The shit blog of Paul Chris Jones

Dear Diary. 6am. My girlfriend accidentally wakes me up as she leaves the room. I fall back asleep.

9am. The landlord, Eveline, wakes me up with noise from the kitchen. She's probably cooking something. I go back to sleep.

11.30am. I'm woken by what sounds like the Tasmanian Devil having an epileptic fit. I look outside, and I see a man using a hedge-trimmer. I stay in bed until another man joins in with what sounds like a chainsaw.

I get up. The landlord, Eveline, is on the couch. She explains she is resting for tonight as she will be babysitting her sister's four children.

I cook breakfast / lunch. I use a fish that cost $1. Its face looks quite evil. I imagine it is feigning death, and will jump at me at any second.

The landlord leaves, and when she returns I am in the middle of playing Call Me Maybe at 2/3rds of its usual speed.

The landlord leaves again. An hour later, I hear a kid. He is coming up the stairs. He is about 4 years old. Following him are three other kids. Toddlers. The landlord is babysitting them here. I try to be nice. I offer them two hats I have: a Mexican hat and a white plastic cowboy hat. The kids are silent. Uncomfortable. They are judging me. Waiting for me to entertain them. I am failing. "Appuyez mon doigt, et il y avais quelque chose drole", I tell them, which means, "Press my finger, and there has been something funny". They ignore me.

I hide in the bedroom until they have gone. It is hot outside. I am lying on the bed, slightly clammy with sweat, like a heroin addict. My actual addiction is my laptop. This is why I am inside on a day with nice weather. My internet isn't working, which makes the laptop more addictive, not less. Inexplicably, the internet is working on my girlfriend's laptop.

I am meeting my girlfriend after she has finished work to watch a film. I take the metro. After two stops, it breaks down. I get off and take a bixi instead.

I get to the cinema. My girlfriend tries to pay for her ticket with loyalty card points but she is 10 points short of the required 1000. The cinema room is empty and the screen is blank. We are early. I try to take a photo but it is too dark.

Slowly, the room fills up with people. The film starts. It is called The Bling Ring. It is about teenagers in Los Angeles who break into celebrities' houses. They find the addresses on the internet and wait until the celebrity is away. There is always a door or window unlocked. It is very easy. They break into Paris Hilton's house five times, for fuck's sake.

After the film, we see an apartment. The view is nice. The rooms are quite large. However, it is available a month too soon. Also, the kitchen is almost non-existant, and the window faces away from the sun.

My girlfriend wants to drink at a pub. When we sit down, tiredness hits both of us. I look around. There is an old couple using tablets. Another guy is on an iPhone. My girlfriend tries to connect her own iPhone to the internet, but without avail. Entertain me, she says. I begin by half-joking that we should steal the bottle of mayonnaise on the table. Then, I mime karaoke, pretending my glass is a microphone. She isn't watching.

We cycle back. The ride is nice. Downhill. It is dusk.

The kids are in the apartment. They are sleeping over. One kid, a 3-year-old girl, can't sleep. The landlord, her aunt, plays with her. I think how energy-draining and selfish children are.

I offer to make my girlfriend dinner. We eat fries and horsemeat burgers. My girlfriend makes conversation. I don't want to. I am exhausted. Although I have slept for 11 hours, the sleep was light, not refreshing. It is a genuine effort to reply.

I do the washing-up. My girlfriend has to get up early for work tomorrow. I will have the day off again.

I tell my girlfriend I will come to bed soon. I start typing up this blog entry. The landlord is watching a film. There is a couple having sex. Then the man gets angry for a reason I can't ascertain as the film is dubbed in French. The woman runs to a room and locks the door. Ouvrir la porte, he demands, over and over, while she sobs.

I finish writing and go to bed. It is 10.30pm. To my surprise, my girlfriend is still awake. She looks like she's sleeping but the light is on and her laptop is playing a Catalan radio show.

There is swing, jazz and soul music playing at a bar outside. It takes me three hours to fall asleep.