Monday, 9 May 2011

Ghetto Princesses: Part 2

I know 'Comedy Sexual Assault' sounds like an oxymoron, but what happened on Saturday night was just so bloody Ridiculous that at first I couldn't mention it without doubling over in silent laughter. I'm kind of over it now, but when we revisted the scene of the crime yesterday, and re-enacted it in our hungover hysteria, I was laughing so much that I almost fell into the river...

It was about 4am, maybe a little earlier, and me and My Friend who I won't name because it's not really my place to announce her horrific experience to everyone, needed a wee. Despite my excellent arguement that we could perch on the wall and wee into the river, My Friend thought there might be somewhere still open nearby. We walked up the steps, away from the glittering river and towards the quiet boulevards of St Michel. That area can be busy even in the small hours, as people take alcohol down to the river and some of the kebab shops are open late.

But we were obviously in a quiet part. There was nothing open and no people, until all of a sudden there was. Across the road, quite far away, we saw a large group of about ten scally lads (I don't know what the French for scally is, I'm assuming it's les scallies). As they were quite far away we didn't worry too much, but we stopped walking so we could see what direction they were going in. As we stopped, one of them spotted us and yelled something. Then all his mates joined in and they ran towards us, yelling. But they weren't yelling in an angry way they were yelling in a joyful, over-excited way. I don't understand what they were saying but I assume it was something along the lines of:


It was like a battle scene from Braveheart and they were the blue-smeared Celts coming over the hill, only instead of tartan loincloths they were wearing Adidas tracksuits.

They made it over to us in no time at all. I'd panicked and pegged it back down the stairs to the river, but My Friend was frozen to the spot with terror and surprise. I looked up the stairs and saw the moment that the hordes reached her, swarming around her grabbing out for her boobs and her bum. My Friend was spinning around and fighting them off like in a karate movie, then she managed to get away and run down the stairs. They came running down the stairs after us, still laughing and yelling in high-spirits and generally loving life and rape.

Once they got down the stairs however, they saw who we were with and it all got smoothed over very quickly. HA! What if we hadn't have been with our RnB pals though? I guess we wouldn't have gone down to the river in the first place, but it's still ridiculous. I bet someone out there is saying 'Didn't they teach you in school not to get drunk and stay out late and go to secluded riversides?' Yes a lot of girls are told that, but a more fucking productive practice would be to go round schools and say to teenage boys 'If you see drunk girls out late at night near the riverside... DON'T RAPE THEM.'

Anyway it was all ok in the end, but I cannot believe that they ran, yelling, because they saw two girls on their own. It is ridiculous.

After the Comedy Sexual Assault, we decided to leave the river and go home. One of the boys invited one of my friends back to his for a little party and she agreed thinking it was an excellent idea. To be honest we didn't try and talk her out of it, in fact if I remember rightly I was running around her in circles going 'Woooooooooh! Do it do it do it!!' But we got his address and his telephone number and they were walking back with the guy's friend, his friend's girlfriend and our new Gay Best Friend, so we were being responsible, under the circumstances.

Me and Kayt had been hankering for a kebab during the walk from the river, hence me dismissing someone who tried to talk to us with: "If you ain't a bit of a meat on a stick and I can't eat yer, get out of me face!" We spotted a picture of a kebab in the distance, so we headed towards it like it was the star of Bethlehem. Everyone was a bit worried about us going home on our own after the Comedy Sexual Assault, but we could not be dissuaded from our kebab. After we'd said goodbye to everyone we marched up to the kebab sign and it wasn't even a kebab, it was a picture of a glass of beer. It was a pub and it was closed. Luckily we got a taxi pretty quickly and our ridiculous RnB night was finally over.

But for our Friend who went back for the party... we found out the next day that for her the Ridiculousness had just continued, getting more and more unbelievable.

They were walking back to the guy's apartment when all of a sudden she felt like she'd been punched in the face. She nearly fell over and she went blind. Tears were streaming out of her eyes and they were burning. She could hear the other people she was with screaming in pain. Then The Guy she was with held on to her arm and said "It's tear gas, don't touch your eyes you'll make it worse, just keep walking."

There was a cloud of fucking tear gas just hovering in the street, left over from a riot or a fight or something. They walked through the tear gas blindly, struggling to breathe, until eventually my friend said she could feel fresh air in her lungs and the tears stopped. I can't believe they are allowed to use it like that. Imagine if my friend had been on her own and not known what it was?

Luckily it was fine afterwards (although her make-up was everywhere, but our new G.B.F helped her sort it out) and they reached his apartment. Once they got inside, my friend saw that he had a bunk bed and after seeing this, her heart just wasn't in it anymore. She fell asleep in a chair while the others talked about her in French. When the others eventually left, leaving my friend with The Guy, they got into his bunk bed and he said to her:

"What are your boundaries?"

I don't know if something got lost in the translation but no girl wants to hear that. I'm definitely adding it to my list of Top Worst Things To Say To A Girl During Intimate Moments, along with "Is your daddy hairy like me?" and "Haha. I've just thought of a funny song..."

Luckily he didn't want her to dress up as a yak and tap his nipples with hot spoons, but she didn't feel very at ease.

The next day as we ate cakes and drank mint tea at the mosque (hoping Allah wouldn't come and throw me out for being an alcohol-consuming whoreish mess) The Guy rang my phone asking where my friend was because she wan't answering her phone for some reason...He asked if me and my other friends had got home ok and he invited us all to see him 'play' tonight at an open mic night somewhere. Now that I've realised our lives are Ridiculous, I think that we should embrace it. I hope we end up going tonight and I'm hoping against hope he's a one man band, complete with a harmonica and bells on his trousers.

I can't believe how quickly Saturday night descended into a Ridiculous Farce, but when we looked back on it yesterday, we realised something horrifying: For the past few weeks we haven't managed to have one normal night out and we've all been feeling like French men are out to get us and make our lives Ridiculous...


On Saturday night, we chose to go to Le Long Hop for RnB. The guys we met didn't hassle us or try and get us to dance with them, on the contrary, we fought and fought to get into the dancing circle and we didn't stop until we had the whole club watching us re-enact the Diva video. We suggested buying alcohol and going to the river and it was us who suggested The Guy have a 'private party' back at his apartment...

It was all us, we instigated the Ridiculousness.
It's not French men who are weird... it's English girls.

It's always been us.

And I've just realised something else, on Saturday night we were in the Left Bank and I was bouncing around being a mouthy little shit, wearing scally earrings, shaking my bum around to Soldier Boy and looking for kebabs- I don't think I've ever been more of a Left Bank Manc.


  1. You really are hilarious. Every time I read your blog (depending on what your topic of the day is), you have me in stitches!

  2. Thank you sooo much, it's nice to know I'm not writing to myself and occasionally my mum.