Monday, 4 April 2011

Bring Back the Night Please

"...every time I think 'Oh this really good thing will be over soon' I'm proved right when it ends."

I posted that a couple of weeks ago about all my March Visitors and I've been proved right again...

In January I booked my Mulletover ticket and it was a lifetime away, then suddenly the lights came up at 6am on Sunday 3rd April and I was shocked- 'It can't be morning,' I thought, 'bring me back the night please!' But nothing can bring it back. When the sun rises it means the start of a new day and sadly, the end of your night. Just as the weekend that Kat and Mikee came to stay was marked by international sunrises; so my weekend was separated by cross-Channel sunsets, the first over West Paris on Friday evening:

I took that photo as I waited for the bus to Lauren's house; I went out with her and Drew on Friday because, even though I should be saving money and am very skint, I needed to go out with them before they finish for good next Friday. Yep, Lauren- my chum and pal who I organised coming to Paris with- is leaving Paris forever in one week. So not a very good time for me to be dwelling on how fast time flies and how nothing stays the same and all that depressing shit. I won't go on and on about it.

But...

When I went back to England a few weeks ago and cleared out my room, I found a letter I had written to Lauren when she was first living in Paris as an au pair three years ago and I never got round to sending it. I brought it back with me to Paris so she could finally read it. It was so strange- here was a letter that I wrote when I first started uni. Now uni is over and so is Lauren's stint as an au pair. Not only that, but when I wrote the letter I had no idea I would be moving to Paris in three years time with Lauren. AND now that time, a time that three years ago didn't even exist in my imagination, is almost over. One week away in Lauren's case.

Do you see why I am obsessed with time passing???? It'd WEIRD.

Anyway, we had a really nice time on Friday night. We went for a meal at Montparnasse and then I stayed at Lauren and Drew's for perhaps the last time. They live ten minutes away on the RER from Gare du Nord so I didn't have to leave their's until noon. When I got to Gare du Nord I had enough time to casually print my tickets off and check in, but then once I'd checked in I didn't have to wait too long. I don't want to jinx myself but I am pretty good at getting the Eurostar now. It's so easy and quick. I got on the train at 1pm and by half two I was meeting Hannah at St Pancras International.

We picked up Hollie from Euston (who had spent almost as much time on a train as me on her journey from Manchester) and we all went back to Ricky's house where Kat (and Ricky, obviously, we didn't just steal his house for the night) were waiting for us for the preparations to begin...

After a week of raiding everyone's wadrobes, I ended up wearing my leotard, an old pair of shorts, an old pair of shoes and an old pair of tights. But I did finally cut my fringe, albeit with a pair of huge kitchen scissors but at least I didn't try and hack it off with a sharp knife, like some other hair I could mention. (Kayt convinced me that I should start putting more of my personal hygeine tragedies into the blog but I'm not sure how I feel so I'm going to start slowly; slipping in ambigious references to questionable solutions I may or may not have come up with to solve my beauty dilemmas.)

In the end I stopped worrying about my clothes and my hair and my eyebrows, because I was drunk. But also because I realised it's the Good Times that matter, not what you wear. Admittedly, I did have a bit of a paddy about my nail varnish, but eventually you just have to breeeeathe and let go and think of dance moves that involve a lot of hand movement- that way nobody can focus on your messy nails for too long.

Do you know what? I know you must be absolutely gripped by my nail varnish trauma but I am going to have to go to bed. Tomorrow I am going JOGGING. For Real. But first let me round up with the second sunset of the weekend. It was weird to think of me stood at the bus stop in Paris, whereas now, twenty four hours later, I was watching the day fade away in London...

















...and I could feel the night coming.

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