Wednesday, 17 June 2015

Roses are red, violets are blue. Sorry blog, for neglecting you

I feel awful about not blogging for so long - I've just replied to a post in my Au Pair Forum from four weeks ago. She was having issues with her au pair family and I feel really bad for leaving her unanswered for so long.

It takes me back to my first job in Paris... I can't believe I started almost five years ago!!

I really want to start blogging again regularly. I will, I will.

Let me tell you about the time I went to Paris for Kayt's birthday in March. Kayt and her boyfriend Adam booked an airbnb and invited a few people to also go to Paris that same weekend. Only I ended up going, so it kind of looked like I had tagged along to their romantic weekend in Paris....



All you need to know is that we took a stroll down Memory Lane AKA Boulevard de Ménilmontant - and we saw two ladies crouching down in the street swapping eggs and by that I mean EXACTLY WHAT I JUST SAID.

They were picking up each other's eggs, checking them over and either putting them back down or in their own bag. In my head one woman had all brown chicken eggs and the other had all white duck eggs, as that would add some kind of meaning to the scene, but to be honest I think they were all the same eggs. They just wanted to frantically swap them, crouched down, in the middle of the street.

We were also remarking on the beauty of Paris one evening (again just the three of us which makes me sound like a massive creep but we did spend most of the weekend seeing people like Ruth, Julia, Abby and Geordie Shore) and we turned the corner to see...

a hugely obese homeless man, rolling around outside a shop, with his trousers down by his ankles. He had gone to the trouble of fashioning a nappy out of a cardboard box, but one side was flat on the floor under his bum, which meant the other three sides were pretty rigid in the air. A huge empty cardboard box does not make a very good modesty-cover... As we walked past, Adam remarked that it was interesting how the man had tucked his willy in to enjoy what we could reasonably assume is his Nightly Naked-Pavement Rolling Ritual.


You just don't get sights like that in London. Maybe that's why I don't blog so much?

I also went to Budapest with Posh Clare, because she had booked it with her boyfriend and they broke up just before the holiday. We didn't have any arguments during the whole five days! (The holiday came before she voted Tory in the General Election.)

A taxi driver who looked strikingly like Jabba the Hut tried to steal money from us and when we pointed out he had swapped our 20,000 forint note for a 2,000 note, he drove us to a petrol station to get change and tried to charge us loads more so I made Clare walk away from him. I have a vivid memory of him driving round the petrol station and then turning back towards us and driving alongside us yelling FUCK YOU with one hand on the wheel, and one hand giving us the finger. He had a very large and heavy belly like Uncle Monty from Withnail and I... Oh Monty, you terrible cunt. Please don't try and steal from us.

Yey I'm blogging again! Here's a song for now. I think I'll go and read some of my old blog posts for inspiration. I had a horrible moment where I thought Blogger had logged me out of my account and I had lost my blog... then I realised (luckily before I posted a very outraged and unimaginatively filled with swear words tweet) that 
I'd made a gmail account ages ago. It made me realised how gutted I would be if I lost this blog!

Here's a song to celebrate:


  1. Welcome back. You know you can back up your blog?

    Something I need to remember to do more often, I would hate to lose it all too.

    1. No I didn't know that! Thanks, I will definitely do that...

  2. Was just in Paris this weekend; same - marveling at the beauty and then you crash land down to earth when a creepy guy makes sucking noises at you in BHV. Odd eggs are not limited to the streets anymore. My theory is that homeless people in Paris have literally gone insane because it is such an intellectual culture; so on top of the losing a job and a roof over your head; you intellectualise your lot. You're no longer just trying to survive but also thinking about how society let you down. Sorry for the depressing comment; welcome back!

    1. Yeah I remember sitting next to a homeless guy at the metro station who was writing poetry on scraps of paper... forgot how bad the situation is in Paris! Ah happy memories... thanks for commenting!