Monday, 14 March 2011

Stop Apologising For... Friday

Now I need to describe in boring detail the 'farqing' brilliant weekend I have just enjoyed. Let me begin with 11 am on Friday morning. I waited at the barriers jiggling and tittering to myself watching strangers come off the train until I saw them through the crowds... Jen, Rosie and Rachel, in Paris, come to see me! It didn't feel unnatural at all though, it felt as though we were the place and Paris was visiting us.

And what a fun-filled place we were!

After enduring a very long queue for metro tickets, the first thing we did was go back to mine so they could drop their shiz off, but we were so late that I ended up throwing the keys at them before running off to pick the girls up from school. After lunch I went to meet them and was quite impressed to find them on the Champs Elyseese, having walked from mine and finding themselves somewhere nice for lunch. But more impressive if not slightly horrifying was the discovery that they were on their second round of 'Bubbly Mojitos', a fifteen euro concoction of mojito and champagne.

I had to leave them after an hour and make the sad journey back to work, and it was with a heavy heart that I performed my abnormally hectic Friday afternoon schedule:
- 3.50pm: picked up the five year old boy from school
- 4.00pm: took him to the eleven year old girl's school so that I could give her her overnight bag and take some of her schoolbooks home for her
- 4.30pm: collect the eight year old and her friend, take them to the friend's house so she could get her horse riding stuff, fight to refrain the eight year old from stripping off in the street because she was worried she wouldn't be have time to get changed
-4.45pm: find the bus stop and get two girls, one boy plus about seven bags onto the already packed bus whilst struggling to fish my Navigo out of my pocket and try and tell Jen my address over the phone because by this point they clearly knew they were going to get very drunk and have to get a taxi back to mine
-5pm: struggle to control the five year old who was having a tantrum and unknowingly kicking a very irate old man in the knees, whilst trying to look out of the window to see if I recognised anywhere, as well as frantically pulling at the girl's horse riding helmet which she had somehow got trapped in the bus seat and there was no removing it, despite the help of three strangers
- 5.25pm: get off the bus and run to the horse riding lessons, then stand in the street taking slow, deep breaths and trying to better organise my bag lady accessories

The evening was less hectic after this, but it still saddened me to know that while I was preparing a delicious dinner of raw radishes followed by plain rice for the children, my three Visitors had moved on to Unisex (which I have never been in but they tell me it was vair vair good) and were on their third or fourth round. I kept telling the kids 'My friends are here today!' but they were unimpressed. The eleven year old said 'I listen yesterday when you say.'

Towards the end of work I texted them to make sure they would be back at mine because they had my key and they announced they were going to get a taxi. I tried to convince them not to get a taxi because they were only three metro stops away but they were having none of it. Despite my misgivings, they managed to get one easily and this I’m afraid is what started them on their Taxi Binge.

When I got home from work, we got ready, Rachel and Jen had a snooze, then we downed a yummy bottle of 2 euro wine (not) and got a taxi to Nouveau Casino where I had planned for us to eat Café Charbon, the really nice place next door. Unfortunately they had stopped serving by the time we got there so we just went into the restaurant across the road…

I can’t remember what it is called, so for safety’s sake, avoid any restaurant on Rue Oberkampf, (unless it is Café Charbon) just to make sure you never, ever step foot in the place that shall hereto be referred to as The Mouse Restaurant. Yup. As we were finishing our meals, which were not great and not what we wanted in the first place, I saw a little mouse scurry out of the kitchen and it took me a moment to register what I had seen.

“Mouse!’ I said loudly to the waiter. As an afterthought I added, ‘Un sourri!’

He tried to stomp on the little mouse and chased it back into the kitchen. He said ‘It’s ok’ and for some reason we didn’t run out of there screaming; we finished our wine and looked worriedly at each other. As we were paying Rosie saw the mouse again and this time it went into the toilet. The waiter chased after it again and tried to convince us it was ‘ok’. When we didn’t look impressed, he brought us all a weird, chewy stick of chocolate as if he could buy our silence with disgusting sweets.

After Rosie spotted a second time, we all got freaked out and convinced ourselves it was running around our ankles. At one point Rachel thought she felt it and kicked out, screaming ‘NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’ and everyone in the restaurant put down their knives and forks and looked at us, but there was about four tables between us and everyone else, so they hadn’t cottoned on to the mouse incident and just thought we were being Lively Dicks. (Actually we were Lively Dicks for the rest of the weekend but that time we had an excuse.)

For some reason, we paid the bill. And we tipped. But that’s the fucking British for you. We just ran out of there and straight into Nouveau Casino. Happily we were able to pay on the door and we were the first people in there to see Mr Scruff. He was on the decks from the very start and Jen bounced up to him to announce she was from Stockport, Mr Scruff’s hometown. Later on in the night he came down to talk to us which was thrilling, especially for Rosie who has decided she loves him in a Sexual Way.













Nouveau Casino is a really good venue. It’s the right size and it looks nice without being too ‘new’. The drinks were expensive, but that’s what you expect from a Paris club. I was quite drunk already and was gone after one mojito in there, but at one point Rosie threatened to bang a bottle of wine on her credit card. It’s a good job she had forgotten to bring her credit card out with her because the cheapest bottle was 45 euros.

A good drunken moment I remember is when me Rosie and Jen were waiting just inside the entrance because Rachel had gone outside for some fresh air. A French guy thought we were checking tickets and, being nobhead drama students, we were only too happy to oblige and I started asking for everyone’s tickets and checking them. I like to think it was a triumphant moment for my French language skills and my acting skills. Pity they only come in to play when I’m very drunk.

At about 3am Jen told me she was going to ‘hit the deck’ but I’ve been away from England for so long (erm… four weeks actually) that I forgot what that phrase meant. I thought she was like ‘Yeah! I’m gonna HIT this DECK man!’ and that she was about to go sick and rave really hard. So I was quite surprised when her and Rachel asked for my key to go home early because Jen felt ill.

Me and Rosie stayed til about half four. Mr Scruff was sooooo good it wasn't what I expected at all, he played loads of reggae and bass-y stuff as well as his funk-y stuff. But in the end we had to leave because we knew we wouldn't get up in the morning for sight seeing and shit and we'd both been awake for about twenty hours. We managed to get a taxi pretty easily. The bouncers gave us helpful directions and they were quite nice, unlike some clubs I could mention (Social Club).











All photos from Rosie because I forgot my camera like a DICK.

ALSO, I finally got a bit of action with a French boi from the banlieu... unfortunately not any sort of action that's of interest to anyone other than my inner fourteen year old.



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