Here I sit at the edge of the sun, in the summer square in Noisy. It’s stone here, the only plants are in cages. But the people run free in space, just financially caged. Street life. Children chasing a battered football into the road.
Last week a sports hall up the road that is being demolished put a load of half decent Adidas footballs out onto the street. Good workmen there. I have worked alongside managers who would have told the workmen to put the balls into boxes first so nobody can have fun with them. Christ, I once did a job with a producer who asked me to throw away a huge amount of expired beer, and then got in the van with me and accompanied me to to the tip to make sure I threw it out. Special place in hell.
Everyone is kicking balls everywhere and running around and shouting. It’s ten to ten at night.
Today I finally had the Grand Palais experience I’ve been waiting for. This is the venue where I met Roadkill and Bob – blogs passim. I went to the gate, got in through the gate with my van, and helped some people out. Mostly it was distribution of stuff. It also partly involved a fucked boom lift. I had some jump leads and a portable charger with extension cable. I thought I was gonna have to jump the thing, but actually the thing started fine, he just doesn’t like it as there are safety features that cut the engine when you try and make it do dangerous things.
Lunch in central Paris. Then back on the road and I think I’ve finally cracked the accreditation fuckery. “Don’t go through Curtis.” It’s as simple as that, it turns out.
Early start tomorrow, and it is turning to night now. I just came outside as I wanted to be in a different place to write this. Jack and Darren are dropping off scaffolding late tonight. I’ll go get it early tomorrow morning. The team have got an 8 hour window overnight where they have staff to build the scaffolding towers, do whatever they need to do, and break the towers. They start at 11pm, and I’m gonna need to get my van ready to pick it all up at 6 really because once the work is finished they won’t stick around, and if the team has gone then I’ll be loading scaffolding on my own at dawn with hotel staff telling me I’m supposed to be gone and not helping.
So it’s bedtime. In my hot sweaty room. I think I’ll leave the fan on all night. It made me dream of rain, but it’s probably better than making myself into bed pie. It’s hot in Paris.
AlBarclay 