It�s Thursday 1st July and I�m in Barnsley, so I�m bored. Another pointless moment to add a couple of lines to the much neglected Paris book.
Was it the first night what�s her face - the one with the eyes and stuff - got fined 10 quid because the dumb woman behind the tube counter sold her the wrong ticket. It�s the way things are in France. On the spot fines - what if you move to another spot? In France you�d probably get another fine.
The incident causes a lot of emotional panic as the police are called by the people. People who work on the tube that is - not toothpaste packages.
That night we headed to the Latin quarter. It�s time to eat more than the average diet of jaffa cakes. We roam around the restaurants looking for somewhere to eat, in the end we find a restaurant.
Looking back I remember some guy who�s job it is to encourage business to his restaurant rather than others. A prop I think they call them. Propaganda, prop up the business, prop up the washing line - I don�t care. But he was ace and yelled stuff when we were outside.
Outside...like inside but more open
We got talking to this prop guy who�d served some great footballer couple of weeks previously. He had the pictures to prove it. Talking to a Coventry city and Doncaster rovers supporters this was pretty much lost on us. We�d get better results if our centre forwards were wheely bins.
Between the persuading of passerbys to come into the restaurant this man engages in conversation. It transpires that we�re from Britain and media students. This leads him to the conclusion that Jds real name is Walter. He then yells out on our behalf to bewildered passerbys. His original hook �2 meals for 50 francs� is ditched in favour of �Walters here. Up and coming film star. Here�s Walter!�.
It completely insane. We loved it. �Walter! come and sit with Walter! (etc)� no one was coming near the restaurant or these two people sat outside it but he didn�t seem to care. He was cool. We only gave him a 10p tip as we only had notes and stuff. I�m sure J had some wine.
Anyway we bumped into that photographer guy after our meal and went for a wander around Notre Dam with a couple of design people. The contrast between the twinkling lights, the floodlit monuments and the starving tramps that live in their shadow, forced to sell postcards and leech as much money off fertile tourists just in order to survive. I looked both ways. At the glistening tourist attractions and the underbelly of malnutrition and squalor.
Was it that night I broke the toilet? I can�t remember. It wasn�t through bombardment as soon as I leave Britain my bowels seem to cease, but there�s a stupid push device or something that resulted in an unwanted build up of pee in the basin. Just to rub it in our room has the sound of flushing every 20 minutes. This sound accompanies me to sleep.