Part 2? I think I have taken being a big headed idiot to a new level- not only do I write down all the boring shit I do and make my friends read it on Facebook, I have now decided that my life is so interesting to others that I need to SERIALISE it. But I just write soooo much and despite what my blog might make you think, I am quite busy so it is easy to split everything up into parts. Oh God am I a massive dickhead?
Wait... I can hear something... it's a chorus of voices.... what are they saying? I think they're saying...
YES, YOU ARE.
But oh well, what was I saying before? Ah yes, so: Me and Kayt got off the metro in yet another dodgy run-down area of Paris, but we may have been more than a tiny bit drunk, so we didn't realise. All we could focus on was the chubby little Carb Monster crying inside each of us, so we went into the nearest kebab shop and ordered chips. It was only when Emma came to meet us that she pointed out how dodgy the area was.
Then the cousin rang me. It was so weird because I had no idea what he would be like. Would he be old and pervy? Old and nice? Camp and fun? Fun and good looking? Good looking and gay? Straight and normal? Straight and hugely obese? He had no idea what I was saying on the phone, I kept saying 'je suis a la magasin... le magasin avec les frites!!' (I'm at the shop... the shop with chips!!!) so eventually I had to put Emma on the phone. A few minutes later she came and said 'They're coming.'
They came, him and his mate. And...
...And they were really nice! He's twenty-eight, not thirty-one, and we all spoke French and he had a nice car. We got in it and they drove us the party and as we drove it became obvious that the area was realy dodgy, but as I joyfully yelled at Kayt over the blast of French R'n'B: "This is more like it-ACCESSIBLE GHETTO!"
(I like to picture this moment as taking place on top of a jeep, with me and Kayt staring at the commoners through binoculars and eating roasted peasant* sandwiches, served on ciabbatta by our pygmy manservants.)
There is nothing like being drunk, in the back of an older man's car, listening to loud R'n'B, with your friends, to make you feel fifteen again and very, very hyper. We got to the party and it wasn't a house party like we thought, it was a birthday party at a small bar, owned by the birthday girl's mum, and everyone was really nice and I was Speaking French. Not well, but I did an excellent job of nodding and going 'hmmm' and this seemed to give people the impression that I understood them.
At the end of the night the cousin and his friend drove us all home and Emma lives miles away from me and Kayt, so it was really nice of them. I can't believe it- we met French men we didn't know and they didn't ask us to join in any orgies or play us songs about peculiar-smelling lady parts. (I think it says a lot about the men we have met lately that Kayt said tonight about The Cousin's Mate "His head was really in proportion to his body." Yes, she actually said it in those exact words, we are now at that low, low point in our love lives where the ideal man is just someone with a normal-sized head.) We agreed to go out with them next weekend but a strange thought has just occured to me...
What if they don't want to see us again... because we're weird? All this spouting off about men being Fucking Mental and I never stopped to think that I'm maybe I'm the one whose a Bad Weirdo.
BUT I have just got back from sitting on the steps of the Sacre Cœur and we were harrassed by so many weird, aggressive, horrible men that we had to come home. I've had a brilliant weekend though, lots of picnics and sunbathing and wine and I need to put up someone's pictures (still can't believe my camera is broke) from Friday and the jolly Royal fun we had... Back to work tomorrow though. SIGH.
Good night to anyone reading this, but not to the weirdo whose been finding my blog by Googling 'neanderthals nasty fucking sex'.
*Kayt just read it and pointed out that it should be pheasant, not peasant, but I think Roasted Peasant is a much more appropriate snack for someone who wants the ghetto to be more accessible.