Just blogged another photo to my photography blog (please, Sophie, make your written style more repetitivephotoblogphoto). I got incredibly lost the first time I tried to find Shakespeare & Co (my mother, should she read this, will interject to say that I’d seen Shakespeare & Co. before but mother that is another of those great cultural experiences you gave me in earliest youth & which accordingly I do not recall). Rue de la Bucherie is a street of lies, it’s split in two and Shakespeare & Co. is not where you would think. In the middle there’s a square to an homme politique and upstairs there’s a bed where a girl and her boyfriend were sleeping. They liked photography and time machines, according to their books. I left a message on the glass.
The next time I got lost again, which was much less of a laughing matter – I had Chloe with me in the wheelchair, and the Left Bank (while not as bad as Opera, after which I became like a bird with broken wings) longs only to chuck its wheelchair users into the traffic via potholes. But we found the homme politique again and there’s a lovely photo of us flanked by tramps in a dustbowl. Chloe looks winsome but I look Satanic, so it won’t be published here.
Here’s the shop’s website. I’m going back soon.
(tumbleweed is sort of the way I currently feel about this blog. But watch this space. Also, you know what I do not love? Christmas theatre tickets costing an arm and a leg yet giving you space for neither, at the edge of row X …wow, that last phrase sounds like the title for a kinky if clinical B-movie.)
I still have swine flu. I am coughing and aching (EVERY JOINT. Apparently flu’s a generational thing on which we chillens missed out, although Katie’s had it and she’s only 25) and falling asleep at things. I am also simmering with resentment about how it is AUGUST, and GOOD WEATHER, and yet instead of the following —
- being at the Fringe
- earning money
- travelling to distant lands and making an hilarious blog (English really needs ‘y’) about my time there, subsequently landing myself a book deal
- writing a slim volume of something extraordinary
- reading fat volumes of something(s) extraordinary(yies)
- touring in a play
- learning Welsh (my new LIFE PLAN, after ‘teaching deaf children’ and ‘photography’)
I am restricted to doing the following —
- Watching all of Criminal Minds (note: this was nearly stopped this morning when my internet died. I spent half an hour composing impassioned posts about how it was wrong of the internet to stop when it is basically MY LIFELINE, then the internet came back on and I realised what an arse I was being),
- Reading all of Achewood — I don’t even know. It’s not funny. It’s not clever. It’s certainly not attractive and yet I read at least two years’ worth yesterday. This despite the fact I can’t follow normal text unless it’s
- Good Moon Rising, which is both AWESOME and DREADFUL and I so wish I’d read it at fifteen. Though it might have given me unreasonable expectations (it’s a gay, American Noel Streatfeild wherein nobody dies). Also I fell asleep midway through.
- Falling asleep at my friends (do you see a theme?), and/or sending them emails which basically convey ‘bring me icecream’, and follow-up emails, ‘why isn’t the ice-cream here yet?’, and
- Coughing. All the sodding time.
Crucially, I can only do the above in ten-minute bursts (well, except sleeping and watching CM) before exhaustion hits and I want to upchuck again (I am not actually upchucking). I now have no discernable interests except Criminal Minds and my own health. Can I say Criminal Minds some more? Criminal Minds. Criminal Minds. Criminal Minds.
I did make a blog for my photography, though (just slipping that one in). It’s here. I stole the title from a song recommended by somebody with better musical taste than me (possibilities: all). If you are my friend I will probably put your picture on there. I apologise in advance.