LOUD NOISES

This is going to be a quick blog and written at near light-speed, because I have just way too much to do. Some people bite off more than they can chew; I appear to have bitten off more than I can feasibly fit in my mouth and have stuffed a bit more in my ears for good measure.

Today I have had meetings with four different members of staff, lunch with another, and left at 6.45. If this is what real life is like, then it's awesome, and I'm not going back to uni. Seriously, how did I fill the time? Assassin's Creed? Halo? Skyrim?

Well...yes. And it's enormously satisfying, and a large part of me would really rather like to go back to lounging around for eight hours and exploring the vast digital worlds laid out before me but this - this is more satisfying still. The project I did last week on mind-mapping is going live in the next few days, and that's something I was given from its conception. I'm not a broody guy, but that thing is my baby, and I love it. In addition, I'm frantically learning as much about iMovie as I possibly can and storyboarding short video clips, for which I'll need a student willing to be soaked to the skin, thrown over someone's shoulder, and theoretically can wasted. Or at least act it.

I still have to get these past my supervisors, but what's amazing is that I'm pretty confident I can sell them.

I'm also on a huge high (and rushing slightly) because my year abroad essay is coming along, slowly but surely, as I do my best to decipher the complexities of the French political system, which is highly devolved and thus as easy to follow as a drawer full of headphone cables.

I also got a very exciting message from my friend Kate, who'd spotted an opportunity she knew I'd be interested in (love that girl, she's far too good to me). I put together a quick email and shot it off to the person in question. Ten minutes later she and I were having a lovely chat, and if I'm very lucky I'll have an enormous project to work on when I get back home towards the end of August. I've a meeting lined up with her as soon as I return, and if I can get the job, I think I'll explode with glee.

In essence it'll involve a total media strategy with special emphasis on social media, my particular favourite. You can tell, can't you, and to prod you with it a bit more if you go to my homepage you'll see all the internet places I am. Send me a tweet or connect with me on G+, if you'd like to know more about me (assuming there's anything left to learn, since I put most everything here.)

Now, at last, I am soaking up the #ausacouncil hashtag on twitter and avidly following the discussion. A group of Tories are trying to argue that we need a "centre-right officer," because Tories are bullied by all the mean lefties and are under-represented at local and national level. It's not like we've got a government that's controlled by the -

Wait, my mistake. You're an idiot.

Mon Martre? Ton Martre? Everybody's Martre!

Awkwardly wedged in joke aside, I had a really good day today. My body woke me up at 8, which is kind of cool - although I don't think I'll be ditching my alarm clock any time soon. Far too neurotic to rely on my own body.

In any case, getting up nice and early gave me an opportunity for an exceedingly long and luxurious shower and a browse of this week's news. I read a little Sherlock Holmes as part of a lesson plan - my life is awesome - and made crêpes. It's the weekend, and I am firmly of the opinion that calories consumed over the weekend absolutely do not count. You will see further evidence of my faith in this along the way.

In any case, I thought I was doing rather well when I strolled out at 11 to make my way into the city. On the way out, however, I passed a Dutch friend of mine who had been up for two hours already and had been training solidly on his bike for those two hours. It would be grating if he wasn't such a nice guy.

I also got to read Kate's new blog post, after a hiatus of far too long. My friend Mary is also blogging, so for a uniquely American point of view I recommend her new blog too. Final recommendation is a webcomic that I think is absolutely amazing called Looking For Group. There are lots and lots of pages, and they're hilarious and filled with great nerdy pop culture references. If you're confused about where to begin, then I can only offer the advice of the King of Hearts:

"Begin at the beginning," the King said gravely, "and go on until you reach the end: then stop."

Excellent advice, even if it comes from a playing card.

I digress again; you must forgive these flights of fancy. I made my way into Paris, going first by bus to La Défense and from there taking the RER to the Arc de Triomphe. A stroll along the Champs d'Elysée with only a little window shopping and an awful lot of pictures brought me to the great wheel at Concorde and Cleopatra's Needle, tipped with gold, blazed in the cold winter light. After a great slew of pictures (which I shall try to edit and refine tonight) I made my way to Montmartre. It looked glorious, and the Sacré-Coeur cathedral which perches atop it and commands astonishing views across Paris is a perennial beauty. I took the stairs up and the funicular down, which bizarrely seemed to be the contrary view - coming down I had the little carriage to myself but walked past a long queue of people apparently unwilling to march up the steps. There are 300, but in the freezing cold I was glad of the increased blood flow. I was so pleased, in fact, that I stopped for a solid three-hour lunch.

Lunch consisted of a half-litre of average red, an excellent stew of beef and rice and a cheese plate.

Let me share the cheese plate with you. I can only share the image, but I wish I could have shared it with you there and then, because I'm of the opinion there was half a kilo of cheese on that plate.

Since you weren't there, my friends, I had to make the best of it. It is worth pointing out at this point that I have a mild lactose intolerance. It is not as bad as some people get it, but as I left I could feel my bloated belly straining at my belt and, fearful of buttons pinging off and removing the eye of some innocent tourist, I hastily made my excuses and left, a little merrier for the wine and the small bill. As a result I recommend L'été en Pente Douce, 8 rue Paul Albert, if you fancy an excellent meal at the top of Montmartre. Just make sure, if you order cheese, that you've a friend to share it with. Or a lactose intolerant enemy.

A quick trip home and I found that an internship whose deadline I'd missed had been re-opened, so I've spent the evening recording and re-recording myself, because I like perfection. And finally, finally! I sat down and started writing this. I began at the beginning, as the King recommended, and I have gone on until I reached the end.

So I'll stop.

P.S Here are some photos from today.

The same tired old refrain (Some swearing)

PR is a fast-moving, forward-thinking industry. In my opinion it simply has to be; you cannot stand about waiting for stories to break or a friendly journalist to take a sudden interest in your story.

Politics (I thought) was similarly fast-moving and forward-thinking; indeed, there shouldn't be many people thinking further forward than politicians.

And yet today I feel like both of these opinions have been utterly squashed. The first was by a PR firm for whom I otherwise have great respect for and the second was by the Conservative party, who are apparently trying to out-shit even their own bloated caricatures.

Firstly, the PR firm. I understand the argument that is suggested, to whit: you are getting an education, and as a result, you should pay towards the cost. I disagree with this idea for a couple of reasons: first, I'm producing content. I will grudgingly accept that I ought to put some cost towards my university fees, although £9,000 (I know, technically I pay only a fifth of that, but I am speaking generally) goes a little past ridiculous and into the realm of the truly ridiculous. All three of my students today, one French and two Russian, expressed utter disbelief that we had such an insane system. Mind you, the Russians also needed convincing I was British because I was, in their words, "Too animated."

It's nice to see the stereotypes of Britain as a nation of stick-up-arse, stiff-upper-lip, what-ho-Jeevesing chaps and chappesses has absolutely not gone anywhere. In any case, the education I receive at university is entirely linear; I am taught, I produce content, but none of it is going to add to the prestige of the university - the books on which we write our essays have already been examined in minute detail, which I imagine is the point. It gives us, the students, more data on which to base our conclusions, thus ensuring our essays have at least the semblance of a well-researched piece of work.

An internship is entirely a two way street. I am still receiving an education, except this time the work I produce will go to directly padding the bottom line of the company who have interviewed me and decided that I am good enough to work for them. They have, presumably, satisfied themselves that I am not going to defecate into an envelope and mail it to their clients. They have faith, I suppose, that I am not going to take photographs of my genitals and post them to the official twitter feed. And while these are extreme examples I also hope that they understand that they are taking on someone who has no more skill or ability than a graduate in this area - and that occasionally they will need to go over my work, as they would the graduate's, because nothing will be perfect first time.

The only difference seems to be that the graduate would be paid his wage, and I would receive £100 per week as expenses. A monthly ticket to the office from my rent-free parent's house would set me back £440. The minimum wage would mean paying interns just under a thousand pounds a month, and increase of £600. That's at minimum wage.

He has a point.

So come on PR firms. Be forward-thinking and awesome like I know you are, and pay your interns what you think they're worth.

And if you really think they're worth £2.50 an hour, then I suggest you fire whoever's recruiting them.

I've nothing to say about the Conservative party, save to share this little nugget where the guy in charge of collecting tax explains how to avoid paying tax.

It should be noted that of course this is young Osbourne. He may have radically changed his ways and not done any of those cheeky things like, say, flipped his house for £400,000 of profit.

Depressing day.

Winter is coming. Look busy.

A soirée last night and a housewarming tonight; life is hard but someone has to live it. The champagne flowed like the conversation; it was French and everyone was holding one. Including me, which stunned me most of all. Hosting was enormous fun; I can see why my sister is into it. Introducing people, circulating, sipping bubbly and talking about n’importe quoi, which I wish had an English translation. It’s sort of everything and nothing. I hope somebody who speaks French can enlighten me if there is, in fact, an actual translation.

Of course this morning was something of a comedown; no hangover, but a return to the office. To a certain extent it’s because I want to wear a tux every day, and when you look like I do in a tux :

You’ll understand why I’m keen to break it out more often. But such is life; unless I become a jazz singer (unlikely), the next James Bond (more unlikely), or a penguin photographer (actually...) I shall not wear it very often. Goodnight sweet prince. Back to the armoire you go.

You’ll notice I said armoire there and not wardrobe. That’s because I momentarily forgot that the word wardrobe existed. I don’t know if this is a good sign or not; I fear that when I come back I shall cut an odd figure, wandering round my house and shouting

“What do you call this? A placard?”

“Describe it.”

“It’s got cups in it.”

“That’s a cupboard.”

“Oh. So what do you call...”

And so on ad nauseam. I actually suspect this may be symptomatic of something more serious; I managed to buy some chocolate biscuits from a vending machine and then walk away with my change but without the calorific goodness. Honestly. I’ve started to lose it completely.

I’m still trying to work out a topic for my year abroad paper; it has to be ethnocentric - some difference or similarity between the UK and France. I wanted to do it on linguistic markers used in lying speech, but that’s getting more and more complex - and since I’ve just posted it, I’m not even sure if I can still use it. If you have any ideas, do let me know, because I’m currently scraping the very bottom of the barrel.

One final thought as I go - I’m looking for an internship and a flat for next year. Finding either is proving immensely difficult, so if you know of anything going in either field, do please let me know.

I will show appreciation in all sorts of exciting ways.

Tomorrow is Champs d’Elysee and the Christmas Markets, so be ready for a veritable avalanche of photographs. I will also be going to Cartier to laugh in their faces.

Although at this rate I’ll buy something and then leave it in the shop.