Current mood:

aggravated

Divan du Merde
I'm on a bit of a downer about France, especially Paris, at the moment. I already knew I hate living in the suburbs but I'm not even sure I'd be happy if I lived in a massive apartment overlooking the Sacre Coeur.

I had a great time back in Liverpool last week, even though I didn't get out much and just had a few low key drinks in a couple of pubs. But I think it just reminded me how much of an outsider I am here.

Jenny, Sylvie and I ended up in a nightclub last night called Divan du Monde. The night was called Pigalle Rock Party, and when we walked in they were playing 'Who put the bomp..." by Le Tigre so I thought we'd found somewhere pretty decent. I should have known by the clean, kinda expensive decor that it was going to be crap. Good clubs have crap decor... c.f. the miss-matched pub stools in Le Bateau.

Ok, so the French don't have binge-drinking, but instead they're incredibly amateur drunks. Bad dancing, falling over, and worst: extreme lechery. We spent a good two hours trying to get rid of a gag of nobheads who started out amusing but ended up bordering on sexpests. In fact, every bloody group of French blokes we met yesterday felt impelled to tell us how beautiful we were (this stopped being even remotely flattering in no time at all, however, when the very last nutter we met told me my French was good, I turned all coy like a schoolgirl. *That's* the way to flatter me!).

Also, apparently the law here says you can't play music too loud. That meant we were able to talk to each other all night without shouting, but it also made it pretty hard to get into the music. Which was shit anyway. Bah! I need to dance and work up a sweat!

p.s. special mention should go out to the guy in the internet café singing karaoke hits from James Blunt to Shaggy. I tried to video him but it didn't work, gutted.