The Only French Kiwi.

Well what can I say? Hmm?

[theonlyfrenchkiwi]

The AC.

Watching the Americas Cup this year has been strange for me, as this is the one time in my life where I haven't been there to see the action live on a chase boat or from the team base itself. The Americas cup has been part of my life ever since I was born and it always will be. These boats are the fastest in the world and is probably the most extreme racing I have ever seen. Overall, I think Emirates Team New Zealand have a slightly faster boat, and I think Oracle know that and are trying to dig in and give penalties wherever they can. The two boats are pretty much equal however, as ETNZ is only slightly faster, and Oracle are trying to equalize that by being as aggressive as they can. Both Oracle and ETNZ have great, great teams, with top of the line boats and yachtsmen. Obviously Dean Barker and James Spithill are both fantastic skippers, and I don't think you could ask for a better match. When your family isn't taking part in this regatta (whom you must root for first and foremost) you must always root for your country. There's been a lot of action onshore as well as offshore, which has decreased the reputation of the Cup quite dramatically, and it would be amazing to have the Cup back home in New Zealand and increase the reputation a bit, as well as bringing back a lot of the patriotic atmosphere as we saw with the red socks and commemorate Sir Peter Blake. The race is not only who has the better boat, but who also has the best tactics, which obviously changes depending on the current, wave height and the wind. Oracle have a serious problem with tacking, as they lose an immense amount of speed by being unable to tack on the foil. ETNZ excels at this, which also increases the speed and distance of an already faster boat. I think the race is pretty balanced so it will be interesting to see the outcome of this extreme, extreme yacht race. GO ETNZ!!!

[theonlyfrenchkiwi]

Regatta Week

So I arrived in Hamilton Island looking forward to lots of rosé and lots of sitting by the pool reading all these Misogyny books (true stuff, not very compelling reading) but instead we went for a buggy ride around the island. Now let me tell you, I was adorned with necklaces galore (trying to look acceptable, I mean you should have seen my accommodation - if you look like you don’t belong there, you’re most probably underdressed) and had the vibrant red lipstick to give my ripped jeans and t shirt a bit of oomph (a ten year old boy told me it was too much - bit humiliating), and I was riding through town, and everyone looked at me like “What the hell is a drag queen doing here? It’s regatta week not gay pride!” And it’s safe to say I looked absolutely ridiculous. Since I’m really quite stubborn and don’t like to be made fun of, I was like “right, this is what I’m gonna do. I’m going to dress up and put on the poshest accent I can while talking to the sailors so perhaps they’ll see it as some girly thing they don’t understand, instead of someone trying too hard. Skip along to later in the week, my friends were sitting at the Owners table at the crew party, and I went to sit with the sailors. Since I was dressed up (sans red lips this time) and was talking like a twat, I think they were interested to laugh at me across the table. However, with my (slightly uncouth) (terribly crude) sense of humour, it went along swell! I was roaring with them at the end of the night, and felt like a true yachtie (except I was holding champagne up to the table, because I was getting red teeth from the wine). Quite fantastic, if I do say so myself. I like yachties. I really do.

[theonlyfrenchkiwi]

Devil Juice

So when I was about 16, there was graduation night (not for me, but you celebrate anyway), which meant loads of loads of Belvedere. And when I got to Java (the nightclub du jour of Genève) there was 3 magnums waiting for me (heeeeaveeeeen!). …So half a litre of sex on the beach and 17 shots of vodka later, I was carried out of the club by a newly graduated lad, and put down by the elevator, where I proceeded to smoke away my woes and shout at the boy I was in love with who was at the time dating my best friend (this was in between my vomiting into the bushes). None of this I remember (even if I did I would never admit in a million years) and I haven’t been able to touch the stuff since. I nicknamed it the Devil Juice and stuck to my rum for the next following years. However, last night was my final night in Delhi, which means Celebration!! (Oh dear God I’m too old for these celebrations), and was told to get absolutely smashed by my drunk friend who was also drugged up on antibiotics. She then proceeded to hand me a vodka shot, and I yelled and screamed and pleaded, but her boyfriend is one of those fellows who tends to get his way, and so I threw back the shot, and the shot of the girl next to me, and the shots of the people who suddenly became non-drinkers. Dear God.  This friend of mine (Let’s call her A) should know what happens when Frenchi and vodka mix, since she was the one who helped escort me out of the club. Anyways. Now I can’t remember what happened for my last night in Delhi and I’m still bloody drunk.

[theonlyfrenchkiwi]

Motherhood of the Français

As a New Zealander, I find the concept of French motherhood to be borderline rude. I mean all they do is basically ignore their child, and when it starts that sniveling-about-to-break-out-into-shouts thing, all they do is give them that specific stare. The one where they open their eyes really wide and slightly raise one eyebrow? And if the child doesn’t cease, off swoops the hand and the au pair carries the child off to a distant room, and the mother continues to drag on that damn cigarette. I mean why did you even have a kid? What’s the point? But then again, as a slightly creative (well I’d like to think so) and slightly eccentric (just weird, mainly) person, growing up in France has taught me that its totally okay to have your child wander in when your friend is live painting a nude (basically pornographic) scene in your studio. But then, since I’m definitely going to marry a Brit (I mean why not? Harry Styles anyone?) the husband would walk in, swoop up the kid and give me an evil parting glare. But c’est la vie, eh? L’Anglais est tellement prudish. What would they know about l’art? Motherhood is what you make it, and mine is going to be Franglish.

[theonlyfrenchkiwi]

Solitude At Couture Week

So during Couture Week in New Delhi, my friend (who I had flown to India to see) was blessed with tickets to every single fashion show, but also a sinus infection. That left her stuck sniveling in bed and I being shoved into a car on the way to fashion week. Alone. I have to say, fashion week is always quite incredible, especially in such a culturally intense location, but it was interesting (and very awkward) to turn up at the Taj Palace as probably the only white person in the room. With no friends. What the hell was I thinking? But squeezing my way to the front (as you do) and taking my seat in Row B, I was stuck in the unfortunate position of being seated in front of, behind and inbetween groups of women who all new each other. A lot of leaning to and fro, and a lot of flinching was involved (I almost got hit in the face several times and once almost got a finger up my nose by a flying gesture of affection. Not at me. At the lady next to me. Anyway.) It was a beautiful show. Stunning fabrics. Think French bohéme meets Indian culture. But a word of advice: Never go to Fashion Week alone. You’ll end up talking to your mother more than you’d like just to look like you have friends (who weren’t chic enough to be where you are, but still. Friends.)

[theonlyfrenchkiwi]

The Art Of Making Lines

I moved to Europe a long time ago. And one thing that still drives me up, over and down the wall is that nobody – NOT ONE PERSON – understands the art of queueing. It’s not actually that hard. It’s just standing in a line. But no! Want your café and croissant in the morning? Shove to the front of the line. Want your Le Monde to read on the metro? Shove to the front of the line. It sounds rude. It is rude. But you can’t get anything done otherwise. It’s just how it works.