...
Dare I drink this entire bottle of wine tout seul? It's Bordeaux. It cost 2 euros 47. I'm drinking it out of a Belgian beer glass stolen from a pub in Vieux Lyon. When the fuck did I get this European? I come from the least European country in Europe.
Just moved to Lyon! I say just, I mean I've just come out of my PERTY month. Actually moved here at the start of May, have arsed about extensively ever since, received visitors, walked about loads and got sunburnt like a mother effer. My parents and older brother came out from Scotland last week and we had a fab time. I had to act as translator / designated French speaker for 6 days which did wonders for my confidence speaking the language like a non-retard. It's like once you tick the box of being able to 'speak', the next thing to be checked off is switching from and between English with a measure of seamlessness. Tricky as hell!
Everyone I knew here has fucked off more or less except my Parisien friend Thomas who I might be admittedly in love with but who is going out with some closet case (thought I shed my bitchy gay LJ tone but apparently not!) who to be honest is bonafide babe and sorted out free internet for me in my apartment (which is a shag - here's the view: http://bit.ly/9n6zk1 & http://bit.ly/djYuke - and you are of course jealous now) and basically Thomas told me their whole saga... They were neighbours, they had to hide their relationship. He made it clear their histoire involved a lot of agony but frankly it sounded hot as fuck to me. Anyway where am I going with this. Yeah so Thomas is a keeper. He's invited me to his house in Paris this summer when his parents leave. YUMMMM.
Sorting out work stuff to keep me occupied and doing uni work. Literally, pretentious as fuck. Reading the works of Annie Ernaux (this legend slag woman from Brittany who basically writes about lusting after younger men and shit, amazing) in cafes with chipper as fuck older woman serving you espresso like they're from Amélie. And then lunching with various folk (Emma and Adam who popped through from Geneva for two days) in places where I have none of the financial happiness to be frequenting.
Right I'll shut up now because I sound ridiculous. And also I do apologise for the bad words, I'm firing into this wine and I start feeling like swearing makes everything more colourful.
I need pals though. I should hit a pub instead of sitting here listening to a playlist I made on Spotify of gay 80s music. Good stuff though! Janet Jackson could never sing but Pleasure Principle's a TUUUNE.
Just moved to Lyon! I say just, I mean I've just come out of my PERTY month. Actually moved here at the start of May, have arsed about extensively ever since, received visitors, walked about loads and got sunburnt like a mother effer. My parents and older brother came out from Scotland last week and we had a fab time. I had to act as translator / designated French speaker for 6 days which did wonders for my confidence speaking the language like a non-retard. It's like once you tick the box of being able to 'speak', the next thing to be checked off is switching from and between English with a measure of seamlessness. Tricky as hell!
Everyone I knew here has fucked off more or less except my Parisien friend Thomas who I might be admittedly in love with but who is going out with some closet case (thought I shed my bitchy gay LJ tone but apparently not!) who to be honest is bonafide babe and sorted out free internet for me in my apartment (which is a shag - here's the view: http://bit.ly/9n6zk1 & http://bit.ly/djYuke - and you are of course jealous now) and basically Thomas told me their whole saga... They were neighbours, they had to hide their relationship. He made it clear their histoire involved a lot of agony but frankly it sounded hot as fuck to me. Anyway where am I going with this. Yeah so Thomas is a keeper. He's invited me to his house in Paris this summer when his parents leave. YUMMMM.
Sorting out work stuff to keep me occupied and doing uni work. Literally, pretentious as fuck. Reading the works of Annie Ernaux (this legend slag woman from Brittany who basically writes about lusting after younger men and shit, amazing) in cafes with chipper as fuck older woman serving you espresso like they're from Amélie. And then lunching with various folk (Emma and Adam who popped through from Geneva for two days) in places where I have none of the financial happiness to be frequenting.
Right I'll shut up now because I sound ridiculous. And also I do apologise for the bad words, I'm firing into this wine and I start feeling like swearing makes everything more colourful.
I need pals though. I should hit a pub instead of sitting here listening to a playlist I made on Spotify of gay 80s music. Good stuff though! Janet Jackson could never sing but Pleasure Principle's a TUUUNE.
