(Post 5) - The Taste of Music

    Hey, I wasn’t able to get to get online over the weekend but I have had the most eye-opening amazing time.
     I was outside that Internet café on Thursday afternoon, I couldn’t tell if things were going well or if I had just been stupid in coming here.  I wandered out to the nearest main road and caught a ride from a local grey hired man in a white Astra. I couldn’t help thinking he looked like Paul Mccartney as he told me he told me he was heading to a town called Caen. I gladly accepted the lift. It’s a little closer to Paris and I thought there could be an opportunity in a big town to steal make some money. He dropped me off outside the bureau de change on Rue st Jean where I changed my small wad of English pounds into a small wad of euros and went straight to the nearest café to get something to eat. Sitting down in one of those cheap plastic chairs I could hear the sound of an acoustic guitar coming from a local bar, the low steel sound muffled by the people on the street. I stood up and left before ordering.

     As I walked into the bar the music had stopped but I could see the people it had come from. A group of four, three boys and a girl sat merrily in the corner between nicotine stained oil paintings, chatting amongst themselves with the joyful attitude of youth. I ordered a pint of cider from the barman and placed myself close to them, hoping one of them might invite me over. As I sat there I could hear them discussing politics – the virtues and wonders of communism, and one of them  (I later learned to be called Jean-luc) eventually invited me over. We sat drinking and talked endlessly about politics, music, and art until after sunset. They said they had to leave to get ready but invited me to meet them at a club around midnight and gave me directions scribbled on the back of a beer mat.

    After finally eating at a local restraunt and sobering up slightly I managed to find the club. I walked in and smiled at being able to smoke inside. There was a good DJ on, an eccentric man in his mid thirties, playing classic 90’s eurotrance, the typical set list; Fragma, ATB, groove coverage, Ferry Corsten etc. I couldn’t see Jean-Luc or the others so I bought 2 bottles of Smirnoff ice and joined the sea of dancing bodies. After a while the DJ finished his set and introduced the next act calling them “2Shay” As I looked at the stage I saw Jean-luc with a guitar, and Cassie(the girl from the bar) with a bass. My first thought was that this isn’t going to go down well with this crowd, but they started to play an amazing fusion of punk and dance, there drummer keeping a perfect amen beat with complex fills and a guy on the keyboard giving it all a modern synth feel. They sounded a bit like that band apollo440, but with hip-hop verses and punky power chord hooks.

     They played for about an hour and when they finished the set they came down and told me it was time to experience the ‘real’ culture, intrigued I said ok and climbed into the back of Jean-Lucs bright orange VW van, sitting in the back with Cassie and the equipment.
We pulled up at this beach on the D514.  There were 40 or so cars spread right out in a huge circle on the sand and a big group of people dancing around 2 fires. Cassie started greeting some of them then turned to me and pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid. putting 1 drop on to a sugar cube she placed it in the back of her mouth. She took another one and did the same for me.  She smiled at me with a meaningful look and said in her feminine but husky French voice “now all we do is wait”.

    I was introduced to a lot of people, a big collection of writers and artists and musicians, a lot of whom were from Spain and Italy there was even another girl from England studying as an erasmus student. I sat down with Cassie and opened a beer enjoying the mellow beats coming from the sound system and talked passionately about nothing important for about an hour. I noticed the first stirrings of something unusual when the surrounding cars started breathing. I turned to look at Cassie whos shirt was moving, the logo dancing around her chest. I ran my hand through my hair, let out a sigh and leaned back on the cool evening sand. When I opened my eyes the sky split open, revealing a vast canvas of galaxies swirling around in a vast dark purple chasm. I stood up and joined the dancers letting the music ripple through me like a lifeforce. I could feel the beat pulsing through my body perfectly in sync with my heart. I started to see the music throbbing out of the speakers, everybodys faces twisted distortions of bliss. This was like nothing I had ever experienced before, all my senses were overpowered by music. I could smell and taste the rhythm, the vibes, the whole atmosphere. I still had control but could, for the first time in my life really see the beauty and colourful wonder of everything around me.

     This went on until the sun came up, and we got a lift back to Cassies top floor apartment from a Spanish lad. I stayed up talking with Cassie until about 5pm on Friday before finally leaning back on an old torn sofa and falling asleep.
I awoke at about 7 on Saturday, and went with Cassie to meet Jean-Luc and the other two from the bar yeaterday. Blaise and Gordon - Yes and I know your probably suprised too at a young French lad called Gordon.  We sat in a park with blankets, beers and baguettes, and I finally got to play the acoustic.
I was still feeling drained from yesterday, and was really glad when Cassie said I could stay on her sofa again. She let me wash my clothes and shower, and even cooked a meal for me. She turned in quite early and left me on the sofa watching a French music channel. It seems even the French aren’t immune to the alternate dimension of shit that is currently American pop music, Kesha, Justin Beiber and co.

     This morning I woke up feeling rejuvenated and fresh, the night on the beach still ablaze in my mind. Cassie and I went for coffee and crepes at the same café I sat down in when I first got here. I told her about this blog and how I needed to find somewhere with access to the interwebs, and she suggested we fly by jean-lucs.

     So here I am now sat in Jean-lucs apartment. Iv had a read through the comments, and visited a few other blogs. Thanks Tibble - Dieselboy is currently pumping out the windows of a cramped French apartment, for the neighbours to enjoy. Cassie has said I can stay at hers again tonight, but I’ve said no. I’m going down to the train station to try and get the train into Paris. I still don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there though. Again I’ll update this e-diary when I can. Thanks for reading. x

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(Post 4) – Bon voyage

Inside Dover Port
    After leaving you guys at the Internet café yesterday evening I mounted my stolen bike and headed east away from the setting sun, back towards that Bed and breakfast.  I had to stop to fill up with petrol and reluctantly paid the £10 for it. When I got to the bnb I was confronted by a surly old lady at the counter, she hated me, I could see the loathing and disgust in her dark beady eyes.  She told me single rooms were £65 for the night and grimaced as I took the crumpled notes from my pocket. I only had sixty and she wouldn’t accept it, not even if she waived the breakfast. Climbing back on the bike annoyed and angry, I went down to the beach and gazed out at the dying sun. Opening my bottle of vodka and my laptop I sat down and began working on both. Two hours later I had finished half the bottle, my laptop was almost out of juice, and I still had no Idea how I was going to get on that ferry. As I stared out into the blurry majestic ocean I suddenly realized the answer had been staring at me the whole time. Nearly the whole ten-mile stretch from here to Dover was lined with boats. All I had to do was borrow one. It’s not that far across the English Channel.

     I jumped up excited and swaying, climbed back on my bike, and wobbled down the dark road back toward Dover. I found a small twin-engine speed boat next to a shop called “Dover sea sports club”. Looking through the windows of the small building, I knew there would be a key inside - who ever owned the boat would be bound to keep a spare. Taking a scaffolding pole from the construction site next door,  I placed the end of it over the door handle and pushed with all of my body weight until the wooden door popped open. Cautiously I tiptoed inside, paranoid an alarm would go off.  I found the keys in the top drawer of a desk; this had been so easy that I actually laughed. Climbing back into the boat I tested the keys. The engines gave a brief stutter and I shut them off - This was definitely my ticket to France. I released the brake from the trailer and rolled it down into the cold water. Grabbing my bag I climbed inside.


Dover Sea Sports Center

     I was about an hour out to sea before the lights from the houses along the great shores of England were swallowed by darkness, I couldn’t see anything. I unpacked all my clothes, put them on to ward of the cold sea air and climbed into the cabin with the rest of the vodka. I sat there for ages drinking the liquid fire and playing with my cheap plastic lighter, watching the flames taunt the shadows in time to the gentle swaying of the boat. I started feeling sorry myself. - Its my own fault I’m a fugitive. Its my own fault my friends and family are in danger. It’s my own fault I’m stuck on this fucking boat heading out to mainland Europe to hide. Eventually, numb by the drink, I put my head down on my bag and fell asleep.
When I woke I had no idea what the time was, but the sun had climbed about half way up the blue cloudless sky. I couldn’t see any land but I could tell by the sun roughly which direction was south. I started the engines and set off into the unknown, hoping I hadn’t drifted to far.

     Eventually I saw land in the distance, the nation of France beckoning me closer. When I got to the shore I pulled hard on the throttle, accelerating towards the land. I hit a sand bank hard and the boat came right up on to the beach. I’ve done it! I’m here, and I’m a lot safer than I was yesterday! I walked for a while inland until I found a dusty dirt road and began trekking along it kicking up clouds of dirt. It wasn’t long before a local pulled up in a rusted pickup truck.
Quel partie de France sommes-nous?” I asked. He stared at me like I was insane.
Pouvez vous me conduire?” I offered, putting on my sweetest most innocent face. He pointed at the back of his truck and I climbed in amongst boxes of vegetables. We drove for about 45 minutes, driving through one village and stopping in the next, I think the roadsign read “Asnelles”. I thanked the driver and jumped out swinging my rucksack over my left shoulder. I started looking around the old town for somewhere that could change my £60 into Euros. Eventually I found the town library - walking inside and finding they had Internet access put a huge smile on my face.

     I’m about to set off for Paris, I just had a look at a French map and it seems Paris isn’t too far from Asnelles. Also, as people in the comments asked, I pulled a few pics from Google maps - one of Inside Dover port and one of the building where I found the boat. Congratulations if you made it through the whole post, I know it was quite long; I’m just excited to be here, and I find it very hard to be descriptive and brief at the same time. I'll try to keep them shorter in future. Anyway, take care and I’ll update when I can. x

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(Post 3) - Je vais en Paris

     I guess I’m not having any luck convincing you guys that my real life troubles are real but anyway... I’m Sat in an internet café right now opposite Pencester gardens in Dover. I made my mind up last night to head to Paris.  I think if I can get to Paris I will be able to bask in the wonderful loose liberal culture and sensibly evaluate exactly what I’m going to do.

     I stayed up quite late last night reading peoples blogs, and watched a crappy telesync version of the adjustment bureau. Woke up this morning and helped myself to one of those disgusting sachets of coffee from the little paper tubes. I had lit the last cigarette from my packet when someone pounded on the door, I presume it was the day manager realizing I wasn’t a paying customer.  I pushed the chair from the dresser up against the door handle, unlocked the window and climbed out, (leaving through windows is starting to become a habit).

     I waited in a layby on the A259, its quite a busy road so it didn’t take to long for someone to pull over. “Where are you headed” asked Chris, a barman from Newhaven. His eyes looking concerned and I knew he was safe. “Paris” I responded. He laughed and said he could take me as far as Folkestone. I got into the front seat and began to lie about how I was heading to my aunts chalet over in France. As I sat there, being driven towards uncertainty I gazed out of the window. All I could see were people engulfed in monotonous lives of mediocrity, worried about bills, debt and unfaithful spouses. I could see an invisible line where the tide of this once great empire had peaked before slowly drifting back out. This could possibly be the best thing that’s happened to me I thought. I am going to discover who I really am.

     The car pulled up and I got out and, Chris handed me a tenner with a genuine smile and wished me the best. I walked straight into town, into the nearest Tesco express. I’d been around Maya so long I knew what I needed to do. I bought a packet of tobacco, rizlas and four loaves of bread. I found a quiet area of town outside a charity shop and lurked outside, bag in one hand laptop in the other. Almost immediately a pensioner walked out, I bumped into her and dropped my bag; she apologized and bent down to help my pick up the bread that had fallen out. With one swift move I crouched down next to her, slipped my hand in to her open handbag and gently lifted out the purse, putting it down the back of my trousers. Hastily thanking her I left. £95 – I think Wednesday’s pension day. I took the money out and memorized the name and address from the driving license, - Yes of course I’ll send the money back one day.

    I spent £25 on a large rucksack, spent the next hour shoplifting clothes and makeup from Primark and New Look, and bought a medium sized bottle of vodka from a newsagent. I knew I had to get to Dover and scope it out while there was still some daylight. After walking through a maze of residential avenues trying car handles I saw the greatest thing I could see, parked on the pavement was a motorbike with the keys in, an old cruiser type bike with a full tank of petrol. I rode into Dover as the sun was getting low, hair flapping wildly behind me. I didn’t really think things through by stealing the bike as nearly every car started beeping at me for not wearing a helmet. I spotted this Internet café as I drove up to the Port. Security looks intense there, loads of underpaid men in high vis jackets, waiting for their next power trip.

    So now I’m going to ride back west, I saw a Bnb about 10 miles back which should be ideal for tonight, I’m saving pictures of Dover Port and Calais Port from google maps to my desktop right now and will spend tonight working out how I’m going to get on that boat. I hope the bnb has wifi, if not at least I have cigarettes and alcohol. If I don’t get arrested at the port I’ll try and let you guys know what happens tomorrow. x

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(Post 2) - No Destination

    Hey guys, thank you for the support, it means a lot just knowing somebody’s listening.  Now I know some of you had trouble believing the state of my life but I’m afraid that is the harsh reality of somebody evading an arrest warrant. Now to those of you who didn’t believe my last post your going to have trouble with what happened to me today, but ill post it anyway!

     I was woken this morning at about half 10 buy the sound of people outside the house, shuffling around like nervous school children outside the headmasters office. I knew who its was before they took the battering ram to the front door, the most disorganized conspicuous people on earth. They shouted  “police” in unison, their voices menacing with the air of desired authority. I didn’t wait around, I couldn’t. I hated having to leave Maya but I knew they would have caught her as she was sleeping in the lounge with no escape route. I grabbed my cigarettes and laptop from next to my bed and clambered straight out of the window, fortunately I had been leaving it ajar in case of scenarios like this. I ran for the road opposite, scarpered around the corner and double backed on a parallel road in time to see the bastards dragging Maya by the hair into the the back of their van, taking her away to lock in their squalid cages of democracy. I knew I had to leave, fast, and I couldn’t return to get my things, not even my precious guitar.

     I walked around all day staring at the pavement, laptop under one arm just thinking things over in my head. I have no idea what I’m going to do! Everybody I know is probably under surveillance, I have no money, no home and no one to turn to. But I’m not giving up, I’m not turning myself in! I pulled on random car door handles. It took maybe 40 or 50 till I found one that opened, a white ford sierra with cheesy McDonalds wrappers and a Prodigy CD on the passenger seat. I remembered what Maya did. – “twist the red wires together and touch the brown” I got the car started and went, the long road of anguish with no destination.

     I managed to get about 10 miles east of Hastings before the car ran out of petrol. Stranded on a coastal road I had no option but to abandon it and hitch hike. It took an hour for a car to stop. A friendly couple from Torquay picked me up and let me sit in the back of their spotless Honda on their cream leather seats. Christ, I realized that I must stink, I havn’t had a shower in days. They dropped me off near a Travel lodge not believing my story that I was lost and trying to find my aunts house, I walked through the automatic doors to be greeted by a young male behind the counter complete with acne, braces and a lustful look in his eyes. I lent on the counter and turned on the tears telling him I had been mugged and I just needed a bed for the night I had no where else to go. He insisted that I stay in one of the rooms, he said he was the senior manager and as long as I was out by lunch time it should be fine.

     So here I am in my free room, laptop is charging. I’m going to have a shower now, but where the hell do I go from here? I’m thinking I might try to leave the country, I guess I’ve gotta take one day at a time. x

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(Post 1) - First Blog

    My life is a mess right now, There is a warrant out for my arrest – a crime I’m not going to mention but suffice to say that if I’m caught I’m looking at a very long sentence. I currently have no job, very little money, and I’m living in Brighton in this wretched derelict house with a junkie, don’t get me wrong though Maya’s a lovely girl, very streetwise just not my Idea of an ideal housemate.  We obviously haven’t been paying any bills so our water supply has just been cut off, I think the electricity will be too within the next few days, I really hope that doesn’t happen.

     Anyway today was like any other over the past couple of weeks, woke up about ten thirty when the sun reached the holes in the lurid floral curtains, and made myself a cup of coffee with bottled water and the propane BBQ that now resides in the lounge. I shaved my legs in the toilet with an almost blunt razor… Now I know how that sounds but we have 2 toiles in our house one for using and one for washing, we need to conserve our drinking water because it is quite hard to steal.  So at about 2:30 We left the house through the downstairs window because all the doors have been barricaded from the inside, and went down to the local supermarket to steal breakfast, again.  Returned with our food, ate and sat down to play guitar for a while. Well I played guitar while Maya sang, which is ok as she is actually a pretty good singer.

     Around 9PM Maya decides she needs to score, whatever she must have taken this morning is wearing off and she’s getting the shakes, Christ knows where she stole the money to pay for this, so we pick up a bottle of cooking oil and off we go.
We only need to pull about 15 cars before we find one that opens, a black corsa with a 98 plate - old cars are the easiest. Maya started the car by touching two red wires together then touching them to a brown wire, and drove erratically over to Eastbourne to meet the dealer. She gave him a call when we were opposite the usual phonebox and he appeared from the darkness at the car window, handing Maya a very small package of very expensive brown powder.

     We got back near to the house and Maya covered the interior of the car in the oil to get rid of any prints and hide most of the DNA, we get home, she cooks up her stuff in a teaspoon and sucks it up into a syringe using one of my cigarette butts to filter it. Now I don’t really mind heroin use, I have smoked it from time to time I just don’t like the whole nodding in and out of consciousness.  Maya’s passed out in the lounge, and I rolled myself a joint ,fired up my laptop and sat down to write this.
It feels good to actually write down what my life is like at the moment even if it is just self-therapy. Anyway I’ll try and write another blog tomorrow if we still have power, It will probably be exactly the same as this though! X

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