So I’m writing my blog by candlelight. There’s a powercut, and Samir has given me a candle so I can not be all in the dark whilst I mong out in my room. He and Colin are sat eating their dinner in the kitchen with a candle on the go, it looks like they’re having a date in there. At least they’re not singing any more.
So maybe I should tell you all about my weekend. English club was a success as the only two who attended were the two most hardworking ones and they were just asking for tips for their imminent oral exam. I spent a whole hour giving one girl an abundance of Zone 1 Tube stations “because everyone in the class is saying Piccadilly Circus and it’s boring” and the other girl loads of advice on how to keep being awesome at English. It was quite agreeable, as it goes.
After this, I was about to leave to go catch my Eurostar when the crazy office lady saw me in the corridor. She promptly launched into a tirade of condescending bollocks about some contract I haven’t signed for my new flat. Told me to go there IMMEDIATELY to sign it. When I explained to her that I couldn’t as I had a train to catch, she calmed down instantly and told me to do it “either Tuesday or Thursday” and it would be okay.
The thing is, I didn’t even know I had to sign the thing. I signed NOTHING when I moved into the flat at the school, and the flat I’ve moved into is also in a school – logic tells me that the rules would be the same. Besides, do we not think that I’d be more likely to sign documents if they were given to me, or if I was at least notified of their need to be signed? Their existence, even?
Anyway. I went to Paris, checked in, went and bought some stuff (champagne, plug adaptor) before deciding to get me some lunch. It was at this point that my French bank card went “HAHA NO!” when I tried to buy a sandwich and a macaroon. I know there’s money in my account, my card was just being a bitch. I had to use my change to get a bottle of red Orangina and a bar of Milka. Nutritious.
I got on my train, and was chilling chilling chilling when a girl, aged about twelve, strolled down the train carriage. She caught sight of me as she walked past, and as she was walking, turned round to give me a dirty glare. As I caught her eye line, she promptly fell over. I literally had to look away, I laughed straight at her. Call me evil, but this girl had the face of a bitch. You know the type who bullies other kids at school.
Getting into St Pancras, I found my lady waiting for me at the arrivals door. We left, and had the most amazing weekend. Walking around London, acting silly, dancing in restaurants, lots of laughing, lots of soppy romantic stuff. I didn’t think I was the type…
Champagne for breakfast was a fantastic idea though. Nothing like going out at about lunchtime, already pissed because you didn’t actually eat all morning.
The weekend was over far too quickly, and we went to St Pancras to get a bit (a lot) of lunch and look around some of the shops before I had to go and check in for my train. Here I bought a stuffed toy of the very hungry caterpillar (I saw it and immediately felt as though I’d missed out on something in my childhood) and a fridge magnet that reads “Global Warming is my fault”. Amy says this is true because of the amount of hairspray I use.
There was lots of other stuff that happened that was funny, but I’m a bit paranoid that I’ll lose the power in my laptop before I get to the end of typing. That, or the candle will fall out of the wine bottle I’ve shoved it in.
Also, I am feeling pretty chilled out with my candlelit bedroom, my housemate playing guitar in her room and singing (she’s actually quite good) and the fact that I’ve just had an amazing weekend and get to go to London again in three weeks. All I need to make this night perfect is to have my lady here with me. Electricity is overrated anyway.