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Shadow Lines, Part III - Paris, France

Shadow Lines, Part III

Paris, France

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At the time we didn't have two pennies to our name and we had to save almost all year to come to Paris. We used to split main courses in restaurants and make a half bottle of wine last all night. Coming back on expenses was a different experience, and I ordered champagne, mussels and a lovely piece of sole. But, it didn't taste half as good as our loving cup used to so many years ago.

As we had to be up early the next day and reasonably bushy tailed too, we didn't have much time to see more of my old Paris. But we did find a little caf� to sit and drink several late night beers in�

We used to spend a lot of time in the Louvre. Today I much prefer the Hermitage or the Riiks in Amsterdam, but the Louvre for me then was the epitome of sophistication. We used to laugh at the Japanese who seemed permanently camped out around the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo and used to head off giggling to stand in awe in front of Gericault's Raft of the Medusa – which I still think is a deeply sexy painting.

The Mus�e national de l'Orangerie was also a great place. Despite being packed to the gills with magnificent art it was always strangely devoid of tourists. Monet has always been a favourite of mine, and the Mus�e contains some of his finest works. It was also always deserted, and the gardens had some great little nooks and crannies for those more intimate moments.

We even went, much against my better judgement, to Disney Land Paris. It had only opened a few weeks previously and was getting a lot of column inches in the UK press. I imagine there had been some serious bargaining for me to have gone there, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was – though getting my washing done for an entire term does ring a bell. It was, and words actually fail me here, terrible. A few years later I was forced to go to the Tokyo version, and that was equally as bad. I think I am the only person in history to be brought out in a rash by Disney. Even the tiniest glimpse of Mickey Mouse makes me come over all Hezbollah.

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I can feel myself slipping away into the sherry-coloured half light of distant memories now, so perhaps it's best to take the pause off the hand of time and return to a hot summer's day in 2002...

Play

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Being France, by the time I had realised what was going on the taxi has already sped off and I rush back into the hotel's reception. In French:

'Oh, golly, gosh, my partner has just gone into labour and I would be terribly terribly grateful, my good and worthy woman, if you would be as kind as to call me a taxi to the airport as soon as possible'.

(or words to that effect anyway)

A tourist, complete with Panama hat and muttonchop side burns, is tugging at the sleeve of my best suit.

'My good man. I hear you speak such colloquial French. May we engage you as our guide for the day'.

'Bollocks mate, I have a flight to catch and a baby to deliver. Where is my taxi?'

'Ten minutes, Monsieur.'

'Bollocks'.

Out into the street, briefcase in hand, stand in the middle of the road and wave like a manic until a taxi speeds past and is forced to stop. Dive in the front, slam the door,

'Monsieur, the airport, and make it snappy'

'But. Monsieur, I am on the way to pick up my mother''

'Fifty euros if you get me there in 25 minutes'.

'Oui, on y va!.'

Then juggling two phones:

'Philip, the 10.50 is fully booked, the M25 is jammed and we don't think you can get home that way. Hold on let me see where else you can go to.'

'Can I speak to the midwife dealing with the GHG please. I need to know how she is. Yes, I can hold...'

'Monsieur, vite, vite, I am having a baby.'

'Ahh, zee Lady Di, she die here, perhaps you want to stop and take zee photos or lay zee flowers.'

'Philip, go to terminal 9. There is an Easyjet ticket for you. Gets you into Luton. We have a car there for you.'

'Are you the father? How soon can you get here...'

'Philip, I cancelled the flight to Singapore for you. I called the people there, they ask you to chill and call them when you know what's what. We assume you wont be in Oz next week. Got that on hold for you...'

'Philip, this is your mum... where the bloody hell are you, why are you there and when will you be back...'

'Monsieur, zee traffic, she is bad... maybe you want me not to stop at zee lights. You pay zee fines if le poulet stop us...?'

'Oui, C'est vrai.'

And then into the terminal, fight my way to the desk, pick up my ticket.

'What do you mean my bag is too heavy? I can't check it, I need to hit the ground running at the other end.'

'Its 2kg too heavy.'

'Right, take these papers, these overheads and my wash kit. Now are we good.'

'Oui, C'est bon.'

'On y va maintanant.'

Through customs, immigration, pick up champagne, get to the gate.

And now I have 45 minutes to kill.

I sit, I stand, I pace, I pull my hair out, I sit down again, I pace some more, I make endless calls, I pull some more hair out. And that wastes all of two minutes.

I walk the length of the terminal, I sit down with my head in my hands and have a quiet few minutes contemplation. I pace some more. I buy a coke. I sit and I think: Damn, what am I doing here? I pace some more, I make some calls and I can't help feeling like I am somehow failing the GHG. I should be in the delivery room singing Steely Dan tunes to her:

When you speak of what you are and have seen

I can see your hand

Reaching out through a shining daydream

Where the days and nights are not the same

Captured happy in a picture frame

Honey I will be there

Yes I'll be there...

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By the time the flight boards, I am a wreck. I ask the stewardess where is the best place to sit for a swift exit, and she sits me right at the front of the plane. I tell her why I am so stressed. Mysteriously, a bottle of champagne appears.

We land. There is an Easyjet representative waiting for me with a car to take me to the terminal, and an even faster car waiting on the other side of immigration. Ten minutes after landing we are hurtling up the A1 like a bat out of hell. An hour later, with a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat, I step into the hospital and am directed to Delivery Room 7. As I open the door a shadow falls across me, and I know that nothing will ever be the same.