Lockdown in Paris : Day Forty-Five
9h15 : Had a dream last night that I went to New York on a ferry (I have never been to New York, on a ferry or otherwise). I remember thinking “This is great, why haven’t I done this before?” because it seemed like the ferry took about an hour. I remember looking up and seeing all these massive buildings right overhead, as if the ferry had just pulled up on 5th Avenue, or wherever it is in New York that skyscrapers are, I don’t know. I was duly impressed and decided immediately I liked New York very much. I got off the ferry and started to wander towards the city proper all awe-struck and happy to be exploring, and then I realised I had forgotten my suitcase. Seriously. I started rushing back to the ferry terminal and down a weird staircase and back into the ferry to try and locate this ruddy suitcase - because even my subconscious is forgetful - that’s how deep it goes, what chance do I have? None whatsoever. In case you have missed my musings on being perpetually forgetful, this whole dream thing will make a lot more sense if you read this post.
9h50 : Get a text that there’ll be a delivery between 13h25 (they are trying to impress me with specificity there I think) and 15h25. Do you know I don’t even know if it’s actually my mini fridge? I think it might be the balcony screening. Still. Every delivery is exciting isn’t it.
11h : Ok. What the heck. My phone just rang and a fella said he had a delivery for me and he was downstairs (and that’s how deliveries are done people!) At this point I know it’s not my fridge because it’s not yet 13h25, so I think hey, maybe it’s that balcony screening or maybe it IS the fridge and the balcony screening is coming later or maybe it’s my German Leiderhosen! So I go down to the courtyard and there’s a man with a box that is none of the sizes one would expect for any of the above. It also has a label on it that says FOOD. I have not, to my knowledge, drunkenly ordered food in a box, so I am confused. And here commenceth the Second Delivery Mystery of Lockdown. While climbing the stairs I see on the label that it says Comtesse du Barry which is a rather fancy shop selling everything that’s good about eating and drinking. Anyone listening to me climbing back up the stairs would’ve heard a lot of “What the…” and “But…” and “Who would…” followed by the sound of me wheezing (I live on the 5th floor and there’s no lift). Once in the flat, I unbox the box and find a beautiful second box, with a ribbon on it. It’s very lovely, and it looks like this.
Then there is an envelope with my name on it. Inside is a message that just says this:
WHO IS THIS MYSTERIOUS GIFT-GIVER?! Whoever you are, Thank You, from the fridgeless depths of Day Forty-Five! Did I mention there is WINE IN THE BOX.
11h42 : As well as watching classic films on Friday mornings, (and sometimes Mondays if I’m honest) Leonie-of-Leek and I play a game. By which I mean, she sends me recorded snippets of movie themes she hears on Classic FM and I go absolutely out of my mind trying to bring to mind the film that corresponds to the theme tune. Out of context, this can be surprisingly hair-tearing, and consequently would make for a great quiz round (Adam-of-Dragonland, I’m looking at you). I say dragonland because they currently live somewhere near Draguignan and that’s dragon-y enough for me. So this morning, I knew the audio snippet she sent me so well I could sing along with it but could I get the movie? Could I hell. Five minutes later I had my forehead on the back of the Yellow Chair in total despair, humming the same phrase over and over like a maniac and yelling “Oh god what is it? WHAT IS IT?!” which, if viewed from across the courtyard, would have looked genuinely alarming. I got it in the end. It was Gladiator.
12h15 : Still can’t get over this box. Can’t believe that tonight I will dine on confit de canard and mashed potato with Bordeaux and milk chocolate florentines. For goodness’ sake.
12h45 : Just checked the fridge delivery whatnot on Amazon and it says it’ll arrive on Monday. So. What’s arriving this afternoon?! Maybe I’ll be in Lederhosen by the time the day is through! Is it weird that I’m more excited about the dungarees than having a functioning fridge?
13h25 : The second delivery was not dungarees. It wasn’t balcony screening or a miniature fridge. It was The Third Mystery Delivery. A bunch of lovely flowers and some chocolates and a card, again, unsigned. The mystery continues - but I have a hunch. I think it’s a very kind French person in Paris who shall remain nameless.
14h15 : These scones are just like chunks of miraculousness in my day. I imagine a future in which people come round to the small but perfectly formed home I will never own and I, like the domestic goddess I’ll never be, just happen to be taking a tray of freshly baked scones out of the oven. This will never happen. I am not the person who bakes perfect treats for impromptu guests. I am the person who forgets her suitcase on subconscious holidays.
16h22 : Finished work-work for the day and have arranged to drink my gifted Bordeaux with Scottish-Sar, which I’m very excited about.
16h48 : Listen to the Gladiator soundtrack, inspired by this morning’s movie theme challenge. Entire sections of it make me so nostalgic I almost have to turn it off. We used to play this score in the orchestra at Sixth Form College - easily the happiest time of my academic life - and hearing it is a bit of a sensory overload. Brains are amazing. They remember instantly the bits where everyone struggled to keep time, and I find myself counting - bam, bam bam, ba-bam bam-bam - and then I see where I am in the rehearsal hall, knowing where all my friends are in relation to the clarinets of which I was an inconsistent part. I know that Mouse is over there on her flute, Bobs further to her left on the trumpet, Lynda (Bobs’ twin) to my right, Rhiannon to my left, crying with laughter as she pretends to play along, despite having absolutely no clue where we are. The three of us were third clarinets, obviously, and wouldn’t have wanted anything resembling musical responsibility. We were quite content to honk along, trying to control our bouncing shoulders. If you laugh down a clarinet you get a hideously loud squeak-honk, so you have to just sit there with the damn thing stuck between your teeth, laughing spasmodically through your nose while waggling your fingers in a bad parody of clarinet playing. Your fellow player’s completely different finger-waggling makes you want to double over in your plastic chair, but you have to keep pretending you can play the clarinet. Fletch is up on stage with percussion, alongside Taylor, who is about 7ft, and his best friend Micro-Mike, who is about 4ft 9. The two of them would smoke weed in Taylor’s car before rehearsals, and given that they set the pace for every piece we played, tempos varied wildly - Gladiator was always particularly dramatic. It was thanks to the orchestra that I experienced the worst hangover of my life. To this day it remains the yardstick by which I measure all other hangovers. It even has its own name - The Tuscany Hangover - which Mouse literally just texted me about. I had texted her to say listening to Gladiator was making me nostalgic and she replied saying “The orchestra days were the best days. Except the Tuscany Hangover.” I’ll save its recollection here for a day when there’s nothing else I could possibly write about, a day when my brain is void, but in broad strokes it involves a swimming pool, BB King (not in abstract terms, I mean literally BB King, in the flesh) the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and a whole lot of vodka.
18h27 : Quick update on the jeans situation - they are still soaking wet. They’ve been in and out to the balcony all day, me leaping up to grab them every time I hear the rain start on the roof, then slinging them back out again for the dry spells. Probably the most exercise I’ve done in weeks.
19h10 : Video call with Scottish-Sar. This will see the night out nicely.
21h55 : I have to get this out before 10pm for you all to receive it, and have drunk too much red wine to proofread it or check if it’s any good. If this sounds like a disclaimer, it’s not accidental.
