My five days by the seaside weren't too traumatic in the end, although after blogging about how sunny it was, the weather took a turn for the worse and was shit for the rest of the week. My boots have still got sand in them from playing on the beach with the toddler, trying to build castles in the dark, damp sand whilst wearing my huge I Know What You Did Last Summer Coat.
Looking back, when I walked along the beach each evening- with the hood up because it was so windy and with my arms folded because all Northern girls walk very fast with their arms crossed*- from far away I probably did look like a sinister, murdering fisherman. I wondered why the beach was so empty.
It was all right, you know, my obligatory holiday. The mum and dad were sugar and spice and all things nice, buying me crepes, waffles... and prawns. (They just handed me a plastic bag with cooked prawns in it one day and said it was for my dinner. Strange but thoughtful and they were really nice prawns.) I feel bad for slagging them off now, especially as the mum gave me an extra seventy euros on top of my wages for the week. They were even asking me about my auditions and I ended up performing my Shakespeare piece for them on the beach.
Apart from the impromptu beach performance (they said it was 'jolie', in other words: 'that was shit and now we feel awkward'), I didn't practice my speeches at all, which is ridiculous because I was soooo bored. If I know I have to do something though, I just won't do it. The impending task becomes this huge field of energy, like the invisible force between two magnets, forcing me away from productivity and pushing me to paint my nails, or rearrange my books in height order.
I was glad to get back to Paris. I met up with B for a catch-up and a drink in La Fourmi at Pigalle (I don't know why we don't go there more often, it's so cheap and just round the corner from where we normally drink). One drink turned into a carafe of wine and a very strong rum punch. Suddenly I felt drunk. And scared- B told me terrifying stories about where she used to live last year when she was an au pair...
She lived in a chambre de bonne on the top floor of an old building and she never met her neighbours, even though she'd hear them quite a lot, laughing and walking up and down the corridor. Her friends also heard the voices and they all wondered if the guy who lived next door, who always had friends round, might be quite fit... One day B's friend went to use the loo in the corridor because B's was broken. She came running back in the room and told B to follow her... the door to the apartment where these mystery boys lived was slightly ajar... Inside the room everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and obviously nobody had been in there for years. Also one night B heard footsteps coming down the corridor and then she heard them pass round her and go down the stairs... but there was nobody there.
Perhaps because we were then both too frightened to go home to our spooky chambre de bonnes, we decided to stay out and go to Chez Moune. But when we got there it was ten euros to get in!!
So so so scandalous.
I used to say that Chez Moune is always a sure thing because it's free and open late, but the bouncer told us that now it's ten euros every night. You get a drink with your entry price, but we weren't planning on buying any more drinks anyway. It was getting on for 3am and we couldn't think of anywhere nearby that would still be open (Le Carmen had stopped letting people in) so we decided to do something that I swore down I would never do again...
Go to the Blue Note.
B has never been though and I knew it would be open and free, so we trekked through deserted streets up to Barbes in search of free samba music and creepy weirdos...
It was bloody closed, wasn't it?
Part of me was glad because I was scared Smelly Charver would be there (remember him? So-called because he smelled really nice, we nicknamed him the Cheryl Cole of Paris because he was a scally and had dimples?) but also I was quite looking forward to showing B the horrors of Blue Note.
Further up the hill we saw a bar that was still open and looked busy, so we went in to use the toilet. We guessed the toilets would be downstairs, so walked down a spiral staircase and found... a club!
It was rammed with people and the DJ played a very random mix of cheesy French hip hop and UK Indie dance music, but it was a club and it was open. We danced for about an hour before calling it a night. We went back to B's for 'tea and chats' and at about 5am, when we really should have been sleeping- B had work the next day and I was going to London for my audition- we started watching Sabrina the Teenage Witch. I'd forgotten how good it was! I'd also forgotten how horrendous the clothes were...
Anyway, it was a terribly naughty thing to do. When I had my RADA audition, I didn't go out for a week beforehand, including one whole weekend. I guess it's like starting a new job or something- you start off getting up early, showering every morning and carefully choosing a smart outfit to wear, but a week down the line you're rolling out of bed, spraying your unwashed body with perfume and shoving on the first clean thing you can find screwed up on your bedroom floor.
Or is that just me?
I'll tell you about my audition tomorrow, as now I'm tired and have to clear loads of shit off my bed before I can go to sleep.
By the way! Today I bought that kimono jacket I've been dreaming of! It was quite expensive but I LOVE IT and I'll wear it forever and ever and ever.
*To support this fact/thing I made up, I put forth the opening scene of Rita, Sue and Bob Too as evidence. Also, if you're not familiar with the song 'We're Having a Gang Bang' you nee to watch the whole film...