Greg rang to check I was awake at 1:47. My alarm was set for 1:50. I sleep talked to him. Then I crashed down for precious precious 2 minutes and alarm caused a reflexive sideways roll. Clothes were laid out and aftershave. All my bags packed as we have to check out.
Clothes happened and I carried my bags down and left them by the door. Ten minutes walk to the little enterprise van that Morgane is taking to forever away. It’s still raining. Contact lenses cos it’s dark, and drive back to the door. Sling the bags in. To the warehouse.
A pool of light. Forklifts. Shouting.
I leave the keys on the seat and my clothes in the van. Into the Luton and off. Am I awake yet? I think so.
The French are deeply creative in their fuckery. I keep thinking I’ve got the solution, but they keep working down the list. “You need a QR code on your vehicle.” “The QR codes are only day passes. Look on your sheet for the infinity symbol.” “Ah but you need to have accreditation for this particular venue.” “I do. It’s here.” “Ahh, aha but you are not sealed.” “Yes I am.” “But this seal doesn’t match the ones in the pad” “that’s an old seal” “THIS ONE IS BROKEN, YOU MUST LEAVE IMMEDIATELY ” “That’s not one of the ones on your list”
The guys at ALX GRX GRP camion gate (I can’t be having with these acronyms – this is roadkill’s gate at Grand Palais – they are almost impossibly obstructive. I get the need for security but this is a hunger for mistakes, and I have a feeling it is reserved for Anglophones. There is nothing that can be done to solve it. Trust me. I’ve tried charm, neutrality, pretending not to understand french, using my french that is getting really good now, silence, excitement at French victory… they have decided to be pricks. So I quietly respond by watching the clock as they go through their checklist of reasons I have to be turned away. Their intention with me is to reject. Even with every tiny little detail fine they still make me fight them. And I’m francophone and was francophile until I realised the extent to which they generally hate the English.
So I have all these clueless francs milling around looking for reasons to reject me. If I’m still there after twenty minutes I play trombone clown music loudly on my radio and I’ve seen that they know why I’m doing it. It makes me very happy. They don’t quite know what to do with it. They haven’t asked me to stop yet as that would be admitting they’ve noticed it and they know I’ll just pretend it’s the music I like. Circus music puts a very different context to them as they cluelessly run around with their bomb detectors waving pieces of paper and looking frightened and one person doing what the previous person just did in circles and shouting and tripping over ladders and “it’s your job” “no it’s my job” “why I oughtta!” As I said though, local security. Fuckwits. Toujours. It’s global.
I just hope these guillotined chickens stop the ones who mustn’t enter. They are still lawpainting by numbers. The vast majority of the security guards here would be in the first wave of people to die in the apocalypse, while waiting for their Amazon order of water. Last words “I’m hungry!”
There’s some letter of the law over spirit of the law stuff going on. I let myself out through a fence today and ended up being literally manhandled by a man with no voice who then dobbed me in to the police who told me through the fence I should pay attention to the security idiots, and I said yes sir no sir three bags full sir, instead of “Officer, this man is a potato with legs.” Still, they park wherever they want and there is no poison army of yellow stingers out to punish mistakes. Some things are better in France outside of food and wine.
I got in eventually and once you’re in you are less scrutinised. I was badly operating one of their electric forklifts on the bridge as the rain was coming down in torrents and thank goodness I was in one of my Global Crew synthetic T shirts as it didn’t give me hypothermia. I still got absolutely drenched.
All done though and I squelched back and then had to fight into Vaire-sur-Marne, eventually getting a police escort through huge crowds. Walked past a fair few godlike humans as I took a moment to wash my hands and use the loo. It was pointed out I was in odd socks. I like odd socks. I want some excellent bright shoes now though. I’ve been outclassed on footwear.
Back at it, onto yet another milk run. There’s so much to do. The arrival of the athletes and the crowds bring it home. I’m crewing the fucking Olympics. My pass says “Technician”. What is my life?
Now I’m dropping to live venues and it is much more anxious. Perhaps it’ll settle. The things are happening as I walk by with something random.
I’m sad it’s raining. It makes me wet. And I want this to be a good event. Rain at the start of festivals means forever puddles.
I had a box of velcro that Tony wanted at his hotel. Despite the fact he’s peremptory, I got his velcro to his reception. It’s one thing every day with him and La Defense. Makes me value planning more highly.
I found excellent safe parking for my Luton next to Tony’s hotel, in sight of an all night roadblock just inside the exclusion zone. Then I took about twelve foot of jonk out the back, breaking the seals which pretty much calls it dead for ALX tomorrow. I like the clown show now though. I look forward to seeing these gruff people improvise, even if they are playing “No, but” while I’m playing “Yes, and” I’ll walk it all in.
So the jonk came on the metro with me, along with all the pissed up rugby gold winning french
“What the hell that guy carrying, is he stoned that’s a hell of a joint,” but they were very very happy to have it at Place de la Concorde.
So I stopped in a central Paris street on the way home for a bite. And a powercut. The whole street. Worrying. As a result I couldn’t pay for my meal on izettle. This is the future. He trusted me to go home and pay him another day. I have no idea if I’ll ever come back this way. But this is the trap we are making for ourselves with the bullshit of “proud to be a cashless venue”. Europe and America should be more Japan. Create a fuckable need. Contactless payment. Create cultural bollocks to drive it. “Cash is dirty.” “You’re funding crime.” Wait a few years. Then fuck it.
That hotel had no means of taking payment.
I am getting on the metro. I’ve booked a room by the van. Tomorrow morning I’ll handball the stuff onto the venue. zxx
AlBarclay 