growing younger

Hey you!

I am having such a wicked time in Marseille that I'm only just realising exactly how awful last year in Toulon really was; It was spectacularly awful. I advise everyone living there to move away. Do you live in Toulon? What for?! Move. You'll thank me for it. Honestly.

I'm actually living again! And I'm fucking loving it. Yay! Whole days have past when I haven't even used the internet. And my Guardian online intake is verging on skeletal. My knowledge of British current affairs is now more appropriately representative of someone who doesn't actually live in the country. All this was unthinkable just mere weeks ago. How I've progressed.

I've got so much to write about, but hardly anytime to actually write about it - on account of the living again part. I still need to give you the grand tour of my flat. How rude of me - I must get round to that. I'm fearing this is going to be a bit of a slow blogging year. Quality not quantity, repeat after me.

One of the things I'm really enjoying is just meeting new people - some of whom I actually like. (That's the best part). People that are genuinely interesting and fun who do interesting and fun things. In fact, one of the only good things about waitressing is that as jobs go, it's really very sociable. There's no denying that. Perfect for a foreigner like me. One of the things I missed in Toulon was basically, well having a life, but what I really mean is having a life of my own - one slightly independent of TTRL. I need to have my own friends. Do you know what I mean? I think its essential really - and it was always like that when we were living in England.

So I'm having a lot of fun. Drinking a lot, taking the odd pill AND not giving a fuck about it. Because often I'll give myself a good stern talking to if I've been going at it a bit too hard. But this time I feel confident that I've earned the right. So I'm just going for it, partying hard and somehow surviving the hangovers; I'm not 21 anymore. Although I do still feel very young. And lately, I find myself wishing that I could actually be 21 again. Would I do anything differently? Nah. But after a decent fry up and a nice cuppa tea I'd be right as rain in the mornings, I tell you.

Although, in all seriousness, I am kind of secretly having a crisis at the moment. In my head. My colleagues that I've been hanging out with are all quite a lot younger than I am. And although there are moments, being with them and their mates, where I do feel noticeably older, I actually don't care in the slightest. I like them. Generally they just remind me of being at uni and not having a care in the world - and I feel strangely envious of them. It makes me scared to be so settled down. But would I really want to do that all over again? Fuck no - although, yes. Hell yes.

Now I'm all talking about growing tomatoes.

What the fuck happened?

music is for the ears

When I was a teenager I used to love going to gigs. Almost every weekend, as I remember it, I would be up into London with my mate Muzz, watching indie bands at various London venues. And I loved it. But back then, drinking - if we could get served - was still a novelty. Even just going out at night was a novelty. And we were in London and everything was bright and shiny and exciting. And the hangovers still weren't that bad. And I used to count how many bands we'd seen, until it got to well over a hundred and we went to glastonbury where it was impossible to keep track. Each band was like a treasured trophy.

I don't enjoy watching live bands anymore. My tastes in music have changed over the years, and generally speaking I'm not really even that big a 'fan' of music. Don't get me wrong, I love music, but I don't know anything about it. I don't follow it. I hear songs that I like, but I might not make the effort to find out who they're by. But then again, I might. But I don't like watching bands anymore. I do like live music - last week we went to a pub where there was live jazz and it was wicked - but it was in the background, so you could still speak to people and enjoy yourself.

What I don't like about gigs is the way they are completely antisocial. Everyone unnaturally faces in one direction - all eyes upon the band. But there's nothing to see - its just some people playing instruments before a crowd of adoring fans. The last few times I've found myself at a gig, I've been really bored. Even if its music I like, I still find myself hoping that this song will be the last. Because no one wants to talk to you; everyone's too busy 'watching' the music, even though you can barely see the stage and there's nothing to see anyway. It's not always music you can dance to. And even when it is it feels a bit weird dancing between people who are mostly standing sipping pints of beer. You could always go to the front if you're really into it, but only if you don't mind jumping up and down in a crush of mindlessly idolising teenagers.

A couple of years ago I went to see Buena Vista Social Club in Bristol. I thought it would be wicked because its really fun music and you can dance and have a bit of a drink and a laugh, and it would still be sociable, or so I imagined. And nothing against the musicians because they were great, but to my horror it was an entirely seated venue. Is that not completely fucked up? Can you imagine literally sitting down and attentively 'watching' Buena Vista Social Club? No drinking allowed in the auditorium. It must of been well weird to play for a seated audience as well. Only in Britain. The reserved finger-snapping, foot-tapping, seated British public.

Now that I'm a bit more settled in, in Marseille, I've had time to start living a bit. I've been finding out things that I can do and places I can go and then doing them and going to them. I've been to see some exhibitions and to the 'arthouse' cinema where they play films in their original languages, and I'm planning to go and see some plays and I've been to a pub where there was some great live trumpety jazz playing. But I don't reckon I'll be going to any 'concerts,' in the traditional sense. And if I do, well, I'll try, but I probably won't have a good time.

its that time of year again

Yo yo yo yo! Happy new year! Yay! Better late than never, eh? Ahh, it's good to be back in the kitchen.

After a diabolically depressing year in Toulon, I'm finally in Marseille starting a brand new life, in an old and charming flat. I am feeling well lucky. Especially as I got out of all the physically hard moving part of moving house on account of being on holiday in England (did I mention its on the 4th floor without a lift, or that the stairway is ridiculously narrow?). I'm currently getting stuck into a bit of the old DIY; it's already starting to feel like home. I'm back at work too and most importantly, I've been reconnected to the internet. Praise the lord!

Everything's slotting into place nicely and I've got that fresh feeling of starting againism where everything is exciting and new and anything seems possible.

This optimism will no doubt be completely annihilated as the reality of my day to day existence sets in and I reembark on the long monotonous road to becoming an embittered career waitress. But let me enjoy it while it lasts.

It feels appropriate that this new start co-insides with the new year. A totally new beginning for 2009. I still haven't done my resolutions. I've thought about doing them, but I wanted you to be there. It's more of a commitment if you're there you see. And well, there's no time like the present.

Looking back over 2008, although its true that I didn't achieve anything of any real significance whatsoever, I did have a good stab at the resolutions I made;

I managed to read the 12 books I set out to, plus another, wait for it, 5, (!), for good measure. I'll need to add to this in 2009. Although, you know, books are of varying lengths so its a bit impossible to really compare. War and Peace, if I were to go there, should probably count for at least 3, where as something like Le Petit Prince would only be a 0.5. But it doesn't work like that. They are all equally worth 1 book read.

I did not get a boiled egg mould. Probably, this represents my greatest failure of 2008, when you think about how easy it would have been to just, well, buy one. I'm not going to renew this resolution because my burning desire for a boiled egg mould has somewhat cooled, but also, although I do still think they are an incredibly awesome and enriching invention, it would probably still be a seldom used novelty item - even in my hands. And now that I'm on an environmental kick, I've got to ask how many novelty items does the world really need?

My French has improved a lot. I have a passable level of French. Thank you! I'm still a long way from being fluent, mind you, but there's time. I really can't begin to describe how much of an improvement this has made to my life. Obviously the ability to communicate is paramount. By the end of 2009 I'd like to be pretty fluent. In a language like French I'm just going to accept that I will make mistakes for years, possibly, forever, but I've got me some books and I'm going to knuckle down and get the study on never the less.

In 2008 I managed to get a job. Just waitressing, nothing to write home about, and I know I complained about it, but it was good for learning french - and the money. Plus, it got me out of the house. Now I've got myself yet another waitressing job, and although this depresses me no end, it at least pays the bills. I like the people I work with and the tips here are actually decent - which makes it more worth the demoralisation and the pain. But the only thing that will really justify doing it, again, is if I really make a go of my art practice - which is the reason I'm doing it in the first place, (because its part time, and I don't take it home with me). So in 2009, now that I'm actually in a city that actually has a vibrant cultural life, where I will no longer be forced to make art work in a vacuum, and now that I can speak a bit, I'm going to have to get to know other artists and arts organisations, get involved generally and exhibit my work.

Also in 2008 I finally cut my hair short. In the summer I cut it to just below the shoulders, and at the end of december I cut it again to mid-neck length - its very short at the back, and plunges forward at the front. My story, by commis chef. Fascinating, I know. But it's hard for a long-haired girl to rid herself of her locks. I read something Zadie Smith had written where a girl cut off her hair and it was supposed to be representative of cutting off her girl hood. Like a female castration. Apparently. I thought that was bollocks; I just wasn't sure if it'd suit me. And it does take an awfully long time to grow back you know. Happily, my fears couldn't have been more wrong; I'm well hot.

This year, as well as all the things mentioned above, I'd like to grow some plants and have them live for more than a few weeks and maybe even long enough to produce a vegetable or two. I know I can't become self sufficient growing vegetables on a balconette half the size of a bath tub - its more about discovering this pleasure of gardening that I've heard so much about. I'm thinking herbs; bit of basil, some rosemary, maybe even a tomato or two. Or some aubergines if I turn out to have any green in my fingers. Who can tell?

But my main goal for this coming year is to up the production of my art work, develop my practice, become involved with art related things in Marseille and exhibit. So with that, the language fluency thing and the vegetables, I'll have my work cut out for me.

i must have been a good girl this year

I'm off to England tomorrow for christmas and new years! YAY! This is going to be the best holiday ever - why? Because TTRL isn't going to be there, which although sad in many ways, is fantastic in another; because while I'm away he's going to rent a van and move all of our shit into our new flat! Hooray TTRL! It's going to be the most stress free move ever. For me. PLUS I get to see my mates (sans adam, sadly) and my family and eat copious amounts of delicious English food. And just generally party and not have to work or think about what a twat my new boss is. Or that I'm a 27 year old waitress.

I can't promise I'll be blogging while I'm away. You know how it is, I'll be too busy christmassing and new yearsing it up. So if you don't hear from me before, have a good one. Or at least try to. I know it will hard without me.

You'll be fine.

permission to unload denied

One of the things I don't like about Marseille is that it is so densely populated. This isn't the problem in itself that bothers me, but what it means is that the ratio of dogs per square kilometre is also much higher than what I've been used to. I wouldn't mind that either if it didn't also mean there was a lot more dog shit all over the place. So far, since I've been in France, where dog shit is a problem, well, everywhere, I have managed to avoid stepping in it. As far as I know. For sure all my shoes carry traces of dog shit on them.

It's actually forbidden to not clean up your dogs shit in France, though clearly the threat of a 100€ fine has absolutely zero effect. The most annoying thing is that because they don't want to get caught, you'll often end up with a scattering of dog turds over a few metres of pavement where the owner has tried to postpone their dog from taking a shit by dragging it towards a quieter road. Leaving you to weave your way through the obstacle course of plops, instead of just jumping over one neat pile.

TTRL stepped right in one the other day. It was more of a slipped in one actually - though he didn't fall. We were on our way to visit a flat. Nothing says, 'please don't rent this flat to us' quite like a steaming fresh dog shit on the bottom of your shoe.

I reckon they should up the stakes of the fine. Or fuck the fine, and just take away the dog and give it to someone who's willing to show a bit of respect for their fellow residents.

AND/OR, invite me to go and take a shit in their living room. That should do it.

permission to unload

One of the things I love about Marseille is that it's packed with food markets, specialist and ethnic food shops and little independent corner shop slash mini-supermarket places, especially in the area where I hope to be imminently living. The best thing about this is the almost complete elimination of the need to ever go to an actual supermarket. All the things I hate about the giant supermarkets and the generic shopping experience they offer, far outweigh the things I like about them; namely the convenience (because now the local shopping experience is the most convenient), the choice, (because now there is an abundance of choice) the comparative cheapness (questionable because of the competition between the small businesses), and the sheer variety of new 'exotic' foods available that we don't find in Britain (because the novelty, after living in France for more than a year, has worn off). Oh, but I will have to find somewhere I can buy the catfood my cat likes, and a boho, middle-class, overpriced health shop where I can find organic eggs. Because I have committed myself to only ever buying organic eggs. Why? Because buying organic, especially where animals are involved, has a big impact on the environment, and the standards of care for the hens are the highest - better even than free range. Plus, I just reckon everyone should commit themselves to buying at least one organic product all the time, so that the industry will grow and more farmers will be persuaded to go organic themselves. So now you know.

Anyhoo.

Supermarkets. Even some of the mini supermarkets I'm talking about have the little conveyor belt thing going on at the checkouts. But they're quite small little enterprises, and they often only have one of those little divider signs that you put down in between your food and the people before and after you so the cashier knows precisely where your stuff stops and the next persons begins. I don't know why they don't have more than one. Times are hard, I guess. The other day I noticed that when this happens to me, I'm reluctant to put any of my things on the belt, even if there's loads of space available, until the little divider has been placed behind the person in front of me. Only then do I feel permitted to unload my basket. What am I afraid off? Surely, I could just leave a bit of a gap, and put the divider there afterwards? I had a little chuckle when the person after me did exactly the same.

hello friends!

I went dark then for a bit, didn't I? Don't worry. I'm here now and everything's going to be okay.

My new life in Marseille has already begun! Sort of. Well, I'm working. The contract is signed, so its offical. Commis chef is once again a waitress. Hooray. It's quite a nice restaurant at least. The boss though, is an obsessive perfectionist; everything must be just so. It's hard, and actually kind of annoying, to work for someone like that because you can only ever do things wrong - he's never going to be satisfied, because basically I'm not a robot. And I just don't care - enough. If I leave a salt shaker on the table for a second too long its as though I've completely ruined what was previously someones magical dining experience. I'm getting used to him though. I've stopped feeling nervous before I go in, so that must mean... something.

I've only just got my toe in the water of my new life at the moment though; I'm there Monday to Friday, working and staying at a mates house in exchange for cooking lessons. (Vegetarian cookery lessons by default. My friend is going to eat more vegetables this month than he has for the rest of 2008. Quite probably). I'm still in Toulon at the weekends, and most of my free time is spent either flat hunting or worrying about not finding a flat. So I haven't had much time yet to enjoy just being in Marseille. All that will come in good time.

Apart from the fact that its really stressing me out I'm enjoying looking for a flat. I've seen some proper holes, some dumps, some soulless boxes and one beautiful flat in a cool area. We are trying to get the beautiful one, of course, but nothing it certain until the contracts are signed, and until that happens I can't relax.

In Marseille there is really two types of building; The old ones, and the new ones. The old ones generally ooze with character; the buildings themselves are charming on the outside, often with little iron balconetts. Inside there is usually a spiral interior staircase, the floors are tiled with little red hexagonal tiles, and inside the flats themselves there are often many charming features - high ceilings, fireplaces and old fashioned fixtures and fittings. Depressingly, they are usually in various stages of disrepair. The new buildings are characterless boxes. Perfect for ikea families. Enough said.

I just want to find a flat where I would be happy to live for say, at least 2 years. Because moving house is a fucking nightmare.