Evening at the Petit Palais

As "my regulars" know, alcohol and art is one of my favourite cocktails. So when I received an invitation to a champagne-fuelled private view of the permanent collection at the Petit Palais, well, they didn't have to ask me twice. Plus, to be honest, it's a museum I've never visited before. I've popped in to its bigger brother the Grand Palais more times than I care to remember but never actually made it across the road. My mistake. It's FAB. And the excellent thing about this kind of evening is that everywhere you turn, they've put a bar, so I was able to watch the sun go down in the garden while sipping a glass of bubbly. It was great to see some of my favourite Courbet - did you know that he was actually one of the first artists to work with a knife rather than a brush? Just like on "Paint Along with Nancy" - and the wonderful, wonderful "Grimaces et misères" by Pelez (yes, yes, I like my art miserable, I know). And, of course, the Impressionists, for those who like that sort of thing - in fact, I like it well enough, but have just seen too much too many times. An exquisite evening, from which I emerged feeling elegant, sophisticated, and a little bit wobbly. (For the full-size versions of the photos, click here).

Stockholm Photos

I've not had time to upload them all yet, but if you click on the pic above, you'll get a taster. In the meantime, I give you a short list of things I love about Sweden, in no particular order:

• Coffee - I love Swedish coffee, which is just like the German version, all strong yet milky at the same time.
• Music - I could spend all day in Bengans, where you really can ask the shop assistants why they've recommended this or that CD (because their photo and their speciality is right there by the selection).
• Moderna Museet - Top permanent collection here AND a fab cafeteria overlooking the sea. A perfect setting to nibble an aesthetically pleasing bun or two.
  
• Swedish TV - Obviously not JUST for such homegrown gems as "Sveriges smartaste barn" (Sweden's Brainiest Kid) and "Singalong" (a dreadful karaoke/comedy/quiz show) but they're SO FAR AHEAD with all the U.S. series. This week saw the start of Day Break (think Prison Break meets Groundhog Day with a sprinkling of 24) with the wonderful Taye Diggs. I nearly couldn't tear myself away.
  
• Men - 'nuff said. And not just the blondes, either.
  
• The Sea - in the middle of the city. Doesn't get much better than that.
  
• Language - this is the first time I've been and actually been able to pick up on what's being said all around me, on the TV etc. Not 100% by any means, but a fair bit. And I could listen to it all day.
  
• String's breakfast buffet - still going strong in the heart of SoFo.
  

Who Ate All The Pies?

Forgive me, dear reader, I cannot tell a lie - 'twas I. Rather unexpectedly, it turned out to be a bit of a gourmet weekend round at Rhino75 Towers. Delicious, but it won't help me get into my Hedi Slimane Santa Suit, that's for sure. It all started with those rather rustic-looking pies on the left. I was having a bit of a medieval afternoon, getting all hot and bothered trying to roll out sticky pastry on the (well protected) stone floor of my bijou kitchen when MFM (my favourite Muse) rang, and we decided to make dinner together. Minutes later, I was down at the greengrocers, when my eye fell on a punnet of orange and yellow girolles mushrooms, singing out to me like a sort of fungal Circe. When MFM came round (with drummer/ Heidegger expert and Brook in tow), after a quick glass of champers, she took charge of the situation and whipped up a truly mouthwatering girolles risotto, while I threw some rocket in a bowl and the American boys played barmen and generally added a U.S. vibe. There was even a power cut in the middle, which we all agreed somehow seemed to help the whole thing along. And afterwards we watched a little porn on cable and compared handwriting. Marvellous. Girolles were on the menu again when Mr. and Mrs. LOG had a whole gang of us round for Sunday lunch - Mr. LOG's special chicken and girolles fricassee with new potatoes, asparagus, a yummy saint-nectaire cheese, and Rhino's pies, which went down very well, if I say so myself. And about a gallon and a half of red wine. Each. Post-prandial viewing was a little more "daytime" though - the first feature-length episode of "Dallas". That hair, those clothes. And that was just me. BTW, the lovely Miss FVE (end photo) has a new show - "L'Envers des Corps" - opening this week at the gallery where she works and spent most of Saturday afternoon dusting a golden skeleton in the name of art, so I urge the Parisians among you to go along. There. Now pass the Rennies, I've got indigestion.

Art for Art's Sake

I wanted you to be the first to know, dear reader. This evening, over pancakes with syrup and New York-style cheesecake at our local American Diner, a new business plan was hatched that, I confidently predict, is going to ROCK this town. Or at least a part of it. We even drew diagrams on the (paper) tablecloth using Signor G's extensive collection of hotel pens (don't ask), just like in the movies. Talk about a winner but, of course, I can say no more for the time being (my italics). I know I can count on you to be discreet. Walls have ears etc. More importantly, I know you're wondering why on earth we were in a diner eating pancakes at 7 o'clock in the evening? Don't worry, it's nothing to do with putting the clocks back. We were just in need of some heavy carb-loading after an afternoon cruising the FIAC international contemporary art fair. The queue was round the block when we arrived but we decided to have a go at blagging our way in at the front, using our **showbiz** credentials. And, thank goodness, it worked. I had naturally packed a headscarf and a cushion in case we needed to resort to the "Clear the way, clear the way, lady with a baby coming through" Plan B, but I'm not sure I could have carried it off at close range (the beard, you see). Anyway it was FAB, MUCH better than either 5 Billion Years or ArtParis06. We even had ice creams and saw Stanislas Merhar again. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was stalking me. I do like a bit of art on a Sunday afternoon. Other highspots of the weekend include a storming night out with Noodle on Friday, where we managed to "pull" the only straight couple in a gay bar. Though, to be fair, she worked in fashion and he owned a restaurant, so it was almost as if they were part of the community. Plaid and baggy - let these be your fashion watchwords for autumn/winter 2007, apparently. We made our excuses and keeled over left. And spent Saturday afternoon wandering round in an alcohol-cold sweat in the Japanese supermarket, stocking up on wasabi green peas, miso and other oriental goodies. As if you needed any further proof of how internationally fabulous we can be. I ask you. Livin' the dream....

Six Years

I'm sure you've probably seen this already but I was mesmerised. This man has singlehandedly brought out my inner geek. I watched it three times. In a row. It's like Eraserhead without the laughs. Six years and never a smile. Mind you, I like the music too, mainly because I keep thinking it's going to turn into The Cardigans. Completely bonkers.
(Via the excellent Minor9th - though I didn't like the one of the man cleaning his flat in 60 seconds - can he not afford help?? Who are these people??)

Hold it, Flash Bang Whallop, Wot a Picture!*

Mario Testino take a back seat, Stéphane Sedanoui, get your coat, because Rhino75 is in town and he IS SNAPPING. My friend Sandrine popped round for a cuppa at the weekend and, before we knew it, we'd decided to take some pics - and though I say it myself (my italics - as usual), the results aren't half bad. Yes, yes, ok, it's pretty hard to take a bad picture of Sandrine, but still, the experience provided (badly needed) inspiration for the next stage of my **showbiz** career - photographer! (ta-da!!). I've got it all worked out. I'm going to get some silver umbrellas in the sitting room and cover the sofa with a lot of white sheeting (shows up the cat hair, but what the heck, we're talking bohemia here). Some powerful lighting, a jaunty beret and a slightly louche manner and I'll be all set. I will, naturally, be specialising in pics of muscular young men wearing casually unbuttoned overalls, or looking sweaty in a vest (them, rather than me), because I feel that's a sadly neglected genre. I'll subsidise that part of the business by charging my mates for a few 8" x 10" glossies. Is that a genius plan, or is that a genius plan? I was so taken with the whole idea, I didn't even bother to wash the teacups but ran straight round to see Sid (who is, after all, a real artist and, therefore, up on all that kind of thing.). To keep those creative juices flowing, we watched a DVD of these guys, which was rather fab, before everything suddenly melted into a red wine haze. One of my few memories of the rest of the evening was Sid ordering steak tartare for dessert... if that isn't bohemian, I don't know what is. Sometimes my life is just like "Moulin Rouge" (but with a bigger role for Kylie).
*a musical classic from the rather wonderful "Half a Sixpence" - To see it is to understand England.

Autumn Days, White Nights

I love autumn. Don't get me wrong, I like spring and summer well enough and am even rather fond of winter but, when it comes to seasons, I'll take autumn every time. The rich browns, ochres and oranges, the cold nip in the air that makes you catch your breath, the smoky night-time smell of chestnuts being roasted on Marais street-corners. Every bar and café looks that little bit more welcoming on a chilly autumn night, with pools of golden light spilling out from their windows and doors to warm the pavement. Crikey, I hear you cry, Rhino75's gone all weird and started channeling Keats. But fear not, dear reader! (Note suitably olde-worlde poet tone - at no extra cost). It's just that this weekend, I realised my fave season is almost upon us. In no time at all, I'll be lighting candles, mulling wine, whipping up a treacle sponge and making boar-sausage toad-in-the-hole. How good does that sound? Yummm. How likely does that sound? Humm. Anyway, enough anticipation. Saturday was spent window-shopping, drinking beers by the Canal St. Martin, tucking into sticky cakes and mint tea at the Great Mosque of Paris (a little spiritual moment there) and a lot of walking - and laughing - inbetween. And that night was La Nuit Blanche, an annual event in Paris since 2002, when museums, galleries, churches not only keep their doors open until dawn but also display some great art. We ended up sticking pretty close to home but saw some nice stuff - my favourite was the exhibit above (in the church of Notre Dame des Blancs-Manteaux), consisting of candles modelled on famous buildings which gradually melted as the night went on. Maybe it was the churchy smell, maybe it was the candlelight, but when I stood in front of it, I felt like a kid at Christmas. Click on the pic to see some more photos! Today, a late leisurely brunch, more shopping and an evening sprawled on the sofa. Is it really nearly Monday? :(

Owwww....

...my head. Went to a fabulously fun party last night at EMI, mingling with the likes of Lily Allen, Benjamin Biolay, Stanislas Merhar, Sid 'n' Nancy. Yet again, that winning combination of celebs and open bar worked its magic and I feel rough as an old dog after crawling home at 3:30 a.m. Stand by for the pics. Among the highlights were Hans Henrick and his parrot Lord B (we all had our photo taken with Lord B), two funny guys I met in the loo who have a band and gave me their cd, a strange man dressed as a rabbit and someone who works for smoothie company Innocent. To read the lovely Nardac's account of the evening, click here. And at some point, you should be able to see pics of the party here too. Pass the aspirin, I'm late for work. (P.S. oooh watching Le Grand Journal on TV this evening, they did a little feature on this party: also present were French minstrel Raphael, Badly Drawn Boy, and the Divine Comedy. And some bloke in a red shirt that I gave a hard time to. I am on the cutting room floor - again.)

When is a museum not a museum?

Answer: When it serves FABULOUS food. Then it's a restroseum. This weekend, dear reader, Signor G. and I decided to take our lives in our hands two metros and a bus out to the Parisian suburb of Vitry-sur-Seine to check out the MAC/VAL, a new contemporary art museum that opened at the beginning of the year. After an epic trek, involving fights with dragons, pastry terrorists* and other magical creatures, we arrived, dust-spattered and parched, at our destination. Leaving our guide and bearers at reception, I crawled over to the desk and croaked (in my best French) :"Errm, do you have a restaurant?" Little did we suspect what a garden of earthly delights awaited us. A 12-month old Comté cheese that took the roof of your mouth, spicy Spanish chorizo, buffalo mozzarella, an oriental seaweed salad, a tasty purée of courgettes and rosemary, all served outside on a beautifully sunny afternoon atop primary-coloured tables. Faultless. And the best was yet to come. Signor G. chose a chocolate mousse that was quite possibly the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. Sex on a spoon. In fact, I managed to scoff quite a lot of it myself when he wasn't looking, as well as my own sticky choccy cake. Before we knew it, two and a half hours had flown past, and we still hadn't seen any art. After lunch, the collection could have proved disappointing, but NO, not a bit of it. From the spaghetti forest to the old children's elephant costume, the whole thing was gorgeous, accessible and - above all - FUN!! Fantabulous. For a taster of what's on offer, click on the pics. As if that wasn't enough epicurean activity for one day, in the evening I went with a group of friends to celebrate Cath's birthday here. My protestations that I wasn't "really hungry, I had a massive lunch" were exposed as a blatant lie as I polished off my curried salmon in banana leaves in record time, and STILL found room for green tea and coconut ice-cream. And to round off the evening, pink champagne in St. Germain-des-Pres. Needless to say - apart from some chocolate fingers chez les LOGs Sunday afternoon - I'm now back on my tried 'n' tested (my italics) NSTC** diet.
*Two young men, carrying two ominous-looking buckets and what looked like a jerrycan of petrol got on the bus. Signor G. and I exchanged nervous glances and even the driver tried to stop them boarding. Then I noticed that one of them was carrying a large fruit crumble - an unlikely terrorist accessory, I think you'll agree - and then that the buckets, in fact, contained butter and the "petrol" was peanut oil. Hence, pastry terrorists. Stay safe.
**No Solids Till Christmas

Is that? Could it be?

Oh yes, dear reader, when my friend Mickelino decides to push to boat out, he does it in style. And just look who was the guest of honour!! I don't want to get "Hung Up" on naming names, and if you've "heard it All before, heard it all before" etc. then I'm "Sorry". That as many clues as you're getting. The pics speak for themselves (click on them to see more). It was a wonderful night: fantastic food, beautiful people, great music, "enthusiastic" dancing, need I say more?? Be sure to visit Micke's site tomorrow and wish him a Happy Birthday!! P.S. As you can tell, I've cheered up quite a bit since my last post. I love weekends.

Home again

That's it then, the holidays are over - sniff! I'm back in Paris, it's raining and this beach is already a distant memory. Lucky then that's it's not TOO long 'til Vegas. Oh WHY can't I be on holiday all the time?? Anyway, there's nothing in the fridge, the cat's sulking and I'm back at work tomorrow. Welcome home ::sigh::

Holiday snaps

The Mother of All Prides

I always say there's no better way to start the day than with a celeb, so I knew things were off to a good start when I spotted former Star Academy pupil Morgane (Season 3, the best in my opinion) in the queue for the Eurostar. I didn't see her in first class, though, poor love. But you know, it was two years ago now and fame is fleeting - no-one knows that better than a *showbiz* casualty veteran like myself. Anyway, enough about her. No sooner had I got off the train in Brighton, than Sis had laid out a wonderful champagne breakfast with bagels, biccies and all manner of goodies. The weather was glorious and wearing flower garlands and carrying a large pink Union Jack we made our way to Preston Park, which was positively teeming with people - including Eastenders' very own Peggy Mitchell, Col, Monica, Pete 'n' Paul. A lot of drinking ensued. And Pride wouldn't, after all, be Pride without a visit to "The Bulldog" - where we met the very drunk Paul and his mates. Sunday's highlight was a delicious, and I mean delicious, long lunch here. An introduction to The Kooks. Oh, I could tell you more but what's the point? All you need to know is that it was a fabulous summer weekend and I wish you'd all been there (though of course, some of you were). AND it's nearly time for my proper summer holiday. Stand by for "Now That's What I Call a Vacation: Volume 120"...

What's in my bag?

Remember I once said I liked those magazine spreads about famous people's trash? Well, there's a group on Flickr that's taken that thought, cleaned it up and made it accessible to everyone. Call me a voyeur but I am, of course, TOTALLY hooked. You'll have to click on the pic to see the original notes, though...(with thanks to Nardac for bringing it to my attention).

Paris Gay Pride (2006 Vintage)

PWM

...Which, of course, stands for "Pretty Woman Moment" - you remember that scene when Julia Roberts goes to the opera with Richard Gere and it's her first time and she's completely entranced and overwhelmed? (You know you do - she even does Julia Roberts Face No. 2 - the one where she doesn't show all her teeth). Well, although it's very far from being my first time at the opera, dear reader, last night I found myself having just such a moment (minus the diamonds). I was at the Opera Bastille (with my friend Signor G) watching Donizetti's "L'Elisir d'Amore" and in the the third act, the main character, Nemorino, sings an aria called "Una furtiva lagrima". It marks the moment when he's finally sure that Adina, who has always spurned his advances, really loves him because he saw her shed a single tear. It's a beautiful tune, a tenor standard, and one I know by heart, as my singing teacher used to make me plough through it every week. But in this (wonderful) production, just as the intro started, suddenly all these stars descended from the ceiling, taking me completely by surprise. And I was a goner. Lump in the throat, tear in the eye. Naked rhino75 emotion. You couldn't bottle it, lemme tell ya. And talking of emotion, I spent the afternoon at the inauguration of the new Musée du Quai Branly, designed by Jean Nouvel. Kofi Annan was there too, tho' I don't think that, strictly speaking, he qualifies as *showbiz* - must have slipped in through the back door. My opinion: fantastic building, wonderful space, but the exhibits appeared to have been lit by someone who had cataracts and the curating was breathakingly pretentious. Hopefully, given how much the thing cost, they'll be able to fix that part, as architecturally it's a stunning piece of work. P.S. By the way, it's now official, I have a NEW job!!! Thanks for all those good vibes at the start of the month. Mwah!!

Dressing up

It was 3 a.m., The party seemed to be winding down and most people were leaving. We started on the final bottles of champagne and then all of a sudden... the costumes and the whisky came out. Hurrah!! It's a long time since I've danced to Rockwell (?!) or munched my way compulsively through an entire packet of crunchy bacon horns for breakfast. Top fun and many thanks to the hostess with the mostest.

Getting in touch with your inner queen

queenin'
Originally uploaded by rhino75.

Oh yes, and there are more of these to come - some people should start getting very afraid!! :D

A star is born

My friend Sandrine is a budding actress. During the day, she already has a pretty high-powered job at *showbiz* HQ so I don't know where she finds time to learn lines, rehearse etc. but somehow she does. In fact, old ham that I am, dear reader, rhino75 has been known to lend a helping hand in the lines department. I think I was particularly fine in Jean Genet's "The Maids". But I digress. Yesterday, I seized the opportunity to escape from the sweltering heat (and any potential sun damage) and went along to a small theatre in Pigalle (oo-er!! but no, all above board) for her end-of-year show. Yes, yes, I know, terribly Moulin Rouge. Anyway, she brought the house down. She did three pieces - a scene from Sartre's "Huis Clos," one from Harold Pinter's "The Lover" and a 3-minute "freestyle" sketch she wrote herself, where she plays a politician who loses it on the campaign podium. Three very different registers but she carried it off effortlessly. Keep an eye out for her, ladies and gentlemen - if rhino75's instinct proves right (and when have I ever been wrong??), she could be the new Catherine Deneuve.

A day at the races

Well, more of a Sunday afternoon really. Because, dear reader, rhino75 was very kindly invited along to watch the Grand Steeple-Chase de Paris, all 5800 meters and 23 jumps of it. A great excuse to dust off the best blazer and down a few g&ts in honour of the sport of kings. To be honest, I'd forgotten how much fun horse-racing can be, pretending to study the form, placing your bets, tearing up your ticket in disgust afterwards... fab!! And, of course, in the members' (ahem!) enclosure, not only do you have all those small-but-perfectly formed jockeys, but there's also TONS of hot posh totty upon which to feast one's eyes. AND I finished the day up €15. Talk about win-win situation.