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2009: A Personal Review.
I feel fairly uncomfortable writing about myself. It feels odd to suggest that my life should be of any interest to anyone other than the people who have to listen. It’s not like creating a story with which to engage people and it feels awkward and self-indulgent.
So I write, with a fear angering people and of boring everyone, but for my own records and myself (and my mother).
It’s been a busy year.
On the 6th February, I will have been living in Paris for a year. I started 2009 in Hackney, working on a big HBO/BBC TV series with a huge crew that spanned four continents and I’ll finish the year in a studio in Paris, by myself, working on whatever I want for myself and no money.
I think it best to start with Paris.
Paris is a different city than London. I’ll start by being nice and save ranting for a little later. They do do lots of things very well.
They appreciate food (whether they do it better is a different matter) and that is marvellous. It’s great to walk out of your flat and have lots of independent shops; grocers, formagerie, bakery, butchers and really feel like they care about their food. It’s getting better in England, but it’s not the same culture. There are three cheese shops within a 3-4 minute walk from home.
Trouble is, it’s so expensive here that you can’t really afford to make the most of it. Is it time to start the rant? No, not quite yet…
Paris is also a beautiful city. I mean, truly beautiful. And it is beautiful pretty much everywhere you go (except the suburbs, god forbid). They knocked it down 150 years ago and rebuilt; widening the roads, maintaining the existing monument and preserving them and the surrounding skyline impeccably, so you would expect it to look all right. French photographer Brassai suggested in 1953 that “The soul of Paris is in the process of being destroyed; on the pretext of clearing the ‘slum areas’, we are knocking down what used to be the essential magic of the capital; on the pretext of making space around the monuments, we are demolishing the streets that give them their context. Given the choice, I would rather they demolished the monuments and left the streets alone. There are no museums for the streets.”
Whether the magic was removed in this process is debateable and having never been part of the ‘slum areas’ I have no reference, but I know that there are still times, 10 months into my stay, when you look up and have to stop, smile and just enjoy the city. The Arc de Triomphe and the Grand Palais/Pont Alexandre III, perfectly preserved, make my heart leap whenever I see them and that is special.
The bread is fantastic. We’re spoiled with a top bakery close-by, but generally, the bread is brilliant. The meat is good too, but they do still insist on eating things that are not cool. Andouille (sausage composed primarily of the intestines and stomach) is not cool. It smells like faeces and tastes like anus (so I’d imagine).
They’re very good at Café’s. There are lots of them. They all seem…a bit the same to me though and that’s not through a lack of searching. Inspired by Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sartre and Camus I have attempted to visit some of their old haunts. I went to Les Deux Margots , Le Flore and Le Dome and stood outside them all. They didn’t seem brimming with the genius I had read about. They seemed…well, like all the others (the same chairs, the same people, the same food, the same attitude), so I left without so much as a coffee. It seems as though at some point, Paris swapped thinking for watching.
I’m not sure what I expected; naivety is not something usually associated with me. I suppose this could be one of the examples that can lead to Paris syndrome for some. Expectation is a strange thing, but I had none, so what am I disappointed at?
I think I’m ready to rant now.
First things first, it costs a bloody fortune to live here. A pint is €7, which at the time of writing this is £6.22. If you paid that much for a pint in England, you’d expect it to be served by the Queen or by a naked woman, or by the Queen, naked. It’s not just beer either. You can buy six (normal, not gold) pitta breads from the supermarket for €4.25. To quote my long-suffering girlfriend ‘going for a night out is the same price as a black market kidney and more painful than having the transplant operation.’ This brings me on to the next area of rant - fun.
It’s just not as fun, as open, as exiting or as alive as other places I’ve lived. It’s stifled with bureaucracy and formalities. Rebecca’s mention of the painful nights out is in reference to the dreadful nightclubs and all that comes with them. There’s no fun. It’s all bloody serious all the bloody time. They all seem very reluctant to let go and insist on a formality to every detail of life that I cannot understand. It is nice when the people in the shop call you ‘Monsieur’ and when people come round for a drink or dinner; everybody brings a bottle, without fail. It’s not nice however, when you’re in a club (whether a shitty gay club, a ‘banging’ techno-bateau or a fancy sort of establishment) and you’re asked to vacate your seat because someone has bought a bottle of champagne and that entitles them to sit down rather than you with your €15 G & T.
The French are famous for their food and this is warranted in many cases. As previously mentioned, their appreciation is great. A lot of their foods are great; Magret de Canard, Beef Bourguignon, Fois Gras and Rillette are some of my favourite things to eat. But, if you don’t like the French staples or flavours (or if you just fancy a change), you’re screwed. The choice is limited unless you travel across the city for average Chinese food or disappointing Italian. Such is their love of and arrogance about their own food that little attention is paid to other cuisines. Britain’s alleged culinary wilderness over the last however-many-years has meant that we are now surrounded by many different, good quality restaurants and deli’s from all over the world. I miss that. A lot. Furthermore, you can’t find parsnips or peanut butter or licorice Rizla or butternut squash or small bags of crisps, but perhaps these are very personal grievances and things not to judge a city upon – if that is indeed what I am doing!
There is every chance that my criticisms stem from a terrible grasp of the language and I hate myself for not being better with it, but it is what it is and I’m trying. I do however feel that the lack of French has a galvanizing affect on the English people I’ve met and because of that a real camaraderie is forged. I’ve made some really good friends and thank my terrible language skills for that.
There seems to be a very distinct idea of what is to be Parisian and the city reflects that. It feels very aware of itself all the time and I’m not sure that I fit into an idea of what Paris is or thinks it is.
Almost week by week, my opinion changes and happiness peaks and troughs – I suppose, like all cities, Paris has its good and bad. It is, after all, just a city.
Enough about Paris now!
I’ve spent more time in one room this year than I ever thought possible, but it’s the happiest room I’ve ever had the pleasure of inhabiting. It’s small, but light, tidy and messy, full and empty. It feels very much like home.
There’s something nice as well as a bit odd about all of the important things in life taking place in one room. I sleep, eat, watch films, have sex, read and work all in the same small little space. As I write it, it sounds claustrophobic, but it’s not. It’s home and it’s ours and it’s brilliant.
There have been more gigs than any year previously. They began in early February with Kings Of Leon at L’Olympia in Paris and have just concluded with Editors/The Maccabees at Le Bataclan. From Dizzee Rascal to Yeah Yeah Yeahs, the ‘gigging’ has spanned four countries in England, Spain, Italy and France. For anyone who may care, French crowds are the worst (one man stood watching Editors, singing every word but then not clapping/cheering at the end of each song – typically, frustratingly reserved). There were also three festivals; Glastonbury (for everyone and the best by an outlandish distance) where there was a bit of mud, a bit of rain and lots of sun; Benicassim (for Scallies, Scots, Scousers and Spaniards – it is in Spain after all), where there was tantrums from Oasis and a dust-storm, and Reading (for children and ‘lads.’), where there was yet more tantrums, this time from Kings Of Leon, awful crowds (as in: not interested in music), terrible sound quality, but most importantly, Radiohead.
I also managed to be part of a 1m strong crowd to catch Johnny Halliday perform beneath the Eiffel Tower on Bastille Day. The fireworks (one of many clips if you’re that interested) that followed were impressive but were overshadowed by the most impressive projector display, projected on to the tower itself, during which they recreated battles and made the tower dance as they created a visual history of the monuments 120 years in existence.
For my family, 2009 was also a big year. My Sister gave birth for the first time to beautiful Lily in February and my (forever young) Mother turned 60 in April. Lily appears too sweet and well behaved for me to be naughty with so I’m resigned into waiting for the teenage years to cause some trouble with her. Although I’ll be 36 (at the youngest) by the time she reaches teen years and 41 when I can take her to the pub – a very worrying thought indeed! I’m sure my mother will still not look a day over 45 by the time that comes around.
2009 is a landmark year for me personally as it marks the year that I decided that I would focus all my efforts on being a writer (and later a director), full time, with no other distractions. Starting in January 2009, I spent the next 7 months writing a script and now wait patiently (!) for my agent to secure a buyer. I’m pleased with the result but expect nothing and am moving on quickly to something new. I’m trying to write a radio play based on the stories a friend has recounted about his time spent with the Army in Iraq and Afghanistan. Not cheery by any means, but certainly entertaining and dramatic.
None of these things would have been possible without the support of the people who love me and I’m eternally grateful to them for the opportunity to follow my dream no matter how corny that might sound.
I enter into the New Year, planning on not eating any meat after reading about the environmental affects of the rearing, slaughtering and exporting of the meat. With our planet falling to pieces very quickly, it seemed like the clearest and easiest step I could take personally to try and help it (the planet). It’s certainly the hardest resolution I’ve ever given myself, but very much worthwhile.
I hope this will be a year when my career moves forward and my relationships both blossom and strengthen.
I feel like it has been an important year. For love, for Family and for myself and I go into a new decade with some things in place and many things up in the air, but full of hope, excitement and happiness.
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