Im writing this on Microsoft Word because I have returned à Paris to No Internet. The network I was using has disappeared, so I think the guy I was cheekily stealing it off has come to his senses and cut me off. If I see him in the corridor I will kick him in the shins, very hard.
It’s NOT FAIR! I know it sounds gimpy but I was looking forward to Skyping my mum, uploading photos on to Facebook, watching some television programmes online, pretending I am still in England.
What does he expect me to do with my evenings, listen to the radio and improve my French? Don’t be a nobhead. I have just gone and knocked on every door in this corridor and nobody answered, yet I could hear them all rustling about inside. They are hiding the internet from me!
Actually I probably should work on my French. Tomorrow I finally start my French lessons, but there was no room in the Numpty Class so I did a test and they said I could join the next class up, on the condition that I work on the Future Tense over the holidays. Obviously, I was too busy drinking tea and riding trains all over the country to do any work, so my Future Tense is not looking bright. What’s that song that goes ‘Que sera, sera… whatever will be, will be’? That’s the future tense, is that French? See, if I had the fucking internet I could look this sort of thing up.
Arghhhhhhhhhh I am so annoyed. Have just been crying very loudly, as I know everyone in the corridor will be able to hear me and I thought they might feel guilty and bestow upon me the gift of Facebook, but no. I am still disconnected from my friends and family and random people I don’t really know but enjoy stalking.
I’m not best pleased to be back in Paris, to be honest. I’m lonely and the kids aren’t very nice and I can’t even speak French, so what is the point in being here? The only reason I am here is because I went on and on and on so much about coming here that I will stay even if I have to sleep in the metro stations and eat tourists to survive.
Today I started back at work as soon as I arrived in Paris. I literally got off the Eurostar, got the metro to the family’s house, dropped my stuff off and then went to pick up the little boy from school. Somehow our game of tig in the park ended up incorporating most of the little boys in the park, until I was literally running around out of breath while fourteen little boys danced around me slapping me on the arm shouting ‘Touchez-moi, touchez-moi!’
Tunisian Man who let me steal your internet, why hath thou forsaken me?? I need the internet. I am sad, I am scared. I have to be up at 6am tomorrow because my lesson is at 8am and I have no idea what time the bus comes or how long it takes.
I wish I was back in Brixton with Kat and Rachel, messing around and not being told what to do by an eight year old. Or I wish I was back in Manchester with my mum choosing something nice for tea from Marks and Spencers. Or I wish I was back in the car with Lucy and Chaz, driving around Cheshire looking for doggers and singing along to Rude Boy at the tops of our voices.
Or I even wish I was here, with internet. I don’t even know why I am writing this as nobody will ever read it as I will probably never get internet again. The family have internet at their house but I have so much laundry to do tomorrow I won’t have time. They went on a surprise skiing trip to a five star resort in Norway over Christmas, so there are all these crazy Michelin Man bodysuits hanging about that I am expected to wash and dry and the worst bit, fold it and put away in the Right Place.
Why did I come to Paris? Hopefully this weekend I will forget all about being miserable and do something nice and touristy and fun, but probably I will throw myself in the Seine and DROWN.
All of the above means nothing now as I HAVE INTERNET! I have been crying on and off all day thinking about it. I know- I am a disgusting person who lives their life through Facebook, pretending it is 2010 and I am living in a nice little flat in the centre of Liverpool with all my mates around me, eager to converse with me in English and get drunk, but what's so wrong with living in the past? The past is where the party's at. Anyway, I got home from work (where I served raw radishes followed by courgette soup - how French of me) and was resigned to have a shower, watch a DVD and go to bed. But upon starting up my laptop... I saw... that the internet was ON! 'Guitariste' is back in the building, baby!
I can't believe I wanted to kick Tunisian Man in the shins. He has given me the gift of Life and Procrastination. If he asked me to sleep with him I would probably do it, I am so grateful.
I can't believe how miserable I have been. I'm in Paris! The family are going away in February for a week and they asked me if I was going to go home again, but you know what, I don't think I should. Earlier today I was dead set on flying home for another week of revelling in all things English, but I can do that anytime. This is the only year (probably) I will be living in Paris. I think so far I have made the most of it, but I am definitely going to start raving here more, instead of nipping to London any chance I get.
As Ricky (Kat's boyfriend as I think it is now ok to call him) put it, I could become 'Dora the Rave Explorer'. I'll just wait for my Adidas jacket to come out of the wash and I'll be on it...
By the way, I am triumphant! On Monday I walked from Euston to St Pancras, and I didn't end up in Camden! I really do want to move to London now, although my mum for some reason is dead against it. She said to me on Skype only a few moments ago 'It can grind you down living in London and having a crap job." Oh well, at least she has got the point that I am destined to have a 'crap job'. For the last few years she has been convinced I will end up doing something 'fantastic' and even last week after a bottle of red wine, she grasped my hand and said 'I just know you are going to have a really exciting life!"
I think it says it all that when I realised my internet was back, I kind of gasped and panted like a two year old child or a dog. Speaking of dogs, even though I hate them/am allergic to them/am scared of them eating my face, my mum told me at Christmas that her and my stepdad are moving to New Mills, land of the Very Slow, and getting a Rhodesian Ridgeback. If you don't know what one is, they were bred to kill poor people in South Africa and they look like this:
So yeah, I don't think I'll go home at half term.