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Wednesday 12th September 2001
Aha! It would seem the way into a French man's heart (pants) is to be quintessentially English and arrive at his house with a big bouquet of flowers for his mother, to thank her for her hospitality. If you can time it so he's just about to leave for Limoges and then offer to drive him yourself (because naturally you're going there and you haven't just driven 20km for nothing) you're onto a winner. Lots of smiles. I have a new butch ruffty tuffty haircut. I'm impressed. It was done by one of the guys I've seen floating round Panthère Rose (is everyone in this country a buffty boy?) and is very good. He said he'd see me on Saturday. Oooh! On my way from the station (I booked my TGV tickets, finally!) I was walking across the park trying to get through to Orange service clients so I could have my phone enabled for roaming, when some random bloke started shouting "Hallo! Hallo! HALLO! ANGLAIS! HALLO!" and I thought he was mad, so carried on walking. Then he launched into "PANTHÈRE ROSE!! PANTHÈRE ROSE!!" so I figured I must know who he was. I wandered over and we chatted a little - him rocketing away despite the occasional request to slow down, me nodding and smiling and occasionally saying "D'accord" - and he said he'd see me on Saturday as well, said something about the barman there, performed a shagging gesture, gestured his hands in a fisherman's "It was this big!" stylee then departed with a huge grin on his face. I think sometimes I'm better off being slightly ignorant as to what these people are saying to me. Traxx in the evening with Christophe then back home for something to eat and then back into Limoges for a little more drinking. Eventually, I was taken off to Boy by three Aprilia riders (one in leather) who escorted Mildred through the centre of Limoges which made her feel like a black Lincoln. Boy was fun. Got chatting to some straight boys who were out "loving gay people" in their underpants. Somehow, having an Englishman in the establishment had made the barman think of The Full Monty so it was expected that six of the boys would do a striptease in exchange for alcohol (must remember that one), so they did. The tall cropped-haired besix-packed one had no problems with waving bits and bottom around. The floppy haired blond one with the goatee, pecs and big brown eyes even went as far as to say he was a bit bi, then rang me up at 5.30am, rather pissed, to ask if he could come round and shag me. I must move out of the country. Home at about 5am. Clear sky, but too tired to do anything, even with the binoculars Brian's loaned me. | |||
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