| >>djpaulette Postcards about … mice, men and many months missing Mea culpa. I know. I know. This has been a long time coming and to be honest, if it wasn't for your Swiss friend Manuel Walti (www.groovenite.com ) tipping the scales of my catholic guilt so far that I actually sized a corner of my living room up for a home confessional box you might still not have had this until the year was up. But when I looked back I realized that the last eight months have passed in a dizzying blur of seasons, emotions and trends and despite all this activity and wallets worth of pictures, the most deafening silence on my part. At first the dog ate my homework, then I was kidnapped by aliens and tested before being returned bruised and bettered to earth at which point my muse inconveniently contracted narcolepsy (that was around July / August time, officer!) and catching her awake was a mission more impossible than solving a Rubik's cube in the dark. Just the same, if you, like Manuel and half of Switzerland '…knows the postcards off by heart already': here I am, taking such criticism on the chin like a man, openly admitting my faults like a woman and asking forgiveness like a true catholic - well it is Lent after all. It's been a funny eight months all told. In brief, I think I have spent equal amounts of time at home trying not to sit on my arse, in airport lounges sitting on my arse, behind the decks kicking ass, sightseeing in London, Paris and Chatenoy without acting the touristy arse but generally making a total arse of myself wherever I went. And when I wasn't doing that I was running an open house, having life-affirming love-ins with my boyfriend Sebastien (that piece of magnesium ribbon just gets longer by the month, Nick!), or entertaining my chic Parisian family Jodie, Christina and Laurent, the Manchester massive of sister Elizabeth, nieces Alina and Saskia, brother in law Anthony plus Gary Mills and new addition Frankie (my fairy dog-mother when then time comes), the Montreal lunar-chick Annik and Mat Ste Marie and all manner of one-in-one-out family and friend's reservations chez Paulette. Then when I wasn't entertaining in the Martha Stewart sense of the word (no not cooking prison food or sewing jeans - oops, did I just say that or think it)? I was entertaining behind the decks either on the radio or in clubs across the globe. AS you will read, there have been so many highlights that even Rod Stewart's hairdresser has been asking for the recipe! To recap: June was memorable for many things but a game of multi-lingual scrabble between Annik, Mat and myself that would take a long time explaining stands out a mile - check the pictures page later for proof and no we hadn't smoked or drunk a thing! Anyone who joined me at Party In the Park (July 03 in Hyde Park) will have seen me shaking my Alexander McQueen clad booty to some fierce, ruling r n b, disco and house. Whilst my guardian angel Luke Howard came to my musical rescue, my Parisian girlfriends grooved on oblivious in killer clothes and heels, deadlier shades and rainbow umbrellas. The Diesel Party at the Flora in August was another one for the diary as I broke in Christina, Laurent and Sebastien - all carnival virgins - and introduced them to the British Olympic sports of chain-walking and off-road vendor eating, fortunately no-one won the bladder bursting contest since I live so close by to the action that relief was always close at hand - and there was always the Diesel Party at The Flora for light relief and Krispy Kreme doughnut filled entertainment. September saw me jetlagged in Taipei and mastering the art of 1) throwing up in a hole in the floor that masqueraded as a restaurant toilet b) knowing where I was when I really didn't know where the hell I was and c) doing b without understanding a single road sign. I also managed to bump into Lucien Foort whilst I was DJ'ing at the Phillips launch of a new DJ phone and blagged my way along with Ministry of Sound Radio Head, Drew Erskine, onto his guest list for his gig at 2f that evening. Lucien's set at 2f flew like a fireball through a lift shaft though. I expected so much from Taipei but Bangkok it was not! Whilst the rest of the girls in my group were on a serious shoe buying mission, my English snobbery (seen one fake shoe you've seen 'em all) and pro-canine sympathies had been well and truly rattled by the flagrant selling of cheap tat and animals (pick an animal any animal) in the street and from overcrowded shops, tanks and pens. October - and I was glad to be back among the maples and in the company of David Perusse, Sebastien, Didi and Claudia Cuseta. This month I found myself co-headlining the Black and Blue Main Event to a 12,000 strong crowd alongside Tedd Patterson and Mark Anthony in sunny Montreal (40 degrees in October and we were walking around in t-shirt and shorts at 3 in the morning). Shame I'd contracted virulent flu on the plane on the way over. And it was an even bigger shame that Sebastien got it within 24 hours of me. Our holiday was spent recuperating on Lac Labelle, making flu'd up trips in the icy, driving wind and rain and snow not just to the beautiful Mount Tremblant but to the Puttine and pharmacy stores too. There's nothing like a plate of squeaky cheese, fries and meat gravy to make you feel good when you feel really bad - or should that be the other way around ? November saw me taking the Baltic by storm with dates in Moscow, St Petersburg and Eckaterineburg. Whilst nothing can prepare you for the visual architectural delights of Russia, someone really should prepare you for the epicurean 'delights' of the place. Take my advice - invest in Tupperware and some long life foods that you love and will last. The food here sucks, and sucks quite seriously, especially when you're unceremoniously throwing it up mid-flight on your hands and knees in an Aeroflot toilet. Don't mention the vodka. And as for the robbing Russki who helped him or herself to my camera, you're a pal - not! Following an rrrr with an Ah! I made my first solo trip to Rome this month and after wishing in the Trevi fountain at 4am vowed to visit again with Sebastien. I thought wishing was worth the punt, since besides being absolutely breathtaking, Trevi is also supposed to be magical. December was a wonderfully busy month. Aside from devising the new concept and format for my radio show (Hard and Soul - gets your club on)!, then securing support from DJ magazine (it now features the Hype Chart every week), I enjoyed my birthday in Chatenoy (when I wasn't getting soaked) and managed to work everywhere from Paris (final party at Les Bains), Basel (Atlantis) - where did that plastic hand come from Manuel? - on to Prive in Estonia, hitched a lift with the lovely Gary so I could get home to Manchester for Christmas, returned to London to play at Sundaysonic and finished the year with a spot of Plan B for a Brixton-styled New Year's Eve mash-up. Of course I couldn't resist bringing in the New Year with a big old snog with Sebastien but as the night wore on, the Lord of Misrule took control of proceedings and Janie and I decided to take a trip to the twilight zone. By January 2nd our stories had become a case of unexplained bruises, missing belongings, parking tickets and a mood swing or two. We're sure Sebastien must have hexed us when he innocently said 'they say the way you spend New Year's Eve is the way you will spend your year': I can't say how relieved I am to report that everything was back in its place by January 3rd. By the way, how was your New Year's Eve? Carey's in Coventry was packed to the rafters and as brilliant a place to start my DJ'ing year as it always is, even if a double course of antibiotics for a tooth infection had put paid to my usual alcoholic enjoyment of Tony's hospitality. Never fear! I promise to be hooked up to the Vodka optic when I return there on May 20th. Sundays are now for Love 2 Lounge at Pop - a Central London post and pre-party hang out that is going from strength to strength. Within two months of my last trip, I found myself on a plane and on the way to Rome to party and spending my first anniversary there with Seb. We wasted no time getting down to it (when in Rome and all that) checking out the Coliseum, the Pantheon, Trevi Fountain and as many central Roman beauty spots as possible before a wonderful dinner at Marco's amazing pad near the Via Appia! La Palma hosted Flavia Lazzarini's Glam Night Party and it was amazing - packed to the rafters, wonderful visuals, beautiful people everywhere and with Flavia and me spinning like we'd just discovered the joys of music. Listen out for a guest mix from Flavia on my radio show on July 5th. Later that month, despite the Ukrainian Embassy palaver (doesn't anybody who works there speak any English)? I was looking forward to playing at Magma in Kiev, but was disappointed when the gig was cancelled one week before I was due to play. On the domestic front, a vicious cold snap in January bought
some unwelcome visitors in the form of a flurry of furry four legged friends.
I never saw them book in but they've been here for seven weeks now and
I'm completely freaked out. No alpha female or male behaviour here - more
like zeta for me. In truth, there's nothing like a minor rodent invasion
to show you how pathetic and weak you are when faced with something 1/1000
your size that moves 1000 times faster than you. Your bravery becomes
slavery and your dignity becomes disgust when you discover that not only
can mice fit through a hole the size of a biro barrel, but more that they
are doing it under your nose at the moment when you think you saw something
but tell yourself you didn't. Be warned every dark inaccessible corner
is des res to these squatters. Anyway I have made little red rent books
for them, so they'd better come armed with fat wallets cos I'm charging
and I'm charging 'em good! That should get learn 'em. Curiously enough,
my twin sister Paula was having the same problem. Her mail said: So, after many weeks of peering over the ledge of a vermin-centric nervous breakdown and trying to beg, borrow or steal a cat, any cat, to no avail then playing music louder than your average super club sound system could handle, I am pleased to say that I am finally seeing light at the end of this biro barrel sized tunnel. There is, however, one lesson I've learned - and one that anyone who remembers my Norbert story should take note - aversion therapy requires a regular refresher course or you simply revert back to your 'stand on the chair screaming' or 'break every limb - and all your nails - trying to escape from it' type. February saw me jetting off to Barcelona to judge the Sprite Urban Creations design competition alongside Turner Prize winner, Chris Ofili, Board Stupid's Phil Young and top graphic designer Ben Sansbury. I nearly choked on my tapas when I learned that Chris Ofili was born and raised in the same area of Manchester as me (he went to St Pius Secondary School whilst I went to the all-girls Hollies FCJ High School in Didsbury, plus he spent his spare time, as I did, monkeying about in the sycamore trees that lined the University playing fields behind my mum's house. We totally bored everyone in the room with a trip down a few dodgy Fallowfield memory lanes). Anyway, check out the slamming site www.spriteurbancreations.com to check if yours was one of the winning designs: the standard was amazingly high and I've asked for a wall sized poster of my personal favourite! Afterwards we lapped up as much of Barcelona as we could in one night, taking in the markets, the shops, and after dinner more underground sessions than Guy Fawkes' could shake a both-ends-burning stick at. The Sunday that followed was unsurprisingly lost to everyone. I rested easy since the remainder of February was spent producing and presenting my radio show, living in self-imposed exile from my lounge and kitchen due to the mouse invasion or devising a speculative proposal for a dj / media course, meeting with industry heads for advice and then pitching it to some music colleges. Good job too, since St. Valentine's day was an unromantic wash-out spent watching Channel 5 and Sky One in bed and sulking because Sebastien had to work and look after Josyanne (his mum) and Rose (his gran) who had both been hospitalized in the last month. You can't always get what you want, right? Speaking of hospitals, I had the most horrendous procedure done on my eyes at the end of February! It's put a whole new slant on my thoughts about having corrective laser surgery since I have never experienced anything so extremely painful. All I could think about after the anaesthetic went in and the clip was applied was Malcolm Mc Dowell's hospital scenes towards the end of 'A Clockwork Orange'. That's without divulging exactly what happened after she started the operation: all you need to know is that I left the Eye Hospital looking like an extra from ER. Not as simple and pain free as I was led to believe then, and definitely lacking glamour, so I'm never going to have it done again. Ever. And finally just when spring cleaning topped my list of things to do, the crocuses and certain spring birds had braved the elements and pretty much everyone had broken their hibernation pattern, the temperature dropped, the canal froze, it snowed and snowed and snowed again and my heating felt like it was doing completely the opposite of what it's supposed to do. I said 'heat me, damn you!' Of course this happened just in time to persuade the dance music industry masses that maybe booking for the Winter Music Conference made sense after all. It's hot there for God's sake. But there's to be no Miami for me this year, since my wonderful sister, Audrey, is getting married and I'm overjoyed to be joining her, her man, their families and the rest of my family in Manchester to celebrate the occasion. Here's a list of tunes that I know will be tearing the parties apart in our honour: Martin Solveig / Rocking Music / Defected Gig-wise you can catch my live 'Hard and Soul' radio show, Mondays weekly from 6 - 8pm GMT or at any of the following parties: Monday 8th March / Charity V-Day party / Café
De Paris (London) It's 3am and I seriously need a lie down (I'm sure you do too)! I've covered a lot of ground in the last eight months', told it in only a few thousand words but I'm sure I could dine out on it for the rest of the year! Anyway I promise not to leave it quite so long ever again, simply because I now have RSI. I'm out of here like I stole something. See you soon.
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