Ice dancing and drunken revelries in Paris
Despite my promises that my next post would be about the Klan’s boozy icescapades, I have to report that it all kind of fell in a heap due to us not actually leaving the pub.
You have to understand, the Klan are all highly skilled, talented and independent professionals working somewhere that has built its professional brand on being slightly better than it was way back when, which by normal standards is still under par.
So, under my careful tutelage, the previously silent bitterness about working with such dozy bints is now barely contained contempt. And so, after a few beers and in a safe environment, the bile and venom poured for hours, from all of us.
After the second or third pint there was a unanimous decision that none of us could be arsed to go skating and we just settled in, heaping more and more scorn on the people allegedly managing us, using the excuse of “better out than in” to justify what became fairly horrendous personal attacks on our certain members of our "team".
The not leaving the pub situation is something I actually do quite well, in hindsight.
While in Paris in September this year I stayed at the most fantastic hostel. It’s not particularly clean, the showers were rubbish and it’s fairly noisy, but the bar and courtyard were superb and even the shyest person would be drawn into conversations with other travellers.
I was in Paris a week, and had already committed my mental timetable to a day at Versaille, a day at the Louvre, a day walking around the Seine, a day at Euro Disney, a day around the sites and so on. I also desperately wanted to see Musee D’Orsay, as I’d been told it was brilliant for impressionist art and I was kind of done with the over the top renaissance work and religious iconography of Italy and Spain.
So, I knew I had enough time to do all these things.
On the day I returned from the happiest place on earth (which, quite frankly, not so happy…lots of sugared up kiddies throwing tantrums by my reckoning) I came back to the hostel and a couple of the people I had befriended were already front row and centre at the hostel’s bar. So, naturally I joined them.
After several hours of drinking, and laughing at the Americans for being so soft when it comes to football… drunkenly demanding the bar man listen to Frenzal Rhomb in a moment of antipodean patriotism who (as he was sober) made some disparaging comment that I can’t quite remember… all in all, the night got messy. Indeed, the Australian contingent in the hostel managed to drink the bar dry within only a matter of days.
The point being, the next morning when I woke up, and it hurt to brush my hair I realised that my mental plan and tightly managed time frame would have to be relaxed somewhat.
And so I missed seeing Musee D’Orsay as it was all I could do to hold my head up and be wearing pants.
Given I’m not the most child friendly kind of person, the irony that I managed to spend a day at the (third) happiest place on earth but missed seeing a gallery I really wanted to get to is not lost on me, as opposed to large portions of the conversations I had with people in the ducks’ bar!
So, my new year’s resolution is to go back to Paris, see the gallery, not lose my bag and camera in a state of drunkenness that would shame my parents and take photos that I can share with you guys!
Ice dancing (note it’s ice dancing now – I have told the Klan that the bar has been raised…) may still happen, although as it’s Christmas next week and I’m off to Edinburgh for a week on 22 December, it’ll be in January I’d imagine.
You have to understand, the Klan are all highly skilled, talented and independent professionals working somewhere that has built its professional brand on being slightly better than it was way back when, which by normal standards is still under par.
So, under my careful tutelage, the previously silent bitterness about working with such dozy bints is now barely contained contempt. And so, after a few beers and in a safe environment, the bile and venom poured for hours, from all of us.
After the second or third pint there was a unanimous decision that none of us could be arsed to go skating and we just settled in, heaping more and more scorn on the people allegedly managing us, using the excuse of “better out than in” to justify what became fairly horrendous personal attacks on our certain members of our "team".
The not leaving the pub situation is something I actually do quite well, in hindsight.
While in Paris in September this year I stayed at the most fantastic hostel. It’s not particularly clean, the showers were rubbish and it’s fairly noisy, but the bar and courtyard were superb and even the shyest person would be drawn into conversations with other travellers.
I was in Paris a week, and had already committed my mental timetable to a day at Versaille, a day at the Louvre, a day walking around the Seine, a day at Euro Disney, a day around the sites and so on. I also desperately wanted to see Musee D’Orsay, as I’d been told it was brilliant for impressionist art and I was kind of done with the over the top renaissance work and religious iconography of Italy and Spain.
So, I knew I had enough time to do all these things.
On the day I returned from the happiest place on earth (which, quite frankly, not so happy…lots of sugared up kiddies throwing tantrums by my reckoning) I came back to the hostel and a couple of the people I had befriended were already front row and centre at the hostel’s bar. So, naturally I joined them.
After several hours of drinking, and laughing at the Americans for being so soft when it comes to football… drunkenly demanding the bar man listen to Frenzal Rhomb in a moment of antipodean patriotism who (as he was sober) made some disparaging comment that I can’t quite remember… all in all, the night got messy. Indeed, the Australian contingent in the hostel managed to drink the bar dry within only a matter of days.
The point being, the next morning when I woke up, and it hurt to brush my hair I realised that my mental plan and tightly managed time frame would have to be relaxed somewhat.
And so I missed seeing Musee D’Orsay as it was all I could do to hold my head up and be wearing pants.
Given I’m not the most child friendly kind of person, the irony that I managed to spend a day at the (third) happiest place on earth but missed seeing a gallery I really wanted to get to is not lost on me, as opposed to large portions of the conversations I had with people in the ducks’ bar!
So, my new year’s resolution is to go back to Paris, see the gallery, not lose my bag and camera in a state of drunkenness that would shame my parents and take photos that I can share with you guys!
Ice dancing (note it’s ice dancing now – I have told the Klan that the bar has been raised…) may still happen, although as it’s Christmas next week and I’m off to Edinburgh for a week on 22 December, it’ll be in January I’d imagine.
Philosophy Blog
Is the Klan what I think it is?
The Picasso Gallery n Paris is bollocks. Admittedly I was in Barcelona at the time that hisworks from Malaga were also on show, so I saw both galleries in one gallery and it was phenomenal. I was told that the Rodin gallery in Paris (not usually mentioned in the guides) is also fantastic, but I'm not really into sculpture so I didn't check it out - I'd also seen one of the casts at the modern gallery in Venice so felt I'd done enough thinking!
If you're in London, the free exhibition at the National Gallery is great. Total nightmare in terms of crowds on weekends, but honestly where in London isn't!
Thanks for visiting me.