So for anyone who follows me on Twitter- I'd like to issue a formal apology for my recent Drunken Tweets. I don't know why I started tweeting every time I get ridiculously drunk, but I now I can't stop myself. I'll translate them for you later, but first let me tell you about the last two weekends which have featured Olivia and Tom heavily, as well as some heavy drinking. I feel actually like I might be in trouble, because I promised myself at the beginning of the month that I wouldn't drink until Ibiza, and since then I have pickling my insides with champagne, vodka and gin. Instead of abstaining until my holiday, I almost had to cancel my holiday because of how much money I've spent on alcohol. I know there's a lesson to be learnt there somewhere but I just can't be arsed trying to figure it out.
Last Friday Olivia's parents were here so me, Champagne Charlie (CC) and Olivia went out for a meal with them. We wanted to go to Chez Gladines because it is so delicious and cheap, but when we got there IT WAS CLOSED for the whole month of July! Sometimes Paris is ridiculous. Why does everywhere have to fucking closed in the summer???
We stood in the street in disbelief for about ten minutes. I wanted to throw myself on my knees and pound the cobbled pavement in frustration, but Olivia's mum and dad were really hungry by this point, so we quickly decided to jump back on the metro and go to Place Monge. I say 'we', really it was me, but I don't want to take responsibility for the decision because it was such a terrible idea.
There are sooo many restaurants at Place Monge, but the quality is inconsistent. We were unfortunate in that we chose to go to the Worst Restaurant in the World. First they brought Olivia's mum fish soup for her starter and onion soup for her main, and they couldn't understand why she didn't want a course of two soups. I had rabbit's leg (I know, weird choice) but it was so big that I'm certain it must have been a cat's leg or even a small dog.
The good thing is, we had a bon time despite the crap food. Sometimes when a place is so bad, you end up enjoying yourself more because you have something to laugh about. At the end of the meal, I asked for a café crème and the waitress brought me an espresso with a splash of cold milk in it. At first I ignored it and kept asking for my café crème, but when she informed me that the little cup of disgusting liquid was my coffee I was forced to admit that perhaps the restaurant was so shit that they didn't even know how to make coffee.
Normally I'm not an arsey customer- you can pour boiling soup in my eyes and I'll sit there politely pretending I've got a speck of dust in my eye to avoid making the waiter feel bad- but when I suggested that my cafe creme wasn't in fact, a cafe creme, she curtly said to me:
"That's how we make it France."
'In France? I live in France, you ignorant bitch,' I wanted to say. (Obviously I didn't say because I'm not psychotic.)
Instead I said, "That's weird, because I work in a restaurant in Paris and our café crème is not like that."
In the end I drank the disgusting coffee, then we paid up and flounced off. I wish I could remember the name because I want to tell everyone NOT to go there. Le Petit Provencale or something.
After our horrible meal we went for drinks on Rue Mouffetard, where I let slip to Olivia's parents that she smokes.
Yeah... I definitely didn't know that was supposed to be a secret.
Olivia's mum and dad left and we got a taxi to Grands Boulevards (when we got out of the taxi we bowed to the driver because we'd performed for him throughout the whole journey), but not too late as the next night we wanted to have a Big Gay Night Out. We ended up walking back to CC's hotel on Rue de Rivoli. The studio or production company or whoever (I don't know do I?) were paying for it and it was Swish. On the way home CC showed us some things from his police training, so we walked home holding invisible guns as if we were in a siege, occasionally breaking into 'Cool' from West Side Story and leaping over bins.
The next day I went to work, blergh, and then in the evening we went out again with Olivia's parents and I invited Chloe (my friend who I met through this blog last year and who got me my current au pair job because she was their au pair at the time) who was here in Paris for the weekend.
It was so nice to see Chloe! We talked about the one subject nobody else gives a shit about- our au pair family. Chloe told me that the apartment below the au pair family's in Seafront House is owned by a family who have three really beautiful sons- aged between 21 and 24. I knew I'd seen someone fit sitting on the veranda outside when me and Olivia were there that weekend, but I didn't see him up close. Chloe said that one night they invited her to a family party in their apartment and she ended up getting really wasted with them. Then, the next day, the au pair dad asked her over breakfast:
"So did you cheat on your boyfriend last night?"
Chloe was really surprised at his question and then he said:
"It's ok, I know you didn't. I asked them about it."
How inappropriate is that??
Hey, did any of you shag my au pair girl? No? Great. I'm just gonna ask her anyway over breakfast...
Anyway, after the meal we said goodbye to Olivia's mum and dad and found a teeny tiny lesbian bar. I say lesbian bar- there was one very old lesbian behind the bar, so we're kind of assuming. It was completely empty, apart from five old people at the bar, so to liven things up a bit we ordered shots and performed our 'Gay Man in a Gay Man's Body' song for Chloe. I can't give too much away because we are probably going to make a music video for it and we will probably become internet sensations and then it will probably reach number one in the download chart, and if I publish it on here my anonymity will be blown.
All you need to know is that it is very excellent.
After the Tiny Lesbian Bar, we went to a random cafe that was completely empty and sat on the terrace. I was wearing my high-waisted, purple Aztec-print trousers that I always talk about and when I pull the waistline down to my hips, they just look like Cheryl Cole-style baggy dancer pants. Someone pointed this out and so obviously CC played a Cheryl Cole song on his phone and I got up and did a Cheryl Cole dance. Then the waiter started being an arsehole and we started being really rude and obnoxious (Chloe said 'Do you have a problem with your ears?') so we left, after paying obviously. We're not that rude and obnoxious.
By this point we were ready to go to the Gay Club we had researched, but Chloe had work the next day and also was pretty skint, so we bid farewell and got in a taxi. The taxi driver insisted on showing us a stupid video of a French singer singing 'Someone Like You' by Adele. He kept asking us to guess the nationality of the singer. Obviously, he wanted us to say 'English' so he could yell triumphantly, 'No! She's French!'
When we got to our chosen club- Club 18- guess what? They wouldn't let us in because it was men-only. How ridiculous. I've never been to a gay club in Paris before but from what I saw last weekend, the gay scene is nothing like London or Manchester, where anyone can go and enjoy themselves.
No girls allowed, bitches.
My guidebook says that 'most gay clubs (in Paris) are very hetero-friendly'... Lies.
Lies and fibs and nonsense.
From Club 18 we got a taxi to another place that CC had read about- Le Gibus- right next door to Favela Chic. We almost debated going into Favela Chic- I've not been for ages and the music is really good to dance to- but Favela closes at 5am and it was already pretty late by this point, so we stuck to the Big Gay Night Out plan.
In the queue, me and Olivia joked that we'd have to pretend to be lesbians to get in, but as we got nearer and nearer the front we started to think that we might have to actually, seriously pretend to be gay, so we held hands and tried to look loved up.
We got to the front and straight away the bouncer pointed at us and said "Are you gay?"
"Yes!" we said.
We were in. They even gave CC three tickets for an after-party. Finally the night could begin. We got in there... and I have never seen so many men in my life. There were only two other women in there. We started drinking and that's when I'll have to stop blogging and just let my tweets do the talking. This was my first drunken tweet. (Twitter says it was posted at 11.30pm, which blows my mind. I thought we didn't get to the club until 3am. Either Twitter was wrong, my Blackberry was wrong, or I was more fucked than I realised...)
Eventually the guys left, but I'd like to point out that the fight was not my fault. Me saying 'Vous etes mechants' is exactly the same as saying 'You're mean!' in English. It hardly warrants leaping out of your chair and trying to punch people.
What did she call us? Mean? She called us mean? Right, that's it, I'm gonna kick off now!
Eventually the two guys got bored of me jumping out at them at every corner shouting: 'It wasn't him, it was me! It wasn't HIM, it was MEEEEEE!'
After they left, we still couldn't get a table and in my anger unwisely took to Twitter:
Tweet: Oh I started a fight with a guy and chased him around protecting their guys I vwas with so now I deaserve a fucking. Tavle ok???
Translation: Oh I started a fight with a guy and chased him around protecting the guy I was with so now I deserve a fucking table ok???
A little while later it appears we still had trouble finding a table:
Tweet: Spelling miskate. Ignore it. Let me just have a faaaaaaaacking table to mesaeylf I earnt it.
Translation: Spelling mistake. Ignore it. Let me just have a faaaacking table to myself I earnt it.
Somehow, we ended up leaving Hot Man Club with two Australian girls and a Dutch couple. We walked back to CC's apartment (he has now moved from the hotel to a gorgeous apartment in the Marais, the bathroom is actually bigger than my chambre de bonne). I think it was on this walk back that I tweeted:
I feel like I moghjt fallLl over but I won't!!!!!
I don't think that needs translating. Also I have no idea why I thought that was worth telling the world.
The party quickly descended into chaos. The man of the Dutch couple went to get more alcohol and while he was away his wife decided she fancied Olivia and got quite, erm, aggressive, so me and Olivia hid in the bedroom while she hammered on the door like the Terminator. The electricity went at one point and me and Olivia had an argument that started with me crouching down on the floor and going 'PAH' 'PAH' like Lord Voldemort. Me and Olivia made up and tried to go to sleep, then Dutch husband turned up with about eighty euros worth of alcohol.
"Has my wife behaved?" he asked.
When it was clear she'd gone a bit cray cray, he took them off home and everyone went to bed. I've no idea when the Australian girls left or, now that I think about it, when CC's make-up artist friend Chloe went home, but at the end there was only me, Olivia and Tom left.
The next day we ate junk food and watched Disney films and when I got home I swore to never, ever drink again. Ever. I promised myself.
Well, there you go, thought I may as well finish that post.
Oh and somehow between Dutch Wife turning into the Trunchbull and the electricity going, I discovered that I'd chipped my front tooth. So now I have a shitty liver and a small, black triangle nothingness in the middle of my two front teeth.
For God's Sak!