Le Tour De Phallus... Oops, I mean Paris!

What better way to celebrate 3 months of living abroad than heading to Paris? I love Paris. It's my fourth visit there!

Those of you who don’t like it when I stereotype –look away now. First, I would like to split France in to 2: 1) French Parisians 2) All other France. The latter (and this is very general) are gorgeous, polite, humorous, and somewhat understanding to your broken French in an endearing way. The French Parisians are a bizarre species, mostly set in their ways, not helpful with your language barriers and not funny at all, although they could be, except they tell jokes then apologise after, rendering it not funny. Or just when you think they are breaking in to a ‘normal person’, they correct themselves and become all proper and boring again. I say this because I have travelled through various parts of France, experienced the warmth of the French, the great wine and amazing food. The duck, cooked to perfection, the service with a smile and the willingness to help. In Paris, it’s nothing like that. So if you can block them out, you are doing yourself a huge service.

It’s so amazing to have the ability to leave work at 4:30pm on a Friday and be in Paris for dinner. If you picture V-line, the train ride is nothing like that. It’s quick, direct and there are no bullshit junkies on the train. When you board its English, followed by French and as soon as youre in the tunnel, the voiceover flips and speaks French first. I checked in to my hostel and was greeted by my Brazilian roommate Christina, who knew at least 4 languages. She was my favourite instantly cos I could practice my German and Italian. Then I meandered to the far side of the room and peered out the window- the sparkling Eifel tower was looking right at me. I said ‘come on, let’s go’ so that’s exactly what we did. I must say although it was my fourth trip to the Eifel tower, it was the first at night, we got to the Eifel tower and it was still as mesmerising as the first time I saw it. I initially thought it wasn’t that special I must say. But I think I just made that up to try and be cool, ‘cos I was 15 and that’s what you do! You know that feeling you get when you really care about someone, and they feel the same way or you are just in that happy place and then literally fireworks start going off and it’s like they are meant for you? - that’s how you feel looking at the Eifel tower at night. I decided to take the advice of my good friend Bianca (or Byunca so as not  to confuse her with sister Bianca)- “treat yourself”. So I did. Gluten filled crepes; with Nutella and cream. The cream was stacked so high it was ironic that when I leant over to pick up my napkin as it began to fly away as I simultaneously had the thought ‘I will definitely spill this on me, I will need that napkin’ that the cream sunk fair on my crouch just as I grasped the napkin. Fair to say I looked as though I’d just climaxed at the Eifel tower- on the outside of my pants. Thankfully Christina also doubles as a legend and had a supply of napkins with her. I put the soda water I’d just purchased to good use and together with the warm weather, only 10 minutes later it was as though nothing had happened. We decided to walk and we walked up to the Arc de Triumphe and Champs Elycee before calling it a night at that point and heading back to the hostel exhausted.

I spent the following day taking in the sights, and tried out a restaurant a friend recommended. They only have one thing on the menu- Steak, chips and waldof salad, but its pretty amazing and just when you think you’re done, you get another serving! Incidentally it was also the only place in Paris I experienced great service for the weekend. I did a spot of shopping and picked up the bargain of the century- a £30 suit from Mango and walked the whole day seeing some sights I hadn’t been to before including the Luxembourg gardens. After a quick nap at the hostel I was surprised with a message from my oldest dearest friend Sarah telling me she had left London and caught the Eurostar to Paris to hang out with me. Bang!!! It was perfect timing for me as my mate from Croatia, Marija who is honest like me, but 10 times prettier, was also in Paris as her boyfriend is French so she had literally just moved to Paris that day. We were all together at Opera by 8pm, together with two frenchies; Sarah’s husband and his best friend Jean ‘something French’… i’m going with Jean ‘Francois’. We ordered some champers and nibbles, (which I scoffed most of!) and had a ridiculously fun night. Marija didn’t know anyone else but fit in like a trooper and we all hit it off over a bottle of Champers... followed by another bottle… and another.  Until the tipping point, when we got told off at dinner for being too loud by some boring old Parisian. The man’s poor wife was mortified. At the end of drinks and dinner Sarah’s husband got up and apologised to them in French by saying ‘I’m sorry they are from England’ as a joke. So I got up and said ‘I’m sorry he is French and boring’. The mortified lady, was now more mortified than before and her husband had a look on his face like he’d been poked by the stick he had shoved fair up his arse.

I don’t know what it is about the French, but they do themselves no favours on the humility world scale as they even correct your French when you try or can speak French or answer you back in English! It is so intimidating and rude. For instance, Sarah’s French is quite good- good enough to put on her CV, however she said that even her mother in law will tell her off or correct her in front of everyone, which she finds intimidating and makes her not want to speak it. It’s also bizarre because I feel like they have their own joke running on how to mock you. Which under usual circumstances wouldn’t bother me, but they do it in such an arrogant, non-humorous way and they when you give them back a piece of their own cake, they don’t know how to respond, so just stop talking to you. Some random guy called me a Yank in front of all his mates, I arked up and said no I’m not American. And he continued… ‘Where are you from then?’ so I said ‘Nigeria’, Central Nigeria. He couldn’t tell if I was telling the truth or not, so turned his back, started speaking French again and started mocking me. I was just glad to have shut him up!  

Central Nigeria

Parisians think they are right and stubborn in their ways, but are often wrong and do things the wrong way, i.e. why wouldn’t you have Sunday trading? Particularly when you have the world’s biggest cycling race in town!! Sarah’s husband was trying to tell me that French people are the way they are because of the revolution when they killed their monarchy or something. I think that is an excuse, because as I rightly pointed out- Marija had been through war and she wasn’t going around being rude to people. Basically the Parisian French aren’t good at much, they rely from the reputation of food and wine from the other regions, and the only beauty I can see is within their buildings and architecture… there is one exception to this; the Police. They probably have the sexiest police force in the world. They have this cute little beret and carry phallus batons. I will go as far as saying that I think there should maybe be another revolution, with the sexy Southerners (e.g. my mate Leo Terrando), that understands our humour (including laughing and not being mortified when I practice the only two phrases I know in French which translate to: “will you go to bed with me” and “tie me up”), in the French police uniform Vs the rude know it all Parisians!!  I must tell you that the next day when watching Le Tour on The Champs Elycess I spent 50% of my time looking at the batons instead of the bikes then making eye contact with the sexy police with the old ‘how you doing? (Joey off friends thing) in the back of my mind dreaming about our future together (Lee Renton: ‘Too far?’), shake my head, back to reality. Speaking of Le Tour, it was great to be back there for the finale and watch Nibale cruise to his maiden win. The excitement was lifting, the cyclists were excruciatingly fast and the ambience electrifying. (Nearly as orgasmic as the Eifel Tower experience.)  

The final morning was my favourite. I got up at 6;30am for my 7:15am train, and unbeknown to me I’d totally forgotten I’d booked business class. Best result ever. They even give you breakfast, which I was so happy to not have (croissants= gluten= not on a work day). It wasn’t long before all I could hear was English, followed by French. The way it should be. Maybe that’s why I hate the Olympics?

Well played Paris. And if you could export your Policeman as well as your wine, I’d be quite content.

  

Blog another day.

Oh my god at the pub and the bloody guy from the only way is Chelsea has just walked in. Alex is his name and I have no idea how I know cos I have only watched the show once at Kellie & Kev's, when I stayed at theirs and lived on trash TV. He is with some stick thin chicks though! Good thing I just ordered a glutinous Parma. Actually having just googled the above to make sure; i've now realised that the show is actually called ‘Made in Chelsea’ haha shows really how much I know!!! Ohhh shit he is looking right in my eyes. Short man, swimmingly blue eyes, awful jacket, but seriously, it’s 27 degrees, why the hell is he wearing a beanie? Do you think this now means that my Carlos Leon celebrity spot is now void?? I still feel like having Madonna’s child is more celebrity than some guy with high hair that is actually short. I am rewarding myself with some glutinous home tucker for doing a trial ride in to work today. It was quite exciting and exhausting. I'm not sure if my heavy sweating was due to the fact that it was hot or that I was so freaking scared at some stages, particularly Hyde Park corner; what a stressful mess. I attacked the gaps (sorry mum) there is no time to hesitate and I was patient when required, in the end I was actually quite confident. Although I got lost at Sloane square I made it to the bike shop next to work- Cloud 9- where my bike shop boyfriends Adam and Chris ‘the boss accent’ work. Actually I made friends with a guy as I was walking in and when he heard I had got lost, he offered to take me back to Fulham which was half enroute but completely past his Holland Park destination. Tommy the Hungarian was great, although I don’t believe he is Hungarian. I probably told him. He was quite an interesting chap though and it was great having company although I think I slowed him down considerably.

Last night was fun, and treacherous all wound up in one. I used Adam at the bike store as a sounding board/ Oprah. Again, i’m sure i'm in the right, and all you loser dudes are in the wrong. We went for Thai to celebrate Caterina’s birthday for the 2^nd week. I have since learnt her actual birthday is next Sunday so will undoubtedly keep celebrating. We made the mistake of heading across the road to the Durrell. I was having a ball, until I saw current friend there who proceeded to ignore me, then I saw Old mate from last blog that is definitely in the wrong but probably thinks I am. Typical male, he comes up, pretends like nothing is wrong and all is hunky dory, infuriated me. First, I had to continue to get drunk. But they both were still there, and I felt completely unwelcome or over welcome and the alcohol was not working. I had to leave, so abruptly did so, but probably not soon enough. When I received a jovial text message from Mr in the wrong I proceeded to drop some truth bombs. I’m not stupid, i'm nearly 29, i've read two books about relationships now, haha thanks Kate. (Had to drop that in.)

I’ve had an epic few weeks which will undoubtedly extend to next week when I head to Paris for the finale to Le Tour. So pumped, how much cooler will the train to Paris be than the V-line to Traralgon! Pumped. Have been celebrating my new friend Caterina’s birthday for a good few weeks- hilarious, I actually thought it was 2 weeks ago so we have been drinking every night since! On Wednesday it was particularly hilarious. Ye ol' bestie Rents was staying at mine, he was supposed to meet me around 7:30pm at the Rylston, so when he arrived at 10pm, id well and truly given it a nudge. It all started at 6pm when I arrived and found all my mates in the beer garden. I then found out that Manny from the pub had got his first grad job as a lawyer, so we had a bottle of champers to celebrate. Had some nachos that were semi layered- it seems they are improving after their tenth lecture from me. Still hungry I went home and grabbed my lasagne, heated it up and brought it to my friends at the pub. Again, we celebrated with another bottle of champagne. By 10pm we were hungry again, Caterina a couple of champers bottles ahead of me, was starving so doubled up her order of nachos and calamari, I ordered Lee a steak and finally he arrived. Was great to see my good mate Rents in town. I got to catch up East side last weekend and we went to this cool bar which had an outdoor stage and was outside called Forest or something. Had a few ciders in the sun with the troops which were lovely before returning to Fulham for some more birthday antics, to be fair I thought last Saturday was her actual birthday! I saw him Sunday again, it was the world cup final and again I went east to see the gang. We watched it at a bar in Shoreditch called Long Rock away or something. Basically blatantly obvious by this stage of my Blog that name's are not my forte!! The soccer again was great and Lee used his force over me when I was trying to leave early-ish to get home and convinced me to stay with some baby Guinness shots and vodka chasers. The next thing I remember is finding 2 other Fulham friends to share a cab home with and Lee throwing chicken wings at our cab as we were trying to drive off. Geez that kid is the best. Miss his Guts.

It could be a good time to tell you about the fact that i've actually started to try and get fit again. I’ve broken my 4 month gym cherry and followed it up with a km swim at Virgin Active. Tomorrow is Sunday and I am going to do a spin class, maybe have another swim, and may even try my cycle to work again. I’m also having my first Saturday night at home. I’m tired. My life is busy.  

Le Blog

I’m going to try and write this as a concise blog however am concerned I have so many different topics to talk about it may be a bit piecey- apologies in advance homies.  

First of all I promised my amazingly handsome, immaculately dressed friend Oliver a blog all about him. I am finding this commitment very hard to fill at present as I haven’t been graced with his presence for so long. I will however dedicate a full paragraph to him, by saying this: he is probably the best mannered, most appropriately dressed handsome, gayest straight person I know. I think of him often and smile at the same time, or snort. Every time a song comes up I have heard him sing it puts me in that happy place. I am very lucky to have found such awesome friends / London family here and I’m very grateful to have such attractive ones in my life also.  

Next I’d like to dedicate some blog time to go emphasising why I’m still single. I caught up with an old friend last week; It didn’t end so well. I would go as far as saying he is probably shitty at me, and I am probably shittier at him. I half feel bad, but I am a stubborn human plus undoubtedly not in the wrong, and so hesitant to call or text as just before I left home I got given 2 books from my endearing/patronising friend Kate (who may I add, I miss enormously) one titled: He’s just not that in to you and the other The complete book of rules. Mostly I ignore the content. Which is probably why I end up with so many twits? I’m sure in my defence (and his), he isn’t a twit, I just suspect he is stubborn, as am I... but I am right you see. Anyway the next day I needed cheering up so met my oldest dearest friend Miss Sarah in Marylebone and we got amongst mardi gras. Although there were many hot lady boys, and I was a little fragile, now isn’t the time for me to turn sides, plus, if I’m with a lady boy, am I still straight? See it confuses me, so yeah, men only still even though they are all dicks. Except for on the way to Bok bar, it was as though nature intervened and I met my future husband... who I actually thought was dressed up as a train driver for Mardi Gras, but he was really just a hotel porter with a cute hat. After exchanging many flirty glances and brief conversation which made me all blushy and gross, I told Sarah to go and give him my number. However unbeknown to me until 2 hours later when he texted, she gave my number to the wrong guy!!! Instead I received a text from Ed, a caramel coloured smoker who I hope to never hear from again, once I blocked him on my phone, the creep whatsapped me – way to my heart dude!!

The working week is getting much easier the more settled in to work I become. I actually really love it now. My client, (who I hope never reads this) has eyes like a swimming pool. Sometimes he talks to me and I picture him in a cape saving the world. I’m sure he is Clark Kent, except with ocean blue eyes. If he had a cult, I would probably follow him that’s how good they are. And I was never an eye person- until I lived with the wife (who I miss more than potato tots and Zooper Doopers put together). Unlike me, Laura had two criteria- blue eyes and a job. It just so happened that I generally only date dudes with blue eyes, that she would notice way before I would! She would love him, so in meetings my train of thought is something like ‘blue eyes, superman, Laura’ in that order. Not entirely the worst result, as long as I don’t daydream out loud and call him Clark.

Anyway I need to bring up Friday as it was the fullest, strangest, all emotive day so far. First of all it was the hottest day of the year, 27 degrees!! But human hot hell not only was I for once grateful to be on the air conditioned district line, I discovered in my lunch break that not only does London not have tots, they don’t have Zooper Doopers either! What kind of third world country do I live in?? Most people spend their day whinging about the heat... I (once I had got the upset’dness about the absence of Zooper Doopers in my life out of my system and compensated with the largest gelati of my life/ lunch) was thriving. That was until after post work drinks, two train lines were cancelled (mine surprisingly was not one of those and I only had to wait another 5er), why? because there is a human stuck under the train at Aldgate East and another at Liverpool street, not only was I almost emotionally sad. I then had to put my ear plugs in because it was repeated every 20 seconds for the next 10 minutes of my journey home. You see, they do this so it makes people realise its the Underground's fault that the train is cancelled. I really just felt bad for the poor family who have lost their loved one cos they had a really shit Friday and deep seeded mental issue. My life= isn’t that bad, whenever in doubt refer dot point above. Then as I was walking home from West Brom, I realised a man was following me. What do I do? …..Take refuge in the pub, the Rylston. What does he do? Follows me in… proceeds to pretend like he isn’t following me while I’m talking to the bar staff about it, and then he walks out, then I (Sherlock Holmes) followed a couple of hundred meters behind him and he went in the complete other direction. Freak really was following me= yay to pub refuge centres. Thankfully my day was buoyed by the successful test ride of the Italian. I am still trying to decide whether to call him Coppi, The Pirate, Nibali or Balotelli; I suspect the latter, although not in the same sport dynasty, sounds best, plus he is such a boss- anyone that wants some good reading should do some research on Balotelli- weird unit, but in a captivating way. 

So the weekend shenanigans were ridiculous, they were so good they were on another level of good. I must say, I’m yet to have that moment of despair since finding a home to live in (and a job which I’m starting to get better at). I have so many good friends here now and when I finally pick up the Italian that will top it off. I just wish my wife was here. I miss just having her around, saving me from rain and eating my leftovers, but every time I see a glorious dog, like the beautiful Italian Greyhound I met today, I realise she is kind of haunting me alive so that makes me happy. Back to the weekend… I woke up at a ridic hour to catch a bus with Jo (the 2^nd skinniest human I know and about 10 of her mates) to the Henley Regatta.. So glad I went. What a cracking day. Bianca would’ve loved it, hot college boys, rowing boats… come to think of it Ian Thorpe probably would’ve too. Surprisingly we went straight to the bar, and left the bar at 4pm to catch the train back to London to meet Tosh the fattest headed man alive, his hot gf Bianca (who we’ll pronounce the woggy way sister Bianca doesn’t like to distinguish the two- so Byunka.), the second skinniest human alive Jo, the skinniest human alive Train, and the other wheel ‘love a pun’ Nev who loves a pun. What a crew. Thankfully the regatta drunkidness carried on throughout the train ride and the boys had come from Lords where Brett Lee had smashed Warneys hand – hadn’t he Train..you should tell us the story again!! That night I met up with my old Lagos flame, Harry. Who is the opposite to my criteria- blonde, not taller than me (but not shorter) and he is covered in tattoos, but he is a bit like another friend I have Mick Boyland who just makes me laugh all the time (when I;m not telling him off); and laughing is good for you. Was so good to see him and thankfully he also doubles as a bar tender which coincidently is the reason Bianca and I met him in the first place. Harry is famous in York. Hell he was famous in Lagos, known worldwide for the Dirty Harry cocktail, which is just delicious, as was the 5 other cocktails I tried and 8 or so other shots we consumed. Both of us, not knowing when to stop!! The best part was watching him ride home and almost running people over in the process or crash in to a shop front. The hangover resulting the next morning was not so great. The security guard when I was checking out suggested I put my sunglasses on to cover my red eyes. The morning was exciting, trying to teach myself how to walk again and using Nev as a lean to whilst waiting for Le Tour. I spent the break before the riders passed talking to Rolf Harris’ around me and teaching my friends some Welsch and a little bit of French I’ve picked up in my travels. Some handy phrases like ‘attache moi’. We set up on a bend which was perfect viewing, and got to see all the riders in about 30 seconds. We then did our own Le Tour, taking family photos along the way. Thankfully we all had wide lens cameras to compensate for Tosh’s head. Which actually is starting to look proportionate with the more weight he is carrying? Quote of the weekend was definitely Mr Elder’s- at the conclusion of the tennis “did you hear that? When Rod Laver won wimbledon he got a £15 voucher and a milkshake.” Me: “Tosh, he said HANDSHAKE!” It was wonderful not winning best quote for once, though I also felt like I’d underachieved at the same time.

The train home was much quieter. Train was getting pretty friendly with his SriLankan neighbour and I made Jo cry through laughter, but can’t remember the joke to tell it back, or I would tell you. Great crew. Great life. 5 spuds Margaret.