Poetry in Paris

Paris Paris what can I say ! romantic city of the noughties with the gallic charm and the vino. Oh the Vin de table, so many tables so many bottles of the finest plonk in the world spilling over my jutting chin and moistening my cigarette so that I , yes I of the bon homie, have to light yet another Benson and swig a mothful of the Beaujolais or Burgundy or Bordeaux or the buggeration what is that one called I dont give a fuck just give me a quaff of that quaffing wine and we'll be on our way to another cafe or bar or club or restaurant or dodgy flat with people sitting cross legged playing the guitar. Jenny has taken to sipping Ricard and reciting poetry and smoking Gauloise. Here is one of her poems:

Angry
Yes I am bloody angry
What are you staring at
You four eyed feminist male
With the Fucking cheek to call me shallow
You vacuous prat
Lather mouth
Fat git
I spit on your mothers carcass
You dodgy spunkball
Grated cheese on your eyelids
Foreskin rollback menthol dab
Sliced sole
Chopped toes
You utter bastard
I will call your father and denounce you

She read that to the assembled wine drinkers in a small cafe on the left bank
And they roared their approval and coughed and clapped
Patted on the back. Jenny was high with emotion
We have been living the lives of literary heroes me doing the wine and fags, she writing agressive strange poetry of the highest order and reciting to dumbfounded audiences of pseudo bohemians and we work the crowd - getting the odd bit of cash - more for jenny - I have stacks in the bank

She comes in many colours

I know - yes, sorry, VERY late with the posting - we all need a bit of time out, even us travellers in Austria. But you will be glad to hear that here in the Tyrol I have bedded in with Jenny and knocked around with Alfonse in glorious style - so much so that I could not stop from the whirl for one tiny moment to release my pleasure onto the page - until now that is. For now you are to be the recipients of my full bloom. I have been intoxicated all week, ridden with the paradoxical fumes of nicotine, and the combination has left me high in the clouds of Austrian Nirvana. Jenny has transported me to a place somewhere near hippydom with a twinge of mod, a dash of punk and a mighty splash of hedonistic ridiculousness the likes of which have not been seen here in the mountains for many a long year I bet. We have danced in the sultry late night hotel disco to Dexys Midnight runners and Duran Duran. We have drunk pints of icy lager until the early hours in small candlelit bars while Alfgonse told us about his head injury and
childhood in Nice with the Rabine family after his parents had been killed by falling masonry. Allowing me to make my gambit and release myself of my inner virtual tumour and spill my guts out on the beechwood table verbally describing my own parents death in the car crash from hell. We have wandered high and low, tiring ourselves in wooded walks or near mountain peaks, to lay the old blanket and make intricate love in the open air while Alfonse wandered off for a pee. Now is the summer of all my content and the content will now com spewing out in multicoloured pellets all over you ! Ahhh to have found love with an indie clothes designer of massive repute and to not know what amazing surprise will venture around my mini corners.

Today we have sayed in the hotel with a bottle of the finest Chablis, 40 Benson, 3 bottles of high grade Chill Vodka (it damn spicy mon !). And just ourselves, and Alfonse, to keep us company while we discuss anything. Tomorrow we fly - YES fly to PARIS - because Jenny has a show near Montemarte and I have an urge to see the Romantic city now I have gone dewey eyed myself. And it will be good to see if Urban culture has an effect on the Jenny thing going on down in my head right now. So Paris - not gay - straight to gay Paris !

Shave in Bar with Cut Throat

So I strutted around in Brown for some time taking in the sights of Innsbruk and the surrounding villages and locale and ended up in a stinky little bar of the boiled cabbage variety with cheery wenches and a loud thumping on the wooden tables as the tankards came crunching down in the hands of massive Austrian worker types. I hesitated to ask for the bottle of vino then plucked up the courage (Jenny and Alfonse were with me) to order 3 of their finest Reds and we took our seats in the corner. All eyes were on us (we were strangers in a local pub and we felt like it I can tell you) - and we got stuck into a passable Cotes de Rhone and moved onto the second with ease and I drifted into a Benson and Hedges moment before steerin the bit of conversation I was managing to engage in with my companions to the subject of shaving and the need I had for a good one. A local then started blithering on and before I knew it I was in a high chair in the middle of the bar with an enormous guy towering over me with a cut throat razor and a brush full of lather. I succumbed to what was a very nice shave in the end. I know that the wine would have made a cut go bursting forth in copious amounts of blood all over the bar floor and I prayed that that would not happen and indeed it did not - not so much as a nick or scrape. So now I am baby bottomed for the time being - maybe the next 8 hours. By the way - where have I been the last week - well it was my birthday and Alfonse and Jenny took me to a small cellar bar in a mountain retreat and I dont remember much else - except I did try meditating but I was too drunk ! Can yo meditate when you are pissed - well I do not fucking know and I did not care then and I do not care now except that I am sure that it is quite a good thing to do for rest and relaxation and I guess that is what I should be doing rather than drinking large amounts of God's nectar. Well I will peruse the paradox and have a fag. Nice times these - Jenny is turning out to be a scream - she has a fine sense of humour and can put away a large quantity of red wine without falling over.