Haven’t been here for a while, to the point that I couldn’t actually remember how to post. However I’ve managed to work it out so in a little rosé induced fog I am blogging this red (or rather rosé) letter week for my own benifit, as I have long since lost any few followers I ever had. The reason I am bothering to write is that in the last two weeks I have had my drawings framed and hung in my local café, I have been on tour in Ireland with my French chamber choir (singing incredibly obscure 17th century music) and have just returned for the café myself and a few pals were toating my wee photo expo AND I have gotten a grant to write my French based script. THESE ARE GOOD TIMES!!! When things go belly up, as buddists and Irish pessimists always say they alway will, I want to remember this week and hence am blogging to mark it. I am begining to think this impulse based to Paris was quite a good idea afterall. All I need now is a bit of romance and today, when been chatted up in a café I had high hopes I was going to have it all…until he stood up..and came to my shoulder..and put on his anorak, so it seems you can’t have it all after all. Ah well.


I have acquired a husband. He is French, he is tall and he is terribly jealous and posessive. He is also completely imaginary. I summon him up when I am being mildly hassled by blokes who are too pleasant to be assualted with a barrage of abusive sounding Gaelic yet too insistent to be off of with a simple ‘non merci’ to their invitations to coffee.
Thing is, when I’m bluffing about him, I almost start to believe in him myself. I get a little buzz at the thought of him waiting impatiently for me at home in our wonderful apartment, cooking something delicious for a romantic dinner a deux. Yes his jealousy IS a bit over the top at times but he considers me such a prize he presumes all other men are crazy for me too. What a fall I set myself up for when I am faced again with the stark reality of my dog smelling room and a melted lump of camembert.

However for all my husband is tall, sexy and loves me I’d drop him in a shot if one actual cutey asked me for coffee.

A little google trawl has revealed that a person upon which I contemplated having a crush makes music videos with very georgous very famous French actresses. I think I shall refocus my sights on the 22 year old waiter. My mate snogged a 23 year old while drunk in a pub in Manchester last week, so that’s like…permission isn’t it? She said he had very soft skin.

I was having a rather intense conversation with a friend yesterday, as one does on Paris cafe terraces. At one point I had to ask him, about his girlfriend, ‘Are you in love with her’. He paused! In a script we’d write..’a beat’ or even ‘two beats’…or three, and then said ‘yeah, I suppose..but then how do you know’? How indeed?

I’ve been in love twice. One relationship ended disastorously, the other barely got going, but I do remember clearly at certain points, seeing the concernced parties walk into pubs (of course.. it was Ireland) and feeling EVERY nerve ending in my body turning, like flowers to the sun, and STRAINING to be near them. That’s how I knew.

I haven’t come anywhere close in being in love in far too long a time. However I have fancied people with varying degrees of intensity. Some kind rather idly, some just for the sake of it and so a couple of times I have asked myself ‘how do I know if I really fancy them?’. I now have a sure fire litmus test.

How much do I google them?

If I google them for every nugget of information I can glean, I fancy them. If not, no. I dated an extremely cute guy last year with a strong internet presense and you know, I just couldn’t quite be bothered to trawl through his personal internet site. Of course it ended. However for another guy, I even managed to track down pictures of his girlfriend to have MY friend confirm that she did indeed have thick ankles.
For one of the guys I loved, I even read what I found for people with the same name! But that was just pathetic.

So if you in any doubt, just open up their facebook page and see can you be arsed going through their photos, record selections and the history of their status updates. That’ll tell you!

I have the flu and it’s killing me!! Well not literally, I hope, though I do feel pretty shite! But staying in bed and doing nothing is wrecking my head.

‘I should go out for a walk’, ‘ I should go the Lourve’ ‘I should paint a picture’ ‘ I should try to get a picture IN the Lourve’, I should be trying to find a cure for the flu’, I should be trying to find a cure for cancer’! ‘I am wasting my life here in the this bed’. ‘I’m wasting my life in general’. ‘I am going to die’!

These and about a million thoughts of equal lack of any use or validity are firing around my brain like buckshot from an airgun. And the thing is I KNOW that really all I SHOULD do is lie in bed and drink lots of fluids. Simple. So why am I adding all the rest of the shit on top of that? I HAVE NO IDEA! Do you know what my worst problem last week was? I was very very happy…and somehow or other, I felt guilty about being so happy. So then I felt stupid for feeling guilty about being happy. Then I was ANNOYED with myself for feeling stupid for feeling guilty….and on and on it went, until I wasn’t anymore particularly happy anymore! My only comfort is that my friend, another expat, admited that he was was going through the exact same thing. Guilty for being happy….DUMBASSES!!!!

I wouldn’t mind if any of this angsting about my lack of being constructive was actually MAKING me contructive, but what ever tiny tiny gaps there are between each repetitive boring little angst thought is being plugged up with cycle 13 of America’s Next Top Model’, and between each 5 part installments per episode from Youtube I have miny angsts about how I ‘should’ be watching something more edifying. Christ it’s exausting!

Oh and if anyone very reasonably wants to give me a slap around the head right now, don’t worry I am mentally doing it to myself, NON STOP! I mean CHRIST FORBID I ever actually have a real problem, my brain will probably just implode into a million tiny pieces. But then that might be a relife. It might make it stop!

Hmm, is it worth blogging if you feel you have to be cautious about what you write? Before, when I was a complete newbie to Paris and was internet dating up a storm, it didn’t really matter what I wrote about various people becuase chances were, I wasn’t going to see them again. Actually that goes for my standard dating too unfortunatly, but let’s not dwell on that.

But now you see, I am getting to know people, in fact I can even say I have made some friends. However gossip is my life’s blood. In fact I think rather then blood, I have the exact brand of ink running through my veins they use to print ‘The National Enquirer’. And where there is very little gossip, I can manufacture some. That’s one of the few advantages of being judgemental, I can have an opinion, about which I can go on at lengh, on just about everyone!!
But you can’t do that with friends can you? Oh of course you can behind their backs with other friends, I mean that’s part of the deal right? It’s what you sign up for, in fact if one’s friends are NOT dissecting one’s latest life decisions, well they don’t really care do they. However it’s probably not the done thing to post the gossipy musings on the internet is it…or is it??? I’m still not 100% au fait with blogging etiquette ..or liable law for that matter but it’s why, when I went back to Ireland, my blog fell at the first hurdle. Various family and friends were within hitting distance or at least knew where to find me.

The other option is I suppose, ‘if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing’ but where’s the fun in that?

I have small veins, possibly due to dehydration. I found this out today when trying to donate blood. I’m in Dublin, borrowing a friend’s house while she’s on holidays and when ever I’m here I try to build up a bit of karmic credit. Well after all I’ve lived 8 months this year on bursaries and other people’s generosity, so I kind of feel I better give something back or the cosmos might feel a tad underappreciated.

Also giving blood is the only time I allow myself ‘whole fat Tayto Crisps’ and the Time bars they give out free to build up strength so it wasn’t an altogether unselfish gesture. I did happen to be peckish when walking past the clinic.

Unfortunately it was literally like trying to get blood from a stone. The nurse spent about five minutes trying to rise my weedy little veins before sticking a massive sharp PIPE into one of the stringy little feckers but to no avail, I couldn’t yield a single drop. So not only did I manage not to donate but I’d already scoffed back two bag of Taytos and had loaded up my bag with free blood donor pencils.

However I had already volunteered at ‘Fighting Words’ that morning, a group set up to teach kids the joy of writing. Basically, in the morning workshops a group of kids comes in and are facilitated in making up a story on the spot. This is simultaneously illustrated, typed up and then, while the volunteers work with the individual kids on endings, the story is printed up into a little book which they each get to take away with them. It’s a fab idea (see Dave Eggers on and very satisfying and rewarding…if you’re not a writer yourself.

Trying to get some of the kids to come up with endings was like, well trying to get blood from one of my scrawny little veins. The remit is to be encouraging and supportive so I managed to suppress my frustration at certain 8 year olds lack of instinct about conflict and narrative arcs just enough not to be discouraging but not, I fear, to put my karmic credit balance into the black.

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