Georgie has let me use her computer so I can do a blog post.
I've calmed down about my laptop, it was faintly ridiculous to get so worked up about a piece of shitty technology. As I was walking back from the internet cafe on saturday, I saw a beggar at Chatelet who was sitting with his right leg stretched out, with his ragged trouser leg pulled back to reveal an uneven stump where his foot should be. He truly belonged in the Land of the Lost and Broken and I felt like a bit of a Dickhead for getting so stressed out about nothing.
Saturday turned out to be quite a good day in the end, I'd accidentally left my freezer open so I had loads of meat to cook before it went off: I had two Marks and Spencer sausages, then I made spaghetti bolognaise (with celery and carrot because nobody else around to say 'euw don't put celery and carrot in it!') and then I made a dish that I can only ever cook for myself because everybody else either doesn't like the idea of it or they think it will make them fat- chicken fried in butter and cream.
I didn't eat all this on the same day by the way, I've only just finished the chicken now. That's another thing I like about cooking for myself- I don't have to worry about food poisoning, because it's only me eating it and I would never hold it against myself. So without my laptop, I mostly cooked and read my book. (Shantaram, if you must know, by Gregory David Roberts, it's not overrated at all and I think everyone should read it, but beware it will make you simultaneously love India and make you terrified of it.)
Then I went to my friend's house in the evening and we watched the musical Hair. I can't believe I've never seen it before, I love it and when I'm wearing my Afghan coat I feel like I could be in Central Park, leaping around singing about LSD. The only snag in the poncho is that now I have the rather tongue-in-cheek number 'Black Boys Are Delicious' stuck in my head, and I'm terrified I'll start singing it on the metro absent-mindedly and everyone will think I'm a pervert and a racist.
Ah I love the seventies. Did I tell you that some kids started singing 'staying alive' as I walked past in my afghan coat?
Speaking of unusual/hideous outer wear, I still haven't told you about The Cloak!!! When Amy was here a couple of weeks ago, her, me and Julia went for drinks on Rue d'Argout, a tiny, cobbled street near Sentier metro station, kind of hidden from the main road and dotted with cute little bars. We went in one bar that was as big as someone's living room, and it was decorated with pink and gold facade...
Anyway, on this night out Amy suddenly remembered that she'd seen a full-length, black hooded cloak in Naf Naf. Now, I have always, always, since forever and ever, dreamt about possessing such an item of clothing. Imagine, swishing through the misty, night time streets of Paris in a full-length cloak, on your way to the opera, or on a mission to Fight Crime.
Think how many different fantasies and personas I could live out in my head whilst wearing such a cloak! Everyday would be a magical adventure! But I'd sort of given up hope of ever finding such a cloak... Until now!
The next day I rushed to Naf Naf to see the cloak in person. It was everything I'd ever dreamed of more... I reverently took it down from the hangar and swung it over my shoulders, tying the ribbon at the nape of my neck.
(There's a picture of said cloak on my Twitter.)
Other shoppers stopped and stared. Literally, they did a double-take, stopped dead still in their tracks and gave me a good once over, taking in every majestic detail of me and my cloak.
It was perfect- I finally had everything I'd ever wanted in life... A cloak and a tan.
Well, my tan has faded a bit now but I know I'll get it back in the summer. and then my life will be complete. Ah. What do you do when all your dreams have come true? Oh I know they don't sound very grand, but they say the secret to happiness is setting yourself ACHIEVABLE goals. If I set myself impossible tasks- getting a good job, paying my overdraft of, tidying my room etc- then I'll just end up feeling miserable and inadequate.
To be honest, I was beginning to think that even owning a cloak was an Unacheivable Goal, but then Naf Naf came to my rescue. It's like I had an image of what I wanted in my mind and the universe made it happen for me.
But before you get too excited, I must tell you, with a heavy heart, that I am not actually the owner of such a beautiful cloak. It was 160 euros reduced to 80, which is a small price to pay for a lifelong dream in my opinion, but I still owe people money. I've got the fucking euros sitting in my french bank account but at the moment I have no way of moving them across the Channel and into the banks of the people that need them; and I really can't justify spending eighty euros on a floor length, hooded black cloak before paying my debts off.
Also, Kayt and Amy were with me at the time and they BEGGED me not to buy it. They said everyone in the shop was laughing at me and that I couldn't possibly wear it around Paris. Amy even said that she'll whip one up for me on the sewing machine for half the price, if I want one that bad.
But I'm not worried, friends: even if Naf Naf sell out before I've paid my debts off; I know Amy will make me one, maybe an even more magical one, lined with gold silk or something. And if she doesn't, then another cloak will turn up somewhere, someday.
The universe wants me to have a cloak. It will happen.
If you believe in your dreams, they will come true.