8 May - Denver & Dog collars

Missing Toph who’s in Colorado. Didn’t want to go but now he’s cool with it, must be the fresh mountain air having its effect. Only he’s not in Aspen so it’s a bit drab apart from the nature and I won’t get a top present on his return. Have looked at websites and no Dior shop in Denver. Am worried. We speak on the phone and he tells me that due to jetlag he was awake at 3am and watched some hotel TV. I so wish he didn’t mention strip TV or TV porn or pole dancing with such obvious distaste. Surely it’s not as bad as disaster documentaries? I mean, I love all that – porn that is, not disaster docus. Of course all things are sent to test us and my little cross to bear is a boyfriend who doesn’t do phone sex via voice or text. Not at all, not ever. I’ m not great at it either it has to be admitted, but you know, here I am, in my enchanting, clean smelling bed and he’s not here. I guess I better not tell him that I resort to the vids that JL occasionally brings me as tokens of affection when we infrequently meet for lunch. He likes to see my eyes lit up when he says ‘I have a top anal video for you’. Mmhhhmm..
All is not that great with phone sex necessarily. Molly’s lover is a resident of Belgium so there’s a fair bit of phone communication. She recently purchased, on his request, a very expensive whip which she was sort of miffed not to have to use on him at all. She was wondering actually as he’s married and so what about the marks? I did tell her that if administered correctly, marks fade within hours, it’s not like the Romans flaying Christ! She also bought a leash and a collar which he duly wore. Turns out that she merely had to make the instrument swish for loverman to get intensely aroused. A few nights later he called her. She could tell he was a bit drunk but only realised how much when he would say a few sentences ending with ‘And then you walk into the room with the whip….’ (very long pause here). Initially she said some reply and waited. Then he’d start again and arrive at ‘And then you walk into the room with the whip…… (very long pause here). He did that a few times. By which point she was completely not excited by the call and just put the phone next to her and carried on watching TV. Presumably in the long pauses K. was drifting off or nodding off too? He also had said that he got a kick from giving her his c/card number to pay for the goodies in the first place. They are v. simple creatures. That’s why I’ve always believed that being an educated, not heroin addled (not controlled by some nasty pimp who took your passport and threatens to kill your family back home) prozzie could be an easy job. Once you know your chicken as they say in some European country, you know how to pluck it. I ask Molly for K.s c/card details but she refuses to pass them on. Bitch. But she'll lend me the accessories if I ever need them. Not with Toph I don't think.

5 May - Shoes & Blogs II

Went to a shoe party recently by a wonderful new designer, Gil Carvalho - google him and see what you find. I can see why Liz Hurley and Madonna got shoes from him… They are so comfortable despite the height. Same could be said for the Manolos and Louboutins and Ginas and so on. It’s architecture, not shoe design. As it happens as this was an end of season off load of shoes and the man refused to offer me a decent discount and the shoes I wanted were not really in a terribly useful colour (lime green) I had to leave them, but have been thinking about them ever since and his uncharitable attitude - it's not like i wanted them for £50, offered a £100 but he wanted £190. As if! Thing is, not much of a summer here and unless Puff Daddy invites me on his boat for a month or two as we cruise the Med, it’s not worth changing my wardrobe to match lime green shoes. Ok, white goes, black goes, more lime green and so on…. But am bored, nothing to say today so go take a look at this blog that always has me in stitches for the Hispanic eeenglish this guy, or whoever hides behind the name Manolo, uses http://shoeblogs.com/ you can also be led astray by the various other blogs he links too. All shoes and fashion so if you’re eagerly awaiting the start of the World Cup, better not read after all. Not your scene.

3 May - Lonsdale & Exercise

Still a bit chilly in the morning. Wake up and put on my new Lonsdale trackie bottoms. I really like them and in fact bought two similar pairs at the same time as a Karrimor jacket to be used when I get on the road again with the bicycle which has languished in the car park at work for the whole of winter. Top long sentence.
Realise have now become part of a sub group I despise: people who wear exercise gear and do not exercise. But at least am not FAT peopel who wear exercise gear and clearly never even walk. Have to confess a serious lapse in last few months. Nothing, nada. a yoga class at Easter. That’s all. Was top yoga class with one of Madonna’s teachers, but I was crap in it, way above my level of Ashtanga. Still, a girl can’t wear flimsy underwear only in chilly weather and a girl would be extra stupid to pay top dollar for designer warm trackie stuff though a cashmere wrap is on the list of future investments.

1 May - 3 Degrees still..

Just remembered I have another blogger friend whose father is high high up in the Justice department. As we know the establishment are major clients of prostitutes and though am not remotely casting aspersions on her dad... imagine if he was for example in Belle de Jour's address book or eventually exposed in one of her entries. That would mean I'm separated from her by yet another 3 degrees. I don't know, but it amuses me. My blogger friend/daughter of ... has other healthier passtimes. She's David Tennant's no. 1 fan (the current Dr Who to me and you or a TV Casanova for those of us who fell for him back then) and she has a friend who lives in the apartment below or above him and surely soon she'll meet him. I don't know if this is a healthy passtime or not. More obsession in fact.
Her other passtime is surely healthy, Backgammon and I was going to join her in some such soiree' /club mainly to improve my literacy. I have now been disinvited as it turns out M. is a little upset about me and Toph - she's one of his best friends and possibly had come to rely on his company too much and when I arrived on the scene...maybe it waned? Not sure. Shame. I like M. a lot. Now that I think about it, Toph is a mini-Dr Who... older and shorter but similar features. I can see what happened there.

29 April - 3 Degrees & Blog separation

How’s this for more examples of a small world! Am now at two degrees of separation from two other prominent bloggers. I have Dear John to thank for the connection (Babette calls him 'my wonderful Irish man' below -I feel somehow guilty that I never wrote about him in such glowing terms but second everything she says re. his prowess) and I do know one of the women, the less prominent one, miss Bad Babette as I call her, subject if you recall of some of my fantasies while in India. Anyway.. it seems Belle de Jour has also stumbled on Babette's blog and it all stems from the same literary Xmas party we all attended daahlings. So for once am going to save coming up with diary stuff of my own and exploit the B girls.. I am also thinking of changing my name to start with a B as these two have got a literary agent and I haven’t. Maybe I can be Beyonce’ Lisa, Blondie Lisa, Bjork Lisa, Brigitte Lisa, Britney Lisa, Barbie Lisa etc.

So, first, Belle de Jour’s entry and then Babette’s entries from her www.kissesme.blog.co.uk diary. Ps. I too, like Belle, have a problem with anal virgins, shall discuss Babette’s fears soon, maybe I can overcome them? oh, am off fantasising again...

jeudi, avril 27
'Oh, mate, I had to phone you,' I said. 'You remember that girl from the Christmas party?'N did. We'd been to my agent's Christmas do last year, incognito of course, and he left with the number of the hottest girl in the room - unsurprisingly, the one whom everyone thought must be me.Granted, had you polled the people present and asked them to rank the ladies in attendance in order of "most likely to be me" to "least likely", I doubt I would have shown up in many Top Tens. Either a nod to my superior skills at subterfuge, or a wake-up call that I really must look after myself a bit better. I'll leave it in your capable hands to decide which.Anyway, N and the Hot Christmas Girl never so much as met after that. N was up to his neck in some German lady and two or three flexible athletes, and the HCG had gone home with someone else (hello P, hope you crazy kids had a good time), so their hooking up amounted to a bit of talk but not much else. And at any rate, N's seeing someone now, so it's a moot point. But I spotted something of interest, and knowing how he likes to play the long game, thought I'd pass the knowledge on.'If you still have her number, lose it,' I announced. 'I've found her blog, and you are not going to like this.'I read a few lines of the site to him. Turns out HCG may be fit, she may be fine - but she's an anal virgin. Who declares with some vehemence that the very idea of any minor discomfort puts her right off.Now, I know that not all kinks involve pain (but a lot of them do), and not all kinky people like anal (but a lot of them do). I also know that not all sex is kinky and N does non-masochistic beautifully. And he's blessed with one of South London's nicer cocks. But really. If I was N I would stay well clear of someone with such arbitrarily prissy sexual demands. Intolerance of sexual experimentation definitely crosses my "can't be doing with that" threshold. HCG has reached her advanced age, and was previously married, and has lovers stacked seven deep, and has never been tempted by anal? Not even a tickle?'Serious case of princess complex,' I declared.Granted I'm being a complete hypocrite in this regard. Who am I to tell someone else to back away from the prude? How many lovers have I inducted in the darker arts of sex? How many people, even years later, have commented that I was easily the best they've had? But I made a promise on getting out of the call girl business, and that was unless True Love was involved, I am so not going to be anyone's tutor again. It's one thing keeping up the kindly and interested facade when being paid, and quite another to have to do it on a voluntary basis. I like them experienced these days.(There is, in true hypocritical fashion, one person who would be the exception to this rule, but that's a story occasionally expanded on in the Telegraph, so not certain if I am permitted to rehash it here.)'Okay, yeah, I see your point,' N said. 'But should it ever come down to it, that's a face that needs a comeshot. It would be a good one-off just for that.'I thought. 'Fair enough,' I said. 'Just thought I'd give you a heads-up, anyway. File it with the rest of the pertinent information.''Cheers.'
posted by belle @ 6:29 PM


Thursday 15th December
by BabetteK @ 2006-05-10 - 13:08:13
The literary party the dogs and I went to yesterday, was fantastic, pulling ground heaven!!!
I had spent the entire morning deliberating on what to wear. I wanted to blend and had absolutely no inkling what people wear to book parties. The last thing I wanted was to stick out like a sore thumb, looking like the obvious billy no mates… bimbo in the corner. I had nobody to call up and ask about dress code to literary dos - apart from Sebastian, Soho’s resident dandy. Partial to a bit of diamante to the extent he has Liberace spinning in his grave racked with jealousy. So, I decided on the safe option black shirt, black skinny jeans, Jimmy Choo boots and topped with leopard coat. I needed to relieve all the black as it was not a funeral so added my Chanel bag with the gold chain handles and for good measure a gold Gucci belt. Leaving the house, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and realised my subtle attempt to try and blend might not be quite as discreet as I had thought. I looked more like a 70’s pimp that would have fitted very nicely on the streets of Harlem. No time to change! I had done it again, my penchant for subtleness gone for a burton so just grabbed the dogs, Molly my Cavalier and Monte the Chihuahua and left for the party. Well Molly was the real reason for the invitation to the party and Monte and I was just tagging along as supporting cast.
I had expected it to be quite a dull event, considering I did not know any one and nobody knew me. I had never been to anything remotely booky, nearest thing was an art gallery opening. Wow! Was I so wrong… loads of devastatingly attractive men. I did not know where to look it was just like being in a fabulous sweetie shop. I thought it would be packed full of dull academic people, all looking a bit grey and moth eaten around the gills and only having high brow conversations. But, hello… instead surrounded by gorgeous Byron’s, belonging on a set of Wuthering Heights and all sporting a rather sexual glint. Think I like this literary world!!!
The one downer of the entire party was for poor Molly my Spaniel. She did not hit it off so well this time with Alfie her potential paramour. Even though, Molly’s heart ached terribly she valiantly accepted every morsel of food offered to her through out the party, in true girlie style. When in doubt eat, best way to mend a broken heart and then starve for a week.
As the party progressed the dogs had craftily planted themselves all in a row and by size order under the table groaning with mince pies and alcohol. Desolate little faces, eyes racked with the pain, of many days of hunger, sat in prime position looking up at any passing sucker who happened to glance their way. This little charade guaranteed a mince pie each from the hapless victim. By the end of the afternoon the mince pies where coming fast and strong. With this endless supply the dogs became bold dropped the starvation act preferring the pastry casing rather than the filling. No longer unsure of when the next mince pie would come Alfie devised a way of getting the lid of the mince pies and scooping out the mincemeat with his paw and leaving the pastry. Monte and Molly swiftly followed his lead and soon they where surrounded by a mountain of discarded pastry casings. All three happily licking their paws and chops as they became a sticky contented mess.
Like them I had a great afternoon chatting to so many interesting and clever people it was untrue. The one, major tragedy… not a goody bag in sight! This was outrageous, would never ever happened the fashion world! Quite simply, the PR machine would not allow it. No champagne either, it’s one thing having to force myself to drink gallons of warm white wine but one does expect a little recompense at the end. Not even asking for the latest chick blockbuster would have been quite happy with some inane book on fishing, which could have passed on to a friend at a later date when in desperate need of a present.
Oh! Well, I suppose on the bright side, I did leave with a handbag full of business cards, all very promising and a dashing Irish man on my other arm.
This Irish man with more charisma than any male should be legally allowed took Monte, Molly and I on a world wind crash tour of London’s drinkeries, from The Colony club in Dean Street and ending up at some Art exhibition in Queens Gate. Dogs in toe spoilt and made such a fuss of, bowls of the finest tap water offered to them where ever we ended. But, eventually exhausted the dogs and I protested “No More” and instead suggested to the dashing Irishman that he come back to ours for a nightcap.

Friday 16th December
by BabetteK @ 2006-05-11 - 13:58:33
Today I was only slightly hung over but happily giddy from the last 24 hours and reeling from an amazing night spent with the divine Irish man. A wonderfully early Christmas present, so generously and beautifully endowed… and better still knew how to use it.
He was shooting some documentary so had to leave at some obscenely early time in the morning. Kissing our goodbyes like the sexually deprived we arranged to meet again tonight at the Colony. Exhausted I went back to bed floating on a little cloud of sexual satisfaction. Snuggling in to my soft bed I drifted back to contented sleep. With only happy thoughts of how he could possibly be the good luck that would end the horrible run of very average penises that had been coming in to my life of late (no pun intended).
Dreaming of beautiful manhood I woke with a startle to a text message from Noelle one of London’s most beautiful women confirming our lunch today at Nicole’s. I shot up from bed texted back, ran to have a bath and get ready. I had to meet her in one hour. I arrived only 5 minutes late to see her waiting for me at the bar looking disgustingly glamorous in a brown satin halter neck top showing off her divinely skinny arms and the perfect pair of grey flannel trousers that I soon found out where Tuleh’s. The darling Maitre D’ soon found us a table even though we had not booked and offered us glasses of Champagne on the house, which was gratefully accepted. Thankfully Noelle does not drink so they where ALL mine and very needed.
During lunch she told me she was having dinner with a group of people that included Stelios my serious crush but her other half Matthew was not feeling quite up to it so they might not be going out. Well you can imagine my disappointment, so near yet so far from my beloved, yet again. I promptly told her all about my infatuation and how I had actually never met him. I know she valiantly tried to hide her disgust not being her type at all as her current boyfriend looked more like a model from GQ. Though incredulous she could not stop laughing and promised to tell him the next time she saw him.
My day was getting and better and with that we left to the Baglioni in Kensington for a meeting Noelle had, to invest in some potential fashion company.
I had never been to the Baglione befor even though a lot of parties have been held there (sadly I never got the invites). I found it a strange place with its beautiful black marble lounge and super sleek interior. The air was oddly suffocating and I found the girl Noelle was meeting even stranger, she could sell but it was exhausting listening to her spiel. My mind could not help but keep wondering from the meeting back to dashing Irish man, when I felt some one touch my hand. I turned to see who it was and there was no one, not even a person who could have just passed by. My blood turned cold as I realised I had just been touched by a ghost. Probably a nice spirit who was coming out in sympathy and wanted to show its support for having to bear with that woman rattling on. Noelle wrapped the meeting as soon as she could. She is amazing I don’t know how she does it, eternally polite, showing much interest and an expression of enthusiasm so firmly pasted on her face through out. I was so relieved when it was finished and itching to get out of this weird place, Hotel Phantasm and away from that woman whose vibes was freaking me out.
I dropped Noelle back home and went on straight to the Colony to meet my lovely dashing Irishman with his lovely rolling lilt and even nicer member. I was desperately tired and anxious for bed with my new beloved. Did not take me too long to convince him to stop the carousing and come back to mine. Like an obedient puppy dog he followed me back to mine and straight to bed we went.

Saturday 17th December
by BabetteK @ 2006-05-12 - 14:24:20
Help! He wanted sex again in the morning. I know not to look a gift horse in the mouth and I sort of tried. It was not as if getting into the mood was the problem, especially with such close proximity to a marvellous specimen of manhood. The thought of another work out session…too exhausting! The other problem no matter how incredible a lover he was there simply was not that je ne c’est quoi about the whole thing between us. Our course had run out. There has to come a cut of point - I was absolutely knackered and down there was getting drier than the Sahara desert and the lube was running out fast.Realising it was not happening and with only the style of the Irish. With much aplomb my lovely one suggested brunch at the Piccadilly Café. I had never been there and fabulous, it was proper old style greasy café in Soho, with all the original 50’s fitting and even the most delightful waiters dressed up in the original uniforms of the period.
Completely and utterly worn out from the last couple of nights and in desperate need of a female catch up and to boast of my latest conquest’s crown jewels. I said my goodbyes and the minute I arrived home, called Lilly. I knew she would be an appreciative and attentive ear. Did I learn a few things from her! Not only was it common knowledge that the Irish where well endowed but the ones in the far out reaches, of a slightly more backward disposition where hung like donkeys and strong as an ox. I had no idea! Thinking about it, Philip ex love of my life Mr. Generous was half Irish and was particularly gifted in that department. Actually the biggest I have ever seen or had to date. They really are quite a package these Irish silver tongued devils and what more could a girl want. Think a trip to Ireland in the near future could soon be in order.
Checked messages and saw a zillion from Richard, called him back and thankfully it was voice mail. Really do not want to see him any more he is no good for me and to be honest sex was fine but not great. Suppose could have worked on it.
The real suprise, was a message left by Lucas a devastatingly gorgeous ex sex god of a lover I had a fling with for a year and who broke my heart. It was a really sweet message saying he would be in London next week and would love to meet up but understood if I did not want to see him. Not only did he leave his phone numbers but a whole load of stirred emotions.
First time I had met him was in LA, at the Chateau Marmont, my favourite hotel in LA. I was having dinner in the garden, thinking what another boring evening with my assistant not that my assistant was boring. We where having to hang around LA for weeks not knowing any one, as the celeb we where to restyle was ill. When munching the best Ceasar salad of my life…minus anchovies my eyes locked onto an attractive stranger. Things where looking up and I started to encourage my assistant to bugger off to his room or go amuse himself in some gay bar or other. He did finally but I am not sure which but possibly the latter as on the day of our return back to London he discovered he had crabs. Well as soon as he left, I just kept on slurping my wine nonchalantly and trying not to be too obvious but all the while willing this gorgeous man to come over. He did!
We went up to his room and talked and talked till the wee hours. He was English, a composer, doing the sound track for a film, lived in New York, separated from his wife, wanted to come back to London but had two teenage boys that he still wanted to be near. I explained why I was in LA and had to hang around another week. That evenining was the beginning of an incredible passionate affair which carried on for a year between New York or him coming to London. Ahhh… Chateau Marmont… whenever I think of that hotel I am immediately transported to a world of incredible sex, sunny days and the beautiful white rose he sent me every day.
Well heart in hand I dialled the number, hands trembling as waves of nostalgia and memories ran through me. He answered Immediately, leaving me no time to change my mind and hang up. It was sweet he apologised for the way he had finished and for not having been in contact. He explained the last year had been a mass of confusion over his marriage and had missed me and our friendship. He had tried for the boys sake to give it another go but it had not worked out and two months after they had started divorce proceedings. Presuming I would want nothing to do with him, he had not got in touch sooner but for the last few months I had been constantly on his mind. It was like we had never ended we just talked and talked for over an hour.
Wow!!! I was completely bowled over and just hearing his beautiful voice on the phone combined with some delicious memories, especially the bed related ones, I had to see him and we arranged to meet the following Wednesday he flew back to London.
I was right I think my Irish man has broken my run of crap sex and small dicks as my lovely Lucas has the most beautiful cock and from memory definitely has mastered the act of penetration amongst many other things. I got all quite warm just thinking about him when I remembered the ghastly situation I had this passed summer with Marcus and Josephine. I seem to be collecting married men at the moment and to be honest not a good look. Maybe this was not such a good idea as he was not yet divorced… nearly, not being quite good enough. Also I have vowed never again to get tangled in couples in the process of splitting up, to much hurt and emotion. Well, it will not hurt just to see him…can’t have enough friends and he makes me laugh. I adored his company and conversation. Oh well it will probably end in tears.

Sunday 18th December
by BabetteK @ 2006-05-15 - 11:40:51
Finally I have caught up on sleep, after my love marathon but I still feel a trifle fragile. Therefor I have decided to set aside my day to doing nothing but watch TV and the occasional old film. I was not expecting so no point in dressing and much more comfortable to potter about in my pyjamas. Also I am still boycotting all newspapers, filled with so much Christmas cheer I want to gag. So had not intentions of setting one foot out the front door. Bah humbug and all that… can’t help it, thats the way I am this year, lonely, sorry for myself, childless and lacking necessary accessory for Christmas - a boyfriend. I know, I am just a sad cow.
Happily watching a weepy, romantic oldie, the phone rang, went to answer and wonderful... I got the most obscene call from a guy. I had met him at the literary party the other day, literally just wanting sex. Well of all days this was not the best one to catch me on. I was fully sexed out and could not believe his insolence. Not even a normal would you like a drink but instead a do you fancy a shag? I admit he had a rather fine body, fully muscled, sporting a fabulous extremely broad set of shoulders and must have been over 6ft and I was momentarily tempted but remembered my need for a solid relationship. And hello, even an old tart like me needs a bit more subtlety than that. Well befor I put the phone down on him, I told him exactly what I thought of him and my aspirations for the future: children, cottage in the country and all that. Think I will probably regret it in a few weeks really should have kept him for a rainy day or should I say time of draught.
In the middle of my film I had another interruption, this time by the doorbell so much for a quiet Sunday I was thinking as I went to answer it. Slightly confused and bewildered by whom it could possibly be on such a sacred day. When I remembered Caroline was supposed to be coming to stay a few days. Caroline is the gorgeous daughter of a friend off mine who has been coming to stay with me during holidays since she was thirteen. Poor love she was greeted at the door by a slob, looking like hell and completely unprepared but over the moon to see her. She would be fabulous distraction from my mood of self-pity.
Having shamefully forgotten Caroline was coming, I had not got any food into the house, Not being the most domesticated girl in town, cupboards and fridge where utterly and completely bare. Though, I have noticed for all her protestation of needing to diet, she is stick thin and spends most of her waking hours grazing. Teenagers definitely need feeding even though she would have preferred starvation. The only option was for us to go out for dinner and what better place than the Wolesey for a bit of celeb watching.

20 April - Doctors & TV

Oh no, it had to be done, there’s going to be the drama series based on the tsunami. Can expect to pick up a Bafta or two given it will make everyone cry and the production company behind is a good one. Wonder if the following story line will make it into it. I have a friend who was due to join his g/friend in Thailand who’d left a couple of days earlier. By the time he landed he thought she’d be dead as she was staying in one of the beaches hit by wave and he spent 24 or 48 hours in that state, ie picturing the congregation in church at her funeral and her friends hating him for suggesting the holiday in the first place etc.
Eventually they were re-united. By a strange chain of events, she’d gone diving that morning and was underwater when it all happened. I don’t have that many more details of how terrific this resurrection/finding each other again must have felt, except that not long after they returned she dumped him. After seven years together - with the odd break of nearly a year and unhappy periods, and some infidelity (in fact the holiday was meant to be a fixer) but in his head he’s now sticking to the wonderful 7 years. So he did what you’d do in that case and offer to buy a home for them and talk /agree children. Flats were viewed and assessed on suitability to prams etc. Alas, it was possibly too late. She ditched him. So there you go, a brush with death will make you reconsider life for sure. Plus I suspect she had met a handsome diver too or a rescuing doctor or something. I mention this because the TV production company that’s making the drama is connected to my friend and it’s possible this story has reached the scriptwriter. Wonder if this is the part Tim Roth will play? Wonder if my friend will recognise himself up on the screen? Wonder if anyone will give a toss for the locals who died or if the drama will be all about cute westerners?

In the same week I hear this, I also happen to talk to a producer at a party who’s about to go start filming a drama based on the disappearance/murder of Peter Falconio the guy killed in the outback by some guy but for a while there was a lot of doubt as to why is impassable g/friend survived. Guess it’s based on the book written by her. I truly have no idea who is interested in these sort of dramas. By the time I’ve read the news, I truly have no desire to see how they dramatise it/make it all up again with actors. Though there are exceptions. I think Monster, based on the original docu that Nick Broomfield filmed about Eileen what’s her name was a great movie. But documentaries is one thing, you get your graphs, you get the real survivors talking and shedding tears, etc but dramas? I guess must be for people who don’t read the news? Or those residing in countries where the story just didn’t make the news and so appears like fiction? Ok the tsunami made it everywhere but, say, in Greece or Mexico, they won’t know about Peter Falconio? Even Chuck Palahniuk says all his material is re-worked from what people tell him as personal stories/events. I don't know why TV appropriating real stuff annoys me so much then, but it does.

And Dr Seth - ok I can’t honestly remember what alias I may have given him in the early days of this blog but he’s the dashing A&E consultant with an irresistible sideline in also saving lots of lives for charity when not tending to drunks with split heads in Sligo or some such. He featured in a good few Tsunami reports from Sri Lanka and before then Bam earthquake and others. Basically his philosophy is to have experienced at least once every single cataclysmic occurrence. Think he’s missing volcano eruptions so far. Anyway, he calls with news of a meeting he’s had at the BBC regarding a series on emergency aid doctors. Well, nothing new as those brave Dr Carter and Dr Kovac of ER have gone to Darfur and so on already, at great risk to their lives…NOT. But this series may be a little bit more real given his involvement. He’s not just a doctor but an MBA wielding businessman but I don’t know… he won’t be on screen to dazzle me again with his whiter than white teeth so I won’t be watching. Do we ever tire of doctors and nurses in action? Why oh why???? Personally have only been in hospital once after birth and they seemed cool and normal. Must admit I loved my female consultant but that was simply projection, she was after all saving a vital part of my anatomy.

15 April - Mixed Race & Jew Canoe

Preposterous statement of the week goes to ….Mick, an old friend who’s a top music biz agent. Doing very well, late thirties, very charming, always was, nothing scuzzy about him despite having to spend time in music venues. It seems men may travel down same routes as women when it comes to late thirties/turning of the biological screw. There they are working still too hard to achieve god knows what, but beginning to think about the work/life balance. They have the house, they have the car, the super holidays, the friends to watch sport and drink fine wines with but…. time to get a girlfriend instead of a collection of blondes. They don’t always make good choices (me… round that time I chose someone who was dependable and still ambitious, hadn’t bargained for the still insecure, pompous and scared) and Mick went for an easy choice, 24 year old secretary in his office. Groan! Not his own secretary he says in own defence. Cute as a button black girl – did see them together at Live8 last July, but he’s Jewish. I could write reams on the ‘Oh let’s go as far as we can from what my parents would like me to do, am still a rebel’ vein. After several months he even let her move in and says he must have loved her as gave her her own wardrobe and drawers. Wow! But … she didn’t understand how hard he had to work and how, frankly, when he’s on the other side of the world at some big festival shindig/hotel, he’s too tired to entertain other ladies and gave him a lot of pouting hassle over this. Uh, I get a flash to a time when aged 26 I rang the room where my then boyfriend was staying in hotel in Memphis or something and posing as a hotel receptionist asked him to confirm if it was room service breakfast for one or for two… so convinced was I that he would have picked up someone out there. His bewildered, sleepy voice when he said ‘One’ was a joy to hear.
But back to Mick. He also didn’t think she behaved appropriately when in company. Ah yes, that one…. We’re having a delicious dinner at E&O whilst he tells me all this and I’m definitely behaving appropriately especially as staff bow down to him. I display extreme flirting (or cock teasing according to him) and none of this menu is alien to me, but ask me about the first time I had Indian food aged 19, or first time I picked up some chopsticks…). Anway, and this is either his Jewish directness, which I’ve always appreciated or the champagne + wine … he comes out with this statement that has me splash sauce in his direction as my chopsticks swing uncontrollably ‘ Lisa, in the end….I didn’t see myself with mixed race kids’ Oh dear. ‘Did she know?’ I ask… but he just replies that he did love her. Ah well, all is good then. Actually am always suspicious of men who declare love for someone but manage an entire evening of conversation without uttering the lover's name. What's with the impersonal 'she' all the time?
‘So are you upset?’ (the break up dates back a fortnight). ‘Yes I cried a bit… but then I went and bought my new car’. I see it later when a nice man on mini motorbike comes to pick us up and drive to his house (am curious to see if it bears any traces of girlfriend’s presence). It’s an open top Mercedes 500, in other words a Jew canoe.
Back at the house he shows me the empty ‘hers’ wardrobe and drawers. Ahhhh, am very tempted to drop some of my stuff off that side of town, I have so much he could store it for me for a while and I’d have some excuse to visit. He makes a play at me on the chunky chocolate leather sofa as I wait for my taxi. Was a good kisser back in the days… I extricate and go. Next day mutual friend Molly tells me his profile is up on J-Date (Jewish dating site) and lo and behold I find him by narrowing down the search to up to 5’8”. Funnily enough there’s no mention of the white only subconscious specification. Am tempted to write in …. I also think back to another male friend who was shipped out of his relationship wiht a black woman and who has mentioned, in trying to rationalise his pain, how, yes he was worried about the prospects of raising mixed race kids in London. I think I said London has nothing to do with it and why not assume that maybe one day the whole family moves to Ghana where presumably the racism is still present but in the opposite direction?

13 April - New Jobs & Pregnancy

Just had this... and it's a sad thought, but this started after all as a diary of what it feels like to be 'older' and in fact this blog has just had its first birthday. How does one celebrate? Think I will have to give it a design facelift or a new sexier name.
So, this reflection was triggered by eating in a short space of time at work both sweet dried fruit and a packet of crisps and generally having been hungry for no reason all day. Pregnant? Naaaah said my sensible head. And then there I was considering how in the previous decade I'd have thought twice about changing jobs frequently because, the rationale went, what if I got pregnant soon after stepping into a new company and not yet eligible for paid maternity leave and associated benefits? Now that is never a point that appears in the pros and cons little charts am likely to draw up. This not having mouths to feed also accounts probably for no impending need to build a business empire either. I'll eventually donate to charity but I see no compelling reason to donate millions as opposed to a few hundred grand. Not a bright day today obviously. Must be because I mistakenly picked up Steak flavoured crisps. Revolting!

12 April - Offers & Entrepreneurs

Gosh what does it mean? Have just accepted a new job – essentially doing the same thing but elsewhere and for more cash, won’t go into boring details - and simultaneously get asked by a friend if I’m interested in becoming UK distributor of some top European ‘only sold in pharmacies’ slimming cream. Yeah right, I so believe they work, NOT, though it took me to nearly 40 to finally stop wasting money on them. Plus I knew how they’d always get me on the ‘but it doesn’t work’ moan: I never ever had the commitment to twice a day rubbing it in for x amount of minutes, thus giving them room to say ‘Ah well, what did you expect then?’ There is also a girlfriend still mildly courting me to join her growing fashion PR agency – could do if I could overcome mild distaste for fashion people in general - and then my sister writes to say I’d be perfect to start own company organising travel and contacts to cheaper labour countries for dental treatment and other medical procedures (she knows I draw the line at plastic surgery). This latter makes a lot of sense, as I personally did have some dental work done a while back during a visit to Krakow and some top of the range ophthalmic work done both in Brazil and Italy. I also know two good friends have saved thousands on expensive mouth reconstruction in India. They were in different cities and used different dentists and both have nothing bad to report. And we all know we can go to France or Germany for speedier, better cardiac surgery and so on.
There is only one problem with these … ideas. I’d have to deal with people and am interested mainly in avoiding doing so. When I was younger, given I speak a few languages, it was suggested I may want to go into tourism etc and even then I baulked at the thought of having to deal with individuals and their requests to that extent. Another obstacle to any entrepreneurial suggestions is that nobody can ever persuade me that the returns are large enough for the effort. Ok so I organise ten of you to go to Warsaw for dental work totalling say £20,000. The most my commission can be is probably ten per cent. Think of all that hassle for 2,000 when I can earn more than that sitting in my comfortable office. Even if it were double that, it probably still wouldn’t excite me so much. As for managing a band! This is another offer I have on the plate… let’s just say I told their producer I was willing to help with contacts/marketing for a fee, and it still took me several calls and emails to get a finished sample CD of their music and some photographs of said artists. Not received either yet. Now, I’m very unlikely to exploit any connections I still have if I first don’t ascertain the product and presentation is worth my reputation, am I? So there you go. Am sure if I sit here for another 20 mins musing on this I can come up with some more examples of things I could have done. In fact only last year L and I got all excited about opening a Bikram yoga studio in Milan where there is none and she could live nearby. I was up for running it but not for teaching and it could only make sense in the first year or so if owners also got down to teaching classes. Now, aside from having to go to LA and stump up thousands to become an approved teacher, we’d then have to find backers to the tune of much much more as Bikram requires steaming up the room and not just finding a wharehous-y space. Needless to say we talked ourselves out of that one. Am sure there are more things I haven’t done and thus been unable to purchase the clifftop villa in Ibiza. Darn…

8 April - Short skirts & Spring

It’s spring oh yes. I will steer clear of comments about women’s attire for once. You know, the you’re too old for a miniskirt love and if you insist on wearing one, please don’t sit with your legs crossed on the tube or on a low wall eating your lunch because I can see your snatch and so does the bloke next to me and he probably has to get off at the next stop and will miss it. Plus you know, it's a cheap trick if you're aware of doing it and if you're not, then you're just giving them free horn. But I’ll say this about men’s. This morning I realised why ties are in use, still. They essentially cover the button fastening area of your shirts. This means that if your shirt gapes at the buttons because you’re a bit too large for it, I do not see your body hair so clearly. Of course if you’re very fat a tie is no use but it kind of makes everything neater. That, or wear a vest. I know it’s terribly looked down in this part of the world but the French, Spanish and Italians (who also have been ditching them in recent years, sadly) wear them and when they’re white and clean they’re sexy in my book. It also means that if the sun is really hot, men can take the shirt off and walk about with it hooked on a finger and over their shoulders, their other hand of course is occupied by a cigarette ... am picturing Alain Delon here or Antonio Banderas back in Almodovar days. Am sure Gael Garcia Bernal still wears one even though he lives in Shoreditch these days. Rents from a friend of mine. Such a shame am never asked to go and collect the rent.

5 April - Spiegelish & Hedonism

Dear John was excited to be coming to London after a month in the not so cosmopolitan (for him) Dublin and his recent break up. Actually I did not get a ‘YES!’ feeling when he told me, felt sorry it ended but had rightly worried about the speed at which he seemed to have fallen for this strangely named woman I called Airfix (in my head). Now he has licence to be bad again I thought and indeed he talked about throwing himself at the feet of hedonism and he was bad. I got a call on Sunday at 10.30… bit early for him and it transpires he spent the night with some new woman met at Gerrys and she had a breakfast to go to at 8.30 and turfed him out. I think ‘smart woman coming up with that excuse to then have Sunday all to herself’. But between going home at probably 4am and out at 8.30am. am not sure the experience could have been so good? Indeed no, and he’s remorseful about his little binge.
He says Bad Babette is taking him to lunch at the Wolseley and so looking forward blah blah to a night with her. I said I thought she wouldn’t go there no more (I mean she told me so…and it’s in her blog) but he said emails suggested otherwise. Next day he says I was right, she also took some other girl to lunch. Think she was just showing him off. He’s still a c ock for hire perhaps and no, he went back to hers but didn’t do anything. Apparently she’s just as upset as he is at not being able to find the right one. I wonder if they took the same sleeping pills. He tells me he was sort of appalled by the state of her flat which is so luckily positioned by a churchyard in Jermyn Street but messy, though not so when I visited recently and delicious BB was sitting cross legged on an antique-y chair looking v. French in tight black narrow pants and patent leather ballerinas. God, boys are a bit like my mother, they like it clean. But why want a clean environment if you like the girl to be 'dirty' and she's cool enough to take you for brunch at the Wolseley? Which reminds me, what did Toph make of my mausoleum-tidy parental home? We were in their town recently and not allowed to visit till next day when even I was surprised at how even more gleaming than usual it was and not an object out of place. ‘Spiegelish’ in fact as my Jewish friends say.

4 April - Beauty Queen & Make Overs

I have many friends who hate The Standard but frankly I love it and I can read between the Daily Mail lines… It just throws up regularly lots of people I’ve known. Take Louise Constand, a top make up artist. I read that now she does Beauty Queen make overs. Hadn’t seen her photograph since some Max Factor campaign a couple of years back. You know, the testimonial one that goes with ‘Max Factor, the make up choice of make up artists’ tag line.
She’s not changed, same fuzzy or curly dark hair, same 50’s type glasses. Back in 1980 we shared a boy. A man in fact, as vastly older than us, all of 13 years my senior and I guess Louise is within a year or two of my long ago birthdate. I didn’t have a problem with her. I could see that we were similar though I’m not Jewish and don’t have the same size tits. Hers were huge but we’re both on the petite side, both with a slight 50’s fixation back then. Have grown out of mine though a fitted jacket is still a top item for me. Though I never did ballerina shoes like she did, I had to have the heels. There was a third woman in G’s triangle and she had me flummoxed. Ok she was on the door at the Screen on the Green so he got free movies and by now she’s probably a top producer, if only could remember Caroline’s surname I could google her, but I called her Nellie the elephant. Very childish of me, but she was a sort of fatter Belinda Carlisle, peaches and cream complexion and the huge boobs again. So.. I was the home girl sort of thing for G as I came from the same region as him, L was the cuddlier version and Caroline would have been the exotic one? But what did we have in common apart from being girls with glasses? Why did a skinny assed man like him manage to pull the three of us simultaneously? I mean, he was interesting I guess (the first of my many graphic designers) and grown up. I have a vague memory of going for my first Indian meal with him somewhere in then utterly deserted Shoreditch. And I mean scarely wasteland Shoreditch. I shared a flat with his younger brother so perhaps I was most conveniently placed? But what about Louise and Caroline. Where is he now? Am sure he reads the Standard too. Last time he rang was a year ago. He does that from time to time. Helps that I never moved and kept my number. As for his, I never take it or lose it when he gives it. Guess have not forgotten or forgiven. I could say the taught me a lot but with hindsight no and I especially refused to ‘learn’ any of his cynism. Now of course, having already gone past being 13 years older than my 20 year old self, I can well sympathise with his grumpy stance but no, not that keen on that catch up cup of coffee after all. Louise, am not going to leave a message on your website, but if you read this… let me know if your memories of G are similar. Or just offer me a free make over. Though I definitely don't need to look ten years younger. Am blessed that way already.

2 April - 3 Funerals & A Wedding

Well, I only went to one of the funerals in question…Three fathers of friends of mine died on the same night recently. Am not making this up. Got texts from all of them in the space of a few hours. Long hospitalizations for all of them. Their daughters and son are all my very, very intimate friends but the fathers, all hovering around the 80 years old mark, never met, though could they have met? Say, could they 60 years ago have all been in some London dancing venue, drinking at the same bar? A London QC, a coastal town foster parent majorly into the Christian religion (you know, his car had Jesus Loves You stickers on it) and an Irish guest house owner in a pretty remote part of Ireland. I wonder what they’d have to say if we brought them together for lunch or if their souls collided at the door of whatever is up there. All 3 were practicing catholics so all headed in same direction. Probably all wold have worried we’re not married and have no savings in banks. Never mind what we consider achievements. Actually I lie, one of us ‘kids’ did have a wedding recently. More about it later.

I attended the funeral of one of them. Which was notable for two things, apart from learning some staggeringly moving details of how he’d met his now widow at a naval dance 60 odd years ago and how many longstanding friends he still had and for falling in love with the most beautiful mourning dress, Maxmara black taffeta with a wide skirt, very Audrey H. as worn by my half orphan friend. First, earlier in church my mind flashed for some reason to some pretty out there sex I had one night with Dear John. Amazing what you can do on a reclining chair. In some arty posh flat. Thank god it was faux leather and didn’t mark/soil. Maybe it was the hard church bench that in some sequence of thought led me back to the designer electric blue chair where bending in a myriad of positions came easily. I batted the images away but they came back a few times before my mind was able to change the subject and focus back on the service. I think it’s deliberate. Still trying to not be a good catholic or precisely because I am.
Secondly at the wake back at the house, Aiden, an old friend also attending, decides to tell me a propos of nothing about his travels in China for work. I do ask the necessary question (no I don’t care about their food and working habits) and he confesses he did try a Chinese girl despite being married to one of my best friends. Says he decided for the prostitute option to get his curiosity satisfied once and for all). Surprisingly he says ‘It was like fucking a frog’. ‘In what way?’ I enquire. ‘She was….viscuous.’ ‘Why did you do it?’ ‘As a technical thing. I just wanted to find out as all my colleagues had fucked Chinese girls. I wanted to see if she was shaved, not shaved etc. But they generally don’t do it for me’. ‘Just as well' - I say- 'as you’re there often. Am I supposed to let your wife know that they ‘generally’ just don’t do it and after your experiment they really don’t do it, so whilst on business trips in Asia you’ll stick to fucking Caucasian colleagues? Also she was a prostitute don't forget, so perhaps it would have been different with a civilian?’
No he doesn’t think so. He adds that she asked to stop whilst they were doing it and went and looked at the dictionary and pointed to the word for ‘stomach’. ‘So you were hurting her?' I say 'Thanks for letting me know you’re so big! Am sure sad I didn’t fancy you in high school. But it’s no big deal with an oriental girl, maybe they’re built differently and they’re small/tight. Maybe they do the ping pong ball trick to distract you or maybe most of those sad guys who fancy they’re having a relationship with Thai girls instead of just providing the washing machine, are the ones that on top of having no social skills or looks to attract a woman back home, are also small dicks? Questions questions I’ll never get the answer for.

We quit this conversation and I turn to this guy David who looks very Jewish but tells me he works for a small Christian charity. How can that be so? I ask. He converted he explains. Anyway, Christian is always a giveaway byword for some sort of weirdness: ‘normal’ Christians say they’re Catholics or not as the case may be. So he couldn’t just be a regular churchgoer, oh no, he did the Alpha course. I won’t go into how much I despise Alpha courses as I have to be tolerant of whatever works for people in managing to stay afloat of life in big cities and so on (am categorically sure that no sheep farmer in Wales actually feels the need for Alpha courses, in my experience it’s usually heavy coke users in London). Once I got dragged into some drama by an ex lover who did such a course and wanted me to apologise retroactively to his wife to whom he’d finally confessed a sham of a married life for previous 15 years. The poor woman was very upset with me as I was the only identifiable baddie in his story. All the others being dozens of prossies he'd frequented and an old flame now dying of cancer and so she had to be exhonerated from the 'come to the meeting/hug/say sorry etc. Sorry?? Er, you're the married guy not me! If I have time one day I’ll tell you the story of He who 'lives in the very big house in the country' as immortalised by those 'boys who likes girls who like boys 'and so on. Blur ok?

I was enjoying the crazy conversation at the wake but my best orphelin friend, who always suspects my motives, didn’t believe I wasn’t flirting, just having fun with this guy (plus if I talk to anyone I do give them full attention and in these cold parts if passes for flirting. I do maintain people need to go and live in Spain and Italy and France for a few weeks once in while) and she passingly lets me know that if it were Summer, I’d have seen that David, who habitually wears Jesus sandals, has very long toenails that curve inwards. I tell her that’s my favourite kink. It’s not, but you know, your best friends don’t always know all about you. And is this a common male thing? Years ago I knew someone else who had the precise same detail about his feet, don’t know if it can be called affectation? And I also knew a Dominik with one v. v. long eyebrow hair which he just kept there no doubt to track your eye movements. The guy was in his late thirties so we’re not talking Dennis Healey here but he had the long eybrow and the long fingernail to clean his ear out. Don’t know about his toenails.

I’ll leave the wedding for another entry.