Author: albarclay

The other day I picked up a box of screws on the mezzanine and the bottom fell out. About fifty screws fell through the crosshatching to the area below. I went and cleared them up. Nobody was below me, so nobody got a screw on the head, but the French clocked it. As I was sweeping I said “Il pleut!” to them. “Oui, il pleut des vis.” It’s one of those things that we all knew might happen. I even thought about putting a cardboard floor down. Better to shift it entirely.

So …  I’m making a new station for vis, with a concrete floor. Much better. Des vis – the screws – are a constant problem. The office guys can make orders at the hardware store but they have to choose the brand and then the French hardware store inevitably says “we only have 999 of the 1000 screws you ordered so you are getting none”. It is actually better by far for me to show up and buy screws by weight. I’ve done that twice today and so long as I keep changing branches I’ll keep us in cheap screws until the fabled unicorn brings the delivery of screws that was promised in the faraway time. These weight boxes are just as good, they just require a bit more work to count.

You measure screws by weight, which I wish I’d known when I first counted out 300. I’ve bought a kitchen scales now. Amazon lost my first one, but it is a crucial tool. Nobody counts screws, but … anyone with a modicum of sense can work out how much ten screws weighs and then multiply it to get their amount. I’m making a chart. I’m checking it twice. I’m becoming the screw master.

Then it was boxes. Everything always comes at last minute. 150 80x40x40… No office store is gonna stock that many. Another big hard call, but there’s two of us and we are both good at this. I’m gonna be on stock tomorrow, and Darren will roam. This means I’d better turn in. Wednesday morning can be pretty full on. And there have been a load of trucks. It’s getting really busy here now. I think I might need to crack in early. Just had to tell Dean the driver where the Luton key was so someone could drop the back of their artic.

Ali has gone to work on other events for a while, so I’ve shifted onto stock and Darren is into response. There’s A LOT to do. Like tons. We are trying our best to do as much as we can. But each person is only a person.

Today I’ve been making boxes up with all sorts of things. Not screws, somehow. Never any screws. Where are all the screws? Will I have to purchase more screws? When will this screw shortage ever end? Darren went to the hardware store today to get an order and once again they came up short. It’s endless.

Darren was running around in the transit while I calmly made loads of piles of consumables. Lots of it is running out so that’s the conversation I can have tomorrow morning. I wish I knew how much was needed. I’m in the dark about the bigger picture because the other option would likely involve having to go to meetings loads and filling in forms. This way I can just be a blunt tool and get things done when they need donegetting. And while the big orders downstairs seem to keep getting mixed up and not by Greg, there’s some seriously overspeed French work going on while we are upstairs ordering things. I sometimes see them getting things ready for loading and it really doesn’t feel thought through. Upstairs it’s a system now, and it’s hard to fuck up even if it took Ali and I a while to arrive at it by combining our opposite brains. We conjured up a way of things that isn’t too particular but is meticulous and can be transferable if, as will happen next week, we both need to be off elsewhere leaving Darren holding the baby on his own.

I’m waiting by the tumble drier right now. It has said six minutes for it last twenty. I want to go to bed. But I put all my clothes in it but what I’m wearing. Tomorrow isn’t such a really early start which is comforting. But I’ll need to be in clean clothes.

It still says 6 minutes. I reckon there’s a moisture gauge or something.

I wanna go to bed

Into the warehouse and into the orders again. There are so many venues and they all get a standard order of cleaning supplies, tools, fixings and other consumables. They get them when they request them, and the gamble tends to be that they never ask for more than about six on the same day. The ideal is that we have nine set up at all times, unwrapped but ready to accommodate special requests.

The supplier has fucked up royally. We should have had a load of screws at wholesale prices ages ago. It’s ridiculous that I’ve had to buy tens of thousands of screws to make up the shortfall. I had to tell my captains how much they’ve made me spend. I have a company card with deep pockets, but that doesn’t mean I should spend it badly. I wanted it to be clear it was all on the line. Nobody will fuel their vehicle if they know it only comes back when they invoice, and ditto nobody will do a hardware run. That’s why I’ve got the card, but then I end up being the one that runs up the money and nobody wants to be thought of as the one who spends more than anyone. I know it will all end up back in the same place though. Still I’m trying to choose my battles.

Tomorrow I’ll be in the warehouse on consumables, shifting and sorting things and making everything shipshape. Inevitably someone will want something. That’ll fall to me as Darren has to go be glamorous at an airport tomorrow because he’s a racing driver when he’s not response team, and the racing driver that was supposed to be there can’t be.

Darren is 47 and ripped, but with him I hear the voice of my wonderful Guildhall movement teacher Wendy Alnutt telling us not to go to the gym. His well wrought muscles have pulled his body out of whack with itself and he’s having the same sort of issues you might get if you have a big belly or, God help you, if you have massive knockers. He tried to get me to lean my whole body weight on his chest to pull it wider and ease his back pain. We will keep trying to find a solution – he’s got elastic cables and maybe we can pull against each other. It’s not a bromance. How dare you.

I’m in early tomorrow. Bunch of orders going out first thing. I need to be there to add whatever the fuck they need last minute and make sure nothing catches fire. We are coming together as a team now. Two weeks. I sent my first invoice today… I’m at the bottom of all my overdrafts. Thank fuck for this work. Still, it’s low blow. Darren gets a third again on my rate for the same work with the same experience level. Interesting how it all fits together and I’m thinking about systems going forward and what I hold to be my value. But … I’m an actor primarily. I love this event work but it will always be secondary to my vocation, irrespective of the money. I’ll get a fraction of this wage at the RSC, and that’s considered to be top of my beloved theatre industry. I hear my dad’s advice: “Go into another line of work.” He was pragmatic I guess. The event work has made the acting possible. All hail the event work. That’s why I’ve been here, not Wales. Wales would have been charitable, fun, all about friendship, but ultimately it would have been hard work for no remuneration. I’m getting to the stage where I can’t allow that anymore.

Right so. I could take stock today. Needed more screws, believe it or not. Got them.

Base is sending out tools and cleaning supplies and consumables to every Olympic venue. I’m based at base but solving problems as they emerge so pretty mobile.

Darren just joined the team and is living in the Airbnb, and to my enormous surprise he is at home to the oojieboojie. I didn’t bring any incense thinking I’d be in hotels, but now I wish I had. I didn’t bring my cards, which is not like me really. I’ve had them on many events before though and never used them apart from a daily for myself. No time and nobody with inclination. Typical that the first time I don’t, someone aligns. Events people are enormously practical, generally. There’s no time for listening to the wind though. There’s too much to do.

If I hadn’t been here this evening I would have been at The Willow Globe in The Tempest. Magical place, magical play. The whole piece has been carefully guided towards that magic by Maddy. Shakespeare is about channeling anyway, the last piece the most magical. It was the words around which – (with some adlibbing) – I first drew the interest of wonderful Lou. He left more of the light that he was channeling in that play than many others, did our Willie. I’ll need to find my Prospero in time, but right now I’m not ready to break my staff.

Darren and I went to the park after work. The Bois de Vincennes. We lay on the grass a while. We looked at the water. We contemplated the trees. We connected with the world and each other.

We are largely working on a metal mezzanine in a vast concrete warehouse at the moment. The work involves “consumables”. What are they? Screws. Cable ties. Bolts. Les vis. Les Cableties. Les Bouleaux. A million types of tape. Toffee tape, glass tape, gaffer tape, masking tape, packing tape, insulating tape, double sided sticky tape, hazard tape … … there’s more. Yes then tools and everything else but this evening, after the park, my thought is on the screws and cable ties. And staples. They’re gonna be everywhere, these tiny things we are handling.

You know me by now, oh constant reader. You know my obsession with the movement of energy, and my mission towards myself, to shift and process and pull the badness out of things where possible. Well, this is the finest opportunity I’ve ever had, and Darren has just come to join. We can send millions of tiny flickers of brightness and positivity to every venue in this town. Nobody will pay attention to the screws and the cable ties and the staples, but if these things are resonating at the highest level they can resonate at then all the better for this broken world. Every country in the world will send their finest humans. Why not try and make even the bolts and fastenings as bright and energetically healthy as the athletes. This is my work, under my work.

Is this how I justify working really hard on mundane things? Or have I been given a fantastic opportunity for global lightwork? I dunno. I’m just moving stuff around. And that involves moving ideas around. And ideas are powerful.

I tend to take Pascal’s Wager generally. If you take it pure, and don’t complicate with what people have done, most belief structures are more positive than their absence. You don’t have to do anything more than allow a bit of cosmic thinking. And Pascal brought the word God into it, but that’s just one frame of understanding of the unkowable. Whatever it is, either I’m sorting millions of screws and I can’t fill them with light, or … or I can. Or I can believe I can and be happier about sorting millions of screws.

Either way, you’ll all be getting a bit of the light I’m sending out via these screws. Best I can do with the life I’ve led up to now. Someone else can do the pole vault.

They took a van out earlier than scheduled for a delivery. They also took it out incompletely loaded. This is happening too often. And it changed my day totally. I thought I would be able to make sense of consumables for the future. As is I had to get up and run to buy some bolts, box them up and chuck them in a crate, get the crate lifted down from the mezzanine and loaded onto our Luton and then work out where the hell MPC is. MPC. is the main press centre. The official address we have all been given is very much not where it is for the purposes of driving there in a great big van. They’ve cordoned off a bit of road disconnected from the venue where they can check your accreditation and it is nearby, but you need to be told about it really. Then you have to go back round once you’ve been safety checked, and get past another layer of security. All is as it should be in terms of it being difficult to get into places, but people who are supposed to get in should be able to. I asked the head of transport if, after however many weeks he’s worked here, he has a pin or any helpful info. No. What a silly question. So I work it out and add it to my list of pins. I am gonna try to use some spare time to write up an English guide to some of the more complicated venues, for any non-francophone drivers. I ended up in a long french conversation with a french logistics guy and Curtis, where the logistics guy and I were both feeding back exactly the same issues. The info we have isn’t helpful. We need to share info as the closer we get to “go!” the more fraught everything will get and the more important it will be to have people get stuff quickly.

Edward works at MPC and he’s bilingual English French and the contact I get from Grace. We have been alternating languages messaging one another as we haven’t worked out what the other one speaks. Head of Transport can’t get me a van pass, but Edward gets me one in less than an hour from me messaging him to tell him I’m coming with forgotten stuff. I’ve saved his number now. He saved my bacon. I’d never have gotten close without a pass – it would have taken even longer than it needed. I would have had to walk a pallet across one of the busiest roundabouts in Paris and then have persuaded the concierge of a posh hotel to let me put it in the goods lift. You can get away with a lot in hi Vis. but not everything.

All hail Edward. He’s lovely on pick-up although I’m shortly going to Google “Best way of getting a pallet truck onto a tail lift,” because if there’s a knack, I haven’t got it yet. I can get it down but it ain’t pretty.

Still, I don’t drop the pallet or break my foot or the van. And on to the golf. The golf course is way out of town. They want 8000 80mm screws. I have a suspicion, from what I’ve observed, that they will all stand around simultaneously looking at an empty pallet for however many hours or days it takes for someone to bring them the screws. I don’t stop at multiple hardware stores to make them universal as every hour I delay is a wasted hour by everyone who has decided it is impossible to buy screws for themselves. They are getting all sorts of different heads and sizes. 80mm by everything from 3.6 up to 6.

They don’t like the 6 but they will work better than everyone running out of screws and Guyancourt is miles away. I’m not gonna come back with more screws. They can fucking source their own now if they’re fussy about the size. They’re all the right length.

Long drive home. Another stop at a hardware store, topping up consumables that we have never had enough of. By the time I’m back at the warehouse, Ali has left the building. He’s off on other events. He’ll be back in a week or two. He and I balance well together. We both have big memories but our priorities are very different. I’ll miss his very well understood brand of OCD. I’ll maintain the systems we made. I’ve even bought a digital scales so next time someone asks me to count 300 bolts I can weigh one and do maths. Expedience sometimes trumps precision.

When I arrive, someone is adjusting the number and type of cable ties in the orders Ali and Darren have been laying out while I’ve been away. I restrain myself from worrying about what else might have been changed without our being told, as the someone knows these events better than anyone and is making a knowing change. I’ll make sense of it all on the weekend and make it all ready.

Tomorrow and Sunday will be hopefully a little less runny roundy. I can literally take stock. So I will.

Many things happened today but the one in my mind as I head to dreamtime will be the steak. Steak frites. At Bouillon Chartiers. It’s old, very well established and cheap. On the edge of Montmartre, before the size of the roads cut down, in a little mews, likely converted as soon as it became apparent that horses were no longer the future. Likely the original owner made creative use of his stable. Now it sells steakfrites. And there’s always a queue. The queue moves fast, so if you know, you know. I saw people rebound from the queue, but I was in it for no time really and the food was brilliant.

We are still getting to know each other and there’s a new team member just arrived. We both went and threw loads of heavy stuff around first thing. We got a van where it shouldn’t have been. We had a good hard day.

But I’m trying to write sense with one eye open. And about half an hour ago I got an impossible list due before 9. I’ll make some of it possible but one of the other teams borrowed the transit which means I’ll have to swing around in the Luton – which just further reduces the car park options. Still, I got it into some very narrow places. All will be well but even if it is only one minute past midnight I’m going to sleep with no further thought. xx

I was so knackered at the end of the day that I ended up getting lost in an area I know well. Parked the car and walked as I knew where I was going geographically. The Parisians are tearing up their roads frantically ahead of the Olympics. They know that loads of people are about to descend on this town, and they know it isn’t ready. So they are ripping it apart now. “EVITER PARIS CENTRALE” say the signs above the peripherique. Avoid central Paris. Because much of it is shut and put aside for the games, but nobody french has caught on yet and nor has your favourite map app.

I asked Curtis if perhaps he could get the transit van an access all areas vehicle pass. This morning I was dropping off at the Olympic village. Couldn’t get past the dude and Curtis was on the metro coming in to work. “I’ll be there in half an hour.” I’ll be finished in half an hour.

He only works a bit each day, and mostly he can’t help, so I’ve tried to gather as much info as possible. But because I’m working when he isn’t and I don’t know where I’m going until I go, I am trying to persuade him to sort a response vehicle pass for the duration, just for the transit van as it can fit in all the places. I’m champing at the bit to go to GPL drama free. That’s where Roadkill and Bob incorrectly blamed me for a slow delivery. There are places I might well need short notice access to, and if the head of transport only works twelve minutes per day it needs to be sorted as things happen both early and late. I’ve never come across an event where it isn’t possible to clear a vehicle with the correct driver for the duration.

Also my accreditation is currently a thing I made with five minutes, a printer and a laminator. It is shonky and bears no scrutiny. The Paris security have been fine with it because the QR code works and they never have, but if I was working security I would question it. It’s a flimsy laminate where I’ve hole punched it to attach the lanyard, and cut it into shape. Ten days we’ve been here with no proper accred, but … Curtis has a lot to do and only six minutes per day to do it.

We have another team member, arrived today. I’m happy for it. He’s a good lad, and takes care of himself and those around him. Great addition to the team. Darren. I can tell he will find his expression easily in our little cadre of three. I’m excited to get to know him.

Much to do, and I’ll need to catch Curtis in his three minutes. He’s a good guy, just unionised and better at problems than solutions. I’m largely able to go where I need to with my improvised pass, but it makes for difficulty if I don’t have a plus one to deal with an unaccredited whip. Plus my pass is just a printout that I’ve laminated

I’m done. Got no words left. Before it all kicks off I’ll need at least one long lie in. We shall see.

Oh and yeah, mission forklift is going well. Electric pallet truck is stage 2.

I’m having to choose the things I get stuck into here. It’s going to be a fantastic event but there’s some serious catch-up to do. One thing that would be really helpful would be if I had had time to scout all the venues. I also want to properly learn the warehouse stock. There’s too much to learn but I’ll do my best. I’ve been off site either making up shortfalls or helping with deliveries or teaching installs. “How do you speak French,” Kes asked me yesterday morning, and it was a question I really couldn’t answer. I have never asked that question of myself. I think a childhood in Jersey helped, perhaps. School didn’t help much though. Academic French is useless. Rupert’s french is schoolboy and it is full of vocab trip hazards, not to mention that he sounds like a Victorian gentleman. Rupert: “Excuse me, gendered human, is it possible that you might be able to help me? Myself and my friends here, we are searching for cones such as one might use to direct traffic. Is it possible you might have access to such a thing for us to purchase? We have the means and the desire.” Me: “Hi, I’m looking for traffic cones. They want loads but I’ll take whatever you’ve got. Send me where they are. Thanks.” I suspect that an almost forgotten angry fortnight working in a sawmill because my girlfriend let me down on a gitte we had booked – that fortnight helped, even if the guys I worked with weren’t all French, they also weren’t at all English so French was the language. They paid me in cash and occasionally sent me out in a team of two to cut down trees. Nothing legal there but it paid me through a summer and I have a feeling I’m winning from it now in terms of conversation. Just cos 20 year old Al had the holiday anyway and got a job and wasn’t out of pocket, I can talk to the people who are not being competent here.

“The maps that are issued to us are almost universally off” says Reece the driver and he’s not wrong. The Bob and Roadkill venue is unclear as are many others. I’ve built a relationship with the van drivers. I’m angling to get added to their WhatsApp so we can all communicate. Yesterday Ian spent an two hours looking for a stop I found in minutes. They’re brilliant lads though, and noticeably eccentric. There are some tips I’ve already been able to give them. Some aren’t used to driving long hours in unfamiliar places that are hot. Phone holder stuck onto the window will run the battery to zero in no time as your phone tries to cool down from sun. I showed Ian my basic phone holder for solo jobs like these. Sandpaper the back a bit, stick a metal plate on, clip a magnet to your fan. So long as your car has Aircon your phone will be icy cold. If it doesn’t it is still out of the sun. Sure it’s great to have a plus one, but we can’t all have luxury. So don’t cook your phone.

Today the job was a few things but it turned into cones. Mini traffic cones. A load of orders about to go out, and they were an obvious missing thing. It’s very hard to ascertain what is most pressing but I think they were part of it. I can’t spend every day finding things that ought to have been found. But I spoke to a lady in a massive chain of Leroy hardware stores, and she told me exactly which branches had them and how many they had. Then I plotted the most efficient route taking in my other jobs like an IKEA run to make sure I had enough cones for the 4 orders that were imminent. My deadlines aren’t as clear as I like them to be so I’m having to work out my own prioritisation.

“It’s so inefficient just driving around looking for cones,” says Ali, who doesn’t know I’ve already checked we couldn’t get them on Amazon prime for today or even this month – I’ve activated my Prime in France, and then persuaded the lady in the first Leroy to tell me where there was stock before I planned a route. Then I plotted a careful route, as is my job. Barely a mile wasted. As with Extreme e so with this, I’m trying to make each leg of every journey matter, and trusting that the people who look at that shit can see it.

Generally I’m happy. A good day and now I just need the darn washing machine to finish…

I’ve known Mike for years when you break it down but we’ve exchanged just a few words over that whole time. He was in my van today. Ex copper from up Staffordshire way, he was one of my first cohort to be trained with assault rifles. He’s solid as you like. It’s funny to think how I’m actually pretty solid compared to many of my nearest and dearest because in this context I’m made out of cobweb. I arrived at work this morning having sprayed Tom Ford Ombre Leather because I bought a pot when I was flush. Sometimes I keep it in the car with me. Why not? Fuck it some people give a shit about that sort of thing. I don’t. But I wear a hat and aftershave and then I graft as hard as everyone else who doesn’t so it’s fine. There have been two jobs recently where I haven’t been able to afford contact lenses so I’ve worn my prescription sunglasses as the only vision I have. That’s been a bridge too far – people have commented negatively on that and I’ve been too proud to tell them I’m broke. Aftershave though? Fuck it, yeah I’m gonna wear chateau wank, and this hat. I’m working hard so finesse plus hat and stinkyjuice just makes a memory. I’m surrounded by people who I respect for their actual practical skill and their determination. My hat is really helpful for scale when I’m getting quantities of things. A bit of finesse and a bit of practicality.

Everybody has plenty going on in their lives, be it family, other jobs, vocations. The thing that binds us all is this strange joy in hard work. Although Ali is working later than he needs to tonight. It’s 9pm. He doesn’t need to be making orders on Amazon for stuff I could get at Decathlon tomorrow morning so it’s there in time for the deadline. And he could do it through his phone. I kinda wish I had paid the £7.99 month first, but he’s the one who paid for prime and he does things through his laptop. PhoneBAD generation. Tech wizard though. But… every time I start planning routes etc via phoneI feel like I’m on tiktok. There’s a generation above me that can’t stand mobile phones. I didn’t bring my laptop as it rarely gets used on these jobs. I’ve got my iPad I guess but usually I’m involved in being – (rymes with Clive) LIVE and my iPad doesn’t fit in my pocket. There’s an android app for everything, whether or not you like it. That’s how I’m doing all the things.

But Mike? Yeah I was on Mike. Solid fucker. I enjoyed his company. So yeah where was I … we rolled into CDG this morning after I missed the loading bay and had to go round again. By the time I drove him there I knew he had been a traffic cop so I’m basically driving one of the most highly trained drivers in the world. Fuck it. Paris traffic. I told him about priorité a droit and he was processing it for ages after. By the end of the journey I had clipped the kerb and tapped my mirror. I felt it more than ever before. It was like a three hour driving test. If he had been behind me he would have had reason to pull me over twice if he wanted to breathalyse someone. Interesting to learn that cops make me nervous.

The guys in the hotel we dropped off at are very willing but not particularly competent. There’s a lot of looking busy going on and very little busy. They rejected a load of stuff from a previous order that I think they’ll want later, and received a load more stuff, and I don’t think I saw one person there who I would describe as “handy”. Well groomed, yes. But they need someone like Roadkill to come help them out. Our team is loaded with handy people, but we are busy most of the time. There are so many companies involved here, so many people. But a lot of them are like frightened rabbits at the moment.

I picked up another cop and we drove all over Paris. The second cop is still copworking, and was asking advice from Mike. It was completely fascinating and nothing to do with the work I’m doing. I tuned in and really felt into the difficulty of the quandaries cops face. Moral and practical and legal questions. Their own language here, about when you involve the “pigs” and when you involve the “squirters” in different very gnarly situations.

I’m glad I’m just this wafting ponce with my hat and my van in this context. I’m sure the traffic cops could chow down on my vehicle operation, but they aren’t assholes. In fact I’m probably as surprised as they are that I enjoyed their company in the van all day, barring brief interludes to build stuff for friendly airport french people. I’ll waft to bed now

Goodnight my darlings. Or good morning. Good time of day. Darling. And yes I’m only saying it to make you feel uncomfortable. I tried hugging Curtis a few days ago and it was like being kicked by a mule.

Ali has a favourite restaurant in Paris. He has painted it in bright colours. In his accounts it is a golden glory of a place, full of ancient fixtures, serving fantastic food but never over priced. He’s shown me pictures. His aspect shifts when he speaks of it. This place gives him pleasure. He wants to share it with us.

Because this is Ali. He is in love with life. It makes him a joy to work alongside. He’s a force for good in the world.

We were going to go this evening. The dream was that we would finish early tonight, maybe freshen up, go into Paris, dine like kings, get back in time for an early bed.

Ali didn’t get the pick list for tomorrow until half five.

My day had been largely about DIY stores. The French are so totally not in a hurry that it’s a marvel they aren’t going backwards. I had a collection order from Brico and went to get it. “Come back in a bit,” they told me. “It isn’t ready.” I went in, and ended up with a load of messages regarding what was needed short notice. I did my best to find all the things and load them up. There was some fuckery with screws where I had just bought some that would be fine when they decided they wanted a different configuration and I had to go back round and get credit etc etc. Surely you needn’t be too picky. Then I went back to the collection boys and they were trying to load a huge pallet that was too tall into a transit van by splitting it with the forklift. They wouldn’t give me the stuff. I went away again to look for mesh. Some guy wanted 100 metres of 2 metre high black wire mesh, but then he didn’t. Only sand by the ton. I still think I should have just got a ton of it and a shovel, put it by the warehouse, anyone asks for sand we have got it. Ended up driving across town to find smaller bags.

Even the dodgy van guys at the brico don’t work on Sunday. We do.

Evening had just 4 Brits in a huge warehouse. Grace and Greg, Ali and Al. Late order. Had to be arranged. So we all mucked in and it all happened and it was half nine before we knew it and so much for Ali’s restaurant.

“This was the last chance we had, in theory,” he tells me. Perhaps. Perhaps we will make a chance.

Ali is a brilliant human. Lovely to work with. I am lucky to be working so closely with him. We both just get on with it. I really hope though that one day the stars align and we get to go to his favourite restaurant.

I am exhausted again. I somehow remembered lunch today and grabbed a takeaway chicken burger while I was carrying a box of stationery. It’s hard to find parking in Paris. In London I know how to run a van without getting smashed up for fines. In Paris I haven’t got the local knowledge so my phone is filling up with pins: “Sunday parking near stationery shop” etc. It takes time to find them though. I’ll make sense of it. Just a week and it feels clearer, and someone in a shop asked me if I was from the South of France, because I had an accent. Which is a win. Especially considering I’m usually “HiLo I wAnt thing YoU find on BEacHes yellOw sTuF MmaKe Casstles yes?” “Sand?” “Yaress I mAke purchase fOr bagginGs to do with SaaaNd.”

Anyway. I make sleep myself. Maid Night.