Chimeric Sexy Times and Jemmy Politicos: Pal-entine's Day

I had quite a hard time at work last week: another teacher was away, so I had to cover his classes. I was only meant to cover three, but because of miscommunication between various school offices, I was left in a constant state of paranoia as to when I was meant to be taking his lessons and when I was meant to be doing my own. It was terrifying, stressful and thankless- the children certainly didn't appreciate my being there and stopping them from having a lesson off. I planned lessons as best I could, but the same material was way too difficult for one set while being way too easy for another. It was a tightrope walk between lava and icewater and there was killer whales in the icewater and magmars in the lava and they were throwing stones at me and I was blindfolded and my feet were too wide for the rope.
The perfect antidote for this was Pal-entines day. Apparently, 'Palentine's day' is an actual thing (I knew I wasn't gonna be the first one to have thought of it, but I didn't realise there'd be an entire organisation around it) that happens on the 14th August, but screw that noise- I need my distraction from the most cynical day of the year on that day. So, I went to Brussels to see my beloved Bitsy and, wouldn't you know, she'd changed her hair again.

And grown several feet; apparently, she had the spots last time and I'm just unobservant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You can't see it all that well, but in that picture her hair's dark blue; apparently, her coworkers now call her 'smurfette'- WHICH I TOTALLY FORESAW.

That's not Bitsy (I'm pretty sure...) but she did take that picture just moments after having climbed in that mushroom house herself and looking as natural as a moth in a cloth.
Anyway, Bitsy and I started off with a lovely lunch surrounded by couples having less lovely lunches because they weren't with Bitsy and thus their valentines was subpar and they never even knew. Fools.
After that, we went to the Brasserie Museum in Grand Place, which took about as long to look around as it does to say its name- but you did get a free glass of beer with the price of admission and since Bitsy doesn't drink beer, I heroically got through one-and-a-half glasses of beer before Bitsy stopped me on account of my stomach making really unpleasant noises (I don't really drink beer either).

After this, we went to Autoworld, which would have been perfect if it had just had a few more cars.

I especially liked the cars which bent the boundaries between the inside and the outside of the car,

whereas Bitz felt a particular affinity for the racing car- I mean, if she was a moth in a cloth in the smurf house, then she was a mole in a hole in the race car. She wouldn't get out. She COULDN'T get out. She fit so perfectly into that world that it simply wouldn't give her back, like the unicorns in the garden of Eden (which is why we don't see them anymore). Bitsy looked so comfortable in that car that she wouldn't let me photograph her, lest she look out of place by comparison for the rest of her life, but you can see me enjoying myself immensely (though not fitting in as well) in the pictures below:

"This is the happiest I've ever seen you,"- James Woe

After this intensely satisfying experience, we parted ways at Brussels Midi, where all kiss-offs take place (more on this later), and it was off to meet Jonathan.

I don't remember much of my meeting with ol' Jonno, because on top of the one and a half beers I'd had earlier that day, I chugged down another five or six (or maybe, just maybe, seven) and I REALLY don't drink beer. I know we went for chips. And we talked about brown bears. And he quoted Patrick Stewart. And he drank from possibly the coolest glass ever.

I also know that I found out the answer to a three year mystery, though how we got onto the subject, I don't know. The mystery regards the identity of a hot guy I spoke to at party to which I was invited but at which I was not expected; the host was very drunk and sat us next to one another because we 'had a lot in common' (he then leant in and whispered 'you're both GAY!'). Anyway, from my description, Jonathan managed to identify him and thus something I'd completely forgotten about was finally laid to rest.

I woke up the next day very early because the hostel room didn't have curtains but by some miracle (I suspect the chips) I was not hungover and so went into the world for Palentine's day part 2. Bitsy and I met and exchanged extremely belated birthday presents of sugary delights from one of the many chocolateries which treat candies like fine wines, including blind taster tests and wanky comments about the taste ('paradoxically delicious'- ugh!). After, we went for lunch and then off to a media centre/museum to watch  Toy Story (even French dubbing couldn't destroy the joy of that film) and they also had Victorian 3d Pornography in the exhibitions part. It was educational, to say the least.
After this, we went for coffee, then to Sablon where we found a children's literature shop which had a Tintamarresque which lead to possibly the most horrific and confusing image in the entire modern photographic canon:

Look at that flesh, pink and plump.

Yes, both those faces are mine and no, I won't tell you how that effect was achieved (hint: voodoo). After scaring various French children, we retired to Gare du Midi for one final goodbye coffee and this is where the greatest ever piece of modern detecting took place: the evidence? A plate, some crumbs, a coffee cup and a reciept for one donut cake and one cookie, covered in tears. The verdict? A break up followed by a reconciliation. The proof? A second reciept found, charged to the same card for a share poppy muffin and  latte. And Grace deduced this all on her own while chewing gum like a nineties badass.

I departed, and was back home by ten. Still, it was the best Valentine's day I can remember followed by the best Lupercalia ever (look it up.)

Old Friends

Yesterday, dear readers, I went to Paris to see a couple of old friends: first up was David, whom I met at the Union Theatre 24 Hour Play and who later played Rob in the original Australian production of Rob and Roberta and has also apparently done other things since. In fact, he's travelling around Europe at the moment, with his friend also called David, whom I also met briefly in Melbourne. I asked them if their shared name ever caused confusion between them, realised that that was a ridiculous question and it turned out that it actually does because David 1 (Rob-David) likes to talk to himself and, better yet, address himself by name.
Anyway, they asked me for the 'Rory Tour' of Paris, to which I responded that I knew how to get to Notre Dame (it's near where Dani works), which they'd already seen, but we decided to go anyway to see the indoors and climb the tower. You're not allowed to take pictures of the inside (not that that stopped people), but the view from the top is just amazing:

Those other guys that she could dangle...

After we'd drunk our fill of the cityscape (and once the next group had ascended the incredibly narrow staircase) we returned to earth and ate lunch. The amazing thing is, even after eighteen months of radio silence, David 1 and I fell very quickly back into the gentle patter of regular friends. It was pretty much immediate- we met at Gare du Nord, he remarked upon my hair, and then it was just like the olden days. We discussed Marvel and theatre and Australia and uni and films and work and my mum (whose emails I was always relaying in my Melbourne days). I was absolutely delighted to find out that Laura and David 1 are still an item: I was there on day one of their relationship and was indeed the one who gave them their portmanteau couple name of 'Burger' (Barton+Worger). David told me all about a load of people I haven't heard from in years (my own fault, admittedly) and I loved it because apart from the note on my Degree, the stamp on my passport and my ponytail, my life in Australia doesn't really seem to intersect with my European life all that much. It was really nice to hear that it was still there, that my friends from those days still spoke (if only occasionally) and that I am, in some small way, remembered (mainly for my relationship to Vodka, it would transpire).

After lunch, we met up with Dani, who had been looking at unis at which to do postgrad stuff. It was lovely to introduce one of the friends from my Australia life to one of the few remaining friends from my time at Sixth Form: two people who have known me at two completely different times in my life. If only someone from Edinburgh had been there.
The Davids then departed to recouperate at their hostel and I finally got to see Dani's flat- it was exactly what I was expecting meaning lovely and very, very French. She showed me her chandelier and her cuckoo clock and then made the only decent cup of tea I have had in France.

Then, today, I skyped Husnain for seven hours, nineteen minutes and twelve seconds. This is a long time to Skype, in my opinion (maybe I'm weird). We hadn't really planned for it to last that long, after all we'd seen each other less than a month previous- it's just that, when we speak, Husnain and I follow so many rabbit holes and tangents that conversations inevitably become incredibly protracted- fascinating, eloquent, enjoyable- but very, very protracted. Husnain also said something pertinent to the events of this weekend: that old kernel of wisdom that we're different people depending on whom we're interacting with. I definitely think this is true, although obviously the differences that various audiences cause can obviously be extremely subtle (this, to an extent, is what my dissertation was about). Anyway, I was a different person in Australia than to Shrewsbury, who was also different to my identity in Scotland- so, seeing David again obviously brought back Aussie!Rory, but then Dani evoked Shropshire!Rory, and seeing the two of them together created some sort of weird hybrid of the two. I kind of wish I could experiment with bringing together the friends from the different stages of my life and seeing how they affected my manner, but I don't have the resources, patience or self-awareness- I'll just have to settle for the conclusions I drew from my dissertation. Namely, I hate the library and I want to quit.