It feels like I'm dreaming, but I'm still awake
I'm in Bruges. I am hungover.
Last night ended a few hours ago with some kind of magnolia-coloured vanilla spirit which according to two girls I was out with had the ‘look and consistency but sadly not the taste’ of semen (whether that means semen should taste more vanilla-y or spirits should taste more seminal I'm not quite sure, well no, I am), and it began, the evening that is, several hours previously with a round of beers whose Brobdingnagian proportions meant that, apart from any alcoholic effects, just lifting them to your mouth provided a considerable triceps workout. They really were massive. I think my LJ membership may have lapsed so I can't add a picture, but here's a link to an illustrative tweet.
When I am drunk I never sleep well, so for the last few hours, instead of recuperating, I have for some reason been tossing and turning in bed while my mind obsesses over the fact that this hotel has extended the usual hotel towel code system to three options, and wondering how this could be elaborated further:
Towels hung up: I will re-use my towels;
Towels on the floor: please replace my towels;
Towels in the bath: please replace my towels and toiletries;
One towel in the bath, one in the shower: I am shocked at the excessive prices of your minibar;
Both towels plaited together: I seem to have lost one of my cufflinks, it might be under the bed, or, failing that, in one of the drawers by the Gideon Bible, so if you could have a good look round that would be helpful;
One towel folded into an origami swan, the other facing Mecca: given the wider progress of society, I'd say that the quality of hotel pornography has not significantly improved since the early 1980s;
Towels unused: beware, I am the director-general of the International Monetary Fund
And so on. If enough of us adopt this, hotel chains will have to start recognising it.
I was about to go on to briefly outline my responses to the whole DSK affair, but now I come to it I really don't want to. There are less depressing and more interesting things I could be thinking about, like what I am going to do and see today in Bruges, or Brugge if you prefer, and whether any midgets will be shot while I'm here. That was a reference to the film In Bruges starring Colin Farrell, by the way, and not a sign of burgeoning psychosis on my part. All right, perhaps a little of both.
I'll tell you what, LJ, it feels nice to be writing sentences again after a very long, stressful period of thinking about little other than work issues. That is why I haven't updated in ages, by the way. I was at Cannes for the film festival where I was working 19-hour days, and then I got called in every day during what should have been a week off to recover thanks to Dominique Strauss-Kahn's alleged priapic misdemeanours, and then this week there was the G8 in Normandy, so what with one thing and another I've really been looking forward to this weekend in Bruges (French) / Brugge (Flemish). Sadly, alcohol-induced sleeplessness now means I will probably be pretty wiped out today, but fuck it, at least I'm here in the beautiful fairytale city of Bruges, which looks like the city from a Disneyworld, and where so far in my stay no one has plumetted to a gory death from the bell-tower. That was another reference to the film In Bruges starring Colin Farrell, by the way, and not a further sign of burgeoning psychosis on my part.
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