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….