I'm down to my last teabag. Grim, very grim. But let me get back to describing last weekend...
On Saturday me and Amy went to Angelina's for hot chocolate. We drank our deliciously thick chocolat chaud (seriously, it doesn't pour from the jug; it creeps through the air slowly and folds itself into your cup) and sat back, feeling very Grand and Proper in our decadent surroundings. In the faded opulence of Angelina's, with it's wall-length mirrors edged with gold-leaf frames, we felt far away from the Hideous and Somewhat Confused events of the night before...
That is until our Hangovers crept over us like two little green goblins, slowly making their way through the maze of white tableclothes, silently stepping over well-heeled feet until they reached our table...
"I think I'd like to sit outside." Amy said slowly.
Ten minutes had gone by without either of us saying a word. We were too hungover to think, let alone talk. I suddenly noticed that Amy's face was grey.
"Let's pay." I suggested.
From Angelina's we stumbled across the road to Tuileries, but we didn't even make it to a bench. We slumped down on the stone steps and stayed there until the cold air blew away the edges of our Hangovers and we regained the Art of Conversation.
We decided that our initial plan of Happy Hour Mojitos at L'an Ver du Decor would have to be abandoned, as neither of us could stomach more alcohol. And yet. Olivia said she had two friends staying for the night and I really wanted Amy to meet Olivia (as they are both from Liverpool), so we agreed that we'd go out for one drink and then have an early night.
After a two hour disco nap, we woke up feeling a lot better. I even mustered the energy to put some wedges on and Amy borrowed my high heeled ankle boots, which are the most uncomfortable shoes in the world but we figured she'd be fine in them for 'one drink'.
We met up with Olivia and her two friends. I'd assumed they were from Liverpool, but it became apparent they were not scousers when one of them said to me "Oh, you're Northern! How cute." They were very, very drunk and me, Olivia and Amy were quite Smug in our sobriety. It was nice to be the sober ones for change.
We walked around the Marais looking for a bar where 'we could dance' and Olivia's friends got more and more impatient. They both live in France, but not in Paris, and they were not prepared for the massive amounts of walking involved in a typical Parisien night out. I had a stroke of genius and remembered that Saturday is 'RnB night' at Le Longhop. Me and Amy were a little bit hesitant after what happened the last couple of times we went there, but Olivia's friends were mollified by the promise of some good old, cheesy RnB music, so off we trotted to Le Longhop.
I worried that we wouldn't get in, because I still couldn't find my passport and the last time we tried to go none of us had any ID and they wouldn't let us in, even though most people in our group were aged 25 and over. Luckily, it wasn't the Nobhead Bouncer that we fought with last time, it was a Reasonable Bloke who let us all in with a nod and a smile.
We got in and got some drinks (it's about five euros for a pint which is really cheap for Paris) and surprisingly, the place was packed. The DJ has changed since last time we went and the music was quite good, if you happen to like Shit RnB, which I do. A lot. We danced to the music and watched with amusement as Olivia's two very drunk friends cosied up with some very unattractive men. One of them was wearing a black silk shirt.
Oh, looking back, we were being so Annoyingly Smug and Superior, it almost serves us right for what happened later...
Le Longhop closed at 1.30am and none of us were ready to go home, so we decided on Le Violin Dingue again, just because it was close and we knew it was open late. After a tense time in the queue when we thought Olivia's mates might not get in because they were so drunk, we made it inside and went down into the cave so we could all have a dance. We got another pint and me and Amy got our Second Wind.
At one point I went to the toilets on my own and I wish somebody else had come with me, just so they too could have witnessed the horror I saw in the queue. I was at the back of the queue behind two girls and the girl next to me was doing this weird squatting and shuffling about thing. I glanced down and realised I could see her bare thighs. Girls in Paris don't go out with Naked Legs. Then came the sound of somebody weeing, but it wasn't coming from inside the locked cubicle, oh no. The girl next to me in the queue was weeing, onto the floor.
At least I thought she was weeing onto the floor- when she finished she produced a pint glass from inbetween her legs, it was brimming with what looked like frothy beer, but it was obviously her URINE. The whole time she'd been weeing, I'd been catching her friend's eye and laughing. Her friend went into the toilet and when she came out Weeing Girl went in after her. I thought she must be going in there to do a few lines of coke or something, after all, I'd just seen her produce an entire pint of wee, surely she couldn't squeeze anymore out?
She said to me in French: 'Don't stand near the door and listen!'
Unfortunately the sound of her POOING was too loud for me to ignore. When she came out I gingerly went in behind her and Thank The Lord, there weren't any disgusting telltale signs of her recent activities- no smells or skiddage. I've never talked about poo on this blog before. Sorry if you were eating something.
Anyway, after I witnessed a girl weeing into a pint glass (she left it on the side of the sink and I hope against hope that nobody mistook it for an untouched beer) I went back to the dancefloor and joined Olivia and Amy. Amy pointed out a massive monster of a man.
"That's the nobhead bouncer that wouldn't let us in to Le Longhop last time!'
So it was. I was sorry I'd lost my passport, because the last thing I'd said to him was "Next time I see you, I'm going to slap you across the face with my ID for not believing how old I am."
He saw us pointing at him and assumed, as most men do, that because we were looking at him we must fancy him, so he made his way through the crowd, grabbed us and started to dance with us. When I say 'grabbed' I mean he literally got all three of us in his arms and bounced us about and there was NOTHING we could do about it. It was terrifying. He is so fucking strong, we were trying to wriggle away from him but we couldn't. He was like an extra in a cheesy 1960s movie set in Ancient Times; I felt like we were three Slavegirls and he was a Cyclops, determined to carry us off to his lair and ravage us.
Olivia and Amy managed to wriggle away but I was stuck with him. Somehow I managed to say to him in French "You didn't let me in to Le Longhop because I didn't have my passport, and I'm 22 years old!" He looked all surprised and said it wasn't him and I almost believed him until Amy popped up next to me and said:
"It fucking was him!"
Oh shit I'm going to be late for my au pair job, I'll finish this tonight when I get back.