Christ, what a purposeless day. Scarcely left the apartment, scarcely could will myself to get out of bed. Went to the shop, saw a tramp buying a can of beer with great big gouty hands, puffed up and pink like balloons. Drew him this evening for want of anything else to do with myself. Forced myself to go out for a walk around the neighbourhood to tire myself out. Asian prostitutes along the boulevard. Driving rain this morning. The world doesn't care whether I house-arrest myself all day doing nothing, whether I'm edifying myself at the purifying fount of culture or whether I give my life over to some grand project or not. Can't bear how teeming everywhere is with humanity, how hopelessly pointless any striving is. Why not just baffle oneself with sensory pursuits? It's all the same in the end. Need a religion! The cleaner asked me what my religion was the other day. Good god, that would make things more bearable I'm sure. The trouble with striving after something rather than merely dreaming about it, for hoping for and anticipating a day or event that comes to pass, is that when it's over it's over and there is the blank nothingness left behind. If you don't go to Paris you can always stay at home thinking, 'well at least I could run away to Paris', but when you've run away to Paris and you're still gnawed at and hollowed out, well then, you've got nowhere left to run to. DISTRACT ME, USE ME, TAKE ME AWAY FROM MYSELF!! Life isn't what I expected and I can't bring myself together to change it.
Received a delightfully stiff letter from my Uncle (digitised by my devoted sister) prefacing a tax-efficient cheque from the estate of my still-living Great Auntie. A most welcome defrayment of the costs of a fraction of my Paris-based largesse.
Day began in earnest after noon with coffee and croissant with the family friend I have known since infancy. I bought her Madame Bovary at Shakespeare and Co to spread the good word. It is inappropriately gilt-edged and type-set like the bible, which I thought was an exceedingly agreeable reverence to the irreverent.
Le Marais with Danish girls then Place Vendôme to say a 20-word goodbye to the flaxen-haired fashion assistant. I'm a libertine in everything but the most enjoyable sense, ingrate prude that I am.
Again, no painting. No will or motivation; life goes on just as well without bothering about it, often better.
I would like to talk seriously about art and literature.
I suffered myself to play the feudal milord and receive my landlady and her cleaner with dispassion whilst I loafed on the sofa watching a documentary about Russian art. A truly distasteful carry on to have a grown man on his hands and knees scrubbing my floor whilst I awkwardly make myself a cup of tea. Wearisome to have the mirror held up to me of my own iniquity, so I chose not to look too closely.
And so I popped off to Place Vendôme again to breeze uncaringly through the fashion show and spend time in the company of a radiant young thing and to think myself very grand indeed.
I have totally disengaged with painting, despite having the easel set up roguishly in my apartment.
Got up early, slept lightly and dreamed I was appointed Vice President of a railroad under a no-nosense, hard-headed go-getter who impressed and scared me by being a ruthless businessman. I was the pusillanimous, bullshitting posh boy that I am, and I was awed to be bested by every measure.
Went out with the intention of going to the horrible old supermarket to get some bits and pieces, but my way was quite literally blocked by a mile of almost-indistinguishable market stalls peopled by North African men shouting things and the gangway between them clogged with old people pulling wheeled shopping bags over my feet. I walked up and down it and finally plucked up courage to hand over money in exchange for a confusion of vegetables. Returned triumphantly to my apartment-o-mediocrity to find that the gas hob doesn't work.
Passed out with weariness for a while but managed to drag myself off to Christie's to see a preview with my art dealer friend. Marvelled at the impeccably dressed individuals rather than the art jumble sale. Then off to the Place Vendôme to see my teenage German belle at the Berlin fashion week showroom. Unavoidable expense of dinner, bus, bus, home.
No painting! Hah! I am strongly inclined to renounce it and begin living life once more.
Brunched in the hotel in the sun, working away on my MacBook like a tosser, sipping coffee and spattering myself with croissant flakes, also like a tosser. Practised speaking English to the French people who had the misfortune to transact with me.
Wandered over to my friend's apartment, socially interacted then bought her lunch as a thank-you for condescending to spend time with me. Trecked across town to my impoverished neighbourhood, spoke some more English to the Filipino gentleman cleaning the apartment whilst I languished on the sofa waiting patiently for it all to be over.
I neither finished the work I should have finished yesterday nor did any painting nor debauched myself to any appreciable degree, so it is more or less business as usual.
Stayed up late working, woke at daybreak to work some more. My month-long apartment rental in Paris unceremoniously cancelled. Abandoned work duties to salvage my ill-conceived indulgent trip by spamming desperate messages to every AirBnB host with availability.
Am now temporarily lodged in a hotel, paid for by rotten egg AirBnB and I've appointed myself an appartment a thousand miles from anything useful for tomorrow onwards. It does have wood floors and seems to be tolerably furnished though.
So I am back in Paris bodily but not in mind or spirit yet.
Sprang out of bed extra early to work on painting for four hours before devoting the rest of the day (and night) to work that I thought I could dash off in a heartbeat but has taken considerably longer and will miss another deadline.
Revelled in Dangerous Liasons whilst painting.
Reading Dangerous Liasons for inspiration. So good I clapped my hands in delight. Amusing, titillating, agreeable all round.
Small windfall from Grandmother's estate defrays half of the costs of my Paris rental; mana from heaven.
Finished Torrents of Spring. A gem.