was just going to bed & checked this, so good 2 hear from U.
U R so sensible & confident & can stand tall,look them in the eye & walk tall right out their door if they dont treat U right, pay U top pay & feed U good food like U R used 2.

Dont be a skivvy eating shit & dont be talked down 2 by anyone. They wont find a scouser who dances 2 their tune no matter what they pay. Let them find a French maid 2 slave for them.
I met French arrogant sods there & elsewhere, some scousers put them in their place, belted one round the head with a big candle in Lourdes pocession, they hate the english & are noted for pushing & elbowing people, arrogant sods.
No need 2 work there. Get back here for a break & decide what 2 do. , My house is painted & comfy now, stay here U will get fed well here & cook if U want 2, money is no problem, I have plenty.
Diane was made up having U she thinks your ace & asks if Ive heard from U. Ian's just been & he & v ask if Ive heard from U. so Does Derek & Helen & even R yank & robert. I'll go their for hols soon, U can come with me also Rory & I'll pay 4 both of U.
I'm off 2 bed now & will keep checking looking 4 email from U. Reply ASAP
Take care '

Hahaha. Tempting offer, very tempting... I would LOVE to be able to jump on a plane to my nana's and dad's street (they live on the same street which causes havoc when they fall out because I have to crawl past my nana's window when I go from the bus stop to my dad's house). I could sit eating all day and then go round my dad's and eat all night. It doesn't matter what time it is at dad's house; if you want a lamb chop you can have one, even if it's four in the morning on a school night and you've been up for hours playing Duke Nukem and eating Haribo until your brain feels like it's melting.

It was so good living at my aunty's over the summer, I would come home from work and get a homemade Middle Eastern kebab complete with spices I have never even heard of... (She's not Middle Eastern by the way but she likes spices and herbs and Stuff.) And at dad's house there is always meat on the go. Whenever I go round I go straight to the kitchen to see what roasted meat there is, either left over from yesterday's dinner or cooked for that night's dinner... And I know I keep going on about food and family, but the last time I saw my nana I popped in on the way back from dad's and I told her I had to rush because I was going out and when I tried to leave she said 'But I've made us 12 Yorkshire puddings!' and she'd made a roast dinner six people and I had to eat half of it with her, well, I didn't have to...

I don't really know what the point of this post was, but I just thought my nana's email should be shared with the world. I don't think going to live in Walton to eat roast dinners for the rest of my life is the answer, although I do kind of want to go to America. By the way, I have no idea where my nana has got 'plenty of money' from, it is only fuelling my suspicions that she is Liverpool's No 1 Crimelord.

It did make me feel better though, because if it all goes to shit in the next week I know I can go back and have a few weeks of complete bliss, ferrying between my nana's and my dad's house for delicious food and all the brews and biscuits a girl could want. My mum also sent me an email of advice, which was slightly less useful:

'Phew! It's all happening isn't it?! at least yr having a bit of an adventure! I know dad is nice but they r gettin u v cheap, xx'

CHEERS. No, but I do miss my mum. I feel like I am not old enough to be living in Paris looking after young children, I should be at home being looked after by my mum... but I guess I am 21, so time to suck it up and start being a grown-up, even though it's KILLING me because all I want to do is eat and watch telly. Actually, I have talked about food a lot, maybe I have a problem. The little girl today at dinner announced to everyone that I have the FATTEST BELLY out of everyone. And she's right! I do have a Big Fat Belly.(BFB) At the moment it's a BFHB too because I didn't bring my tweezers and I'm not going to shave my belly like a mental, although an alarming number of my friends do shave their bellies, but they shall remain nameless...

So, to conclude, my options are:
-staying put and having no money and no food, but not having to move or upset anyone
-switching jobs and getting lots of money but doing lots of work
-hitting a French person over the head with a candle during the procession at Lourdes and fucking off to Liverpool to eat Yorskire puddings and lamp chops

Only when I've made my choice will I let myself worry about this Big Fat Belly I've accumulated.

Tuesday, 12 October 2010

OH. MY. GOD. Part II

The plot thickens... you know how I said the woman I interviewed with lives on the same road that les enfants go to and that it was a bit risky? Well when I went to pick the kids up from school this afternoon I was looking around me as if I had a bag of heroin hidden in my knickers because I kept thinking I would bump into the woman. Going to the park was a Paranoid Activity because it is also on the same street and it is a really popular park, although it is mostly full of American expats wiht their excellently-dressed children (just to give you an idea, today these are some of the items I saw on children AGED FIVE AND UNDER, no exaggeration: massive furry Ugg boots worn with bare legs and a long-sleeved minidress; a belted camel trench coat on a baby with no hair; a shearling aviator jacket; skinny jeans and yellow Converse; a waxed bomber jacket; a full-length jumper-dress; and a diamond jumper with a blue shirt underneath teamed with chinos.)

Anyway, where was I before my brackets? Ah yes, the park. I was on edge the whole time but relaxed once I realised I have been coming here for a month and have never once noticed three little sisters. On the way back from the park I was walking along with les enfants when I walked SLAP BANG into the woman I interviewed with.

Words can not describe my luck today.

My first reaction was to pretend I hadn't seen her, but straight away she jumped in my way and was like 'hey!' then she noticed the children. 'You are already working?' she asked. I'm ashamed to say I instinctively lied again, saying how I had just started and was on a trial basis. She didn't seem to mind, in fact it spurred her on and she was telling me about the flat they live in and how nice it is and that you can see the Eiffel Tower from the window... where have I heard that before?

So she seemed fine, she still seemed like an Eager Beaver. But then I got home and after dinner my dilemma got even worse because the dad of the family said they will pay me 220 euros a month and help me get teaching jobs so that I can earn 300 euros a month. I know 300 euros is not 800 euros a month but it is a lot less work. But then I don't get my own apartment...

He also said they really didn't want me to go so now I feel so fucking guilty and just crap. What shall I do, what shall I do, what shall I do?

When I bumped into the woman from the possible new job she kept saying it was Fate and that coincidences happen for a reason. And I'm a sucker for that shit...


I think it was Blazing Squad who said 'See you at the Crossroads (crossroads, crossroads) and indeed they were very wise and masterful because I myself am at a crossroads right now. I have to choose between lots of money and lots of work, or little money and little work. All I want is to be able to do little work for lots of money so I am having difficulty choosing...

Last night the au pair family dropped an October Bomb on my head- apparently I have to skedaddle out of their place for the October holidays. If they had told me this sooner I could have booked my Eurostar home weeks ago, but now it is going to cost me four times my weekly wage.

Yesterday there was also drama when a little old lady rang the doorbell and talked at me in French for a long time about her ceiling falling in. I forgot to look surprised so naturally she assumed I couldn't understand her when in fact I could understand her, I just wasn't arsed. She came back ten minutes later with a man claiming to be the 'president of the building' and he explained the problem to me in English and this time my three years studying drama at university kicked in and I managed to feign dismay. They said the water that had made the little old lady's ceiling collapse was coming from the kids bedroom, the room that the dad flooded last Friday when he was fannying around with the heating. I didn't mention the flooding, sensing I might get the au pair family in le merde but then when the dad came home, after me explaining about the two visitors and him going to speak with them himself, he had the cheek to ask me 'Did you spill some water or something in your room? Maybe you spilt liquid?'

'Oh yeah,' I thought,'Maybe I did spill some liquid in my room and that made the old lady's ceiling fall in. You were right not to let me drink tea in my room after all! Or maybe, MAYBE, it was you trying to do everything on the cheap and FLOODING THE WHOLE FUCKING APARTMENT that made the lady's ceiling in...'

Anyway, I finally got my phone back from Maisie's where I left it fifteen days ago and I had looooooads of missed calls and messages from people I had contacted about jobs. Today I rang back one of them who wanted to meet me straight away, so we met up and she bought me a CUP OF TEA and a CROISSANT in a restaurant. Good Sign. The job is more like a full-time nanny job, but it comes with own apartment and 800 euros a month... thats like five times what I'm earning now.

The only problem is I didn't tell her I already am an au pair, I wrote on my agency profile that I am staying with a friend and so it seemed too late to tell her the truth and she lives on the same street as les enfants school... edgy times indeed.

Oh lord and then I can't believe what happened next. I went and sat in a park and proceeded to ring all the other numbers I had missed calls off. The first number was multiple Chinese people who put the phone down on me.

The second number I rang was answered by a man. I gave my name and said I was calling about the job. He said 'Sorry, what is your name?' and I repeated it and then he said 'It's me G******' (I'm paranoid, not going to write their names here!). It was the dad from my family!!! I'm a bad mong. I didn't spend £30,000 on a drama degree for nothing though; I improvised about a waitressing job and smoothed it over. Then I walked home for lunch and during the walk I felt all funny inside and I knew it was about to Kick Off.

I got back to the apartment (and my Smash and rubber chicken lunch) and straight away the dad bounced into the kitchen like 'You'll be exahusted if you work at the weekend''You won't be able to party' etc etc and I went 'I need money!' and then it all came pouring out but I was very calm. I didn't seem upset or angry or anything. I explained how most au pairs get paid a lot more and that I need money which is why I am going to have to get an extra job or a better-paid au pair job. He said that I did a lot less than other au pairs, which is not really true although I don't have to do a lot I'll admit, and then he asked me what I needed money for! I started to explain but then he kept coming up with cheapo alternatives for everything so in the end I just said 'It doesn't matter what I spend my money on, I'm worried about money and I'm not happy and I'm just being honest.'

It was so weird, he rang up his wife straight away and they said they can pay me more and help me get English lessons (me teaching them obviously, not lessons for me to learn English) and the dad made me a little poster straight away.

What the hell do I do??????????????????

Monday, 11 October 2010

There Are No Words...

Normally when I 'read' les enfants French books, I just make up a story to go with the pictures, but in this case I had to look through it about eight times before I understood what was going on. Why are French children reading about a big pink blob who needs a 'barbamama' in order to be happy? Shouldn't they be teaching children that it's important to find happiness within themselves and that digging up yourself a life partner from the bottom of the garden isn't the answer? Very strange indeed, especially the bit in the middle of the book when he inexplicably becomes an Indian guru for a few pages. Don't look at the following pictures if you've been taking drugs:

Sunday, 10 October 2010

One Month Today...

I have been here for exactly one month. It doesn't seem that long at all. This weekend I made up my mind to definitely, one hundred percent, no doubt about it, change jobs for a better paid one where I can be more independant. Then I came back to the family this evening and they had a friend round and they were being so nice to me... but no, I must find a new job!

I went to Disneyland again today with Amo, I think I am becoming one of those obsessive freaks but I love it so much. Last night I stayed at Amo's and we went out for drinks and I got very drunk. At the end of the night we went to McDonalds and it was so weird because I remembered being in that exact same McDonalds six years ago on a school trip and little did I know then that I would be living here. Amo always says she can't speak French but last night she ordered three meals entirely in French and I was so impressed, I was staggering about and shaking my head going 'You are so good at French! Amo, that was amazing!' Then we got the food outside and I was telling her French boyfriend how good her French is and he was like 'Really?' and he was pretty impressed that Amo had managed to order three chicken nugget meals all in French. Then he opened the bag and said 'Her French is amazing is it?' and we had got three chicken burgers and three chocolate muffins.

But at least she tried! And there was three of everything! And it was still chicken-related! We still ate it of course, even though McDonalds is disgusting and very, very mal for your health.

I realised I have been eating so much crap that I can't believe I was originally worried about getting too skinny here. This weekend I have eaten: biscuits, McDonalds and sweets on Friday night; bread, chocolate, ham, pizza, garlic bread and McDonalds on Saturday; and today sausage, bacon, Bueno, chocolate muffin (left over from Amo's amazing Saturday night ordering), pasta at DisneyWorld and then pasta with the family.

I am going to be fucking gigantic if I carry on like this! I can't believe that before I came here I read 'French Women Don't Get Fat' and thought I would be able to do things like have one square of chocolate a week and Savour It. This week alone I have bought FOUR huge bars of chocolate and each time I have devoured the whole bar in about thirty seconds. That's not technically my fault though; if they sold normal sized chocolate bars I would just buy them but instead they insist of making me eat 21 squares at a time.

Me and Lauren bought delicious pastries the other day and as we walked to the Eiffel Tower with them we saw another patisserie and I said to Lauren 'If only we had eaten these quicker, we could be buying another cake now' and Lauren said it would make a good epitah: 'If only I'd eaten a bit quicker, I could have fitted more cakes in.'

Is this how I'll feel in a year if I don't move jobs? Will I think 'What the fuck was I doing working for that family and eating jelly-couscous, think of all the cake I could have eaten instead?'

I think that's exactly what I'll think.

One month. I've been here for one month! Where will I be in another month's time? With a new family, one who pay me loads and feeds me lamb and chocolate, but maybe beat me everyday with a broom? Living by myself and working in a resteraunt maybe, my French magically improving somehow? Will I be dead, run down by a sex machine on a motorbike in his suit and overcoat as I skip across the road blindly trusting that the Little Green Man still wields some power in this city? Will I be living with randomers? With friends? Will I be living with that sexy homeless man on the corner of Avenue de Suffren? I live in hope...

Oh and by the way, I know I'm quite a paranoid person and sometimes I get things completely wrong... but if you're reading this and you think that I think I'm cool because I've 'got a camera and started a blog'... then you're a Fat Fucking Cunt and you can Fuck Off.

Tuesday, 5 October 2010


After three years of cooking for myself and eating whenever and whatever I feel like, this is now what I wake up to every day:

Today I couldn't face 'mixed cereals' so I fucked off to the patisserie with Lauren and bought a delicious raspberry tart and a sandwich made with a freshly baked floury baguette. Then I got back and discovered that the 'minced beef' was actually a little burger so I ate that and now I feel a bit ill.

Monday, 4 October 2010


The Eiffel Tower is a 'high risk' target. I can fucking see it from my window. I'm going to go to my friend's house in about an hour, looking forward to watching some films and snacking so hopefully won't be gunned down by Al Qaeda. I'm not going to run away if I see a Middle Eastern man with a machine gun though; if I'm going to die I'd rather die a matyr to the Politically Correct Movement.

If any friends and family are reading this, please choose an attractive picture of me to give to the press. It is my last request so you HAVE to do it.

*Can I just say I am not a bad mong; I don't read the Daily Mail. It was just the first article that I found on Google and I wanted to publish this post quickly because I was in a blind panic thinking about all the disgusting pictures that might find their way onto the news if I was gunned down.

Straight To Video Killed My Dream

Nearly let myself watch Pocahontus 2: Journey to a New World on YouTube. Stopped myself just in time after reading on Wikipedia that in this straight-to-video BOLLOCKS, Pocahontus travels to England and meets some other bloke called John Rolfe, then tells John Smith they're not on the same path anymore. Personally I think she's starting to use this 'pathway' shit as an excuse to be an outrageous whore... No, no I won't take it out on Pocahontus. I'm going to pretend like the hideous sequel doesn't exist. As if she would leave John Smith! In my head, I'm going to tell myself that she never saw him again but often revisited that cliff top and looked out to sea, pining for her long lost love...

Oh my goodness gracious me. Just been reading about the real Pocahontas and the second film is more accurate than I would hope to believe. I knew that in real life Pocahontas did travel to England and died of a disease, but I didn't know that she travelled over as a diplomat and that once there in England she fucked John Smith off for John Rolfe. She married this Rolfe guy and lived in Middlesex with him! Then they decided to travel back to Virginia but she died on the way back of smallpox or Tb or something. When she became ill she was taken ashore to Gravesend (ironic place name) and there's a statue of her there. And in real life she really did lay her head down on John Smith just before he was about to be clubbed to death. That's the bit of the story I choose to remember. I think it's fine to pick and choose bits of reality to believe, and to forget which bits of life you made up and which bits really happened. I do it all the time which is a bit confusing for other people I suppose, but I don't think it's too mental. After all:

'Memory is fiction… all memory is a way of reconstructing the past.' - Damon Galgut


On Sunday I climbed the Arc de Triomphe. My legs are still trembling. It is 280 steps. You can see the whole of Paris from the top but what caught my eye was this knobhead on his bike trying to cycle through twelve lanes of Parisian traffic, which if you read my post about the death of the Little Green Man in Paris, you'll know is a Foolish Act.

Before the Arc de Triomphe me and Lauren queued up for twenty minutes for falafal in the Jewish quarter near the Bastille. It was so worth it. I love falafal. If I can't afford a kebab after a night out I can normally afford falafal if they have it.
In the evening we sat near the Eiffel Tower which was nice and drank Orangina which I put in my coat pocket for some reason and got it all over me and eveything I was wearing.

That was a bit shit really.
As for my working conditions and decision about staying or finding a new job, things are more confusing than ever. I decided that I would wait for my first pay cheque and then bring up the subject of money and announce that the average pay for au pairs was double mine and that I needed more money. However, last night the mum of the family slipped me my pay cheque with my clean washing as I was about to go to bed, so I didn't bring it up and now it will never be the right time. She said 'I think we agreed 40 euros?' and I just agreed like a Massive Cock. Hmm. I don't actually know what to do with the fucking cheque either, I don't know where the bank is or what my account details are or what I do to pay it in, so that's ANNOYING.

The dad also randomly said he knows someone who might want an English tutor for their children, so I think they definatly heard me on Skype to my mum saying I needed more money. I have never taught English as a foreign language so I don't know what the fuck I would do even if I did get the teaching job. Argh!!!! I need fucking money and I need it now. Had to spend 54.99 euros renewing Norton Anti-Virus this morning and it hasn't even worked I don't think. Also spent £35 on a Deadmau5 ticket which I'll admit isn't a neccessity but... I can't stop myself from spending. Thinking about how little money I have and how fucked I'll be financially at the end of this year makes me what to sit on the floor wailing.

I really needed a cry the other day so I put Pocahontus on and bawled my eyes out all the way through. At the end when John Smith says 'Come with me' I was choking on my tears, trying to splutter out 'Go! Go with him Pocahontus' but she couldn't hear me. She watched his ship leave her shores and then she runs up to the top of the cliff and watches him sail away and then the wind (and all the colours of it that she likes painting with so much) whirls past her and travels to John Smith, lying in his sick bed. Arghhhh I'm crying just thinking about it. I like crying though. I might watch it again in a minute.

Sunday, 3 October 2010

All Night Long... all night, all night... All Night Long

Last night was Nuit Blanche, the one night every year that the whole of Paris stays up all night and venues across the city are open 'til the early morn and they have performance art and installations in them.

Me and Lauren started the night with a meal at Cafe des Anges in Bastille which was really nice and the first French restaurant I have been to since I arrived, which is pretty shocking. The food was amazing but the tables were very close together and we had to squeeze in next to three Very Obese Men who were watching us eat and kept asking us what it was like. Lauren's French is very good and I went all shy and made her order everything and I feel like my French has got worse this week. I couldn't even order a glass of wine. ("Je prend... erm... je prend un... Lauren, Lauren, say it for me, say it!")

After the meal we went to meet with my New Au Pair Friends (I think I can leave the 'Possible' out now) and then we went out and about in Paris to enjoy Nuit Blanche. It was an amazing atmosphere, with people just wandering around enjoying being out. It really sunk in that We Are In Paris. We ended up drinking cheap and nasty red wine on the Pont des Arts which is a bridge over the Seine where lots of people were just hanging out and being casual. We planned to stay out all night but at about 3 am we started dropping like flies until it was just me and Maisie whose apartment I was staying at. We walked back to where she lives and on the way home we popped in to a couple of churches to see modern art and a physical theatre type thing. The modern art was a huge installation of little fans rigged up to look like an exclamation mark and we just sat and stared at it for ages and ages until we both felt like we were very badly monged out on drugs so we left.

Nuit Blanche. It would never work in Manchester or London. People would just do loads of pills and bounce about upsetting tourists, or else everyone would get so bladdered they would have to lie in the street choking on their own vomit. I'm not saying this is a bad thing; I'd be bouncing about and lying in the street too, but I'm just saying Nuit Blanche only works in Paris.

I know a story about Nuit Blanche actually and I only realised last night because I'd never heard of the 'white night' before. It's my favourite coincidence story. This is really random but I love this story so much I'm going to write about it:

Right, so my dad's girlfriend went travelling years ago and one weekend she had to stay in Paris for two nights because her flight to Australia was delayed or something. The first night was fine because there were hundreds of people out on the streets drinking and chatting so she just hung out with strangers all night and didn't need anywhere to sleep. Now I know that she must have landed in Paris on Nuit Blanche, which is pretty lucky. Anyway, the next night she thought it would be the same but it obviously wasn't because Nuit Blanche is for one night only. She panicked and wandered the streets for a bit thinking 'Surely I won't have to do this all night' and then she heard some people speaking English.

She got talking to them and a girl in the group offered her a couch for the night. So my dad's girlfriend went back to this random girl's house and the girl had two male flatmates who were there too. They all got on really well and the next day my dad's girlfriend said goodbye and got her flight.

Then, two or three years later, she was at Glastonbury and one night she was sat around a fire and two guys came over and said they'd had their tent stolen. As she was going out dancing all night, my dad's girlfriend said they could sleep in her tent. They were very grateful and they all got talking and then she realised that it was the same two guys who had been at that girl's flat in Paris!!!!!!!! How weird is that????????
Coincidences freak me out.
Do you believe in coincidences?

Was it a coincidence, for example, that last night I was talking to my mum on Skype about the money situation and my whole should I go/stay dilemma and then this morning the dad said he knew someone who wanted an English tutor for their kids and then about ten minutes ago the mum came in and gave me my pay cheque a week early???

I think perhaps not.