Wednesday, 16 March 2011

Stop Apologising For... Saturday

On to Saturday! We had planned to go to the catacombs, go up the Eiffel Tower, go to Montmarte... but in the end we didn't get up until lunch time and as my fridge only ever has butter and milk in it (for tea and, erm, for eating slices for butter) we went out for breakfast/lunch (I feel like a dick calling it brunch). We went to my local bakery which has a really cute little cafe area screened off. I've always wanted to sit and eat in there, but like the wi-fi incident, I've been too nervous about what to say and where to sit etc.

However, with Rosie, Jen and Rachel at my side I didn't have to worry about looking like a tourist, because I was a tourist. We just plonked ourselves down and ordered a lot of pastry goods and it was so easy that now I'm worried I'll go in every day and spend even more money that I don't have. But the cakes were so delicious.

We eventually did get ourselves to the Eiffel Tower and it was freezing. We queued up for two hours and didn't stay up there long.

After the Eiffel Tower we got a taxi to Place Monge for somewhere to eat and ended up somewhere not that good, but thankfully no mice this time. 'Come to Paris girls and I'll take you to horrible restaurants!' The food was ok, but not great. When we started the meal we were all quite subdued and quite hungover but by the end we were being very loud and pissing ourselves laughing at nothing. Everyone in the restaurant was snarling us but our volume control seemed to have broken. I did predict that the weekend would be a very drunken, fun and expensive one though.

After the meal we went home (on the metro this time although they took some persuading) and had about twenty minutes to get ready for Georgie's birthday party:

It was quite cheap for drinks and I'm afraid me, Rachel, Rosie and Jen turned into the 'Binge Drinking English Girls' that so many French people seem to be afraid of. But it was fun, it was very fun. It was just like being back at uni, screaming and yelling over the top of each other, offending everybody within earshot and eyesight, having to clutch onto the bar as you order your next drink because you've got Headspin and you can't see properly... ok so maybe English girls drink a bit too much but as Rachel screamed at me across the table when she heard me saying so to someone:

'Stop apologising for you us, you SICK BICTH!'

It seems that being around English girls unaccustomed to the Sensible Drinking Ways Of The French had an intoxicating effect on my friends, because everyone seemed to get very drunk and the next day I received reports of hotels, twin beds and the Metro Home of Shame, the like of which is rarely seen in Paris.

After Cafe des Sports closed at about 3am, everyone got taxis to Le Bleu Note on Rue Mouffetard. They played cantina-stylee music, it was quite cheap and it was free to get in. Excellent. And a man gave me five euros because he saw me fishing around for change at the bar! I will definitely be going again.

We left about half four because we didn't want to waste the day, but when we got back to mine (after yet another taxi ride, this one involving Rachel clawing the back of the driver's head because she insisted he looked like Drake, which became a bit of a theme for the weekend) we didn't go to sleep for a while because me and Rachel enaged in a drunken arguement, drama student-stylee. It went something along the lines of:

Me: Be quiet! The walls are thin! Everyone will hear us!
Rachel: Oh don't hate the player!
Me: I have to live with these people.
Rachel: We were loud in the day and they didn't say anything!
Me: Please be quiet
Rachel: It's your fucking airbed making all the noise!
Me: It's a good airbed.
Rachel: Yeah it's great, so's the sheet...

(Rosie and Rachel laughing because the sheet doesn''t fit.)

Me: I put a blanket on it as well!
Rachel: Oh yeah... the blanket that I found toenails in!
Me: ...Really?
Rachel: Yes!
Me: ...Well. Are they still in there?

The scary thing is I only cut my toenails at the family's house with their nailclippers when they are at work, so I don't know who the hell the toenails belong to.

Anyway, what a messy night, just like I knew it would be.

No comments:

Post a Comment