The Longest Weekend Part 5: Hidden Bonus Track or Monday

Monday Keith and David were to leave for Madrid and deliver me from the hell i'd been living in for the last couple of days.

As it happened Dave had to stay behind to give his keys to his parents on Tuesday...

That evening I'd agreed to sit for Mick O'Dea in the Irish College, so at least that delayed the onslaught somewhat. I posed for two drawing in my fencing gear. Funny things happen to your body when you stand still for that long. The blood pooled in my feet and my arms ached from supporting the mask. While all this was going on Kerry as me questions around the night she had spent at training and about fencing in general. These artists were determined to capture every interesting detail of me - in return I demanded 10%. They still haven't got back to me on that.

The result of the evenings work were two fantastic large pencil sketches on hand made paper. The first one is a fantastic drawing (pictures to follow shortly) of me looking particulalry serious and menancing, the second is a variation of this from a different angle. What is particularly exciting about the seconf is that Mick is allowing me keep it.

At about 11.30 we decided to call it a day and have a pint to relax for a bit. David joined us and we enjoyed some of the excellent Leffe bear Mick had in his fridge. Just to draw a line under proceeding we went for one down at the Bombardier down the road. After a half-hearted attempt to think of another pub open nearby and with no results, Mick decided that was enough for him and we probably should have done the same.

...

There was apparently only one pub open in city centre Paris at that time. The highlander. We sat back reminiscing on what seemed like a decade of in-jokes and memories from the weekend until it was finally time to go.

Just for old times sake we had one last steak au poivre at an all night restaurant at 5am. In hindsight that may have been a steak too far...

Where Were We?

I move into my new apartment with a brief detour via Ireland.

Thursday morning the new sofa-bed was to be delivered to my apartment. My landlady had suggested sleeping on the floor for the night and waiting for the bed to be delivered sometime between 7am and 2pm. In the end, I chose the comfort of my bed in the Irish Centre over the floor and sleeping bag and I felt quite vindicated in my choice.

That Wednesday evening, Kerry had come to watch fencing training. A good night for it too, as it was a busy night's training with a lot of fencers, drills and even champagne afterwards.

When I got back to my now-empty room in the Irish Centre, Phil was just on his way out to a jam at a jazz club so I tagged along for a bit of listen. It was a really cool spot – absolute stereotypical Parisian basement jazz club (if you can't imagine that then you have no culture). I even got an opportunity to practice my Japanese on Phil's two Japanese friends; it was just like that scene from Austin Powers. A good night was had by all, as far as I was concerned.

...

I slumbered peacefully until, at 6am, it was time to head across to the apartment to wait for the bed. Once I reached the apartment, I decided to doze for a bit while waiting for the Swede from Ikea to arrive. There was no chance I would have been able to sleep on that parquet floor for a whole night[[?]], but just after about an hour of struggling to find sleep, just when my head was filling of dreams of home (like some Erin hotcup ad), just then the buzzer rang.

My disappointment was compounded further when there was nothing Swedish or even remotely female about the French Ikea delivery man, but not wanting to hurt his feelings I hid my resentment towards him well.

I hate whiney observational comedians who complain about flat-pack furniture. Within an hour I had constructed a sofa-bed, a foot locker and a standard lamp. This was the most manly I had felt in weeks. With my natural instincts to use tools appeased, I spent the rest of the day strutting between the Irish Centre and the apartment, moving the rest of my belongings over.

...

I decided to leave training a bit early that evening to have time to pack for my return to Ireland for the weekend.

This return required an early start on Friday to get to Charles de Gaulle by 8am for my flight at 10am. Charles de Gaulle terminal one is currently undergoing a massive renovation to restore the look of the insane structure, which looks as if several motorways are trying to strangle one central hideous tower of concrete –so good luck with that.

My plane was ten minutes delayed coming into Paris, so it was twenty minutes late for departure and in turn we lost our place in the queue and spent an hour on the tarmac. Eventually, however, we reached Dublin.

Peaks and Troughs...

...On balance it's been a pretty good week.

I'm starting to feel a lot more at home in the club and getting to know people there a little better. Early in the week I got a lesson from Benoit and hopefully I'll be able to get one once a week at least. I think I've started to enter a bit of a transitionary stage in my fencing as I concentrate on adjusting some aspects to my game and tyring to get rid of lazy habits. I've had a slight dip in form against my team-mates as a result but I'm willing to work through that.

The most exciting news of the week though, is that I've finally secured an apartment. It's in the 11th arrondisement in between Bastille and Nation near Metro Charonne, just off ligne 1 (which will make sense to anyone who knows Paris). Bathroom, kitchen and decent living space for a reasonable price. I'm signing the rental agreement on Saturday evening. Maybe once the novelty of living alone wears off, I'll become ridiculously depressed but for the minute I'm very excited.

At the same time, things are going great in the Irish College and I'll be quite sad to leave, just as I'm getting to know everyone a bit better and really getting into the swing of things here. We went out last night to a local bar and spent the evening solving the worlds problems until the early hours of the morning. If only alcohol wasn't involved we could have written it down and presented it to the UN.

...

Mick O'Dea one of the artists in residence has asked whether he could paint my portrait in my fencing gear for his exhibition here in the Centre Culturel Irlandais and Kerry Hardie, the poet and author, is interested in learning more about fencing through me with the possible aim of using this information in a novel she intends to write. So even if I have abandoned my big fish in a small pond status, the Irish here in Paris still seem determined to my ego swollen. What could I say really? I couldn't be more flattered.

...

After a fairly intense first couple of weeks, i have a weekend off in Paris and intend to use it to the full. Saturday is going to be a day of sight-seeing aswell
as lease-signing and I've also picked up free tickets to an independent wine producers fair.

I'll let you know how it all pans out.

saianara