It had to happen I guess. I mean, one set of keys, two separate lives, three sheets to the wind and four calling birds, 5 G-O-L-D-E-N R-I-N-G-S (no matter how many times you sing that carol, the intensity you sing that line with never diminishes. I once saw a man burst an artery and pop an eye out singing it at the Mother Bar on Old Street at 4 a.m after some devilishly handsome, debonair, witty, sex God had got the whole club singing it……
No, we didn’t have a gargantuan brawl with all the English people in Meribel and come out victors after Steve elbow dropped a Mancunian and I Chinese burned a small, female Norfolk-child into submission. Neither has one of us wound up in a French l’hopital (yet another fantastic example of my ever increasing new-found language skills) after drunkenly deciding to re-enact an Eddie the Eagle Edwards-style ski jump over 67 drunken English retards (get the picture?) with only a small mouse to protect our frost bitten nipples.
No, we did something even more rickydiculous than even those mighty silly things I just made up………. we locked ourselves out of our beloved Brucie…….. at night……..in kinda minus 5……… We were crying ice tears…….. I missed my mummy……. Steve missed Gareth (?) (i’m sure that was what he said between sobs). Fortunately, as our sky lights had been broken off in a car park accident and replaced with the bag of one of England’s finest “Hi, I’m Jamie Oliver and I’ve completely forgotten, due to my massively lavish new lifestyle, just how stupid and chavvy the rest of the country is, to such an extent, that they would rather feed their kids pieces of cancer than boil them some green beans in less time that it takes to get to McDonalds and back and for a 50th of the price, how un-Pukka’s that, well cor blimey, lush innit, where’s me terry towlin’s” chef sponsoring supermarket chains, it was a quick jimmy up the drainpipe, a shimmy across the window ledge, a hand over the eyes peeping through me fingers look at the couple next doors Friday night ‘how’s ya father’ and a drop down through the hole in the roof and we were back to minus 5 temperatures but with the beauty of sticky smelly socks, an arga style- camping stove and a roof over our heads. This week, I ‘a been mostly doin’ Contortionism!
Actually, I haven’t. I’ve done reading (The Acid House – Irvin Welsh, Tao Te Ching – Lao Tzu). And i’ve done skiing. And i’ve done swimming. And i’ve done wall climbing. And i’ve done brushing ice off my bed before I get on it. And i’ve done my first ice-hockey match. And i’ve done going to the cinema to see Burn after Reading (latest Coen brothers film, I was very disappointed). And i’ve done seeing a pukka pie on a menu for 6 euros (I know someone who’d pay triple that tho, eh Boobs?!). And i’ve done my first ever night out with some French dudes and had a smashing time. And i’ve done paying 4 and half euros for a warm shower. And you know what I enjoyed best? My re-enactment of the Timoteii girl may have had the other dudes in the women’s showers looking on with nervous grins, but I had a whale, I tell thee. All that massaging and lather and tossing ones wet locks from one side t’tother bought back memories of…… well, the Timoteii advert basically, but it’s not to be sneezed at. Next time I’ll keep me trunks on tho and use some o’ that shampoo on me Barnet instead, might not be quite the same sensation but you could cook hash browns on my locks at the moment, due to my lack of water-based activities in the last 4 days.
Incidentally, after our night out with our new ‘ Amis de Francais’ recently, one of them, a dude, Far Far, very sociable guy, funny, generous, decided to sleep in our 7-star, Dubai-esque accommodation after he missed his last bus home. Now, I like to think of myself as an accommodating host, but you’ve gotta understand what we’re dealing with here. We were almost dealing with a manslaughter case, actually, but Far Far did survive the ordeal of sleeping at minus 10 with just a small woollen flannel as a cover, as did myself and Steven, with our 2 sleeping-bags-bear-skin-5-layers-of-thermals-hot-water-bottles-each apparatus. Its no good your guest waking up in the morning awaiting an English breakfast feast only to find the hosts frozen together, re-enacting some kind of Titanic-esque lets-share-body-heat-no-not-in-that-way-Steven cuddling type position. Best they survive and you, the guest, freeze to death. Funny tho, when his phone rang in the morning, his hands were shaking from the cold so much, he couldn’t quite undo the poppers on his jacket to get it out of his pocket before it stopped ringing, something I found SNORTINGLY funny as I stuck my head into my +27 degrees sleeping bag and chortled away. I had to hold my willy to stop me wetting myself!!
I actually woke up with the clothes on that I went out in, coat, scarf, the lot, got outta my 4-poster and went out for the rest of the day without even a glance in the direction of a fresh pair o’ jocks. Now that may seem pretty rank to the hundreds of thousands of you reading this, but what we’ve found is that when its always so bloody freezing cold, you’re clothes never get tarnished with ‘blood, sweat, gravy and egg’. Its pretty rad, i’ve been away for 4 weeks and i’ve washed my clothes once. Maybe that’s due to the fact that i’ve got 47 wardrobes worth with me. But still, no more ‘only a fool breaks the 3 day non-wash rule’ for me! It’s not like there’s any ladies to impress. Although I am finding Steve’s new beard strangely alluring, and those dough-y eyes……….
After no-one responded to my what now seems clearly rhetorical question (there is a comments box you know, you can write back to me now and again, I mean, the cheek of you all, here I am, slaving away to update you on my ridiculously enjoyable life….), I pose one that has been keeping me awake at night. After reading part of the Tao Te Ching, a book written between 4 and 3 b.c, purposedly by Lao Tzu, which focuses principally on Taoism and its significance in both the leading of ones life and the governing of ones people (Taoism’s philosophy as I see it being that one should be pliant, submissive, weak, as are the comrades of life, not hard and strong as are the comrades of death and also desiring nothing except basic physiological needs), I thunked the following thought:
How can one possibly try to follow such a philosophy whilst living in the heart of some of the Worlds biggest cities? Are, for example, the Buddhists i’ve met in my time in London REALLY practising Buddhism or does it sound so attractive to them that they try to live as Buddha wished within an environment that’s impossible to do so, therefore making a mockery out of his true teachings? Does anyone really follow any religion, as it was suggested that they should follow it at its incarnation or are they charlatans, making up their own ‘rules’ as they go on?
I realise that this is a subject that will always be debated (religion), but at this time, while I really have a lot more time to think about things than I did in the madness of London, I’m trying to come to terms with others’ thinking and open my mind more than I gave myself time for at home.
I’m interested in your thoughts.
By the way, it’s snowing mentally outside and I’m loving the challenge of waking up everyday to a new environment and a new set of challenges. No work yet either, but we go to this bar that has potential work availability ‘pour moi’. The jovial barmaid (who hilariously told us last night that she once had a 6 month relationship with Grooverider, a drum ‘n bass dj (mother), recently locked up for having a tiny amount of cannabis in his shoe tread and some porn, which I didn’t realise he had until the jovial barmaid let me in on last night!!), keeps plying us with free beer. Honestly, the first two nights we went in, we paid nothing for our drinks. Maybe she just wants us to keep going back because we’re the only non-capitalists (!) around. Or maybe Steve’s new beard is strangely alluring to her too! The conversation actually went like this, re The Grooverider thing:
Jovial Barmaid – “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, guess what, I got something to tell you” (in response to some meaningless fact me and my comrade had mentioned about Drum n’ Bass)
Steven ‘et moi’, all of a sudden frenzied with excitement at the forthcoming revelation – ……. “What?”
Jovial Barmaid, ready to explode her own face off with poo-wee producing excitement – “I used to go out with Grooverider!!!!!!”
Steven, ‘aussi moi’ (that took me ages to think of!) – “What for drinks and that?”
Jovial Barmaid – “No, like going out, boyfriend and girlfriend!!!!!!”
Steven, moi aussi (that didn’t) – “Wicked. Two Amstels please”
The funny thing to me at the time was, I just wanted to say “Yeah, but surely he gets laid every time he does a gig, what with so many lasses to choose from so it couldn’t have been that meaningful a relationship (as is my norm when slightly inebriated)”!! Had I had time for one more Sambuca in the previous pub, that may have wandered from my mind, over my tongue and out into the wasteland of the air between us, which would have a) hindered my free-beer swilling in said pub and b) hindered the workings of the tool with which I use to eradicate my body of the waste within said beer the next morning. Would that have been unfair? Can people have meaningful, trustworthy relationships with those open to the lusty possibilities of nice looking members of the opposite? I doubt that’ll get any responses either, you lifeless bunch, you!!
Maybe I should start wearing a beard net. What dya reckon? I could make them the new black. Bro (he’s a menswear designer, not a men’s swear designer as someone once confusingly understood me to have said), get on the case. I’ll go to India to do the research, all expenses paid of course. Maybe shoot some Tigers while I’m there. Get the low-down on the down-low, ya get me?!!!
I’m rambling…. Not in a Wildlife Trust way……
Oh sorry, one more thing, we’re leaving the ski season on 9th March to start our Whoof-ing adventures. Anyone who wants to come see us before then (a few of you have said you wish to, your shout, we can cuddle at night to keep us toasty…… Dennis!) I’ll tell you more next time. Ooh, the excitement knows no bounds!!
See you next time, Mon Cherie’s