Recently in Le Garçon Christie Category
Bonjour muckers!
CHRIST ALL-BLOODY-MIGHTY!
If ONE more arsing garlic-whiffing, onion-selling Claude shakes his greasy, stunted little tete at me and says 'C'est ne pas possible', I'm going to have him.
Yes kiddies, The Boy Christie has become a victim of the legendary obstinancy of French bureacracy! Zut alors!
Having eight, yes EIGHT cents to my name in a town where it's £4.50 a pint is not the best of ideas, so I managed to organise a Western Union transfer of funds (in French, get me). However, I've only managed to get it after three trips to La Poste and the filling in of fifty-six forms. I suspect the French government want to know all about me as no doubt that shifty bugger Jacques Chirac is up to some kind of nefarious invasion plan and wants to hoist the tricolore over Chateau Christie and have us all singing 'La Marseilles', the bugger.
Remember, we are dealing with the nation that blew up the Rainbow Warrior.
ANYWAY
I realise it has been ages and ages since my last burst of innane chat, but the days just merge into one another and I can't remember anything I've been up to.
The season is all but over, the place is empty and I've realised that's time to say au revoir to Antibes and move on. The crew house I'm staying in has gradually emptied so know it's just me and Australian Camilla and a well fit Kiwi girl with an unpronouncable Maori name left. All the serious yachties got jobs and sailed off into the sunset and the place is now devoid of laughter, music and gange smoke, and if I don't get out soon I think I'm going to come over all 'The Shining' and start chasing people about with axes and the like.
I was sharing a caravan with blonde Jenni (FYI former poledancer, cousin gets her tits out in The Sport) who I was attempting to have my wicked way with, but bless as she was easily the STUPIDEST person I've ever met and was prone to spout Jade BB3 comments of complete stupidity. My favourites have been:
1. Do Camel cigarettes have camel meat in them?
2. Iain: 'I'm like Rip Van Winkle, I could sleep for a hundred years' Jenni:'Did he? What about going to the toilet?' And my personal favourite, uttered pissed at 4.30 in the morning after a particularly messy evening in Cannes: 'Don't open the window, the racoons will get in'.
Great breasts, shame about the brain.
But she's gone and everybody else has gone too so on Sunday I'm throwing my stuff over the hedge and doing a runner without paying the rent and buggering off to Nice to get the ferry to Corsica to top up the tan. After that who knows, but it'll depend on the funds.
Got a few days work last week on MY (that's motor yacht kiddies) Boadicea, a yacht the size of a cross channel ferry that costs $50 thousand to charter for a week.
I got the job in the middle of a torrential rainstorm (the weather has gotten worse and worse, another reason to move on), and was on the boat for all of ten minutes when I managed to fall down the stairs, bang my head on the deck and lose conciousness for a bit, then throw a vital piece of machinery over the side so we had to get a boat out to fish it out of the water. The first mate was very nice about it and said it happens all the time, but I couldn't keep a straight face all day.
Typical!
After Corsica, God knows where I'm going to go, but there's no work in Antibes at all so I'm going to have to think about where my next move will be. At the moment, my first concern is a haircut, as I have a Beyonce-esque blonde affro that looks like a mushroom cloud over an atoll.
Thanks for all the chat, wish I could reply to everybody singly but the funds are somewht tight for internet time, but when I see y'all I'll bore the tits off you with my endless chat about schooners and the shipping forecast and the time I had sailing single-handed round the Cape of Good Hope in a Force 10 gale.
Take care mes amies!
A bientot,
Le Garcon Christie (a.k.a. Jean-Jacques Smoothie) x
Bonjour muckers,
This'll have to be a quicky (wahey!) as I've spent all bloody day on a Swedish yacht dangling 35 feet off a crane in Antibes shipyards.
Have been working for the past couple of days on 70 foot swan (not a large bird, it's the kind of yacht) and it's now sparkling and clean enough to eat a Smorgasbord off.
Braved Carrefour today (a very large French Tesco's) and managed to shoplift some pizza and marvel at a country where you can buy a greenhouse, life insurance, dog manicure products and a baguette all under one roof. And they said the euro wouldn't work.
Was going to buy some frozen snails to eat for my dinner back at the gaff, but realised I didn't have the specialised apparatus to do so. On reflection, I think my eyebrow tweezers would probably do the job.
ANYWAY
It's the Cannes boat show this week so I'm gonna be on the early train to try and get some work there. 12 euros an hour, free lunch, and all you need is your shorts, a hat, suncreen and flip-flops.
*Sorry to all of those out there who have proper jobs for a living and are all currently weeping into there tax returns and palm pilots*
Merci for the chat, great to hear all your news, I must be the only person in Antibes who gets emails about a.) Promotion to head of e-development (Emmy) b.)Interviewing Ewan McGregor (Ruth) c.) The horror of geriatric anal fissures (Graeme)and d.) The pricing policy of Czech strippers. Variety is indeed the spice of life. It makes me laugh, so keep it coming.
Off for a douche as I am permeated with several noxious (and probably combustible) maritime cleaning products, but not before I keel haul Little Timmy the cabin boy off the poop deck.
Mange tous Rodney, Mange tous...
The Boy Christie x (a.k.a Jean-Jacques Smoothie)
Bunjour muckers,
Have HUNNERS and HUNNERS of chat to tell, had great week with His High Fabulousness Stephen of Russell, went to Nice and Monaco and Cannes and ate snails and deepened the tan from weathered pine to deep mahogany.
That's me, I'm laminated flooring.
Have moved into a communal gaff for yachties, had beacoup beer, two joints and a yoga lesson all before lunch. C'est la vie, innit?
Was up at 6.30am to walk the docks and look for work (felt like a hooker). Work is v.v. scarce. season very slow apparently, there are lots of people here who are hideously qualified who haven't worked in WEEKS, so if I can't get work I'm going to travel on the old Visa and see such delights as Marseille, Aix-on-Provence and Avignon, and then I iz aff to Corsica.
Am listening to Shakira in Spanish and trying to keep a straight face. Along with dodgy plumbing (not mine, amazingly), cockroaches and the fact that every mosquito on the Cote d'Azur has bitten me, am enjoying myself tremendously, though if I don't get work I'll be home a week or two earlier then I intentioned.
Anyhoo, off to the beach...sighhhhh...
Mange tous Rodney, mange tous...
A bientot,
The Boy Christie (a.k.a. Jean Jacques Smoothie)
PS Rachiepops, Ruthiebaby or Emmster, your missiom, should you choose to accept it...tell Julie to delete some of her messages cos I can't send her my chat cos it's too full apparently. The horror! x
