Sunday, 31 July 2011
Saturday, 23 July 2011
First of all the terrorist attacks on Norway are shocking and really sickening. If it really was that one man behind it all I hope he was in contact with the EDL so that everyone realises that they are evil evil dangerous stupid twats who need to be Seen To.
And the fact that Amy Winehouse has died is also shocking, but moreover the fact that shitty tabloids are only going on about her drug problems. When Jade Goody died nobody brought up the Racism Thing, they just went on and on about how good she was... good at what exactly? Amy Winehouse was actually very talented yet everyone is focussing on the fact that she had a drug problem.
Anyway, I have a lot to tell you. I am sharing a bed with the five year old boy, the houses next door are owned by Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney and a Russian woman who is currently in prison. The apartment building was a hotel until the second world war and it is next to Monaco, we went to Monte Carlos the other day and we have also nipped over to Italy to buy palma ham and leather belts.
It is too tragic for words that I had a shower and reapplied my make up just in case I bumped into someone on my way down to the ping pong room. The mum and dad of the family expected me to go out but I do not really want to go out on my own, in the dark, when it is a fifteen minute walk to the bakery, let alone the bars, if there even are any within walking distance. I feel like a failure at life.
But I am making good progress with my tan!
Sunday, 17 July 2011
See you in two weeks...
Saturday, 16 July 2011
Anyway. Needless to say, I didn't sort my room out in time. I ran back home after work and frantically tried to clean the 'kitchenette' but I got as far as scrubbing the sink when there was a knock on my door. It was the landlady and she said somehting to me in French with a heavy Italian accent. I've no idea what she said but I could tell by the tone of her voice that it was something along the lines of: 'Look at you, all stressed with that sponge, don't worry so much!'
She was really nice and wasn't that bothered about the room, she just wanted to check I hadn't made off with the microwave or anything. It was clear that the mum of the family has been making her out to be a Cleaning Gustapo just to shit me up and make me clean up, because she knows I am a bit of a tit when it comes to housework.
The landlady looked around the room and said it was fine, then she touched the curtain rails and they fell off in her hand. She just said 'C'est pas grave' and explained that she was going to get new curtain rails anyway.
I had been panicking for nothing- the room inspection was absolutely fine, although now it is a complete mess again because I've had to root through all my bags to get clothes and make-up out.
Still, it was a nice relief and then I went to see HARRY POTTER at midnight with Mairi, it was magical and a little bit sad, because I remembered the first time I opened the first Harry Potter book, when I was ten years old, and now I have seen the last film and the magic is kind of over for me. The only bad thing about the whole experience was the very annoying audience who whooped and clapped at EVERYTHING. I don't want to be stereotypical, but the people doing the whooping were American and I wanted to stand up and say "Me and my friend here are British. Please let us experience the emotion of this film quietly and privately."
But I didn't, intstead I cringed and scowled and at one point shouting 'For fuck's sake' because they laughed and clapped at the very end, when I was ready to burst into tears, and they completely ruined the moment for me and I have no idea why because it wasn't funny.
Anyway, I'm glad I went to see it. Haz Poz 4eva and all that.
Wednesday night was Kayt's last night, and exactly a week since Beth arrived and put up my birthday banner for me. We went to Chez Prune by the canal at Republique and I got my birthday present from Kayt, Georgie and Amy- some nice pjyamas from Oysho, which I'm very grateful for because I had no idea what I was going to wear to bed in the South of France, I can hardly sleep in my knickers like I normally do when I am sleeping in the living room with all the kids.
But the best part of the present was the wrapping paper. They had wrapped my present in a piece of A3 pattern paper and on the paper they had written a story about me, about all the unusual alternatives for my name that French people come up because they can't say a certain sound in my name; about how the five year old is my sidekick and together we fight Invisible Robots with our Invisible Sword Balls; about how on nights out I frequently discover my ability to speak French, Hebrew, Arabic, Greek and Romanian... and it also listed some of my excellent beuaty tips, such as, 'If you run out of eye make-up remover and you happen to be eating an apple, stick your finger in the apple and rub it on the eyeliner'. (It really works!)
I swore that I would frame it and keep it forever.
Kayt didn't want to stay out too late because she had to be up at 5am the next day, but somehow, one bottle of wine turned into three, and then we went and sat by the canal to drink the bottle of champagne her family had bought her. And that was where things took a turn for the worse.
We sat down on a bench by the canal, in front of a public urinal and somehow we didn't think this was disgusting. We passed the champagne round, swigging from the bottle, and I remarked how it was a fitting send-off for Kayt- getting pissed, sitting on a bench surrounded by rubbish, overlooking a urinal. No Eiffel Tower or nice Parisien bars for us.
All of a sudden we were very, very drunk and we were FOUL. I can barely bring myself to type it, but at one point a man used the urinal in front of us and we started chanting Get Your Dick Out. We were horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE loud-mouthed, binge-drinking English girls. A man tried to sell us a rose and Emma decided to buy seven, one for each of the girls, so at one point we were all sat on a bench, holding a rose in one hand, a Vogue cigarette in the other, and chatting absolute drunken shit to each other. Me and Kayt for some reason came up with a slogan for selling leather -Get Leather and we kept saying it to each other and pissing ourselves.
When the champagne was finished we went to an Irish bar and harrassed the bar staff who clearly wanted to close up and go home. We ordered more wine and a round of shots, but they wouldn't give us the shots, instead they gave us a free bag of crisps and kicked us out. After the Irish bar, Kayt said she really, really needed to go home and we did a Horrible Thing. We tricked her into coming to another bar by telling her it was the way to the night bus. By the time we got to Les Parigots we were too far away from the nightbus so we ended up staying for another bottle of wine.
At one point, Kayt and Amy were huddled in the corner crying their eyes out. "What are they bloody crying for?" I yelled. I stormed over and within thirty seconds I was clinging onto them, crying my eyes out as well as Amy told us what 'special people' we were and how she was so glad to have met us... we were a SHOW.
When we got kicked out of Les Parigots, we decided it really was time for us to go home, as me and Mairi were staying at Amy's so we could all get up at 5am and walk Kayt to the night bus.
When we got on the nightbus, we had to walk past a big group of girls to get to the empty seats at the back and, perhaps because they could smell the alcohol on us and figured we'd be an easy target, they started laughing nastily and shouting to us. I replied in a normal, chatty tone and pretended we were on an even keel, when in fact I'm pretty sure I would have died if one of them had punched me. Luckily this worked and they got off the bus before us without battering us, but then we got into a 'confrontation' with someone else.
I honestly have no idea, none at all, how it started, but all of a sudden I was arguing with these two guys, one of them in a massive red trucker cap. He was saying we were American so I did what I always do when French guys shout abuse at me in English, I say 'Je suis Grec' (I am Greek) because nobody in France can speak Greek and they normally give up... I learnt enough random phrases when I was working in Corfo as a holiday rep to blag it.
But this guy wouldn't give up. He got more and more aggressive, insisting that he could tell I was American by my accent, and so I got more and more aggressive, yelling every Greek insult I could muster. Luckily Kayt was there to translate for me, and I can't remember all of the arguement because it went on for some time, but it finally got quite nasty and because I was so drunk a little voice in my head told me 'He is skinny, you are quite lardy nowadays thanks to all the foie gras and cheap wine, you grew up on the Welsh Estate in Fallowfield and you can take him'.
"Kayt!" I yelled, "Tell him I am going to shit in his red cap."
I wasn't sure if Kayt would translate this for me but apparently she did as he took his cap off and held it out for me. They were sitting quite a few seats away from me and I was boxed in the corner of the back row. I didn't get up to take it so he put it back on his head and said something to Kayt for her to translate.
"Erm... he says he is a rapist, he is going to rape you."
In French I said to him "Great! Super! Go on then!" and right at that moment it was their stop and they got off the bus. At least I think it was their stop, maybe he just wanted to get out of raping me. I'm pretty sure even rapists lose interest in a girl if she says she is going to shit in your red cap.
Back at Amy's, we fell into bed fully-clothed and one hour later we had to get up again to walk Kayt to the bus stop. I thought it was a cruel joke but it wasn't; we actually had to stand up, stumble to the lift and help Kayt carry her bags to the bus stop. I feel so, so guilty about doing that to Kayt- she only had half an hour's sleep because she had to have a shower and get her stuff ready.
While we were waiting for the bus, we said our goodbyes and all of a sudden we were all crying hystericall. I'll be in Paris next year with Kayt, but it won't be the same, our big group will have gone and it's going to be an empty city. Amy and Mairi might not see Kayt for a long time so it was a real goodbye for them.
And then there were three.
Now it's just me, Amy and Mairi. We are going to Favela Chic tonight and we've made a vow not to talk about next year because it will all end in tears.
Shit. I was supposed to sort my room out but it has taken me ages to write this post and now I have to get ready for tonight. I'm going to the South of France on Monday. I really wish I wasn't going. Two weeks with about six kids, no internet and only my Big Fat Belly for company.
Friday, 15 July 2011
We went to Le Souk for my Birthday Meal, a Moroccan restaurant in the 11th (metro stop: Bastille). It was really lovely- most of us ordered the massive tagines which were served still bubbling hot with metal plates of fluffy semolina to share, Beth had the cous cous which came as three seperate dishes- meat, cous cous and the sweet sauce that tasted like almonds and apricots. To be fair it was quite expensive, about eighteen euros for a tagine, and I know you can get good North African food for a lot cheaper in Paris... But it was my birthday and that's where I wanted to go.
We didn't go out afterwards as I had to be in work at half eight the next morning and everyone was pretty tired, but there was a bit of excitement when, on our way to the metro, Kayt and Emma spotted French actor Romain Duris on his motorbike. He pulled up outside an apartment block and it's just possible that we now know where he lives....
On Friday night we went to Nouveau Casino. We had to buy champagne for our pre-drinking because I didn't have a corkscrew and despite my insistence, nobody was up for doing shots of the rakija that I brought back from Serbia. I guess champagne is nicer than something that is 90% alcohol, even if we bought the cheapest champagne from my corner shop (it still would have cost at least forty quid in England I reckon).
It was a really brilliant night, the music was good and the people there were really nice and normal, I love Nouvea Casino actually, even though it is eleven euros for the smallest mojito in the world.
We got in about six am, slept until half two, then got up and went straight to the little bakery café near me where I took Rachel, Rosie and Jen when they came. I had a citron meringuée (lemon meringue pie y'all), Beth had cheesecake and Lauren had a pistachio macaron.
As we'd had cake for breakfast we decided to have cocktails for dinner, so we went to Bastille for Happy Hour, where a lot of bars make their drinks half price. We went to Charlotte's Bar first for mojitos, then we went to that place that I can never remember the name of, for their Mojito In Love, which is a mojito made with raspberries and is 5 euros during happy hour.
From Bastille we went to Place Monge for tea and I can't remember the name of the restaurant, but it was nice. Sorry this is a rubbish blog isn't it? Not very imformative. I'll ask Lauren if she can remember the name of the mojito bar and the restaurant.
Anyway, all in all it was a lovely weekend, although I had my 'room inspection' on the Monday, and the mum of the family told me the landlady was really pedantic and that I had to have all my stuff packed away and the room cleaned top to bottom. This was hanging over me because how can I pack up a room and clean it when I still have a week to live there and I have two friends to stay?
On Sunday we went round the Marais, got falafal and met up with Lauren's French friend Abby who I'm hoping will be my friend next year...
We went to Montmarte, got ice cream and walked up to the Sacré Coeur. They had a sign inside for confessions and I really got this overwhelming urge to confess. I'm not really religious but once a Catholic, always a secret guilty Catholic, and all these terrible thoughts rose up inside me and I felt guilty about all the horrible, stupid things I have ever done and continue to do...
But then I realised, I haven't 'confessed' to a priest since I made my First Confession when I was like, what? Seven years old? If I had to confess to an old Catholic man everything I have done since then that God might think was a bit dickheady, I would be there for hours and I would probably have to use lots of words that old Catholic priests don't hear very often.
So, I didn't confess. I'm not sure I believe in God anyway. I've been praying for him to turn me into a fairy since I was about five years old and here I am, seventeen years later, still human-sized with no wings on my back.
On Sunday night we went out for the lovliest meal ever and Lauren Rockerfeller paid for everyone because she finally closed her French bank account and was left with loads of euros. We had foie gras, which I've never had before. I've decided I love it- it's like meat and butter made a baby together, albeit by force feeding geese, so that's another thing I need to confess- I eat food that is CRUEL and NASTY to geese.
On Monday I took the five year old with me to the Eiffel Tower and we met up with Lauren and Beth, who he LOVED, a LOT.
(Even though I got a bitchy message from the mum later that night saying 'It's not that I don't trust you but I want to know if my child is going to be mixing with people I don't know'. She didn't complain when I had to take him to my place for two hours on Tuesday night while Beth was here! And, let's be honest, she might say she trusts me but I have no idea why. She has never seen any proof of my indentity, she doesn't know anything about me and for all she knows I could be wanted in England for Flashing and Being a Public Nuisance, which is not as far-fetched as it seems...)
We chatted on the grass while the five year old went around collecting dirty bottle tops and in the space of half an hour he had collected over sixty, just in the little area we were sat in. When I said goodbye to Lauren, I got a bit teary. Goodbyes are the blight of my life at the moment.
When we said goodbye to my friends the five year old said "You envoi me carte avec you photo!" and made them promise. He made me promise as well and I joked "Why do you want a photo of me? You know what I look like." He went all quiet and said something in French. Lauren said it was "I won't remember you."
Anyway, I told him I was staying in Paris so that perhaps he could see me next year and he actually punched the air and went 'Yessss'. I was surprised.
"Do you want to see me again?"
"Ben yes, because you nice avec me!"
So, if I'm not Super Au Pair, maybe I can settle for Nice Au Pair?
That night was supposed to be my room inspection. My room was not ready and thankfully the mum of the family rang me up and said 'You can have one more night, but it has to be perfect.' Then Beth told me they had lost the bathroom key. It doesn't sound like a big deal now but at the time all I could think was how much stuff I had to sort out and how much angry shouting was going to aimed at me when people realised I hadn't done all the stuff I was meant to do.
Beth sat on my laptop Facebooking and politely pretended that I wasn't lying face-down on the bed, going GGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHH.
THANK THE STARS AND MOON for Kayt and Amy and Mairie, who came round and took matters in hand. Kayt sorted and packed up my clothes and Amy fixed everything that was broken, even the curtain rail I pulled down and the blinds, and I even found my bathroom key, hidden in a tangle of gold chains.
All I had to do was clean the room... So on Tuesday morning I got up at 6am, waved Beth off and started the Deep Clean. All I managed to do was wipe down the table and then I was late for work, so I left everything as it was with a Heavy Heart.
The mum looked into my eyes and said "Is your room perfect? She will look behind everything, it must be clean. Is it ready?"
"Yes." I lied, smiling in what I hoped was a sincere way.
Well, I'm very tired all of a sudden, but it does get more exciting than whether I cleaned my room or not, honest. On Wednesday I got into a fight with a self-confessed rapist and I told him I was going to shit in his hat and he took off his hat and gave it to me. I will explain tomorrow!
We saw a lot of coloured smoke though.
As we walked back to the metro we walked down the Louvre where we would have had an excellent view and there was hardly any spectators there. There was a fairground at Tuilleries so we got a kebab and then churros. I don't know what is the matter with me. I am going to the South of France in three days and people will mistake me for a beached porpoise.
Anyway, I'm glad we ventured out to see the fireworks, even if I would have had a better view of the Eiffle Tower from the end of my street. Tonight was the last time I will see Emma until we are both back in September, but I said goodbye to Elle for the last time in... who knows? When Elle walked away Amy started crying and said 'I feel like all we do is say goodbye to people'.
She's right- this morinng me, Amy and Mairie walked Kayt to the airport bus at 5am, and we were all crying hysterically, which might have had somehting to do with dragging ourselves out of bed after forty minutes sleep, eight bottles of wine and one bottle of champagne we drank in front of a public urinal, but more on that tomorrow.
Also, there has been an exciting development in my 'career plans' (ha!) for next year... I'm not taking the piss it really is exciting, I will write about it tomorrow!
Here's a picture of what I imagined the fireworks looked like behind all the buildings:
Thursday, 14 July 2011
I didn't tell the family it was my birthday, because if you say to someone 'It's my birthday tomorrow...' they'll only think you are hinting for a present or for fuss. I thought that the mum might remember, because she asked me for my date of birth a few weeks ago when she was booking my flights for the South of France. I turned up at the house and nobody said anything to me, so they obviously didn't know it was my birthday. I was secretly hoping it would be like this so that I could be a Birthday Martyr, keeping my forgotten birthday as a secret sadness inside me, waiting for the day that the family would ask me when my birthday was and I could say with the ghost of a smile on my lips- 'It's already been...'
I know- I'm a dickhead.
Anyway, an hour in to making the five year old try and eat his breakfast (he has CAKE for breakfast, what child doesn't want to eat cake? I was forced against my will to eat most of it for him) I gave in to the Birthday Fuss-Craving and told him it was birthday. He wasn't arsed.
"Will you make me a picture for my birthday?" I asked
He burst out crying because he didn't know what to draw.
"It's my birthday, don't make it about you! Stop crying!" the Birthday Monster insde me told him.
It was all ok in the end, because later on when his two friends had come round and we were all sat in the kitchen drawing dinosaurs (I was the bestest!) he put his finger in the air and said 'Me have a bon idée!' and his 'good idea' was to draw me a zebra and a giraffe. While he was drawing it he kept asking me to look and expecting me to comment. There is only so many times you can say 'Wow, that's brilliant! It's a zebra! I like zebras! I like the way you have drawn its legs/stripes/face/robot hat!' so after about ten minutes of this I just started making appreciative 'ooohs' and 'ho-hos'.
Unfortunately when I said 'Ho ho' he burst out crying again and yelled "Is no drôle! You no laugh my picture you!" and I had to physically restrain him from tearing up my birthday card.
The day sped by quite quickly and without disaster, and then it was time for the Birthday Fun to begin and Lauren had arrived and was waiting for me in my room with Beth, who informed me that, although she had meant to spend her first day in Paris exploring, she'd actually slept until three pm, checked her Facebook for a few hours then she'd swept my floor for me and taken a photo of the full dustpan to serve as a disgusting testement to my Slovenly Ways. (It's funny because while I was at work I'd dreamily wondered if Beth would clean my floor for me because I hadn't had time to do it before she came. I never thought she'd actually do it- what a nice Friend and Pal she is to me.)
Lauren had brought me presents and cards, from her and Claire (they brought me some nice knickers and socks and a children's book which is about a scruffy cat with the same name as me, but I can't tell you what it is as I don't want to give my Super Secret Identity away) and also from my mum , who gave me a Pandora charm shaped like a cake and seventy euros, which was excellent as I am as poor as a churchmouse at the moment. My mum also sent with Lauren my 'holiday clothes' which I have been anticipating for many weeks now... inside a bag were two tops that I haven't worn since I was sixteen and a dress that I don't think I have ever taken on holiday with me in all the four years that I have owned it.
So. Reading between the lines, whilst moving house, all my clothes that were being 'stored' in the garden shed in bin bags have accidentally (or otherwise) been thrown out.
BUT. It matters not that I am destined to spend two weeks in the South of France wearing inappropriate, worn out clothes, because I got some lovely presents and cards and I wasn't expecting any.
While I was sat on the bed reading my cards and basking in their warm Birthday Glow, I thought I saw a flicker of candles from the corner of my eye. Could it be? I didn't want to look over there in case I had imagined it, but after a moment I dared to look again and I hadn't imagined it- there were candles and they were on top of a huge Marks and Spencer's chocolate birthday cake and Lauren had carried it all the way from London.
I don't know why I hadn't noticed Lauren getting the cake out and lighting all the candles, but I'm glad I kept it a surprise from myself until the last moment, because it was amazing. I went over to marvel at it, feeling overcome with happiness, and Lauren said "Look in the fridge." and I looked in the fridge and there was a bottle of champagne in it and it was too much. I started crying Birthday Tears and then I blew out the candles and I opened the champagne and we ate two pieces of cake each, and then Kayt came round and we set off for the restaurant I had chosen for my Birthday Meal- a north African restaurant at Bastille.
Speaking of Bastille, it's Bastille Day today and I'm going to go and watch the fireworks at the Eiffel Tower, so I will finish à plus tard.
Tuesday, 12 July 2011
Guess who is going to see said film at midnight and has not been more excited since she queued up through the night to get the last book, even though she is now officially 'in her twenties' and should be spending the night either researching career prospects or getting drunk, on mojitos, in a bar, with other Grown Ups?
I have lots to tell you about, I need to write about the last few days and I feel like I have been a bit neglectful of late, but I can't do it tonight because tonight:
Ron Weasley would get it.
Friday, 8 July 2011
Thursday, 7 July 2011
I'm up early to check for any Facebook greetings of Birthday cheer, I know it's pathetic but I need something to keep my Birthday spirits up throughout the day- it's going to me, the five year old and two of his bessie mates. It's not fair, if it was just the five year old I could take him where ever I want; my friend Beth is here now and she has to entertain herself all day.
She arrived last night and I had to bring the five year old with me because his mum rang and said she was going to be really late. "You can take him to your place if you want." she said, so I did, because I had to collect MY friend who was coming from ENGLAND. Unfortunately, she came all this way to sit in my room and watch a five year old navigate his way around 'Dinosaur Extreme' videos on YouTube, because he was here until 9pm. Nothing like finishes work two hours later to bring on the Birthday Cheer.
Yesterday I had the five year old, plus the mum's work collegue's two Italian sons who are very, very bratty. We had a good game of football though in the park and I really got in to it. I blasted the ball at one point... straight into the five year old's face. I guess it was karma that made me finish work so late.
Right, off to work now. Tonight I'm going out for a meal at a North African restaurant, if I have to drag the five year old along with me!
I CAN'T BELIEVE A YEAR HAS GONE BY SINCE MY 21st BIRTHDAY!!!
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Shit shit shit.
WHAT IS THE FUCKING MATTER WITH ME????
Sunday, 3 July 2011
Basically I am doing Paris to Nice to Paris to London to Manchester to Liverpool to Manchester to the Lakes to Manchester to London to Ibiza to Paris.
I'm panicking slightly at the logistical nightmare that lays before... My room needs to be packed and cleaned by the 11th July, which is one week, the same week that I have Lauren and Beth staying with me. I have no idea how I'm going to fix everything...
BUT Beth and Lauren are coming very, very soon!! And it is my birthday this week! Normally I can be a bit of a Birthday Monster (the slideshows of childhood photographs at my 21st were, in hindsight, a little O.T.T) but this year I am not going to organise anything. I am going to be calm and sweet and not self-obsessed.
Oh my god. I have so much to do and organise and so little money and time. I feel sick thinking about it. SICK SICK SICK.
In the evening when I went back to the house, Super Au Pair hung around for a bit and we chatted about going out in Paris. She said asked me about the friends she'd seen me with earlier on in the day, and I told her how we met in the park. Super Au Pair said she didn't make many friends while she was here, but that she had one of her best friends from home here. One - nil to Shit Au Pair, even though the mum of the family is always going on about how Super Au Pair made lots and lots of friends while she here- 'When she left, she knew everyone!'
We chatted about clubs a bit, she said she likes Le Batofar- good, she also said she is going to Ibiza in the summer- good, then she said she is going to see David Guetta there- bad.
I asked her about the South of France and what it’s like being on holiday with the family. I’ve heard from the mum that Super Au Pair went out every night until 7am and that kind of enraged me because now they’ll think I’m weird when I stay in crying every night- I don’t speak French and I can’t make friends and I’m a Shit Person as well as Shit Au Pair.
Anyway, Super Au Pair confirmed everything I’d heard about her wild, ravey ways; she said that she made friends with all the locals while she was there and that they took her out every night and then she had to get up at 7am with the kids to help the mum get them ready. I might have the English au pair friends, but she definitely gets a point for assembling her own little rave crew in the South of France, so at this point I'd say it was a draw.
On Friday, I got in from picking the five year old from school and Super Au Pair was there with the girls. I'd had a bit of nightmare day with them, because the mum had wanted me to take them out for the day, unsurprisingly because it was a beautiful, hot summer's day and they are on their school holidays. The girls however, were boringly predictable and wanted to stay indoors all day, watching telly and ignoring me. So I wasnot feeling particularly warm towards the girls and I was actually glad Super Au Pair was there to liven them up a bit.
Then, at half five, the mum came home, two hours early. She and Super Au Pair were chatting away in French and I was shuffling around doing household chores like a mute girl they’d taken in off the lanes of Limerick.
Then the mum asked me if I wanted a drink. I didn’t know if she meant a drink of water, or a drink of alcohol on the bar, or a coffee, so I just stood there frozen to the spot, trying to figure out what she was asking me, then I stuttered and mumbled about staying behind to look after the kids if they wanted me to but I would like to go for a drink if they’re sure I don’t mind what what if if are you sure I could I don’t mind-
She said “Be simple. Do you want to come for a drink or not?”
I said yes just because I knew if I didn’t go I would go back to my room and feel like I’d been ostracised from the Family/Au Pair Meet-Up.
We went and sat outside a café in the place de marche and it was quite nice, we had a chat about Paris nightlife and the South of France etc etc and when it was time to go I said to Super Au Pair ‘It was nice to meet you’ and I meant it.
So. All in all, a kind of drawer. From what the mum and Super Au Pair were saying, the kids were a lot easier last year, I guess because they were younger and also because Super Au Pair spoke to them in their own language, she could communicate properly with them and they grew quite close, whereas I am just the stranger in their house, who eats all their Easter eggs, breaks all the plates and then yells at them in a foreign language.
Still. If we were in a graphic novel, I can imagine the last page would be Super Au Pair and Shit Au Pair on the top of a building, with a dark cityscape in the background, and sheets of rain shining white against the black background. Super Au Pair would be stood on the edge of the roof, facing Shit Au Pair who has just thrown open the door of the fire escape.
"We're not so different you and I." Super Au Pair says, then she turns and disappears with a swish of her cape.