My nocturnal life is very much alive and well. I think I have resigned myself to the fact that this is my ‘night week’.
When you live in a city, you often say, you will get around to doing things and sometimes you do and sometimes you don’t. You could sit back and wonder how many lost opportunities passed you by. When you are a long way from home, it is fun to embrace every opportunity that comes your way.
Strange how a series of events can unfold.
Like the wonderful song Little Things Big Things Grow. I have witnessed quite a few little things grow into big things.
From continual rain, my city is flooding.
As a result of the Jim Haynes dinner, I met JD, who inturn introduced me to Georgie, who in turn introduced me to Jazz at the Swedish Consulate and as a result of that evening we met Herve, a fabulous flamboyant man, who is a talent agent for Opera Singers.
Late night after late night is starting to take its toll, I seem to be getting up later and later, the apartment looks like a war zone, the food in the fridge is almost non existent. I dragged myself out of bed this afternoon and took myself down to Les Funambules, the lovely little bistro, that my friend introduced me to. The food is good, they serve it all day and the staff are friendly, it’s becoming my local.
Tucking into a piping hot cassoulet and blogging, didn’t leave me much time to get back to the apartment and get ready, for another night on the town.
Georgie suggested dressing up a little. Well of course, we are going to listen to jazz at no other than the Swedish Consulate, situated on the stylish top end of rue de Rivoli. The rooms are magnificent. Beautiful chandeliers hang from the ceiling, art on the walls, wonderful fireplaces with giant mirrors above, people spread across four or five rooms of this very palatial premises. A lovely French lady and myself tried to fantasize what it would be like to live in such beautiful surrounds.
Occasionally I would duck out to the bar, where there was a TV, to see if there were any updates on the floods that are devastating my city of Brisbane.
After a wonderful night of French red wine, tapas to die for, cool jazz and nice company, Georgie and I decided to head down to another place. The young saxophonist from last night was playing at a bar in the viaduct right near where I live, perfect.
As we walk, babble and giggle about what a great night we have had, a man stepped out onto the street and into the oncoming traffic. Reflexively, Georgie stopped him, throwing her arm in front of him.
This resulted in drinks at a dead stylish bar, further down the street, lots of fun, stories giggles, taxi rides more red wine and more jazz at the viaduct.
All in all it was yet another fabulous night in Paris. It was only last week I said I would like to listen to some jazz.
That I have, from underground basements, palatial consulates, and bars built in what was once a train viaduct.