30 July - Horrids & The Masked Ladies' underwear
We’re in Horrids for a while. We didn’t plan to come here on the last mad day of the sales, but we’re entertaining friends from abroad. Of course we go and hide in the Georgian Terrace restaurant on the fourth floor. It’s not as empty as on a December afternoon, but affords some space, light and escape from the throngs. Ludicrously priced of course.
It’s the second or third week of Israel vs everybody. We talk politics whilst eating our delicious afternoon tea (cost vs quantity whe-hey, not a bargain) and as we can’t solve the Middle East 957th crisis (surprise! Cannot reach where Condi and UN fail to do anything much either) we turn to other matters. We look at the masked ladies gliding by, flashing a few jewels on their fingers, wrists and toes. The young nieces stare (not many masked ladies in Connecticut, and to be honest not that many in London, but lots in Horrids). Someone wonders if they wear nice clothes under their tents and masks. But of course, says Toph who’s spent some time in Arabia. He tells us of a shop called Ladies’ Pleasures which simply meant that being staffed entirely by females it allowed the masked ladies to take off their coat so to speak and shop for La Perla and so on in civvies. Not for the first time he mentions the allure of only seeing a woman’s eyes through the slit in her headdress and how she appears to be flirting with you, just with you! As if ! I wonder why no man ever imagines that under the cloack there could be an average or ugly or fat and ugly and old specimen instead of some exotic eastern equivalent of one of our top models.
However, in a quick dash around – ok, had to be done – I lied and said the queue at the ladies took 40 mins but in reality 25 of those were spent acquiring a skirt, some tops, a hat and small stuff – I find a tremendous black silk ‘apron’ type thing – god knows what it’s meant to be but the silk is divine…. Fast forward to night and I tell him I have a sexy surprise. He closes his eyes and I approach with my makeshift chador – have also got a black scarf covering my hair. Of course underneath am wearing my usual...enticing array of underwear (I so enjoy being asked 'Have I seen this before? ' and answering 'No, you haven't'. When he opens his eyes he’s very surprised. But we get it on famously. Only problem with these scarves scemario is that you can’t kiss really unless you lift it. Of course I know none of the masked ladies would go to bed like this, or keep it on for long, bit like going to bed in your parka? However, Toph begs me to take it off soon after because it’s too much like comedy and he’ s not into me being Fatima and him Mohammed or something. I tell him fantasies are just that.. when you make them real often they lose their attraction. Admittedly I’m a poor imitation of some gorgeous Yemeni princess but yeah… I’ll give it another try when I next pass Finsbury Park’s mosque and buy the real outfit and learn a few words. Inshallah?
It’s the second or third week of Israel vs everybody. We talk politics whilst eating our delicious afternoon tea (cost vs quantity whe-hey, not a bargain) and as we can’t solve the Middle East 957th crisis (surprise! Cannot reach where Condi and UN fail to do anything much either) we turn to other matters. We look at the masked ladies gliding by, flashing a few jewels on their fingers, wrists and toes. The young nieces stare (not many masked ladies in Connecticut, and to be honest not that many in London, but lots in Horrids). Someone wonders if they wear nice clothes under their tents and masks. But of course, says Toph who’s spent some time in Arabia. He tells us of a shop called Ladies’ Pleasures which simply meant that being staffed entirely by females it allowed the masked ladies to take off their coat so to speak and shop for La Perla and so on in civvies. Not for the first time he mentions the allure of only seeing a woman’s eyes through the slit in her headdress and how she appears to be flirting with you, just with you! As if ! I wonder why no man ever imagines that under the cloack there could be an average or ugly or fat and ugly and old specimen instead of some exotic eastern equivalent of one of our top models.
However, in a quick dash around – ok, had to be done – I lied and said the queue at the ladies took 40 mins but in reality 25 of those were spent acquiring a skirt, some tops, a hat and small stuff – I find a tremendous black silk ‘apron’ type thing – god knows what it’s meant to be but the silk is divine…. Fast forward to night and I tell him I have a sexy surprise. He closes his eyes and I approach with my makeshift chador – have also got a black scarf covering my hair. Of course underneath am wearing my usual...enticing array of underwear (I so enjoy being asked 'Have I seen this before? ' and answering 'No, you haven't'. When he opens his eyes he’s very surprised. But we get it on famously. Only problem with these scarves scemario is that you can’t kiss really unless you lift it. Of course I know none of the masked ladies would go to bed like this, or keep it on for long, bit like going to bed in your parka? However, Toph begs me to take it off soon after because it’s too much like comedy and he’ s not into me being Fatima and him Mohammed or something. I tell him fantasies are just that.. when you make them real often they lose their attraction. Admittedly I’m a poor imitation of some gorgeous Yemeni princess but yeah… I’ll give it another try when I next pass Finsbury Park’s mosque and buy the real outfit and learn a few words. Inshallah?
posted by Lisa Taylor @ 6:47 AM
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