Le Garçon Christie: August 2002 Archives
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.
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)
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...
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
Bonjour mes amies,
(Apologies to those who have had this chat before)
Life in French France continues to amuse. Have been taking the defintion of 'working holiday' to its logical conclusion by concentrating on the former and totally ignoring the latter.
FYI The beach is LOVELY.
So far all contact with the agencies has been less than promising. I think I'll stick to daywork and leave the hard graft looking after demanding Italian familes to someone more qualified than I, or someone who cares.
Now, I was led to believe that getting a job sur les bateaux was as easy as falling off one. However, the hatchet-faced Brunthilda Ubergammerhildungsfraus who runs these agencies (all seem bitter about something, perhaps there is a childhood trauma they need to address) want to know everything from your shoe size to political orientation, where you stand on the euro to who was better, Sean Connery or Roger Moore.
The one here, who is currently eyeing me beadily from her laptop, was unimpressed by my 'cocktail barman and wine waiter' qualifications and wanted to know if I could 'cross toggle lines' and other nefarious practices. She was less than impressed by ANYTHING else I had done, so I don't hold out much hope that I'll get any stewarding work. It seems to be that there are 28, 657 Australians all chasing one job, and they are invariably more experienced than I am, so The Boy Christie looks as if he'll stick to daywork before he buggers off to sunny Corsica.
Need to get new accomodation, something more sociable than where I am at the moment, though sharing a room with fifteen Australian back packers called either a.)Brad, b.) Chad or c.)Tad isn't exactly the most appealing prospect.
However, his fabulousness Mr Stephen A. Russell arrives today, threatening to wear his Burberry trunks on the beach. I'll HAVE to get a job once he's gone. all I'll have spent all my cash on booze and sun oil. C'est la vie, innit?
All this sun must have gone further than tanning my skin and bleaching my hair, as I got up at some ungodly hour this morning (any time before noon is ungodly when on a working holiday) to go to Nice Airport to pick Stephen up, only to realise that his flight arrived at 8.40pm and not 8.40am, so I had turned up a full 12 hours too early.
**Queue repeated shaking of heads and mass utterances of 'Bloody typical'**
FYI Rachiepops, they've just put Bill Withers on the stereo. Cheers for the reference, you're too kind, don't know if I'll need it know, bugger.
Anyhoo, off to find somewhere to stay for the next part of the trip.
Thanks to all who have emailed, do keep in touch, and barring disasters nautical or otherwise will be back en Ecosse start of October.
Le Garcon Christie (a.k.a. Jean Jacques Smoothie) x