Diary of Lisa Taylor, reluctantly 42 (and a half)

Or.. 'f.ck me I'm forty.. two.. and a half', though can look 38 on a - not so deluded - good day. Or 'How to reconcile a well experienced mind trapped in a still - but for how long? – youthful body.' Don't have the 30somethings angst/problems, neither have the resigned (?) ageing baby-boomers in safe family territory outlook yet. Here's how I cope, one day all sexy women will get old... but never invisible. © Lisa Taylor 2005/6/7/8/9. Jeez.. so much for the 42 and-a-half delusion

Friday, February 23, 2007

22 February - Text & Dilemmas

If you get a text out of the blue from ex who's in between trips where he obviously didn't get in touch with the local females and thus is a bit deprived of wheat he's used to gettinng plenty of. Well, he did with me so no reason to think he's going to a lighter diet (er... am I convoluted enough today in trying not to talk sex?) and his opening gambit is 'God, I could really do now with one of your fantastic blow jobs!'...
Are you a bad girlfriend for replying and he replies and you reply and before you know it this turns into a bawdy exchange that you normally don't have any more (hence it's exciting?). I mean it ends with no offers of me relieving his frustration now or at a later date but with a suggestion he fantasises about this or that occasion when we did this or that?
Is that bad? It sort of feels like cheating but it clearly isn't. I guess if we didn't have mobile phones we wouldn't get exes getting in touch. The thing is... I remember those times well. Damn. I mean, he knows I'm busy and I know he's busy (there's a baby somewhere in all of this and it's not with me) but is virtual sex talk like cheating? And what is it with Spring? Someone else is pressing me for late night dinner and not accepting my attempts to switch this to a less dangerous lunch. Of course I can 'not' go but it seems a bit restrictive. I should be able to handle suitors and last time I checked I'm not married nor co-habiting...

20 February - Heat & Skank

I was going to get away from thought of more successful people, but what can you do? They are all around, friend in LA working with Donna Summer as we speak. I mean, DONNA Summer! Pure gold really. But before I do, in telling the previous post to another friend, who I was sure knew one of the producers of TLKOS, he tells me that his friend T. was meant to direct the film but lost out in one of those common movie things where the person who drove the project through up to a point is not necessarily the one who gets to make it. Of course had he directed it, it would have been a different film, perhaps even different cast so who knows if it'd have been nominated for an oscar, but I still think that must feel rotten. I'd rather bask in my not having anything to do with anything successful status, less to feel deprived about.

So I go on Myspace again, building up my little personal jukebox by adding what I like, people I know (love the myriad directions the whole thing spins you off to). And have chanced upon a strange way of hearing music. You know how when you open someone’s page you hear one of their tracks and if you open another page almost simultaneously, their first track starts playing too, superimposing itself? Well I was on the This Heat page, still getting mega excited, like an archaeologist, thinking 'Wow, they’re here, someone/they’ve loaded it up, if it weren’t here I’d never hear it again as have that incredible yellow and blue first album, but it’s not like the vinyl gets and outing and I never got round to buying cds of old stuff, and wow, can I say it again how brilliant it is to hear what you thougtht were lost sounds and so on'.
So well done for making the archive available. As I was listening to them I went looking for Scritti Politti, memory jogged instantly in that direction (no doubt I’ll do The Pop Group next) and Skank Bloc Bologna started playing on top of the This Heat tune and it kind of fitted perfectly. You could argue that they are from the same period so share some basic sounds of whatever was the latest studio gadget then. This way I can dj, I can do mixes. You never cease learning heh? But of course this is what all the kids do with those mish-mashes of Britney vs Eminem and so on. So am not exactly discovering something new, but so long as I get excited...
I know it’s meant to be new music and new kids and all that but it’s irresistible to trip down memory lanes. They'll be another coming up soon. The delicious ms sam obernik will be supporting Bryan Ferry on his next tour. I'm not dying to see him but it will be nice. Wonder if Antony Price still makes his suits. I once went to some fashion show of his back in the 80's at the C. Palace and it was like being in a Helmut Newton photograph, all teutonic shoulder pads, black and gold, air hostesses mini hats and beautiful people of course. Am sure he's due a little restrospective somewhere.

Only the other day I had happy times at work (rare) when I recognised a Kenzo suit on the bod of a colleague. A deligthful ten minutes ensued of reminiscing how much we paid for stuff in the 80’s, what is still wearable and what not. My suit in mothballs at home is very similar to the one this woman is wearing, only I find the colour unacceptable, hers is a pale grey that's almost cream so it's less dated. Still, not often enough you can wear these clothes. Ah for the chance to have some power meetings. On second thought, no, so glad I'll never go to a meeting ever again. Going is not the problem, it's the ensuing action points or whatever they call those things now.

Sorry for the rambling post.

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Wednesday, February 21, 2007

19 February - Oscar Winners & Football Losers

We’re round a table, late dinner for Chinese new year, year of the Pig, should benefit all apparently. Now, that’s a bit of an impossible thing to believe, even by miss horoscope gullible like myself. Hope someone in Rwanda or Iraq knows that we’re all going to benefit and takes heart in the face of their daily misery. Then again knowing the Chinese (only a little) what they usually refer to is just money, they care a lot about it. Busy buying whatever they can, mineral, digital, bricks, mortar, washing machines, betting at the casino. Ok better not get into trouble here with my usual gross generalisations.
B. is waxing on about how all his friends are more successful than he’s been/is. But not us round the table, we hasten to point out. I guess he can take comfort in the fact that we, at least, will never make him feel bad. We’re equal non-winners. I wouldn’t use the word losers as I think we do fairly well, and we’ll have no trouble paying for the Sancerre (that J again, why waste such good wine to accompany Peking duck? But that’s how it is, mr. grand). We’re just not rich .. or famous and increasingly not able to say the ‘yet’ that would have made us feel better. I’m sort of ok with it but L. clearly isn’t. Three of us are over 40, three are well under but they’re similarly troubled.
Anyway, we briefly discuss some writer he knows, (I’ve never heard of her so she can’t be that successful I say loudly) and when pressed on who else would be his most successful friend he comes up with Rachel Whiteread. C. pipes up ‘She does inside out houses right?’ and I add ‘And giant sugar cubes’ And yes that would make you feel less than a true achiever having her as a friend, but… it’s not earth shattering and when asked if she’s happy he seems to think not terribly so which just goes to prove it’s all irrelevant. ‘Cheer up’ I say. But he’s got another one to add.

Last week he was at an Arsenal game (two around this table are big, big fans) and asked one of the possee who hang with them - but who they obviously don’t know very well - if he’s going next weekend to the game in Cardiff vs. Chelsea. The man says sadly and subdued ‘No, I can’t go…’ ‘Why not? Asks B. it’s a v. v. big game. ‘Can’t, gotta go to the Oscars’ comes the deadpan reply. ‘Er, why, or rather what do you do then?’ asks L with sinking heart ‘Er, I’ve got two films up for Oscars’ says the man with traditional British underachiever manner. He’s none other than one of the producers of ‘Notes on a Scandal’ and ‘The Last King of Scotland’.
I totally fall off my chair laughing at this point, just looking at L.’s face, after he’s given us the punchline. Yes, we have to agree, compared to this chap, we’re major non-winners here. At least at the time of his exchange L. had not seen either of these movies yet. We are happy to confirm to him that we enjoyed them both very much.

Am sure that if we went for a drink with this chap he’d underplay the Oscars to the point of saying he’d really rather be in Cardiff next weekend, it’s just the way Western life is. Never ecstatic about achievements and goal reaching so why feel so bad if you’ve aimed low in the first place or aimed high and just not got there because of whatever twists and turns? Easy for me to say. As the only woman round the table, I’m probably the most zen, indirectly and without trying to achieve that level. I just am. Then again, those around the table who are happily having sex at the moment seem less angst-ed than those who are not. There's a valuable and advisable strategy: sort out the bedroom and you'll feel like a winner. Always.
Oh and spare a thought for the producers of said movies if they come away with no Oscars and Arsenal loses as well. Woe? Yes?

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Monday, February 19, 2007

19 February - Some I forgot to blog about

The day after the Brits... Tbc
The Affluenza ... tbc
Who did best at celeb encounters over holidays ... tbc
Stravinsky and the Marquis of Mocenigo ... tbc

18 February - Porn & Poker

Damn, there I was, worried that Toph may go cross eyed looking at his computer screen in the pursuit of porn (now that he has broadband and it’s so fast to navigate) but hadn’t thought about potential more ruinous pursuits. The boy is good at poker, always has been (and chess come to mention), but hasn’t played at anything more taxing than family get-togethers for a while. But here we are. A couple of days ago he showed me his latest state of play at a virtual table that you can join with $25. Glad he was not on the $1k tables.
He won, he lost, he won. I quite liked his poker moniker and wonder who the other players round the computer table were. One is a laconic Greenlander. When asked how life was in Greenland he simply replied ‘fine’, maybe he had to concentrate too hard on his game for chats or maybe some polar bears were knocking at his window. So I happily sat on Toph's lap for a while to listen to his 'live' commentary as he went about his moves.
Some of this has got to rub off I thought. Am still at the level where I play according to my hand and not according to what I think the others have in theirs (er, that seems to be what you have to consider) and more crucially what is the best hand anyone could have and I should aim to beat; if not, zealous folding is required. If I had 5 mins to think about it each time, I’d work it all out but you have to be faster. The computer tell you so quite drastically “BB23, you have ten seconds to make your mind up or you lose the chance of placing your bet or folding etc”. Make your mind up NOW. Too fast for me.
Today we have a development. Toph doesn’t join me in reading the papers sprawled out on the floor with smoochies in between getting each other’s attention about what we’re reading – the only section discarded unanimously being the sport one. After a short while I creep up to his office and there he is… as I suspected: the poker is up on the screen. In his defence he says he’s winning. I let him be. Half an hour later I still hear the soft tapping of keyboard whenever he places a bet. I go and remind him this is not on to ignore me this long. But he’s winning (from $19 back to $180, good work for an hour or so). Great, I say, quit whilst you’re well ahead. But oh no, he’s playing against not to so good players according to him and his new nemesis, NM88, who seems to always be ‘up’ on his stash, is not playing right now. Ok I say you have half hour and I pad back to the living room, but not before cursing him with “You’re now going to lose it all cause you don’t know how quit whilst you’re ahead”. Half an hour comes and goes.
He only stops playing two hours after he started, and that’s because his mate J. rings to go for dinner with us. By this time I’ve decided that I don’t want to know if he’s up or down as it would annoy me (if he’s down obviously, and you can never be always up, the game doesn’t work like that). He bounces in and kisses me and tells me he’s won but… I don’t believe him. He would say that, wouldn’t he? Especially upon noticing my scowl.
Am hatching a plot to sign up to his same website and play too, see if I can then catch him out when he says he wasn’t playing at such and such a time but I can easily prove that he is. However this is not easy to set up as a) he can play in the day and at my work it’s impossible (must count as instant sackable offence) and b) do I really want to play at home in the evenings just to prove a point? The point being a) you’re lying to me and b) possibly that a beginner can just about win too. Probably not, however, this spells the first Sunday he’s ever been in the same space as me, but not 'with' me. Is the honeymoon over so soon after 14 Feb? Oh woe! Think the next test will be to appear in fetching undies everytime he starts to play. If the poker wins, I'll get my coat.

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17 February - Christenings & Boring oldies

A Christening, otherwise known as family traditions we pay lip service to. Clearly it matters very much to at least one of the grannies but… you know, we’re in a beautiful Greek orthodox church and the three godparents have to declare they are Greek orthodox when in fact they’re not. The priest is not that interested in really ascertaining that they are. A few quick questions on form would reveal so (name a few saints, what’s their speciality (you know, travel, finding lost jewellery) where is the monastery of such and such? etc). But I guess fewer and fewer people care. If he truly had to only accept the real Greeks, we’d all have to leave.

Then we’re back to the house for buffet and cake and more cooing over christened baby who’s by now recovered from the trauma of being dunked in the font. Years from now she’ll be traumatised again when naked baby pictures will be shown around – again.
It’s a small gathering. Amazing how you can overhear your beloved repeat the same anecdotes he’s already used several times so far. You have to hope that it’s for the benefit of at least one person in the audience who hasn’t heard it all before, but you do worry if this is the beginning of the descent into old age (we’re in middle one already, I occasionally forget this) where people talk endlessly about their favourite topics and whinge about the same thing over and over, in his case the state of television today – clearly not something he can do anything about not being Lord Grade or chairman of CH4 or minister in charge. Clearly by the time you will get to our parents age, you know it’s settled, the repetition is endemic. In fact the first thing his father will ask any new person he meets, is if they are into football and whether they are or not, he’ll talk about Man United. It is something to indulge him in, and I do so.

There clearly is nothing to be gained by going out when you’re old. You will get stuck in your groove and that will be that. However, a gift is later presented to the christened child, which is some doll made entirely of knitted parts, ie. the body and the clothes. Grotesque and attractive in equal measure. The gift-giver says she got it from an old lady she knows who makes lots of these and she’s 99! I think I will take up a similar hobby. No talking, just knitting. I’ll have a piece of paper stuck to my chest with some message or warning ‘Hi, am old, I talk about same old/ same old, only start a conversation if you don’t mind repetitions’.

I have no choice but to enter into conversations with various new people as we'll be here for hours, and it’s a testament to my flexibility and never ending curiosity – yes sorry, I can self-congratulate, it’s my blog - that I can chat to a dental hygienist for ages and be excited when she tells me which brand of whitening toothpaste is best to buy and available at Boots. The day has not been wasted clearly if I can treasure this information.
At some point I try and hide in the room where some of the kids are playing and attempt to watch ‘Shark Tale’ undisturbed, it seems like fun. Unfortunately said kids exit the room and so I lose my cover. I stay there nevertheless but after a succession of adults come in and give me puzzled looks … I have to abandon the sofa and rejoin the conversations. Nice enough as they are.. am dying to go back to my house and do zilch. I wonder if I become part of some new family, these occasions will multiply and there’s a reason why Lisa’s relationship track record is a bit short on long term ones… I mean, the second or third Xmas together will be more rich in repetitions right? Unless all partners switch, re-marry, run off, bring new lovers home etc. Will I cope? Will I be one of the runners-offed?

Friday, February 16, 2007

16 February - Miles & Minutes

The weekend approaches, I shall be jogging again with honeygirl, fortysomething too, who’s training for the marathon from scratch (and raising good amounts for cancer charity to boot) She writes a great little blog with her impressions and it’s so refreshing as she’s part of a running club but finds all their obsessive talk about performance measurements and technical terms a bit poncy. Perhaps if you’re experienced, you need this form of ‘my dick is bigger than yours’ kind of exchanges which keep the monotony of running at bay. The only surprising thing is that women fall prey to this to. Or maybe it's not surprising, after all the equality we craved means we take all their bad traits on board.
Honeygirl was sweet enough to let me jog with her. I was worried I may cramp her style limping around Hyde Park for an hour but… bar a couple of brief walks, I was not an embarrassment. The highlight was that we talked all the way through. Having not seen each other in ages and only knowing each other scantily (we share the wonderfully bright in every way- best 50 something we know, R, as friend) there was a lot to fit in. This is a major development as previously I could have chatted for the first 15 mins or so but then would have had to conserve breath. Am chuffed about this. Presumably if I didn’t gab I may last a little longer? And we may cover more than the 6km we did? We shall see.

After she left me I was late for an appointment so jogged off some further ten/fifteen mins. or so to my shower. I do think that the break gives your second wind a chance to arise in your chest so hope to try this theory out. However, to get from an hour to five is… unthinkable for me right now. I am sensibly ducking out of Yoga and Powerplates today, though will keep the Bootcampilates tomorrow and am certainly not jogging till Sunday. What a great excuse this conserving energy thingy has been. I do understand though that ideally you should and can run everyday. Honeygirl tells me tales of some mentor she has who does 10km first thing in the morning on a Sunday, then goes to meet friends at pub and together they do another 15km, then he goes home and with the girlfriend goes out at sunset to do another 10km or more. I mean, is there life in between? Some granola perhaps or do these kind of people know how to enjoy food and not just eat for performance? What’s with the compulsion? We like fit, but it has to be said that runners look distinctly haggard and unhappy when they run so you know, we want to keep some fun in or it’s not worth it. I don't want my jaw to lock in some ugly grimace.

15 February - Valentines & Blunders

Valentine’s massacres, I wonder how many today. Mine was splendid and well worth the anticipation, but I wonder how many casualties. I started a blog once, called The Daily Flirt. In it, I meant to give cheeky advice to men in need. A sort of Debretts for dating and so on, or at least as funny as that letters page/column in the Sunday Times. Of course it fell by the wayside like many of my other half arsed light bulb ideas. But I’ve always thought that if in doubt ABOUT ANYTHING you should ask. Someone, somewhere has the answer you seek. Problems may arise if you don’t have any doubts and therefore don’t ask but…. I always think it’s silly to read in the papers in those days preceding Valentine, all those words of advice but there clearly is a need. Let’s repeat it one more time: if you have a girlfriend, flowers and chocs are the defaults. So is dinner at home or out (personally I don’t do out). You either do it all or say you don’t believe in it and save yourself the hassle and here is why I offer two cautionary tales.

One man bought her 'only' flowes. He had gone to Harvey Nicks and picked up some roses only to be told at the till that that would come to £90. He correctly said 'You must be joking!' and left them. Am not sure what other flowers he picked up and yes, his girlfriend has everything but... for the avoidance of future doubts, flowers, like chocolate, are the default gift - am I repeating myself? - and should not be the only gift as this denotes lack of imagination. So are books actually, fine at other times, not at Valentine unless a first edition of a much sought after tome. This man is currently not busy working (and not income-less) so he had more time than most to scout around for something a bit more meaningful. If you want to play this game, play it well.

Which is what the other man did ... except... He bought expensive food/sushi in a city where it's hard to find. Expensive champagne and wine. Flowers ... and an ipod. Understandably he threw a chair at the wall when his girlfriend said, at the end of the meal 'So, darling, where did you hid my shinly little rock?' He felt he had done enough but... he didn't consider the following: he's a foodie and his girlfriend knows that the feast was for himself as much as for her and that the fact he'd spent so much on it was irrelevant when he failed to get her what she's been asking for and not got in three years ie. a shiny token of affection. A tiny sparkler, that's what she wanted, not an ipod which incidentally is the same thing she got him for Christmas. For this girl, a daisy and a pizza would have been enough in terms of default gift and the rest better invested at the jewellery shop.

I am not telling you here what these women bougth for their men. For once am not interested in a balanced view, just want to remind men that it's a minefield out there as these two are hardly oiks who don't know what to do but you can still get it wrong. A quick call to the Daily Flirt in person would have saved lots of tears and recriminations.
TBC sorry am busy but will continue at some point. TBC

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14 February - Shags & Preggers

I’m a prophet. I always said to Dear John, complete with playful wagging finger, ‘You’ll end up in Ireland with an Irish lass’. He always denied this vehemently as ‘fate worse than death’ could not befall him, but… it’s happening. There’s a specific reason, ie a baby on the way. This was never discussed with the girlfriend of course, but he seems fine with the reality. It’s always surprising how men never make the correlation between not using any protection/birth control and the fact that this is what may well happen. And that it’s why since time immemorial it happens exactly in this way, the great unplanned or unplanned by the girl by default. After all, a woman has a 50% chance of the man in question fleeing. So it’s good odds, better than at roulette or blackjack. It will be good for DJ and a case study perhaps. Will the serial shagger in him manage to stop? Will masturbation suffice? After all, even if shagging the same person didn’t eventually lead to some boredom, there’s the issue of all those weeks/months where it can’t happen technically. I know they say you can do it at any time whilst pregnant, but…. When you’re the size of an elephant or feel that way, you don’t particularly want to do it, or even suck for that matter. Then there is the post birth consequences. As Anna who gave birth the other day delicately put it, her first words on the phone to me were ‘My ass is on fire!!! Lisa I can’t move’. By which she coyly was referring to the entire area. Baby was induced nearly a month after original delivery date and took 20 odd hours to appear. And he was a normal size. God knows what would have happened had it been bigger. And of course she doesn’t have mashed up nipples yet.
Well, it’s not like DJ has to live in Dublin all his future life, so that part of the prophesy may change, but as he’s buying a house there, then for the foreseeable future at least, I’m in ‘Told you so’ mode.

13 February - Brits & Parties

The Brits/Oasis party is tomorrow night I can’t go as it’s on Valentine and I have a lovely one, so I tell everyone that I hate Oasis anyway. It’s true! No stretch there. Liam’s face has the instant same effect on me as Vicky Becks, I just feel like slapping then till their heads snap off, which is weird as have no violence in my life and never raised a hand on anyone but it’s just pavlovian. However, I cannot but remember what happened back that NYE with U2 in Dublin. Picture, 1989, we’re all invited to see the band (who we work with) perform in Dublin and back in those days you had more than a good chance of hanging with them and have fun. Things were big but probably hadn’t gone to Bono’s head that much yet, he hadn’t started phoning the Whitehouse yet. Plus Dublin on any NYE is a scream and top boutique hotels had already been launched. However, the boyfriend with whom I’d be reunited that year after a painful hiatus, said we wasn’t keen to go. So I turned it down, stayed in London and though we had a nice night out (some red and white ball in Brixton or am I remembering tosh?), the following morning he was sat in the kitchen staring at an ashtray full of butts. Smoke filled the room. I think I said ‘Baby what’s wrong?’ and then I got the dumping/binning conversation which he’d come over to give me but hadn’t had the guts to do till NYD 1990.
After the dust settled and tears run dry many, many, many months later, all I kept remembering was ‘Darn, I missed NYE with U2 for you. Bastard!’. You may think this a very superficial thought, but as mentioned before I did have a guilty secrets passion for The Edge so who knows what could have happened. So turning down the party of the week/month for love is fraught with a different kind of anxiety. Will history repeat itself?

11 February - Young & Fit ones

A happy morning at work spent putting names into google and then following the links. And discovering top new music. The other night a friend I hadn’t seen in ages, Jon, mentioned in amongst the torrent of information coming out of his mouth, this producer D. who is working with Bjork and Kasabian and a band he currently manages. I think there can’t be two D’s or if there are, one is the one I’m suddenly remembering and though I don’t recall the surname I eventually find his website. There’s some hypnotic bassy tunes I instantly fall in love with, a very respectable list of collaborations, the coincidence that I realise I know his manager via another friend and best of all there’s a picture. It’s him, the lovely young man that approx 8 years ago or more was the pro tools/programmer guy for a better established friend of mine. I remember the first time I saw him in the studio, being blown away by his dark haired beauty and perfection, but having to remind myself (with the help of producer’s wife who felt the same) that I shouldn’t swoon over a 20 something. My life is littered with lost opportunities for incredibly fulfilling, if not enriching liaisons with young fit men. Ok you may think this is self agrandissement but no, it is possible, it was possible, and most notably one of the few times I silenced the moral/guilt inducing voice of the angel on my shoulder that said ‘It will look tacky’, I had a glorious month with another very young D, Danie!. He did all the work pursuing and me being a 40 year old meant that his pursuing only lasted 24 hours, till I made my mind up to go for it. What a joy, the joy of discovering that a 24 year old is so unfussed by his performance that he can stop halfway through, roll over and start to chat for a while, have a drink with you, talk some more and reprise where he left. Several times over in fact. I’ve always maintained that the longer you keep the motion going, and if it’s skilfull, the better you orgasm. But most 40+ something lovers can’t keep that up. And they have to be reminded not to imbibe too much alchohol beforehand or else... they have to work twice as hard. Other elements heighten the experience of course, love for once, but if in doubt and it’s an O you’re chasing, go young.

Anyway… D sweetly replies to an email and gives me some catching up potted history which includes the information that he’s about to become a dad. Shame, now that he’s 30 I wouldn’t feel like a cradle snatcher. Daniel instead (yes the memory jog meant I dropped him a line) asks if I can find him a hotel for April when he’ll be in London with the girlfriend I haven't yet met. That will mean I’ll have to resist the impulse of ruffling his hair. It’s very bad form to do that in front of new partners. Or adjust collars, or hold hands. Oh stop it Lisa.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

10 February - Broadband & Puss

The joys of broadband… Toph finally discovers EVERYTHING he's been missing.
The background is that when he rang up his net provider to upgrade to broadband, they kept telling him they couldn’t find him as a customer. He repeatedly insisted that he had been with them for years. At some point a brighter spark asked ‘Hang on… are you on dial up?’. Which he was. They had not thought of checking that list of customers being that even grannies up and down the land are on fast modems. I bet they had some laughs after they took his details, about this luddite who was still dialling up. So the day came he got the faster web. Understandably he had not checked out the ‘latest’ development as they’d take forever to be viewed. So a happy morning was spent with me doing tutorials on Myspace and Youtube and Itunes and Flickr. I showed him how to go off on various tangents, made him listen to music, watch vids etc and he declared ‘I can see how people don’t go out anymore if they have this’. Or ‘Who needs TV’. Doh! It was a sort of Crocodile Dundee moment.

Of course the next thing to do was to type in some porn word and see where that took us. He was a bit surprised that I said ‘anal’, so I changed that to ‘hairy pussies’ as well, nothing else came into my head there and then and I hardly ever come across one. And we were off. Bewildering. Overload. Do all these people make money out of it? Does everyone in the world work in porn? It seemed that way. Does anyone know how to refine the search? I mean, it wasn't just hairy that came up, it was a selection. That sort of is a waste of time when one is busy.

Friday, February 09, 2007

9 February - Out of the Mouth of Babes

If ever I was in any doubt about the fact that it's only my self-delusion that holds me together in the 40's is the new 30's bubble... There's this girl at work, sits close to me so we have an easy banter/rapport and make each other laugh. I tease her about the fact that it's going to take her years to pay off the student loan for her degree, she teases me because I seem to have an entire functioning wardrobe disseminated in various places at work. And so on. She teases me about what I eat (not great amounts, as I explain to everyone, it's a fact that after 40 you put on a pound or two every year, so says the scientists, and I'm doing my best to buck the reality) and I tease her about drinking too much and not exercising enough. Anyway... she doesn't have an easy rapport with a colleague in Germany. So I tell her I can call and get the information she needs. I do, I get it instantly and it's all done with a smile. And A. deadpans 'Well Agnes likes you 'cause you're the same age group!' 'And what age group would that be?' I ask with a smile whilst I watch her blush to her earlobes.... Ok, ok, A. is 23 and her mother is only a couple of years older than I am so yes, I am the generation of her mum! And Agnes is even older than I, I guess 50 but I could be wrong, it's those severe glasses and the Cerman accent. I stand chastised... A and I cannot be friends. I can't think of anything to say except 'Our age group got away with free degrees at Uni. Take that!' But it's true... my VWestwood stlye platforms must look comical to her....I am mutton dressed as lamb. But not as much as that Christa D'Souza journalist who every sunday in the Times is wearing some new outfit and looks scary with her long tresses and botoxed face. Positively witchy. I wonder if she's 49 trying to be 29...

8 February - Diversify & Dominate

an evening with J. Sexy. TBC

7 February - Jade & Diamonds & Pearls

Am looking for a pearl to buy as a christening present. I have loved pearls all my life, but so far never had any gifted. Must remember to nick mum’s. Boyfriends seem to view them as a bit old fashioned and they think they don’t go with me/my personality. Ok, am not a dead ringer for Audrey Hepburn and I don’t go around in little black shift dresses or twinsets but….Never mind that I subscribe to the adage that you should buy a person the present they hanker after and not what you have as a preference.

So I go to some shops and visit some websites. It’s an education, so much information. Of course I want a pearl fished by some South Seas diver but they must be as rare as a survivor of the Titanic. Pearls are all cultured these days. There seem to be so many available that you wonder how prices are set. For example, the Chinese and other Asians prize Jade above all. Now you never encounter a western person or Londoner wanting the most exquisite Jade ever as a gift. So it’s all relative. If the price wasn’t maintained somehow, I could buy jade here for not a lot and exchange it for some diamond. Or does the entire world fall under the spell of diamonds? I hate it that now men can seriously say to you ‘Ah but you wouldn’t want a diamond considering the trouble and strife people have to endure to provide these’. My answer is… you better give up coffee and chocolate because it’s not like there aren’t human rights issues there as well, mate’…
Anyway, it’s possible my days of jewels cravings are over. On the way back from India I purchased two gold plated bracelets on the plane. Never bought anything on a plane before but these looked good in the in flight mag and were dirt cheap. On my wrist they look the part. Cartier, Tiffany, you wouldn’t know the difference. The catches are a bit lose and I know for a fact that I’ll lose one any day soon. I pity the poor sod who finds it and thinks it’s come across some solid gold and diamonds and can pay the rent this month.
But I’ll keep my counsel for a little longer. Considering it’s the month of that dreaded silly man made celebration all hearts and sugariness, I must admit I’d still like a small and perfectly formed blue box…

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

5 February - Compendiums & Tributes

In Covent Garden one Saturday I run into Jan and his two kids who I have not seen for at least 3 years. I register he’s filled up from being a v. v. skinny man and that the youngest child was a baby last time I visited. We don’t stop for long except for him to give me his wife’s mobile number which I save on my phone and say I will call her, go visit, been too long. After he walks away my friend asks how do I know them and I tell him. I mean, I went to Jan and Am’s wedding, I was there on their second date, I worked with her on and off for some years, we met in the mid 80’s, and I sometimes see in some magazines the beautiful jewellery that her former boss and friend K. started selling after she jacked in her successful PR company. I know her sisters, I like them, I’ve met her mother, her brother, I was sorry when she miscarried her second child, I nearly went on holiday to her Moroccan family home, and so on. At some point they tried to set me up with his friend Addison but it never took off. I would like to see them but for what? It’s been 3 weeks and I haven’t called that number. I have no intention to do so. It would mean organising a trip south of the river for a lunch on Sunday and then what? We would revert to hearing from each other once every few months as there are no basis for this friendship any more. They would never trek to where I live, organising kids seems to be something that parents only do if they have to go and visit family. We are no longer held together by shared jobs or going out. Sure we could fill an afternoon with catching up but then what? After you’ve run out of ‘do you remember so and so, he’s now doing this and she’s doing that’ until they go on to tell you about someone who you’re sure you never met and is something to do with someone else and you realise there’s not enough to link you…..
Like Am, I realise there’s been many lovely people that have contributed to many, many years of ‘passing the time’ and I forget how many. So here’s a compendium of lost friends whilst I remember, some may be dead even, who knows. I’ll list them and when I’m in the right frame of mind I’ll sum up who they were and what we did. I better leave ex lovers out or… maybe not? They were friends after all.
Kerry, Judy B, Jon R, Mul, DB, Eff, Ing, Fi, Liz & C, Cal, .... am sure many more will come to mind over athe last 25 years or so if we count only friends made in adulthood.

6 February - Houses & Shoes

Am sick of living in my abode. It’s time to upgrade, go larger, go somewhere better. For all that I change my outfits constantly I can’t seem to ever find the energy to repaint my walls or move the furniture around. My friend LH for example is planning to carpet the moment she finishes converting to wooden floors which is a few months after she’d done the trip in reverse. And she’s dreaming of a new sofa when the new one gets delivered and so on. Not me. Must be only person I know still sitting on sofa purchased in ’86. And still looking good. Anyway, the only way I can think of changing my environment is to sell and move elsewhere. This is when a good friend who’s just bought a house (current flat was only bought 3 years ago) informs me that you have to make an offer the minute you see something you like as that’s the way the market is. And am not talking Mayfair, am talking Queen’s Park. This is clearly ludicrous. You spend more time than that deciding to purchase a pair of shoes. She’s adamant that I will find out that this is the case. I suddenly feel panicked by this thought. I envisage a long, leisurely route into the home of my dreams. I can’t, can’t start on estate agents yet for a Summer move, so I go and see a large flat that a friend is showing to people on behalf of the owner, before it makes it to estate agent. I like it and it’s a fantastic price but it’s in an area I’ve never seen myself in so this requires some reflection. Two days later I phone my friend to say I’m still thinking about it and it’s probably a no anyway. She says not to worry as it’s been sold. I now feel the pangs of rejection. It’s gone…. But I was thinking about it.
Apparently you have to go and see lots of places so you get a feel for saying yes to one instantly. I'll say it again, it's mad, it can't be. I hope the market crashes and people regain sense.
I promise not to bore anyone with talk of houses. I’ll stick to shoes.

4 February - Literary congratulations

To Kettners for a drink to celebrate a new author, SH of which I’ll tell you more when her book is about to hit the shops in 2008 so you can all go buy what will be the intelligent thriller of the year. Apart from anything else, though it was hotly fought over by a few publishers and benefits a top editor to see it to a final impressive draft, the title is still undecided so no point telling you about it.
There we were in Kettners (not been there since… could it be? Those 80’s again. And v. favourably impressed, the champagne bar was more than adequate, who needs private clubs as I keep saying) which was busy with a steady influx from 7 till 8 and then they all vanished. Our gathering was small but perfect, only those who cared and those who were happy for her came, which is all that matters. TBC tbc

2 February - Ear infections & LSD

tbc

1 February - Russian & Boyfriends

I love the net for where you end up cruising. I now don’t remember what lead me to this but I found a website for Russian g/friends (one of probably thousands) and saw on its front page that it also hosted pictures of men. I could only see the two posted there as to see more would necessitate signing up and handing over money and that’s not what I want to do, despite my curiosity. One guy was a total no no looks wise, but the other one was a dark haired Justin Timberlake broody guy, all of 18 years old. Now I don’t know if he was straight or gay either but, if the same principles apply, ie, anything that we have to offer in the West is better than what they have ‘there’ in various former USSR republics and they’re so desperate to get out, I could get me this cute guy called Libin who’s 18 as a ‘boyfriend’.

What exactly could he want more than a roof over his head, use of my car and a few hundred quid a month to buy beers and go see his new mates in whichever part of London they congregate? If someone else who’s 84 can get a Ukrainian Valentina who’s 30, (was reading funny novel about this recently, which had at the centre of its plot exactly that kind of relationship) then surely I can do the same? Sure friends would laugh and family would be worried but I don’t have to answer to anyone non? And surely Libin would desert me as soon as he finds someone who can keep in a better style? Would he really be saving to send money home to Kazakhstan? Would he beat me up when he discovers that a night at Pasha costs more than the 100 quid I’d bung him on a Saturday? Would he be as high maintenance in the ball breaking department as all the eastern Europeans that are currently the girlfriends of various people I know? What is it that makes these women relentless in acquiring stuff that your regular Western girl does not demand? I know some of them have brothers to save from starvation and sick babushka’s to get medicines for but, is it really that bad? If all you need is the basics for them back home, why are you shopping at Harrods? If any Russian is reading this perhaps they can let me know?

I don’t need any of this right now, you know, the Russian boyfriend, but was somehow cheered up by this discovery. Am always on the lookout for how to handle life and have some fun when things will inexorably change for the worse. I don’t much plan to go on cruises round the Greek Islands for example, I may not be that mobile for example, but Libin could go to the shops and give me a kiss etc. And I would never understand what he says in Russian to his friends over the phone so I’d not be upset when he tells them he lives with his ancient old bag, 55 or some such and what a revolting bore it is to have to submit to her smooching. By then I may well be desperate.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

29 January - Real old oldies & Venus

The fresh air was exhausting but not enough to prevent me from going to see a friend in town from San Diego only briefly, we’re all at the age where parents have heart attacks and other health scares that require our presence, and that’s why she’s unexpectedly here. I went to her auntie’s house for dinner and was greeted by a table of 80 year olds all sprightly and interesting and making a fuss over me. The ladies had red painted nails, dyed and well styled hair, and they wore make up and not granny wear, and had current fashion accessories. They were colourful in clothing and sparkiness. They told me they go on dancing holidays, and my friend’s mum teaches dancing/keep fit, she’s done this since many years ago when she divorced and had to find a way to earn money. Her ‘new’ hubby is doing tai chi and photography. She said he was better than the old one, my friend’s father, who even post heart attack, looked ok and awake in family pictures of his other family. Little old jewish guy and Jamaican family. Don’t usually see that union. It was a most inspiring evening. I was there for 3 hours and admittedly did not follow all strands of conversation but I didn’t hear any talk of people passing away, people in hospital or other depressing stuff I expected them to discuss. In fact they ware so awake that I thought ‘Are they on drugs???’. A few days earlier a couple of friends said quite seriously that not having indulged in drugs in their youth, they look forward to doing so when they’re old. It will pass the time more amenably. The house/s were in a bit of suburban timewarp from the 50's though. I wonder why no updating there.
Only last week I’d seen “Venus” and I loved it. How marvellous to watch Peter O’ Toole (74) and Leslie Phillips (82) and Vanessa Redgrave giving us the full monty of what it will be like. Grim but not unbearable. I for one, will be joining life drawing classes just to have a look at young guys' bodies no doubt or teach keep fit for old birds in...Brazil or some such sunny place.

Then today, whilst discussing with a colleague contacting a man for a non executive board position, I ask ‘Is he old?’
’He’s 60, is that old?’ replies colleague who’s 48 in a few weeks and looks at me expecting me to say ‘no’. I ponder and have to conclude that ‘Yes, 60 is old. Just because Mick Jagger or David Bowie are 60 and are still prancing around and marrying models, and it’s ‘only’ ten years or so more than you, there’s no way you can pass 60 for young, or 60 for the new 40. You have to dye your hair if you have any, and though you can run marathons, it could kill you’. He looks at me a little dismayed but then the phone rings and it’s his doctor about a shoulder operation to follow some other operation he’ had on his legs so I rest my case. I guess the conclusion is that you’re as old as your body serves you and we should not be scared of using the word. There you go ‘old is good, old is good, old is ok’. I hope.

28 January - Confidential & Public

January new year resolutions. I didn’t make any, unlike a friend whose one is to ‘say yes to everything’, which was suggested by his girlfriend who’s eager for him to move in with her and he was dragging his feet. But I sort of made one for the blog ie to try and avoid mining friend’s lives for info/anecdotes. This is hard when you get given such great opportunities to do exactly that. Like the past w/end as guests of a couple of friends of the lover. I mean I quite possibly slept in a bed previously used by Neil Tennant or Chris Lowe or Tony Mortmer or Brian Harvey (if you have to ask you were not listening to the charts in the 90’s) or even Matt or Luke Goss. How could I possibly not write about it? But I can’t write about lover’s friends, they know I write a blog but have not yet had an opportunity to give them the disclaimer ‘Everything you say may be used’. Or I did at some point but it’s been my experience my friends forget I write and that writing about me is impossible withouth writing about all around me. Actually, one or two are really good at prefacing juicy gossip with ‘You can’t write about this’ and I don’t. Which is a shame sometime as a certain person’s adventures in Cannes recently would be a source of many musings on men and sex. But I gave my word.

However I can write about the journey to the above house. It was very Indian style as we didn’t work out till half hour down a dark and therefore scary motorway that the reason we couldn’t see shit was not because the motorway was dark especially, but because our headlights were busted. Instead of driving on the inside lane at a reasonable speed to stay out of trouble, the demon racer chose the option of using the overtaking lane all the way at maximum speed “so as to stay away from lorries pulling out and not seeing us” and basically we diced with death for 90 mins, as this carried on on B roads with L shaped sharp bends and as I said it was all v. Indian as there you’re in a car overtaking a car which is overtaking a truck and you meet oncoming traffic which is doing exactly the same. In the dark. Shame we couldn’t make use of the horn, which is what the Indians have their hand on constantly, they only worry about what’s in front, not the chaos they cause behind them.
Then I can write about the exquisite position of the house right on the beach in East Sussex, the warm welcome of our hosts, the amazing view when we woke up the following morning and the sun was shining and creating a sun trap of rays on the balcony, I could rave about the decked garden, the 5,000 years old petrified forest on the beach, the dogs running up and down it, the drive in the convertible top down to buy fish for our Indian curry dinner expertly prepared in the evening, the dozing off plus sex plus dozing off, the beach video shoot photos (I’ve said it before, having my very own Bafta winner director taking pics is a plus, every shot a winner), the complete 3 hours of 80’s hits we listened to trying to remember titles, whilst waiting for dinner. I did guess a poor half I think, but I know my Steve Arrington from my Luther Vandross. Then I could talk about the abridged book of the month ‘Affluenza’ as discussed by J who was reading it, and as Toph was reading the review in the Times I now feel I don’t need to tackle the tome at all.

We all decide that what my granny’s always said ie. “You can’t take it with you (after you die)”, is effectively the only advice you’ll ever need in terms of managing your objectives and wealth, and it follows that what counts are family and friends, never mind the pursuit of mammon. However, as am in the company of at least one high achiever who’s about to reach 40 and we all know that the 2 years previous is where the journey starts to get rocky in terms of working out what you really really want… It will be hard to avoid detailing what’s going to happen to her.

I could however detail the funny revelations about A and Toph’s and boy J’s Ibizan holidays where they didn’t pull. Toph was fresh out of long term g/friend and befuddled by instant forwardness of female yogis. He let one girl come forward on first night, didn’t act on it as well, he’d only just arrived. The next day he was hit upon by a Spanish with hot plans for him but he doesn’t like being chased so brazenly so was giving it a few minutes to react when the idyll was gatecrashed by an unobservant other guest. Result, first girl had nose put out joint and wouldn’t play ball subsequently, Spanish girl was quickly snapped up by fast acting American and Toph had to join the ranks of just looking as A and boy J did for the rest of the week. Girl J keeps stumm as I suspect she has much juicier adventures in the lovely island. I avoid confessing I still haven’t been to Ibiza thanks to what can only be described as an unfortunate series of events. Toph says once when he was there Siobhan Fahey turned up with her dj boyfriend to do the same yoga week. Though she only went to one class and then never re-appeared, probably too busy partying and shagging said young man. Thank god, if Toph had shagged her it would really be closing another circle as her very first boyfriend was one of my most enduring, most loved lovers about 15 years later (and I don’t mean her ex hubby Eurythmics). I feel I should start drawing maps of what links me to whom or at least provide footnotes but … am too lazy.
I could also talk about the hedge fund owner who I’m trying to set up with herbalist friend whilst his boss’s wife is trying to set him up with the ex wife of Matthew Freud and Viscount Althrop… Personally I think she’s got too much history and kids to fit the bill and herbalist friend is a much prettier, lovelier choice but … they haven’t met yet due to his extreme work schedule. In fact, this may never happen so why am I telling you.

At the end of the day.... night comes as my friend Sophie says but it’s true. It was a perfect week end in a parallel rich life that I have multiple access to via various friends, but thankfully I find that all I envy J is her perfectly tiny and beautiful hands and her sparkly sapphire blue eyes, not the success and wealth which she so clearly deserves and is at ease and gracious with. She doesn’t seem to think her awards are very nourishing and fulfilling, so me not having ever had a single one doesn’t make any difference. We’re two girls in love with slightly under achieving but totally sexy boys. Life is good non?

Real shame I can’t tell you about the bigger white house next door and its owner (who can call Simon Cowell his ex bitch – work-wise I believe not in any other way) a and who’s about to re-enter the fray of launching top new bands….

27 January - tbc

tbc