PARIS, APRIL 2016
Five years ago when I dabbled in the idea of education I came across this absolute babe of a human dressed in furs and leathers outside New Cross station. I had outfit envy instantly, for some unknown reason I decided my outfit would consist of top half council estate, bottom half cowboy. Great. Fucking. Look. The fact there was photographic evidence to this day makes me want to fucking chunder. Anyway, it just so happens that this total babe is only going to the saaaame fucking party as us. We get talking on the way, drugs annoyingly are apparently going to become a struggle, when we drop back from the group I arrived with and she whispers in my ear it's no biggie she got my back, or my nose, or my mind. Whatever. It was gonna do the trick. Now I'm pretty infamous for not really liking people, I don't warm to people easily and all of my nearest and dearest have said when they first met me they thought I fucking hated them. Something kinda magical happened during that five minute journey, I fell head over heels for this chick. We get to the party and vow not to leave one anothers side and for the next 12 debaucherous hours, when the light poured in and I had nothing left in my stomach to throw up I realised it was probably time to go home, the party for me was over. We were devastated that we would probably never see one another again, it was like a love fuelled lustrous one night stand. HOWEVER, we shortly discovered, that she was studying down in Brighton aka my hometown. Shortly after I would drop out of education and return home for many more debaucherous evenings and mornings and days and weeks. The party was not fucking over.
Fast forward a year and I get a phone call asking if I was free to go to Paris the next day. I thought fuck it? Why not? An impromptu trip to Paris with the babe of my life. As we sat in our favourite square we promised to ourselves this would become a constant place of revisit in our now reassured forever friendship.
Fast forward three more years, tickets were completely sold out for Ludovico Einaudi in England but there were a few remaining in Paris and guess what it just happened to land on the anniversary of our first trip. Sold. Bought. We were off. As we sat brunchin in our favourite spot, in our favourite square - Hugos, Place de Vosages, it felt different. Though older, a little wiser and none the less the same, in this nostalgic moment I realised how happy I was, how free I felt. Being surrounded by nothing but love, happiness and freedom made me realise how trapped I felt at home. How this was crucial to me and my happiness and the crux of my misery was lying in the solidarity of being confined to a salary, to a career. What the fuck had I been doing the past years. Perhaps it was the sense of nostalgia that in my previous trip I had felt these very feelings, I had become so unfamiliar with the emotions that surrounded happiness that I had become comfortable in my own misery. When I got home this had to change, I had to believe in myself and my own path again, I have never been one to have my life determined by somebody elses paths or dreams - so why had I become so lost in that?
We also discussed my recent acts of promiscuity and I decided I was very happy with being alone, messing about with the masses. Unless however a beautiful, long haired, bohemian artist walks in to my life, for now I was good. Or an art curator ... because you know I'm not sure I am totally ready to give up my materialistic outlook on life and to be financially free and looked after may just be pretty nice?
Till next time Paris.
Five years ago when I dabbled in the idea of education I came across this absolute babe of a human dressed in furs and leathers outside New Cross station. I had outfit envy instantly, for some unknown reason I decided my outfit would consist of top half council estate, bottom half cowboy. Great. Fucking. Look. The fact there was photographic evidence to this day makes me want to fucking chunder. Anyway, it just so happens that this total babe is only going to the saaaame fucking party as us. We get talking on the way, drugs annoyingly are apparently going to become a struggle, when we drop back from the group I arrived with and she whispers in my ear it's no biggie she got my back, or my nose, or my mind. Whatever. It was gonna do the trick. Now I'm pretty infamous for not really liking people, I don't warm to people easily and all of my nearest and dearest have said when they first met me they thought I fucking hated them. Something kinda magical happened during that five minute journey, I fell head over heels for this chick. We get to the party and vow not to leave one anothers side and for the next 12 debaucherous hours, when the light poured in and I had nothing left in my stomach to throw up I realised it was probably time to go home, the party for me was over. We were devastated that we would probably never see one another again, it was like a love fuelled lustrous one night stand. HOWEVER, we shortly discovered, that she was studying down in Brighton aka my hometown. Shortly after I would drop out of education and return home for many more debaucherous evenings and mornings and days and weeks. The party was not fucking over.
Fast forward a year and I get a phone call asking if I was free to go to Paris the next day. I thought fuck it? Why not? An impromptu trip to Paris with the babe of my life. As we sat in our favourite square we promised to ourselves this would become a constant place of revisit in our now reassured forever friendship.
Fast forward three more years, tickets were completely sold out for Ludovico Einaudi in England but there were a few remaining in Paris and guess what it just happened to land on the anniversary of our first trip. Sold. Bought. We were off. As we sat brunchin in our favourite spot, in our favourite square - Hugos, Place de Vosages, it felt different. Though older, a little wiser and none the less the same, in this nostalgic moment I realised how happy I was, how free I felt. Being surrounded by nothing but love, happiness and freedom made me realise how trapped I felt at home. How this was crucial to me and my happiness and the crux of my misery was lying in the solidarity of being confined to a salary, to a career. What the fuck had I been doing the past years. Perhaps it was the sense of nostalgia that in my previous trip I had felt these very feelings, I had become so unfamiliar with the emotions that surrounded happiness that I had become comfortable in my own misery. When I got home this had to change, I had to believe in myself and my own path again, I have never been one to have my life determined by somebody elses paths or dreams - so why had I become so lost in that?
We also discussed my recent acts of promiscuity and I decided I was very happy with being alone, messing about with the masses. Unless however a beautiful, long haired, bohemian artist walks in to my life, for now I was good. Or an art curator ... because you know I'm not sure I am totally ready to give up my materialistic outlook on life and to be financially free and looked after may just be pretty nice?
Till next time Paris.