23 May - charity shops

In all the years of shopping in charity shops I’ve never seen any of my old clothes used for a display. Oh... that would be because I never take a bin liner to any shop. I keep everything for as long as possible and then maybe do a car boot sale with a friend. There’s a name for people like me and it’s not hoarder because that does not give the extent of the actual ‘sickness’. For a start the stuff then has to go far far away (well I don’t live near any of the sites of large car boots), then half of it or more comes back with me and lies in purgatory on the shelves on the landing or in my most recent acquisition, the lock up. Fancy paying a monthly fee to store old stuff, clearly a huge waste of money.
I learnt this at home. We don’t have charity shops there but we have the church and they collect, usually for African missions and I always wondered what use they would have in Africa for our winter clothes and old ski boots and stuff. I know it can get pretty cold at night but you can’t ski. In recent years I’ve imagined our discarded stuff in Serbia, where it wouldn’t look so out of place in both sizes and styles. Of course I know it mostly gets pulped or the recipients would be pretty smart, we were/are an affluent town, good quality fabrics are valued. And do recipients get fussy? Do they ever say ‘Oh no, Oxfam, please no more charidee clothes from Germany, only from France and Italy thanks’.

But it’s because my mother kept everything that I could find 3 to 4 yeas later a handbag that I simply hated when it was given as a present. Now I use it all the time. I’ve also found an emerald green satin 80’s top I gave my sister for a possible NYE outfit about 15 years ago. It came from a charity shop in the first instance. Last year I took it back to London and it was a hit with jeans and other 80’s accessories like er. white ankle boots. No, seriously, I didn’t buy those, not second time around. There’s a limit to being a disco mummy. I mean I am not a mummy but disco is a word I recognise. In fact in its full title of discotheque!

As the house gets bigger and we daughters are not there anymore with our stuff, the more my mother wants to clear out wardrobe and trunks and suitcases. Why I ask? There’s lots of space now. But I know why. Somewhere she has her/our favourite baby clothes. She gives me some for my goddaughters having lost hope to see them on a grandchild. They wouldn’t be appreciated anyway, these exquisitely hand-stitched, kind of starched baby copies of grown up dresses she wore. Must have taken hours to craft them. I loved being dressed like her, the concept of mini-me was alive and well then. You can see us in the photos. I wonder if I tried to pose as her too, but that would have been impossible, though a 3 year old surely can subconsciously mimic. In my mind’s eye my mother was more grown up, but in those photos she’s 25 when I am 3, just a kid playing at families, lonely at home waiting for husband to come back after regular 14 hours days.

Just remembered that in a box somewhere there is a letter I’d written when I was 30 addressed ‘to my daughter to be’ and for her to read when said daughter would be 13 and in it she would have read that mother was not the ‘You’re not going out like that young lady’ dragon that she seemed, but a person very much like herself, only in a different style of skirt, top and accessories, or one would hope so, but maybe it was going to be exactly the same style? Check latest copy of Elle etc, full of hippy chic peasant clothes, all tiered long skirts and generally stuff that looks out of place in cities. Anyway, all irrelevant as no such daughter exists.

18 May - susie & the boots

Today I am going to write the diary in the shoes of one of my friend’s best friends. Susie is an ex large film company employee, now a part time graphic designer. She is married to banker Louis who still harbours the desire to be a famous DJ and in fact indulges his fantasy by owning super decks and peripheral equipment in both his houses (Richmond and Ibiza), complete with chill out zone and a ‘you’re the greatest’ captive audience when the couple give parties. He’s not bad, but really, it’s all a bit silly. They gave 2 children aged 5 and 2 and lately holiday regularly in their beautiful house in Ibiza which took 2 years to get ready to their very high standards. They did find out though that with the kids it was not the same as in the 90’s when they could go to Pete Tong’s house and stay out all weekend. They also found out that they still wanted to go somewhere else, like for example to one of those bizarre hyper-reality (or outer?) resorts like Dubai. And yes, for £800 a night, you do manage to relax I guess.

Louis is so designer obsessed he has been known to fly to Milan to buy a pair of leather thigh high Max Mara boots for the wife when the shops in London said they wouldn’t be getting any in stock. He then instantly fucked her the moment she wore them. Not bad after seven years married. He buys most of her clothes. The downside is that Susie can’t buy anything that Louis wouldn’t like and when they shop together she basically acts like an in house model and he makes her parade up and down wearing the stuff in the shop and he can take up to 40 minutes to chose a …belt. He also tends to dress her a bit young for her age but the glossies are full of so called yummy mummies and that must be the peer group.

So today Susie would say: woke up this morning feeling very unwell but Louis insisted I do my exercises, in fact bullied me and mentioned I have put on an ounce on my hips since last week. He likes to watch me doing them even more so since the boob job. Long needed in his view, you can’t have a boyish, no-hips figure and also be blessed with natural big breasts. No, impossible. Only exists on Barbie dolls, which if we had daughters instead of sons he would buy in those limited editions lines dressed by JP Gaultier etc. Before he left the nanny and the cleaner arrived and took the kids off me. Thank god, little Ben is uncontrollable these days and just fixing breakfast tired me out. Went to my studio on the top floor of the house and thought of a few ideas. Now that both the London and Ibiza houses are finished and so are the respective landscaped gardens, I need a new project, maybe something commercial for a client. Will call my old contacts at BBH and see if there’s anything to outsource. Still, what they pay wouldn’t keep me in designer summer sandals but Louis said not to worry as his bonus this year is in millions. Though the houses mopped up most of what we had to spare. You’ve seen the CH4 programme about the London house? I thought the production company would pay us some money but they don’t these days and they make you look a bit of an idiot with the editing. I came across as a bit of a blonde airhead and my friends know it’s not true. Must phone Lisa and see if she’s still researching her company’s competitors’ websites this week. Very dull, she’s a bit down about it. Wish could give her some of my cast offs, still pretty new, but she’s not a size 6. On second thoughts we don’t wear the same style. Mine has to be sort of Victoria Beckham, that’s what Louis likes (he would probably like me to have one more son, though thank god ours don’t have stupid names). Lisa thinks that’s trashy and overpriced for adding a few studs and sequins to tops, mini skirts, jeans and boots and shoes and handbags. She thinks anyone who wears D&G or Cavalli is a frustrated and talentless rockstar and well, she’s got it right there with Vicks Beckham. Lisa is more of a Bluemarine /Chanel/Valentino/Marc Jacobs type but she can’t afford them, though she does well with thrift store bargains. Anyway, best get back to some sketching though it’s nearly time for my hair appointment. Hope she’s not late, we have guests for dinner.

16 May - giorno & dumas

Read this in a book of poetry by John Giorno: ‘Nobody ever gives you what you want, except by mistake’. Decide to go out looking for mistakes at the weekend, but then bottledout of the exercise. Sometime I like to pretend in my head that I am a performance artist and what I could do/say would not be as myself but as some artistic alter ego.
But the sensible Lisa is never far from the surface and I must be the only person in the universe who only possesses two little angels on her shoulders as opposed to an angel and the more customary little Lucifer encouraging misdeeds. I get all my stuff by proxy. Hence reading John Giorno (celebrated hedonist) and his diary, adventures but then cycling home for healthy food after work. Ok, ok, am hiding various misdeeds here. I do have a slightly askew view of morals and what constitutes good behaviour but still.
Here's another quote I really liked, it's from Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Montecristo 'Your misfortunes interested him, so you were interesting'. May not make much sense to any reader but does to me.

13 May - kew & embroidery

Ordinarily I wouldn’t be in Kew Gardens - not having a strong attraction or even interest in plants and flowers. I went in order to meet someone I know who works here. We had some plans to discuss. Later in fact I didn’t make much use of the time her free pass had bought me. I went into the Palm House, which was pretty much as I remembered from my only visit here some 15 years ago. The Palm House was mildly more interesting to me this time around as I have now seen some of these trees in their natural habitat in various tropical countries I have trailed through, but still the names are alien to me.
It’s only on the way out that I picked up a map and realised what else I was missing: secluded garden, Thinking Garden (oh yeah? What does it think?), Japanese Garden etc. Shame they have no golf carts to take you to the furthest corners of the park. More plants and trees, so what, I thought so I didn’t retrace my steps.
Near the exit was a shop and I bought some packets of seeds for my mother as they are easy to send and she remembers coming here with me back then. Then I bought a tiny Lily of The Valley plant because I liked the scent of the giant versions my grandmother had in her garden. This pot will last 48 hours at the most in my flat, I am a notorious death angel for any house plants I buy. I have no access to my grandmother’s garden now because before dying she sold (for a pittance) the property to her evil daughter Anna, my thick-as-shit but money grabbing aunt or ‘shrewd’ as the more polite version has it. Better not go into family history; must be dead boring to anyone but the principal characters though that’s how, er, family sagas novels are born. Not that they appeal to me much.
In the shop I also rubbed on some lavender (?? Old person’s scent?) hand cream lotion on and my gaze settled on some needlepoint kits. The finished cushions you could achieve were displayed next to the kits. They were small and I thought ‘Sweet, I could tackle those, I was good at needlepoint at 10 to13 years old’. The phase ended there and then, much to the chagrin of my mother who liked to frame my various efforts or incorporate them on some runner strip etc.
Then I snapped out of it. Crazy! Needlepoint? What are you thinking woman? You are still wearing up to the minute clothes, bit young for your age perhaps (pale blue corduroy trousers, matching tiny t-shirt, high-lighted hair, mandarina duck knapsack) so what’s with the natural flower fragrances and needlepoint? Then I remembered the call from the GP surgery a few days ago. Shit! It’s started. I’ll be booking tickets for the Chelsea Flower Show next or going to the Proms. Am I already dead? I quickly start exchanging texts with young lover (new one, not the ‘old’ one). So comforting to realise I understand text abbreviations: woz, luv, 2cu etc. Believe me, plenty people my age even hate predictive text. And one day… one day I’ll learn all the games on PS2.

11 May - coffee rejects

Today I wish for an assistant, someone else who can write my diary for me.
The only good thing about the day is the reassuring click of computers turning on, what would we do w/o them. So I will indulge in a mini-rant.

There is absolutely no point in drinking what passes for coffee in the proliferation of chains around town and what of that age-old saying ‘less is more’? The portions on offer are ridiculous. We don’t eat 20” pizzas or an entire chicken by ourselves, so why drink a pint of cappuccino or even half a pint? Italians invented the mixture, it’s not called cappuccino when it’s topped with a pint of milk. It’s something else, go find another name and whilst you are at it, please make sure you spell it always with two p’s and two c’s. Jeez, it’s not that hard. I realised how bad things had got today when I had a coffee in the Monmouth coffee house by London Bridge. I nearly spat out my java as it was far too strong. Then I took another sip and thought, ‘It’s not too strong, it’s right in fact, but we’ve got used to that weak shit in Starbucks!’ (which I boycott usually and when I have no other option I buy and then empty half the cup in the nearest drain - liquid gold indeed at that inflated price).
I wonder if I’ll feel the same way if/when I meet the next (hopefully final) man of my life - an initial strong rejection, before I will recognise that he is the right fuel/taste/blend, only his predecessors had confused my palate.
I wonder = the most overused thought in my head.

8 May - daniel

My former youngest lover (25) rang apologising for being a dick all of several months ago (we are not speaking) and proposing to come over and visit soon. Boy, am I glad I got the botox done. Will do 100 sit ups tomorrow and 100 lunges and squats. The tea-lights work!

However, I told him I won’t even enter into our old arrangements. Once I paid for his flight, he didn’t make it, thereafter my suggestion was you book and pay for flight to London I book and pay for flight back… still he didn’t make it but I didn’t lose money – not that he flies on anything more exciting than airlines going into Stansted – clearly my fantasy of us as Demi and Ashton is far far from the reality. In fact, I don’t think it works when there’s no money or status involved. It’s not like I can help Danny get a job or something, he has one thank you very much, and it’s slightly better than mine and he even a better set of wheels. Then again he still lives at home and can use his salary entirely for kicks. I won’t describe here my accidental meeting with his mother once. I guess she’s someone I could have been to school with – ok slightly different year - and we only differed in clothing. Hers was more appropriate for her age, then again she works at MaxMara which you’ll admit is not noted for being anything but a reliable, grown up brand. She was not aware son and I had just returned from a Motel – don’t laugh, they are a novelty in his country and clearly we could not go to his home. Though I did go in briefly and saw he still shared a room with his teenage brother. Ahhhh. Still I did not come to my senses. The guy makes me laugh and tells me I am ‘fit’ which is a nice, simple compliment, and tells me when I am obnoxious/patronising. My friends just think it and resent it. So clearly it’s better to have his no bullshit approach. Though it always takes you aback when you realise the cultural age divide. He claims never to have heard of The Godfather (though he heard of Marlon Brando). And am sure by the time he went to college nobody was reading Jack Kerouac or Allen Ginsberg, so he’s never wanted to go on road trip in America for example. And you can’t discuss the Vietnam war. But that’s not really the reason I like him.. It’s because he’s gorgeous and can do it several times in a row or be so sure of his performance that when he’s not interested (around third time) he can just go ‘can’t be bothered now, more later’. There you go, simplicity and no lies. And I don’t have to tread carefully in fear of damaging his ego. I can say things like 'Shall i buy you a Pokemon or have you finished with that fad?'
So I said, please surprise me with a visit at some point. Of course that could take place exactly when it’s least suitable. But more on this another time.

6 May - james is that all there is?

Another election, another 5 years. No jubilation on the streets so the mind turns to ... the past...
Nearly a year to the day I met (let’s call him) James and nearly six months since it run out of steam. Things get compressed once you go past mid-30’s, that’s for sure. Decide it’s time to archive his file. Well, yes, us organised people who have spent years in an office or another, take our routines home. So when I finish dating a man (I simply hate using the phrase ‘going out with’, though dating is one of those Americanism I also dislike) his photos, the occasional card attached to a bunch of flowers or found inside the inner pocket of the handbag he gave me for my birthday, the printouts of all emails exchanges we’ve ever had (ratio of words mine to his: 25 to 1 usually, this is down mainly to my ten fingers fast typing skills acquired a long time ago – males are notoriously more plodding on a keyboard, though their mouse skills seem more developed. Something to do with clicking on porn links/images of which there are simply millions on the web) goes from its accessible position on the kitchen top next to the fridge to the pending files inside the filing cabinet. ‘The others’ will keep him company.

Occasionally I take them all out and cross-reference. Errors become glaring. The wrong marketing of self, the acceptance of budgets insufficient to my expectations...yes, this is where I should have withdrawn funds and aborted the project, I consider. I can’t even blame any department heads. I covered all the roles! All the mixed messages exchanged because we had mixed feelings. That seems to be bullet point one to be revised in the next strategy meeting I’ll have with myself.
This archiving task is made easier and wistful rather than painful by the accompaniment of by Peggy Lee (on repeat) singing Leiber & Stoller’s
“then one day, he went away, and I thought I’d die,
but I didn’t, and when I didn’t, I said to myself…
“Is that all there is to love? Is that all there is?”
bit classier than Queen. You know the one. dust. bite. another.

3 May - botox

As a result of surgery call re. impending menopausal ice age (or will that be blazing age on account of those hot flushes they always talk about) went for light administration of Botox to vertical line in my forehead. Don’t feel remotely guilty. It’s available, I paid for it with my own money, I waited all this time and am actually over 40 unlike Kylie Minogue (it’s my diary, no one can sue me and she can deny it all she likes).

Can’t see anything much yet but the surgeon said it takes 48 hours or so for the poison to kick in. He didn’t actually call it poison, but used its brand name. Mentally make note to start regular savings slot for this as needs renewing more often than AA car membership. Unaccountably or coincidentally went into a church as saw doors open. Have always been irresistibly drawn to lighting candles. Was disappointed to find only tea-lights, which are £1 pound for bag of practically hundreds at Ikea. Am prepared to pay the proper price for a real candle, even one of those bulky large, er, waxy ones, but there was none. I lit one asking to please don’t make my forehead go all purple or green or move sideways. Not sure this is allowed so quickly lit another to ask for good health in my family. Before I knew it I lit another to ask for good health for various friends and eventually remembered the rest of the world, so lit one asking for the elimination in a freakbut very painful accident of a former employer dating back to 1999. Still hate him and no one can trace it back to me surely. Your honour, it was god's will.

At home later saw some so called ‘Extreme makeovers’ on TV. Man, I haven’t even started. Those people looked like they really needed some though. There’s no need to go through the misery of life with a receding chin after all (my number one pet dislike in males or females) However, think my vanity is just that and pretty superficial. So got on the phone to as many girlfriends as possible who are still plastic surgery virgins (surprising how many were not!) and exhorted them to go fill their lines. This minor corruption should not disrupt my sleep.