Wedding crashers

This morning, at 7.50am precisely, I woke up the way they do in films - sat bolt upright, eyes wide in utter confusion. Various things were on my mind: Why am I lying on sofa cushions on the living room floor, instead of in my bed? What happened last night? And why did I think it was acceptable to sleep in just my underwear while staying in the living room of my friend's parents' house?

I'm currently staying with Claire, her husband Hywel and her parents at their house in France. We all went out last night, and then Claire's parents went home to bed and the rest of us went out some more. I could remember the bare bones of what happened but nothing whatsoever about the last half an hour of the night. I wonder if we took any photos, I thought. Maybe if I can find my camera it will give me some clues.

I located it in my handbag, which was on the floor near my feet. I switched it on to find that we had indeed taken many, many photos. The first one I saw was Claire helping a strange man inflate a rubber ring round his waist. No recollection of that whatsoever. Also included were some of Claire and I with our arms round some French people I felt I'd never seen before in my life, laughing as though they were our oldest, dearest friends.

I decided the priority was to put some clothes on and clear away my 'bed' before Claire's parents appeared. As I bent to pick up the sofa cushions I got a sharp pain in my knee, which I noticed was mysteriously swollen.

I was definitely sober at some stage, around 6.30pm. That much is certain. Then we all went to a fête in a neighbouring village, where we had calamari and frites and much, much rosé. There was an oompah band and they played lots of French songs and then, weirdly, YMCA, and we all sung along.

Four bottles of wine later, we all came back to the house but then headed out for a nightcap at a little bar on the seafront. On our way there we passed a wedding party - the bride was wearing the sluttiest wedding dress the world has ever seen. It stopped just under her crotch at the front, with a huge ruffly train behind, and laced all the way up her bare back. It made Pamela Anderson's white bikini look a bit prudish. It looked like a really fun wedding.

At the bar we sank another bottle of wine or two before the grown-ups went home, and then Claire and I hatched the plan to get ourselves invited to the wedding. Walking back past it, we noticed the bride getting changed by her car. And when I say getting changed, I mean that she stripped down to her G-string and then rummaged casually through the boot of the car, looking for something else to put on. She didn't seem fussed by all the onlookers.

Claire, Hywel and I installed ourselves on the pavement opposite the wedding, and after that my memories of the night are as follows: Claire running towards us excitedly holding up a bottle of wine that she'd collected from the house (so that we could drink in the street outside the wedding. Like tramps); Hywel demonstrating that he could pick both of us up at once and hold us almost above his head, which is quite high because he's six foot seven; Claire giving the bride a balloon and telling her she looked beautiful in an attempt to bribe her way into the wedding; a load of guests coming out to join our party in the street; and that's about it.


What I do not remember, but Claire tells me did happen, is that we made friends with someone called Benoît; that we ripped all the celebratory ribbons off the bride and groom's car, brought them home and attached them to Claire's parents' car; that I fell flat on my face outside the house (hence the knee) and that she laughed at me and then tripped over me, and we couldn't get up for laughing so hard.

(Also, apparently I was begging for a cigarette, but mercifully no one had any. I haven't had a cigarette for eight months and if I'm going to have one now, I bloody want to remember it.)

All in all, perhaps one of the best nights ever, and I'd do it all again despite the ginormous hangover I am now suffering.

Claire and Hywel are moving away from London in a week, which half-breaks my little heart. This weekend has been perfect - spending time with them is effortlessly enjoyable. Claire and I have, in her words, got "the same soul, different colour schemes". I don't mean to be cheesy, but hers must be the colour of sunlight. Life is so bright with her around. Few people could create a night like that during one weekend in a sleepy French town like this, but I always know I can rely on Claire.

A shorty... but a goody

I just rediscovered this clip from The Office. It may just be my favourite bit, and the IT guy, who frankly wasn't in the show nearly enough, is one of my favourite characters. Enjoy.

'Mantha has underestimated Lynne's knowledge of popular culture.

I've already added George and Lynne Explained to my blog roll (right), but I've decided it deserves a bit of extra attention. The latest post, here, made me laugh out loud. It only has 15 followers, so I don't think enough people know about it.

Hey, since you brought up the subject of followers - have you noticed that my blog only has a paltry 27 followers? Maybe you might want to sign up? Or maybe I might want to improve the quality of the writing? If we all pull together I think we can crack this.

But I did enjoy Harry Potter.

So it is in the world of cinema. Months and months of The Ugly Truth and Transformers 2 and Ice Age 3 go by, and just as I'm starting to forget why I love going to the pictures so much, autumn - or late summer - unleashes a whole load of exciting releases. I can't remember the last time I wanted to see so many things. In case anyone in the universe is remotely interested (and so that I don't forget), here is my list.

Coco Before Chanel

Claire pointed out that in some ways, this looks like it might be a bit boring. However, I hope it isn't. In any case, I can enjoy just about anything starring Audrey Tautou, and the costumes are bound to be amazing.




The September Issue

I spend a lot of my working life at magazines, and I cannot wait to see how things run at American Vogue. I sort of don't care whether Anna Wintour's a giant bitch or not - it's not unusual for talented, successful people to have hideous, unbearable personalities, and I don't think it takes away from the magazine. Having said that, it might add entertainment value to the film.




Mesrine: Killer Instinct

I have loved Gerard Depardieu ever since I saw Green Card at a birthday sleepover when I was 10. But this film doesn't just feature Gerard Depardieu - no, it features Gerard Depardieu, Vincent Cassel (of La Haine, one of my favourite films ever) and exciting gangster action! Joy, joy, joy.




Broken Embraces

Pedro Almodovar is brilliant. Penelope Cruz is completely hypnotic. I'VE GOT TO SEE IT I'VE GOT TO SEE IT I'VE GOT TO SEE IT!




Phew. Sorry about that, I got a bit overwhelmed by all the cinema joy. I'll stop now. Is anyone else looking forward to seeing these, or has anyone seen them already? I'd love to hear your thoughts - unless you thought any of them were really really awful, in which case Shhhhhh.

Chess. Ice skating. Radio 4.

I've always had a tendency to immediately abandon anything that feels daunting. This is why, afraid of grazed knees and humiliation, I never learnt to ride a bike. And that wasn't all. Year after year, challenges have fallen by the wayside. Hockey. Physics. Telling jokes. High heels. Skiing. Cryptic crosswords. Karaoke. Hosting dinner parties. Eyeshadow. As soon as I noticed my pitiful lack of natural ability in these important areas, I gave up trying.

I've always thought that I've got a sort of an instinct for what I can and can't do, and I'm a strong believer in listening to it. (Deep down, I sort of think I usually know best. Don't tell anyone.) So as soon as I get that feeling of dread in my tummy that says No, no, I'm not going to be able to do this, it's going to be AWFUL, I attempt to retain as much of my dignity as possible by walking away, changing the subject or leaving the country.

Recently I was commissioned to write something that took me wildly out of my comfort zone. I can't go into detail here, but it's something fictional and funny. This is not the kind of writing I do. I don't do laugh-out-loud character-based narrative. I do pointless observational chatter, or sometimes PR fluff in various forms. Nevertheless, I accepted the commission because I thought it sounded like something I would want to read. I didn't think much beyond that.

That's right - I'm stupid.

When I sat down to write it, I went from jaunty excitement to full-scale horror within about fifteen panicky minutes. I attempted to draft a couple of sentences. The room started to feel like a humour vacuum. I couldn't think of anything funny at all. Not only was it not funny, it wasn't even plausible, and something implausible has to be pretty fucking funny in order to make the reader suspend disbelief. I began to feel sick. I put it off for days. I asked the opinions of the many funny writers I know. All of their reasoned advice was blanked out by my own inner voice saying They can do it just because they can do it. They were born with it. You weren't.

I came really, really close to calling up and telling my employers I was going to have to pull out of the project. It would have been really humiliating and unprofessional, and I've never done it before, but I felt I'd rather do that than send them something cringingly bad. I thought about this for days, and then I sat down and forced myself to write a first draft.

It wasn't hilarious. That's not going to be the tidy and uplifting ending to the story. But it wasn't awful. When I sent it in to give them an initial direction of where I was going with it, they said they'd laughed out loud. Possibly they were exaggerating to be pleasant, but that's ok. The point is, so far it's not a disaster. I had anticipated awkward silences, and perhaps a rebrief or some firm suggestions as to how to improve it. But they don't seem worried at all.

I haven't finished it yet, and I'm probably putting a curse on myself by writing this before the work is successfully complete. But I'm weirdly not scared about it any more. What it appears to have proved is that sometimes, we shouldn't listen to our fearful gut instinct - the one that says, leave it, you're going to mess it up. Sometimes it might be holding us back. The project may not end up a roaring success, but I don't think I'm going to do a terrible job. And if I get offered this kind of work again, it won't keep me awake in a panic every night.

Maybe I'm being boring and sanctimonious in this post - sorry if so. I'm writing it as a sort of reminder to myself, because this small experience has been an eye-opener for me. It means that maybe I can do the other kinds of writing I've ruled out too. Maybe I can write proper fiction if I wanted to. Maybe I could master eyeshadow, or learn how to tell a joke without killing the punchline. The world is my oyster.

However I'm not going back to skiing. Maybe I'm a bit more confident now, but I'm not insane.

My eyes! My eyes!

I'm at work. On a Saturday. Yep, true story.

Anyway for that reason I have to keep this brief, but I did want to pop by and say hello. Also I wanted to share this optical illusion with you that I saw in New York magazine. First of all (Part One) I'm going to show you a picture, and then (Part Two) I'm going to blow your mind.

*clears throat*

Part One:

Part Two: the 'blue' and the 'green' in the above picture are in fact exactly the same colour.

I know! But it's true. There's an explanation here.*


*Unfortunately there is no explanation for why I am such a huge geek.