I don't think you've seen this one yet:

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I've been having Nice Days Out again,

which seems to be the running theme of this blog, apart from the ranting.

Mornings have been improved by the discovery that a mini Evian bottle (purchased in a 'menu' at macdos- healthy, see) is made of stronger stuff that your regular plastic bottle, and can in fact hold the steaming hot contents of my percolator. Thus saving money on takeaway coffees and consequently being able to have two croissants for breakfast by the Seine: nice thing no.1.

I've also noticed that I'm quite talented at running into sports events quite by accident. Nice thing no.2.

Silly pic of me and my teacup of wine.

One weekend, which I'm surprised I've not written about yet because it was fab- actually just remembered, it's because I gave myself a horrendous hangover and couldn't face the computer screen for days- anyway that weekend we went to a free music festival at Parc de la Villette, which is very cool and has floaty bridges over a wee canal in it.

Caribou were playing and we drank wine from teacups and ate a picnic and had a lot of fun, a nice big group of us.
At the end of the afternoon everyone else sort of branched off for home so me and Laura thought; firstly- food- and purchased a greasy merguezy kebaby thing and ate it on the side of a fountain, discussing the extensive French use of the word 'pique', for spicy, hot, stingy, itchy, cold, sour....

The second thought was to go home and wash the grease off out faces, hands and clothes, being messy eaters. So off we pop on the metro where we are picked on by a man for no other reason than our speaking English and being girls, so off we jump asap- a stroke of genius if I say so myself- at Jaures and go to Point Ephemere where lo and behold the something-or-other final was on, Barcelona versus Manchester United, showing on a big screen with lots of boys watching. So we stayed and watched and had another wine, it was lovely (not creepy).

By now it's quite late and we still need to wash our faces, so back on the metro and on a whim, we say why not head up to Wos bar after a quick stop at mine, it's close, it's cheap, we love it. We're quite up for a dance.
It was a brilliant idea as we knew it would be, and we had a lot of fun. We also had a lot of free drinks, and not enough water. I blame the barman. Laura hugged me over-enthusiatically outside, I was in my high heels:  she has bruises.

I've gone off on a tangent. Will continue when I remember what my point was. Ah yes, with more sporting events...

Across the Universe

I have just watched this film, have you seen it? I'd suggest you do, if you're a fan of good musical films.
From the moment Jim Sturgess turns around and starts singing 'Girl', I'm absolutely in love. Oh my goodness he is amazing. And I love that song.

Twas a good day, even though our extremely early start was thwarted by trains not running as they should. After breakfasting at Opera on croissants and home-brewed coffee transported in a plastic bottle and drunk out of plastic teacups, we got the train to Vernon and then a bus up to Giverny, where Claude Monet lived and worked, all the waterlilies and that.
Unfortunately, being optimists, we expected hot and we expected sunshine. We had taken heed of the stormy weather forecasts only by taking an umbrella and wearing a cardi with a hood. These came in useful (the red umbrella contrasted brilliantly with the weeping willows) but weren't really adequate for the downpour of the afternoon, neither were the sandals which went all slimy and made me squirm and giggle. It tickled, but in a horrible way.

The gardens were beautiful, no wonder he painted so much. And the house is painted in such pretty colours, and nice tiles everywhere. I WILL live in a house like that, one day... We took a lot of photos, hogging the bridge for a good 5 minutes, so long people started heckling. Actually my day started with being heckled in the train station purely for being blond. At least that was the only word I understood. Oh Paris men, why can't you just be normal, more like Jude...

...I'm away to re-watch that film.

Evil creepy frenzy

I'll miss the boys when I leave, and I'll miss Paris, it really is beautiful, and lovely, and full of lovely things-

Eeughhh, I have just discovered I can't say the word lovely anymore after watching Hitchcock's Frenzy last night. Anyone who's watched it will know why, anyone who wants to know should watch it, but be warned: it involves one of the most creepy scenes I've ever seen. It was a really good film, with some fairly graphic murders, and a naked corpse falling out the back of a potato truck onto a road, narrowly escaping being run over by a following police car.

Also I kept getting distracted by having to identify all the old cars correctly, Spitfires, Dolomites, Heralds, Stags, etc. (Fellow Uptons will empathise, I actually made my friend stop and look into a dusty old Triumph the other day, oohing at it, I think she thought I was mental. But it's the first one I've seen in Paris!) We're coming to the end of our Hitchcock collection, and a sad thing it is too. It has been an education.

What I was going to say before getting flashbacks to the 'lovely' scene (ugh) was that I will not miss being an au pair/nanny/nounou. Even the little one has a blooming evil streak when he wants to. I was trying to hurry him down the stairs to get back to school on time after lunch, so went down ahead of him and called up a few times,
-hurry up please, you can tell me while we're walking, come on...
He shouted back in his most insolent and superior voice
YOU STOP TALKING. IF YOU KEEP TALKING I'M NOT GOING. YOU STOP TALKING. STOP TALKING NOW. YOU DONT TALK. IF YOU DON'T STOP TALKING I WON'T GOING.
I wasn't even saying anything, I was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. I went outside into the courtyard so I couldn't hear him.
He came outside giving me the blackest look- shockingly dark for such a cherubic looking boy, and continued to shout
IF YOU TALK I'M NOT GOING
-come on we're going to be late for school, listen, stop,
YOU STOP! NO WE WON'T BE LATE. YOU LISTEN TO ME
He storms back towards the stairs. I despair, stuck between wanting for him to calm down and stop being a hideous brat, and not wanting him to be late for school, but having no desire to have him continue to bully me all the way down the street in front of people.
-Don't speak to me like that, you are being very rude
NO YOU DON'T SPEAKING TO ME LIKE THAT YOU'RE RUDE YOUSTOPNOW!

There was more like that, then I got him to wheesht long enough to say
-but I'm an adult, you don't speak to other adults like that, would you speak to your teacher like that?
NO BUT I SPEAK TO YOU LIKE THAT
-No you certainly do not
YES I CAN. *accompanied by evil laser eyes*

I got him back to school, late, "c'est pas grave" teacher says. I must have looked how I felt.

Only an hour left before I have to pick them up again, hideous.
Happily, I have 4 days off starting at 8.30pm tonight- bring it on. Gotta love Bank Holidays!