Parisian but not heard

Some more delightful Paris snapshots for you, cropped to an appropriate size and accompanied with captions that take the phrase "dire punning" to a whole new level.

We did a lot of walking round the city. It was Bard work

What a Dame ugly building. Not!(re)

When I saw this item, I immediately clocked it for the
photo opportunity it was

I am Andreas Gursky. There's no pun here. Just hard fact

Just thought I'd "flag" this one up

Pave and display

(Sky)Scraping the barrel a bit here

Another photo to add to my L'oeuvre
(my God, I'm punning in French)

I can't believe I had the gall(ery) to take this picture

The Gustave Tower

During one of our many trawlings off Paris's beaten track, me and Sarah stumbled across this strange girder-like structure. I took some photos so you at home can witness its unlikely beauty.

The monument is apparently known as the
Gustave Tower, after its designer Gustave Eiffel

We were particularly pleased we found the tower,
since it is notoriously hard to spot

Because of its immense ugliness, few
are interested in visiting the tower.
Hence deserted scenes like these

Visitors - if there are any - who wish to visit the top are hoisted
up by rope (provided)

Skate figure

I feel awful. Think I was poisoned by my last meal in Paris. Arrived back and spent the night vomiting. But apart from the evil payoff, the trip was great. We even went ice skating! Here's a little video I made before the nausea set in.

Paris for the course

Right. I'm off to Paris tomorrow. Sarah has made me promise not to update the Goose while I'm away. Fair enough, it would annoy me if I was her.

In the meantime, feel free to read the archives. September 2005 was quite good. I met a crazy Welshman, had a big house party and graduated from Goldsmiths. I was surprisingly creative in January 2006. Those were innocent times. And April 2006 has some pretty pictures and the story of how I was traumatised by a man who owned the same shirt as me. Browse away.

Back on Wednesday. Au revoir, mes amis! Au revoir, mes ennemis!

Damn his eyes

First he got to go to dinner in Paris. Then they sent him for a long weekend of clubbing in Ibiza. Today, there's another one to add to the list of places my bastard housemate has got to go 'for work': Nashville. Grrr.

We'll always hate Paris

My flatmate Jamie is a total bastard. He came home from work the other night and asked me how my day at work had been. I grunted in a vaguely French accent and asked him how his was.
"Shit - but also brilliant," he said.
"How so?"
"Well, I went through the usual crap; but just before I left, a few of us got invited for a booze-up and posh meal, all paid for by the company. Guess where."
"The Ivy." Celeb dining haven. That would be pretty cool.
"Nope."
"Fifteen." Jamie Oliver's place, run by homeless kids come good.
"Nope, better."
"Er, Gordon Ramsey's restaurant?" Couldn't remember what it's called.
"Nope."
"Tell me. Where?"
"Paris."

He wasn't talking some shitty eaterie in Stockwell called Paris. He meant Paris. As I said, total bastard.