Friday: my pal HD is in town so we plot an evening with two of our sassiest former students, Ru and Ro, now ensconced in the City of Light. The metro journey down to St-Germain des Prs is an adventure in itself. I'm sat on a strapontin, staring at the bulge in some guy's jeans, when another, younger and better-looking man gets up and starts unbuttoning his trousers in front of my face. For a moment I think that, having surprised my queer gaze, he is about to offer his member for my buccal attentions, but then it seems that he is merely tucking in his shirt, albeit at extravagant length and all the while with an unlit Marlboro dangling from his lip, anaphalaxis-style. Then, when I get off the train, there's a blind man flailing his arms and pleading 'S'il vous plat, s'il vous plat', so I help him find his platform and, in the process, momentarily forget about the pricks on the train.
With Ru and Ro we sink a couple of pints of homebrew in the Frog and Princess before being shown back to the 11 square metres that they share off the always ill-advised rue Mouffetard, Ro rushing ahead to conceal the dirty underwear and unwashed dildos that are doubtless lying around. Afterwards, there's yet another appalling French meal, characterised by tasteless mussels, bad gay waiters and white wine served in school-cafeteria jugs, before we crawl out sore-throated for a last, unwise cigarette and the pink and khaki lines home.
With Ru and Ro we sink a couple of pints of homebrew in the Frog and Princess before being shown back to the 11 square metres that they share off the always ill-advised rue Mouffetard, Ro rushing ahead to conceal the dirty underwear and unwashed dildos that are doubtless lying around. Afterwards, there's yet another appalling French meal, characterised by tasteless mussels, bad gay waiters and white wine served in school-cafeteria jugs, before we crawl out sore-throated for a last, unwise cigarette and the pink and khaki lines home.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
And I swear I saw that book mentioned just the other day in someone else's journal, though I can't remember who it was now.
so, i feel feel most alive when reading of yr evenings. and a question ~ do you narrate them as such as you experience them? you've a keen cinematic eye, to be sure, so i wonder if whilst yr going thru assorted activities you are actually recording them in rather a cinematic way. hence, the verbal/visual richness that ensues. methinks that you could perhaps be a great and wonderful novelist for this reason. well, novelist turned screenwriter even, but as i'm a pure page fetishist i prefer to think about a bound volume before a visual spectacle. or at least in this specific arena.
hope yr marvelously well. you really should be here having tea with me ... its warm and breezy and i am chattier than a nattering old goat.