Pâques is what they seem to be calling Easter over here. It's Easter Sunday and I have no chocolate to eat. I wish I had saved that chocolate hen the family gave me on Thursday. As usual I've spent all my money and on Friday morning it dawned on me that I have four days ahead of me with just two stolen kiwis and the remainder of my alphabet cake decorations to feast upon. But on Friday I was too hungover to eat anyway and then in the evening I met up with two girls Vicki and Emily that I met when me and Anna went to see the dubstep DJs the other week. The whole tourbus-ing to Lyon thing kind of overshadowed my new found friendship, but Emily said she owed me six euros for some reason and would I like to get drunk on the steps of the Sacre Coeur?
As a Greedy Person, it's not often that I experience the results of no food + lots of alcohol, but on Friday night, not only me, but also Emily, Vicki, their friend Melissa and my friend Emma, got to experience the phenomenom first hand as I got double vision, lost the ability to walk and then threw up three times in the bushes.
The next morning I had to make my way back from the other side of Paris and it was very hot and I was still drunk and people on the metro were openly tutting and shaking their heads at me. Well, they might not have been, but I have been living under the shadow of Hangover Paranoia since Friday morning, so I'm not too sure who has really been staring at me on the metro, thinking I'm a sad case of English binge drinking culture let loose in a country where a bottle of wine can cost less than two euros; and who has been innocently glancing in my direction and then suffered the full brunt of Person With Hangover Paranoia- first the shifty glances between the Starer and the Floor, then the drowsy eyes and swaying, then back to the shifty glances, then, once the Person With Hangover Paranoia has decided that the Starer is definitely staring at them, a look of pure horror followed by a look of pure evil followed by an alarming leap off the seat and a drunken dash into the next carriage.
Still, it is fun being drunk. But (and this is where my excellent play on words in the title comes in)- I am going to pack it all in. I am serious. No more sluttish behaviour and salary squandering for moi. After Emily gave me the six euros which I promptly spent on wine and metro tickets and for some reason a small bag of grated cheese, I was faced with a hungry weekend ahead of me. The girls organised a picnic on Saturday at Buttes-Chaumont and we all pretended that my small bag of grated cheese could be called 'a contribution'. Incidentally, while we picniqued, a group of men who were sat next to us took their shirts off and started grappling, which is like wrestling for the socially-inept, until one of them got a bloody nose and they all put their tops back on.
After Buttes-Chaumont we had gin and tonics and then, in honour of Kayt's friend Mandy who was visiting from England, we went to Le Bleu Note once again. We go there because it's free to get in and the music is good- it's always live and it makes you want to get up and pretend you can samba dance. BUT- We thought that last week might have been an unlucky fluke... unfortunately it was painfully obvious last night that, aside from us, Le Bleu Note is frequented by Very Strange Men who make it their night's mission to surround you on all sides and force you to dance with them.
Last night we also encountered a Very Strange Woman in there as well. I throw the term 'smackhead' around quite liberally and often it's unjustified, but this girl last night was clearly off her tits on all kids of brown substances and she locked on to us like a Junkie Satellite, talking at us in Spanish and eyeballing us. She was with her boyfriend who looked like a member of the South American mafia- he had a Moss Side Smile (a Chelsea Grin or a Glasgow Grin, you know. Actually if you don't know you don't want to know so don't Google it) and a suit on. Very Strange Woman had a fight with him at the bar; from what we could gather it was about his other girlfriend who he was also there with, and then Smackhead Lady went outside to kick cars. Then she sat next to Kayt and Amy who were having a smoke and they promptly decided to come back inside.
Anyway, it was fun but I am not getting drunk again for as long as I can manage, because my liver is quivering like an abused puppy and I find myself on Easter Sunday with no Easter eggs. There is a tiny sprinking of chocolate dust at the bottom of that box the hen was in, so I am going to lick that and then sniff the box whilst looking at pictures of Easter Eggs online.