Heartbreak in Paris
Last Monday I packed my bags and dragged
my weary, heavy heart and shaky soul to the city I Love so dearly, the beautiful Gay
Paris.... Still bright, calm and fresh as ever, I was relieved to be alone
again, in a beautiful city, far away from London and it's recent woes. After
checking my bags in to one of the city's finest establishments I booked into for
some pampering, I went for a wander to seek solace in some of my favourite
places for reflection, some of the marvellous Parisian Cafes.
Over the next two days, pen in one hand and glass of Sancerre
in the other, I proceeded to attack my little back song book with all my
emotions, left the pages choking for air, the pen hardly controlled by it's
holder....Woooosh. What a release.
On Tuesday evening I found myself sharing the beautiful Arpege
restaurant with the entire Barcelona team! I decided that to slip off into the
kitchen and interfere with their lasagne might prove a little tricky....I mean
TWO games on the trots could be a little suspicious, methinks....;-)
Wednesday was strange. I woke feeling terribly alone. I had
nowhere booked to stay that night, (funds were running a little low to stay
where I was and everywhere in Paris was completely booked up) and generally felt
a little lost.
I
tied a yellow ribbon in my hair, dropped my bag with a pal in East Paris who was
nowhere to be seen and we never crossed paths on my whole trip!! I jumped on the
metro over to Pigalle for a nosey round aherm, some guitar shops, of course.
Suddenly Paris was alive. I stepped off the metro to be greeted by thousands of
yellow shirts, proudly singing at the top of their voices.....(my yellow ribbons
went down a treat and I spent the next three hours attaching them to various
drunken wrists, a bit like some kind of modern Florence Nightingale) Anyhow, the
lads were Lovely, I was well looked after. Making my way over to the Grand old
Stade De France was a treat, I guess because it had finally sank in what a
lucky, lucky girl I was. I started to feel the proudness of a lioness sweep over
me as I sang at the top of my voice, clutching on to the others with sheer
excitement and disbelief!
Entering the stadium was an amazing experience. I felt like a little tiny girl,
my eyes wide with amazement, my body rushing with adrenalin. It was as if I had
just been presented with a million foot play room, stuffed with all my favourite
things. A factory full of ice cream, a trolley full of diamond tiaras, the stage
at Wembley Stadium all set up with my name in lights on it, a brand new white
Les Paul with shiny silver hardware and a diamond leather strap, a performance
on top of the pops with my song at number one, hmmmmm.....ah, the dreams! This
was reality and I was in the middle of it. The mighty Arsenal, soon to be
Champions in the grandest League of them all!
The
next 90 minutes were unbelievable. An emotional rollercoaster with record highs
and lows. I sent a text at half time saying it was the greatest night of my
life, and I meant it. From scraping myself up to muster the enthusiasm to lift
my head from the pillow that morning to freefalling from the top of the highest
mountain in the world, all my troubles disappearing and being alone and free.
Apart from I was actually surrounded by 80 thousand other people, clutching
their dreams in a wild, terrifying but strangely comfortable way. A sending off
and a whole host of other scares, we managed to hang on fantastically....I was
sure it was still ours!
At
the final whistle, I ran from the stadium. I could not bear the torture of
seeing Barcelona, the unworthy under dog, clutching our beloved trophy. Our name
was on it, it was ours. The blasted Barca loving ref stole it. They STOLE IT!!!!
It took me until the next morning to let it actually sink right in that we had
lost! We all comforted ourselves on the same yellow street as before, but this
time all pints in one hand, heads in the other....somehow eventually managing to
have an amazing night....possibly aided somewhat by the free flowing booze and
music provided by our generous Irish bar friends in Pigalle.
A
great big thank you to those who made my week so special. Arsene Wenger and the
Arsenal team, Mark, (Ronnie story still makes me chuckle) Phil, Melanie, Anna,
The Great Reverend himself....and countless other darlings I met up with along
the way. I'll be on your special bus next time! :-)
My
whole experience was amazing. I had a frightening but truly fabulous week. I had
some time with myself, and apart from the dread of having to head back to London
so soon, I think I actually achieved some well needed perspective on my
rollercoaster of a life. Most importantly, I realised that I am learning how to
survive it.
XXXX
