Monday, 26 September 2011

Religion On a Hangover

You know when you feel like everything you are doing is wrong? I've been drinking too much and wasting my days, when I could have been learning French or walking around nice parks or looking for jobs.

Yesterday me and Kayt went for falafal which are the nicest things to eat when you are feeling hungover. As we ate, we walked through the maze of expensive clothes shops and kosher bakeries selling pretzels and doughnuts, and watched the local teenagers being all cool with their kippas* and scooters... we saw one boy, who looked about fifteen, stop his scooter abruptly next to his girlfriend, kiss her on the mouth then drive away down the little cobbled streets, leaving her to woozily wander back to her friends. It was the coolest thing I have ever seen. Why don't teenage boys in England do that? When I was fifteen I remember me and Chaz waiting around for hours because Amo and her boyfriend were 'doing stuff' in a bush.

From the marais we walked to the river and then we walked to the Notre Dame. Kayt had never been inside so on a whim we decided to go in and have a look. When we got inside I saw that mass was starting. Now, I would call myself Catholic, even though most of the time I don't believe in God, because I went to Catholic school and did my Confirmation and my Holy Communion... Kayt is not a Catholic, nor is she religious in any way, shape or form, but she thought it would be 'interesting' to go to a mass at the Notre Dame so we went.

As soon as we sat down I felt sad because the last time I was in Notre Dame I lit a candle for somebody in England who is really ill and it didn't help them.

I don't know if it was because I was really hungover, or because the cathedral is so dimly-lit and the air so thick with incense, but I felt really weird and filled with doom. Also the organ was playing a terrifying piece of ominous music that must have been called something like 'The Sinners Fall Into A Pit Of Fiery Hell.' It reminded me of the opening credits of Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame. (I remember seeing it at the cinema when I was seven years old and it scared the shit out of me.) Religion is scary.

I didn't understand anything that went on, because it was all in French and even though Kayt understood the French, she had no clue what was going on because she isn't Catholic and church must seem weird to people who aren't familiar with it; sitting in a cavernous cathedral, being made drowsy by the incense and the candles, listening to hundreds of people chant in unison like they are in some sort of cult, while old men in dresses and big hats slowly move up the aisle in silence.

When I came back from receiving the communion, because I was hungover and my mouth was really dry, the Body of Christ wasn't dissolving- he was just stuck to the roof of my mouth. Kayt was trying to tell me she wanted to leave but I felt rude talking to her whilst Jesus was stuck to the roof of my mouth, so I just nodded and then I got down to pray. I said a prayer for some people I know because even if I don't believe in God, prayer can't do any harm can it?

Afterwards Kayt said I looked very dramatic and ridiculous when I got on my knees to pray, but that is what you do in church Kayt! I told her how I couldn't speak with Jesus in my mouth and she made a very crude joke indeed that I don't think Jesus would have approved of.

As we walked out of the Notre Dame, they opened the giant doors at the front of the building. It was impressive, walking from the dark cathredral and that ill-omented organ music, which sounded like somewhere a god was frowning at me. It was like last year, when me, Amy and Kay went into the service at the Paris Mosque- I felt like Allah was getting ready to smite me down for being in his house when I am a binge-drinking whore who doesn't always dress so modestly.

ANYWAY. What the fuck am I talking about? I feel that something bad will happen to me because I have written about religion.

My friend Chaz arrives in Paris today! She is here for a whole week on a trip with her university. Me, Chaz and Amo my friend who works at Disneyland, who I never see because it's fifty minutes away by Ghetto Train and I'm lazy, are bestest pals from school.

We were supposed to be going out tonight, but now Amo can't come because her upcoming holiday might be cancelled or something and she has to sort it out.

I am obviously sad at this news, but I am also slightly relieved because I feel quite ill and I think I would react violently if anyone tried to make me get drunk again. I was planning on not drinking for a couple of weeks because I look and feel worn-out and disgusting.

Ergh I feel sick. I want to stay in bed all day but my room is like a sauna, I think I'll force myself to go out, maybe I will snap out of this weird, doom-filled mood that religion has put me in. I think also I feel like shit because last night I went to bed at 10pm because I was so tired, but I couldn't sleep. The last time I checked my phone before I eventually feel asleep it was 4am. Ergh I don't even have any money for paracetamol. I put my last 3o cents in the collection at mass. I hope they're not using it to chase gypsies and burn them.

*A kippa is the name for the little hat Jewish men and boys wear.

1 comment:

  1. I love reading your blog because it makes me feel like we're in Paris together chatting about all the ridiculous things we've done, which seem to be continuing! The mass experience sounds scary.I never really liked Notre Dame anyway.