So yes, I’m back from Paris, having had the most awesome trip ever, but I‘ll go over the sights in detail (WITH PICTURES!!!) later this week. After a day back in Larbert, I’m now in Dundee, where I’ll be until Friday, finally able to reacquaint myself with Groucho’s, after well over a month’s absence of not getting any records, and having looked for Daft Punk’s Alive 2007 record in Paris, and because the search turned out to be fruitless, I’ll have another look while I’m here.
Shortly before we left for Dundee, I was listening to the radio, having been given a lift in my mum’s car, devoid of a CD player or iPod thingy (?), and hearing the DJ saying a requested song (by Edwin Starr, for those interested/who know who he is, because I don’t) would be coming shortly. Straight away, I started to hear one of those easy-listening jazz-type songs, now typically an indicator that a DFS sale announcement was on its way, but once I started to hear lyrics instead of hearing that a 3-piece leather suite was going for £375 with interest free credit for 2 years, it obviously turned out that this was the Edwin Starr song the man from Linlithgow or wherever so desperately wanted to hear. So maybe DFS isn’t going to take over the world, but it’s certainly making me live in fear that a man was going to start shouting about a random once-in-a-lifetime sale as soon as I hear a song on the radio, for fear that DFS had hijacked it for their next advertising campaign. That may put me off Spotify, that…
So, going over to Paris, not knowing a word of French and armed only with a French phrasebook and an assumption that food names would be vaguely similar all over the world - which turned out to be totally wrong, by the way - Kirstie and I hit the town, looking for a panini or two. Conveniently, we found a place round the corner from the hotel, although once we began to order, we discovered I was totally out of my depth. The woman at the counter spoke so quickly, I didn’t know where to start! Eventually, we just gave up and pointed at the stuff we wanted. Totally wasn’t worth it, mind you, for the Panini was mingin’.
Also discovering at the Metro stations (which is possibly one of the highlights of the holiday, because we could go anywhere we liked in the city for only 30 euros for 5 days with a Paris Visite card. Not a bad deal, that. Also, if you ever intend on going to Paris, go before you turn 25, since if you have an EU passport and under 25, a hell of a lot of places are free, the Louvre, Pompidou Centre and the Arc De Triomphe being three of them. Christ, this is a long side-note…) and the airports, which handily accommodated all of us French-impaired bottom wipers/sons of a silly person (delete Python reference as required) with handy hints as to where the hell to go in clear English. In stark contrast, upon arriving back in Edinburgh, I couldn’t see a word of anything other than English. Goes to show how lazy in general the British are really, although since pointing and speaking in English that little bit louder seems to work for the most part, why should we change? Because it’s only fair, isn’t it?
And,on to Vampire Weekend, a band who I’ve long appreciated, but because they only had the one album, there wasn’t that much to enjoy. With the release of Contra, their second album, I get to love them that much more. With 10 tracks, with only one lasting 6 minutes, it’s a short, but very sweet album, and their self-styled sound - “Upper West Side Soweto” is just as clear as it was in their debut, with their African influences shining through, and Cousins, Run, Horchata, Giving up the Gun and Holiday are personal favourites, so basically the majority of the album is top-notch. I want to go and see them in February, but don’t know anyone else that’s a fan. If any of you exist, and there bloody well should be, let me know!
And on a final note, I got round to buying Inglourious Basterds, Tarantino’s 4th finest film, after Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs and Jackie Brown. Although to be honest, I love all of Tarantino’s films, but Death Proof’s a wee bit on the stinky side, even if Kurt Russell is awesome. Daniel Bruhl’s Frederick Zoller is a highlight of the film, even if I was a fan of his from seeing Goodbye Lenin! At school, so it’s good to see him in something more substantial than a 5-minute cameo in The Bourne Ultimatum. Eli Roth’s not the greatest actor on the planet, and his directing credentials (Hostel, Hostel Part 2 and Cabin Fever) aren’t exactly anything other than torture-porn-tastic, although I’m looking forward to seeing the full version of Nation’s Pride, the film-within-a-film that Roth’s directed, which is actually a major plot point of IB, but you don’t see much of it, probably because it’s rather long…
Anyway, I’m heading off, will write again soon, with the promise of pictures of a big tower, a Toyota hanging up on a wall and a grave. That’s right, I visited a cemetery. What a way to spend a Friday morning…
Darren out, saying we in the Nazi-killin’ business, and son, business is a-boomin’!
Listening to - Cat People (Inglourious Basterds Soundtrack) - David Bowie
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