Party on Wayne…

You might have taken down the St George bunting already, but there are not one but two World Cup parties going on in France right now. There were wild scenes in bars for le coq gaulois‘ bore draw with Ecuador the other night, and even wilder scenes in cars when Algeria narrowly squeezed through Group H last night. Walking up Avenue de la République, we feared for our lives as vehicles swerved in the road driven by jubilant youths with horns they were not afraid to use, and I have to say I was slightly relieved when the old bill stopped five chaps hanging out of the fenestration of their car with one on the roof waving the star and crescent, to warn them that their actions might be a bit dangerous. I’m all up for a bit of celebration (well to be honest I’m not) but you could take someone’s eye out with behaviour like that. Have the actions of the vile murderer and pederast Luis Suarez taught us nothing?

The tooting began in earnest during the South Korea game, with young football fans taking to their cars at half time when they were 3-0 up (and from what I can gather not returning to their living rooms for the second half), and there may be more tooting still if they beat Germany on Monday. If they beat Germany on Monday then I might buy a car, give driving a go, get hold of a flag and even learn some Berber. France are playing Nigeria on the same day so here’s hoping for two wins and one party (even if I go to bed early after purchasing some earplugs like a sensible old chap). Come Monday, Wayne Rooney will already be a week into his three weeks in the sun with Coleen.
We went to a party ourselves last night in the Jardin des Tuileries with a glorious view of the Louvre and with the Eiffel Tower flashing in the distance. The gardens were once part of the royal residency but were sacked and burned and saw plenty of blood spilt in the September Massacres of 1792, and once King Louis XVI’s head came off, they were instated as the gardens of the new republic. We were there to celebrate artist and poet Robert Montgomery’s The Slow Disappearance of Meaning and Truth exhibition at Colette on rue Saint-Honoré. It was a terrific do with plenty of fire, a live band, and three courses from Le Saut du Loup – although the fact the entre didn’t hit our tables until after 10pm caused much consternation in the tummy area and gnashing of teeth in the face!

I love Rob dearly and it’s great to see him doing so well for himself. I admire his garrulity, his unwavering devotion to Glasgow Rangers and the fact he never shuts up about Guy Debord. We hung around together when the bad old days were really, really good, and I thank him for not holding it against me for trying to sabotage his wedding (I put my head in the punch, got thrown off stage for picking up the bass and trying to join in with the band, threw meatballs at the other end of the table where Brett Anderson was sitting etc). John Paul – another dear friend – was in town too, and he reminded me of the speech I made that nobody asked for. Thankfully for all concerned the only thing that was flowing for me last night was the Badoit®.

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