Jesus has risen! And so have I unfortunately, thanks to the zealous cleaning efforts of the lady in the chambre de bonne next to mine. Can't she live in squalor for just one weekend, so that I may have more than three hours sleep? After all, what did Jesus die for?? Not so that she could wake me up with her hoover, surely. I haven't even got any Easter eggs, so he didn't die so that I may eat chocolate either. Hmm, I think that question needs more pondering.
I thought I'd try and do some blogging seeing as I'm up. (Although this might be one of those temporary bursts of wakefulness; one of those mornings when you wake up for no reason after having three hours sleep feeling all Alive and Ready for the day and then half an hour later your eyes close half way through an episode of whatever TV program it is that gets you through a hangover and you sleep until the sky grows dark.)
Last night me, Kayt, Olivia and her two friends from home (Laura and Jane if that's not adding too many girl's names into the mix) went to Rex Club. I REALLY wanted to go to the Sound Pellegrino festival because Soul Clap were playing, plus two Parisien DJs I like- Manare and Bambounou- but tickets were 32 euros and nobody was up for spending that much money, even though I pulled my best Pouty Sulky Face where I stick my bottom lip out, but it didn't work. In fact, I don't think it's ever worked. I should probably work on a new face.
Kat also sent me a link on Facebook for Social Club, saying 'Go Go!' because Maya Jane Coles was playing, also Simon Baxter who me and Kayt saw a few weeks ago at La Machine... For some reason, maybe because the bouncers are arseholes at Social Club and none of us have fond memories of the place (although the last time I went to Social Club, to see Joy Orbison a few weeks ago with Julia and Olivia, we actually had a really good night. I forgot to tell you at the time but when we first arrived the club was completely empty, apart from Dita Von Teese who was chatting at the bar, looking immaculate and very made-up, dressed head to toe in black vintage, if you want to know what she was wearing... She left as the club started filling up. Random...) we decided to go to Rex Club, because we always, ALWAYS have a good time. The only problem with Rex is that it's quite small, so if you don't have a ticket you could be queuing up for three hours and still not get in, but this problem is easily avoided if you buy a ticket before you go.
Ion Ludwig was playing, who is kind of minimal techno, plus some other people I had never heard of. We were a bit worried because it said on Resident Advisor: 'Le canadien THE MOLE, connu pour ses sets house très groovy.'
Could house très groovy be French for 'funky house'?
But I'm racing ahead. Let me tell you about the Lovely Lunch we had at Georgie's first...
She made deviled eggs to start (how very Enid Blyton, pip pip) and then we had a chicken from a rôttiserie- a very Special Easter Treat as none of us have ovens and can never roast anything- which we ate with sautéed potatoes and carrots cooked with honey and coriander. After a long and leisurely lunch we crossed a little bridge over a narrow part of the Seine and went to a nearby jardin that stretches out over the river. On the walk there we looked at the houseboats that are moored near La Defense. Some of them aren't boats, they are just houses built on stilts in the river. I would LOVE to live on a houseboat. I'd like a real narrow boat though, decorated with flowers and magic wooden ducks that come to life like in 'Rosie and Jim'.
In the jardin (I'm not using the French word to be pretentious- if I say park you'll imagine a big field with swings and a climbing frame in it but calling it a garden sounds wrong because that sounds like we sneaked in to somebody's private garden. I think I've said the word 'garden' about five hundred times now, so I'll stop) Laura (not Glasgow Laura, a new Laura who you don't know about yet. She works for the Louvre and she said my eyebrows are amazing. Just thought I'd share that compliment as, we all know, I am obsessed with my eyebrows. Oh God, I'm the new Samantha Brick aren't I?)and Kayt ran around hiding little chocolate eggs and Lindt lambs while me, Georgie and Rihad (I'm pretty sure that's not how you spell his name) drank champagne out of the bottle. I think the champagne came from Laura and it definitely added a festive cheer to the day. Jesus has been crucified! Let's drink champagne in a park!
The easter egg hunt was actually quite difficult, especially because we were all a bit tipsy. A very cute little French boy walked by with his grandpa and Kayt told him (whilst waving her fag around and slurring a little bit) that he could join in. His little face was adorable. After working for kids who don't always appreciate you, it's really lovely to see kids being smiley and shy and grateful. We made sure his pockets were full of chocolate eggs and as he left he said 'Bye Bye' and his grandad said 'Have a nice day'. I like to think he'll treasure forever the day he found three drunken English girls and a French man drinking champagne in the park, and there were chocolate eggs hiding in the tulips and the hedges.
After our Easter egg hunt we went to the Le petit théâtre du Bonheur, a tiny theatre in Montmarte, about half way up the steep steps you climb from Abbesses metro to the back of the Sacré Coeur. A friend of Laura and Georgie's was acting in a series of comedy sketches, written by her boyfriend and his friends, all in English. As soon as we got in there I felt really uncomfortable and awkward and just... terrible. There were a couple of people there who were at the writer's group at Shakespeare and Company when I went couple of times last year and I don't know if I've got a chip on my shoulder or if I'm just too paranoid to function around normal human beings anymore, but they're just so rude.
One of them turned round, looked at me and Kayt and said "Who are these people? Who are you?"
Kayt said "Who are you?"
Ha. He then turned around, saying 'Good question' but I have a sneaking suspicion that he may have, in actual fact, thought it was a rather bad question to ask him...
I think he did answer us, but about five minutes later and by then I was so freaked out by the whole trauma that I looked around the room nervously while Kayt answered for the both of us. Do I have Special Needs?
God. They are just so... I don't know. I feel very inadequate and frustrated at the moment about my, erm, literary talents so maybe that is why I felt so threatened and felt as if they were being snobbish. But when we first walked in, when I was still feeling Happy and Comfortable from our lovely lunch and easter egg hunt, I was introduced to one of them and I said in what I thought was a perfectly normal and acceptable manner: 'Actually, I recognise you from the writer's group at Shakespeare and Co, I went a couple of times last year...' and he looked at me as if I'd given his child a rock of crack to suck on.
Anyway, the sketches were funny, I'm glad I went. I respect anyone who writes comedy, it is really brave to write something, perform it and say 'I'm actually trying be funny...' (I don't mean they actually stop the sketch and said that to the audience, that would have been awful... You know what I mean.) The sketches were surreal, intelligent and although a couple of the actors were actually the writers and not, in fact, actors; I thought everyone had great stage presence and timing.
It's just a shame I'm not one of those people who can smooze and network, maybe I should have talked to everyone about writing and acting in Paris but instead I left as soon as it finished, with the intention of getting very fucked. Wooooo.
Oh I know 'getting fucked' can't always be my solution to everything, but it works for now.
I had a BRILLIANT night. Sometimes the music wasn't to my taste but I used this time to have a Little Sit and a drink and wait for it to get good again and when it was good, it was fucking great. I got home at half six this morning and spent an hour drinking tea and looking at pictures of myself on Facebook, trying to decide when my eyebrows looked their best.
Oh I might never be a writer kids, but I think I'm on the brink of achieving The Perfect Brow.
Oooh, also, Seth Troxler is playing at Showcase in a couple of weeks and I am completely torn because I love Seth Troxler but as we all know I have put a jihad on Showcase because I hate them so much. It is the worst club in the world. Why are you playing there, Seth?? Why? WHY?? Why aren't you playing at Cabaret Sauvage again, where I had one of the best nights of my life at Rebel Rave Paris?
Also, I wish Kate Tempest was performing somewhere other than Shakespeare and Company because I lover her A LOT but I can't be doing with someone turning round and asking me 'Who are you?' For me, Kate Tempest represents the complete opposite of all that 'scene shit'.
I might listen to some of her poems, get myself all riled up before I go. Probably one of them will say 'Hello, welcome to-' and I'll panic and scream: 'FUCK YOU' when all they wanted to do was give me a leaflet.
Now I'm off to have another lovely lunch at Olivia's AND Jane and Laura brought easter eggs with them from England and Olivia said I can have one!!!! Thanks Jesus, for rising from the dead and bringing me a chocolate egg. I'm not really sure what the significance is but... thanks all the same.