27 April - Owner of a Lonely Heart

Never mind going to guilty pleasures the club.. how about going to the source? A happy night was had by four of us watching the Producers ie. Trevor Horne, Lol Crème and Steve Lipsom aided by a much younger and Wainwright-esque and Hutchens-que singer called Chris Bradie and a fit drummer ex of Del Amitri – no can’t recall any Del Amitri songs, sorry, who regaled the audience at the Barfly with: the hits they contributed to over the years, some other classics and some new tunes, which I have to say, were er… not that memorable. I guess the singer/writer does add something special to the mix.

I wonder if it is a sign of ageing that I couldn’t remember the lyrics to Space Oddity? Now, have never been very good with lyrics but a) I fell in love with DB on this song/roundabout this time, and b) heard it a million times and c) they are not exactly complicated but no… even the chorus… I was getting it muddled up. I did much better trying to sing high on Owner of A Lonely Heart by Yes, my, so far, guiltiest pleasure and possibly something I wouldn’t object to having on my tombstone, as, well, I just kept to those six words over and over and I was fine.
One day I need to compile not so much my favourite songs but my favourite ‘bridges’ in songs (it’s the bit that’s not a verse and that’s not a chorus and goes off on one, just for those who don’t know). This one I like a lot, it may not be as it is on CD but the live version was excellent. We also discovered that Trevor is taller than we thought and Lol is much shorter than we thought and has the biggest (by comparison) nose I’ve ever seen on a man. This doesn’t stop me from wanting Lol Crème to adopt me, all 5ft of him and nose as big as a church bell. R. has me in stitches when she declares half way through the set that her mum went to Lol’s barmitzvah. Perfectly credible as she’s from Stockport and so’s he and they are both Jewish.

Earlier at dinner with V. a larger than life head teacher who was R’s first flatmate when they moved to London (these are people who went to gigs at The Roundhouse back in psychedelic hippy days ie mid-fifties), V. had declared she is a cousin of Brian Epstein (her father’s sister’s son). In a later twist, another of V’s cousins, L, married R’s sister so that’s a relation there. But this doesn’t make R. Brian Epstein’s cousin too as she tried to claim. We had to draw it all out on a napkin to get round it in our heads. The poor man is dead anyway so not much kudos to be gained there, he can’t get us into parties and so on.

Anyway back to the Producers. At the end of the show am compelled to go shake Trevor’s hand (he gave me The Look of Love don’t you know) and totally enjoy his obvious delight in having played on stage, (bass) . Clearly Brian Eno would disown me but it has to be said you can’t beat singalong tunes with MELODIES though finding myself going along with the chorus of Everybody wants to Rule the World is something my 18 year old self would have vomited at. I don’t think I could even say the name TFF without spitting. I did notice that many of the songs where in a high register (although not Slave to the Rhythm which they made the mistake of getting a white girlie opera singer to sing and it didn’t work.. her sexy posturing was anything but…). Remind me not to ever try any of his songs at karaoke. Not that I ever did it. Has it gone back to being un-trendy yet? It made it into my world for a while with friends talking about going to upmarket booths and bards, but hope it’s been consigned to stag and hen nights again. Ok, am rambling now but as R. said ‘ Bet you didn’t even remember you knew 10CC’s Rubber Bullets’? No, I didn't, and to think that only a few days ago the Camden Crawl was purveying all manners of new-ish artists and teenage fans to these streets and not an aged pospser in sight...

26 April - Halleluja & Bonuses

See how ungrateful we can be? Today am basking in the comfortable zone of knowing am totally debt free (by which I mean nothing owed on credit cards or to current accounts or to friends – the mortgage lender is going to annoy me for just a few more years longer) thanks to my bank account finally receiving my annual bonus.
This is not the kind of sum that is contributing to altering the London economy by pushing up the price of houses and coffees and whatevyouelse but… it’s still subject to 40% tax deduction which is bad, bad, bad. Why? Why is the threshold still so low in view of the fact that less than 40k doesn’t buy s hit in London? Ok, am doing what I promised not to do, moaning. Thank you nice employer who is actually not really exploiting me and rewarding my sullen-ess with a gift of a few grand. And whilst am at it, thank you Lord of cars by allowing my nice shiny motor to pass its MOT with no work to be done to it. Bets are now being taken as to which exact day and month will see me tipping into the red again. I feel the urge to book the BF and I on mystery trip abroad and tog us up for the occasion. Oh, and Scott of Mayfair is booked and so is Petrus of Knightsbridge. As part of remaining reasonably frugal, something had to give, so cheap tickets have been bought for Pelléas et Mélisande at ROH… hope Melisande ie. Angelika Kirchschlager can ‘upgrade’ us. She’s good friend of a best friend, worth asking and I’d love to meet her of course, she is extraordinarily talented. I love my bonus, I love my bonus…

25 April - Pub Quizzers & Millionaires

Am considering re-naming this blog 'Lisa goes out, practically every night even whens she hadn't planned to'. Once again the evening goes in a different direction from the planned one... as we go to a pub quiz in leafy West London street.
We rescue the sad team of three that we’ve joined and dazzle them with our knowledge which allows us to end at #2 with a bottle of wine - the winners had three times as many in their team so er… more chances to come up with answers, but shame on me for mixing Peaches and Pixie Geldof up. How could I? I mean it was bad enough back in the days having to see mum Paula in the papers every other day but right now the family has multiplied and so there’s no escape. Or I should just avoid ever picking up those stupid free papers. Anyway, our efforts see us invited next month. We’ll do a bit of revision by then.

We lose one member of the team but the other two ask us along to drinks at the Electric. They’re in their fifties and pretty good company. One is a lawyer for Katie and Peter. Notice it's Katie with an ie. so er no the model who did not design her range of clothes for TopShop. He tells us they how much better/smarter than the Beckhams they are, but sadly does not divulge any other details. He’s very good (and on coffee rather than tongue loosening alcohol), doesn’t have a bad word to say about any of his clients, says there’s one he can’t get rid of.. I wonder who it is, maybe it's Corinne Bailey Rae? This year's Dido? Surely he must yawn each time he has to have a meeting with her? He, not saying, but am sure we’ll meet again.
His pal is a Holland Park dwelling venture capitalist (I buy him 2 drinks, he doesn’t buy me any… charming) married to a well known political Times journalist She’s a bit right wing for me but have found myself agreeing with her on a number of occasions which is er, worrying. Anyway she’s very prolific and as usual am awed by how much some women write. Miss Snark, the literary agent who blogs, said in one of her Moses style edicts that ‘blogging is not writing’. I totally agree and never confuse the two. But it hurts.
So… the husband is intent on creating mischief by throwing little questions into the mix, one being ‘How many secret relationships do you think one can handle?’
I answer two, (aside from the official wife/girlfriend) there can comfortably be only two and of those two, one mistress must be aware of the other secret one. And oh, if one is in another town/country that helps tremendously.
But I don’t have direct experience of that. My instances of affairs are minimal . I was the other woman a few times but never myself had two on the go. Loyal like that… Or actually maybe briefly, memory fails but think it was when the boyf in question was not that steady.
Another round tabler asks VC if he’s counting prostitutes into the equation and right on cue some immensely unattractive man walks past closely followed by two tall black girls wearing belts in lieu of miniskirts. All the men around the table say the can only be prostitutes given he’s so old and ugly but I’d wager that every single one of them is probably thinking ‘Wish that was me having to toss those two around tonight’. I am the only one saying that maybe the girls are his PA’s or some such and probably only there for a drink and not for orgy later but am shouted down. VC asks more questions and I have the presence of mind to say ‘Er, this is turning into a psychological forum that I’m not comfortable with’ given the BF is suddenly interested in my answes (ah, how I go about using legalese knowing a lawyer is present) and we drop it. We change the subject and I start talking to this clearly mad girl who works in Hatton Gardens and who mistakes my Swarowski for a real diamond ring. Granted, it’s pretty good and suddenly I don’t think she’s that mad as I wouldn’t mind being given a little tour of her shop. But it’s midweek and time to go.

24 April - Newby marathon supporters

If you're ever going to be one, here's some advice because you're not running, or jogging but you're walking and you're standing still on one spot for several hours as you wait for your braver first timer of a friend to wave you by at mile 14 and mile 21 and by that point, certain time projections will be altered.
If the sun is beating down on you... you're toast.
I guess an umbrella would be useful in any weather, lots of food and comfy shoes and no, you can't take anything to read as you have to watch or you miss her/him.

tbc

23 April - Rio & the boy

A friend is in town with his new g/friend. She’s never been to London before, we go to a great restaurant in Charlotte St (Rocka? How quickly I forget) except for the LA style waiters who keep making suggestions for food and wine to clearly get us to inflate the bill. The way they were pouring out the bottles of wine and hassling for re-orders! I totally hate that pushiness, it’s so annoying but as they seem to have 6 people looking after the 4 of us maybe everyone in here is on commission. Anyway, the g/friend is fine, she’s wearing a rock chick top with bra on show and she has those sexy gap teeth that the BF loves. Me, I like them little less so, have well documented by fetish for perfect teeth. Funny how BF likes other girls to convey ‘dirty’ but prefers moi to be above that look. Not that am ever prim, far from it, but I never do the fallen out of nightclub look. Anyway, the new g/friend innocently asks how me and her boy met. So we give her the story of our fortuitous encounter in Rio de Janeiro minus the small detail of how we er.. slept together for much of that time.. NYE 2003 onwards in fact. He’s sat directly opposite me and being as diplomatic as me. Sweet. Yet, what with the flavours of the gorgeous food slowly releasing, and the good choice of wine, I have to reign in the memories. But that was then, and this is my blog so here it goes….
tbc ... tomorrow.

22 April - Naughty business

Finally, a project to help relieve the boredom! A composer friend has only just found out she has never received royalties on her share of a song (originally a UK top 10 back in the mid 90's) that was covered by a very famous diva in 2001 on her mega selling album and DVD. My friend knew it had been covered but never knew just how much it sold and being small potato for her publisher until they parted company a year ago... they obviously never bothered to find out what payments they and in turn she was due. This is a job for sleuth Taylor!

A summary trawl of internet info on the subject of the diva, quickly reveals US official sales totalling 1m! And then there's Europe and Japan and South America and so on. A further quick exchange with one of the other writer's wife (she holds the purse strings very firmly) results in the news of £xxx earned from PRS payments for his share of the song. As that share is 25% and my friend's is 50%, calculations are easy. This is soooo exciting! She needs the money to emigrate to NZ. I forgot to blog about this but whilst detoxing in Thailand, she saw this man in the sea and swam over as he reminded her of a beloved ex. And lo and behold, this chap was not only from London, not only had the same name as the ex, not only did he have a similar trade (carpet fitter one, gasman the other), not only did he like a beer, not only was it great sex (yes, that happened pretty pronto) but ... there are no other not onlys. He was on his way to new life in NZ having left behind wife and 2 kids. Naughty. But apprently the family was meant to go together but marriage fell apart and she refused to go along. Anyway, my friend is available to start a new life... if in possession of several thousand pounds which now seem a certainty.
It's all made more exciting by her enchanting naivety. She can't add up too well for example so when I draw her a diagram showing that even if she earnt only 4p royalty per sale and the sales were 'just' 1m it would be 400,000 pence, ie £40,000... she doesn't believe me! Her eyes widen nonetheless. I tell her, why, it's so simple, why do you think Sting has houses everywhere or artists who are not writers fall out with the writer in the band (Tony Mortimer vs the rest of E17 for example), why heh? Because when it starts rolling in, it pours! she still doesn't believe me.

Ah! great. All the better for the little lottery windfall she'll receive and with back interest if I have anything to do with it. Am on a mission now. Such a shame the track was only an album track and not a single.

21 April - Advice & The older bird

At friend’s b’day dinner am sat at the end of the table with two of his beloved inner circle from age 4 (or thereabouts friends). Think they’re 37.
We hear an hilarious tale concerning J being set up for a date with a fashion PR and of his misuse of telephones and voicemails redolent of John Favreau in ‘Swingers’. I think it's totally sweet how he's allowing us to poke fun at him. Condiering that in his job he's a master of the universe type guy, this is doubly enjoyable. After which there’s more talk of dating. We hear of J (again) and his pursuit of a classy Nordic bird who won’t sleep with him but leads him on and on and on. I cut the crap by telling him that considering he’s very, very rich, this particular posh totty is playing the classic game of ‘you don’t get anything till you marry me’ type thing. And I advise he should wear the double condom when the time comes to consummate before he finds himself providing credit card for all those beauty treatments she’ll buy with his money. Cynical? Moi? Never.
B, married for ten years to university g/friend of several years, and father of two children, asks the guys ‘But do you really want a relationship or are you happy about having many girlfriends? I ask because I have no understanding of what your life may be like, having been with just my wife’ (I swear to god he blushed as he said it which was immensely likeable).
The boys hum and err and say they’ve not really resolve that one ‘everyone wants to be with somebody type thing’. B says it’s not a question of finding the girl and then deciding but more of being with a girl and the decision finds you. Mmmhhh the 3 of us seem dubious and … jealous.
D mentions he recently brought a male friend, who he thought would be a catch to a party, and all his female friends did not go for him citing ‘He’s too old (41) and set in his ways’. I put my hand up and also volunteered Toph as an example of ‘Too set in his/our ways’. From there I went on to advise dating much older women, well, early forties, if they wanted top unattached s ex and to specifically find out if said women should still be fertile because if they were not and so not looking for unwitting sperm donor, they would have a great… summer.

I get on some kind of hobby horse about the fact that if you get past 40 and have a decent job and no kids to factor into your life, then the need to attach yourself to a man, sort of decreases. You don’t really mind going to other people’s weddings or christenings. You accept there must be a reason you didn’t put yourself in that position and get on with your life. But I could see had gone too far in stripping the bride bare. Women are not supposed to be so… not romantic about s ex. God, I can see I’m unbearable on 3 glasses of red. Preaching and patronising to boot. Thank god B chose this moment to ask A and D about their recent Brokeback mountain style walk in the Peak District. I gleaned that this country is great in terms of landscape but a terrible let down as outside of London ‘There’s no decent food/restaurants’.

In the meantime my beloved is trying to make conversation with another inner circle friend. He works for a top political TV programme so you’d hope he has opinions and anectdotes and stuff but he’s had a bad day and is a bit monosyllabic and prone to make declarations about having been a sex addict and an alcoholic but without going into too many details (he’ s now married happily since a few months back). I can see my man trying his best but I put his mind at rest by saying ‘Look at the amount of wine we’re drinking, M. is probably just staring at the bottle willing himself to stick by the AA rules and not reach for a consolation drink after his bad day'. In other words, it's not you, it's him and shame you're on the other side of the table and I can't rub your back.
Can you believe it? I know everything! How can I possibly cope with not being a Top Dog in some job considering how I have an answer for everything? I am about to hang my head in shame when D. gives me a big hug 'goodbye' and pays me some well chosen compliment. Maybe I was useful after all....

20 April - tbc

Hell is Tesco. I could leave it there really but no, I have something to say naturellement.
tbc

19 April - Overdoing it

Just realised have booked myself a carboot to do this w/end -yes, chez Taylor could do with plenty more de-cluttering - followed by nearly four hours of Philip Glass at ENO. What was I thinking? Sure, I may remember to take the faithful inflatable cushion that's served me well on umpteenth Indian buses with no suspensions bumping along crater infested roads but... how will I survive the music without dropping off to sleep? Will Toph notice if I insert earplugs and wear Jose' Feliciano sunglasses? (Stevie Wonder wasn't the only blind one you know).

Sunday it's Marathon (not running oh no, no, no, just watching a friend), followed by 5 year old excitable nephew in kiddies playground. What was I thinking? Can Toph watch him whilst I lie down in park with same earplugs and sunglasses? What if the earplugs become a way of life? A sort of cheap seconal? (is that a brand of anti-depressant? hope got it right). I did read that Nicholson Baker wears them whilst he writes. I would like to wear them at work. But then again I couldn't listen to new music on myspace then. There must be a way.... talking of which, I bought the Modest Mouse new album. Not as good as the Killers but ... pretty much on repeat. Already tired out of Mark Ronson's and it's only been a few days since release. Fickle girl.....

17 April - Pet Hates (some)

My pet hates as an older person are actually probably the same as when I was 20. I would have been the person in the block of flats who bothers to send back correspondence addressed to previous dwellers and who gets riled by the fact that it either never reaches the sender or if it does they also bin it without reading my note in my clearest handwriting ‘This person moved out 3 years ago and I’ve sent this letter back to you a dozen time can you please update your records’ and so on…
But some pet hates have added themselves to the original ones. I now find that every time I approach the various glass doors in the building where I work I have the same thought ie. ‘There are handles, there are aluminium shiny bits running the length of the middle of the doors ie where they open, so how come dozens of people miss the handles or the middle bits and place their hands all over the glass and why do their fingerprints annoy me so much?’
These thoughts are repeated well maybe not every single time I go through a door, as I may be in a hurry and in the middle of some other mindless thought. But er.. enough times. I still think about sex more times than about the doors but am annoyed I give brain energy to such inconsequential stuff. At least have yet to email facilities to ask that the cleaners patrol and clean the glass more often. That would be worrying.

16 April - Pants Down & Keys in locks

After all that.. ha ha, a very funny email from DJ which I think he said I have his permission to use in full, and so as not to just laugh at him/with him, I'll also reproduce my reply at the bottom.

Well after our recent conversation re frustration/overstimulation brought on by spring I thought it might amuse you to learn that S came home early from the theatre (her tickets had been given away) along with a friend, and found me watching porn on my laptop with my pants open. Luckily I think the friend didn’t notice anything (I was wearing a long loose shirt and there was nothing actually protruding). You are lucky not to be cohabiting - I mean, you do your best to put down those fiendish urges by looking at downloaded video of a girl who looks a bit like Avril Lavigne being sp anked with a paddle and all of a sudden you find yourself in trouble anyway.... It's difficult, you and I are very similar in that we wouldn't find it at all bothersome to find our partners up to their knees in such material, but not everyone is as open minded as us I suppose. It didn't turn into a big thing but she was a bit nonplussed. I just think it's kind of funny, and hope she doesn't get the idea that I do it every time she's out of the house (it's just the spring and the abundance of unbelievably pretty girls everywhere - a man's got to do SOMETHING...)


Am laughing out loud! truly funny, thanks for sharing. I had a similar one last night with no help from laptop or vids. I came back to Toph but he was picking up his friend J from the train station and going for a drink locally. I was meant to join them but thought they would do best having a man to man catch up session and left them to it.
As had been in the house half hour or so I had the TV on but was actually reading a copy of Scarlet (had got it free in goody bag from opening of Amora sex museum) as it happens I had read 1 or 2 stories that didn't do it for me, but after the boys called to say they’d be at the bar till closing time, I read one that did (it did involve, wait for it, the same thing that got you going, spanking) so er..I decided there was time, nice breeze coming through the window and……Let’s just say . I had not had time to wash my hand when I heard the0 key in lock and they bounded in. And sorry for that image!0

However in my case, as they'd had 2 cocktails each, when we closed the door on J going to sleep in living room, my darling gave me a very good time and didn't object to a t oy being proffered and good time was had. hope J didn't hear a thing. he's not my type so he was not part of the f antasy and it was not my intention to excite him, though I wouldn’t put it past T being a bloke wanting to let his friend know he’s ‘active’.

hope you laugh too! Can’t believe we were at it at similar times. heh?

15 April - Spring & Horny

Poor Kate Middleton. Well, not really. It’s a bloody lucky escape and she knows it but it’s Spring, what did she expect? It’s hardly the time to ask for commitment. The prince wants to shake it about a bit. Everyone does. Dear John and I share a few wistful email exchanges on the subject. He’s finding it hard to stay faithful. Wants to do something ‘wild and secret’ Prince William could probably manage to keep something secret but actually no, he’s not old enough to know how to manage it. DJ could, so could I. But, but there’s always a small chance it could blow up in our faces so best stay put. That ‘How would you feel if it was done to you’ little voice can be persuasive.
Thing is.. DJ and I could probably get over it, if it was done to us I mean. Or could we? Tempting.. The only cure for it is to make your current lover perform non stop, till you’re exhausted by too much sex. I can do that, though the boy doesn't have the relentless gene I or DJ have, but DJ’s girlfriend is pregnant so she’s probably not up to it. That’s why we’re talking about it, to find some kind of reassurance in the ‘We’re not bad, we’re just very horny’ mutual support group.

13 April - Camden & 50's

We’re in a pub in Camden to meet with some old friends who’ve just emigrated to Portugal and are having one group goodbye. It’s a pub I know I went to a couple of decades ago and its’ since been enlarged and refitted, in fact it’s so huge with the extensive outdoor area as to resemble an adventure playground and has a different feel according to the area you choose to occupy. But what’s extraordinary is the amount of kids in it, very distinctively Camden rather than west London ones. The friends I’m with are 50+ and visibly so, people from a distant Adam & the Ants period, before he was Adam in fact. The combined weight of their gut is sizeable. Actually one or two are trim, but on the whole the dated haircuts and clothes make them look like the old bunch they are. They used to come here in their school days and am sure played snooker (table no longer exist) and did not pay £8 for a burger or indeed if wine was sold here then.

I warn Toph about the perils of 3 pints a night for most nights of the week but there’s no need to do so. He hates guts as much as I do and in fact is very uncharitable about a 30 something friend of the 50 year olds. He thinks she looks like a troll. I feel better now that I know my boy will not be the one to accuse me of being a body fascist. At least my old friends here have up to the minute spec frames. I especially hate it when people don’t update their glasses. I know it’s expensive but they sit on your face, so please change them? And do sort out your teeth? I know even Jeremy Irons clings on to his greeny/grey ones, but … why???? No one said you have to go Tom Cruise’s dazzling shade of white but, just make them look clean?

11 April - Cabbage & Cooking

How delightful a night’s in on one’s own is! I can eat anything I like and for me that can often be just a bunch of vegetables, steamed or friend in some spices. Tonight it’s a whole bag of chopped greens with nothing else but the onion they’re friend with. Try and give that to a guy, he’d be horrified. Nothing to do with diets, sometimes it’s just like the sorbet mid-way through a wedding feast, I need to give the taste buds a rest. As I cook with no added salt and don’t eat much pre-packaged food (the salt and sugar content would make me gag) I’m ok just tasting stuff as it is. Granted, the bit of onion or garlic is necessary, alas I’ve never been an ayurvedic convert for that reason, can’t give those two Med staples up.

I’ve just worked out what the tags on blogs are useful for. They are not for readers to search for topics but to remind yourself if you’re getting repetitive and covering the same ground as have a déjà vu of boring you on this subject before, only that was before I started using tags so can’t search for the entry, and life’s too short to overhaul whole blog. So to make up for being boring I’ll expand in another direction. Pru Leith would disapprove of my 'just eating greens' phases. She was in a w/end supplement talking about her love of food. It started in France for her. Can’t say I have it. Then again my friends are a mixed bunch: some turn out perfect potatos dauphinoise from scratch (granted, not difficult but I can’t be arsed) and some don’t even have a single saucepan in their houses. I went to Pru Leiths’ school once and I (contributed to) make a souffle’. The school was a nice space but I never understood the appeal of a souffle’. It’s pretty baby food but so what? Oh and we made crackling duck. Unfortunately seeing how much oil (and butter? Can’t remember) it was soaked in or generally goes into top restaurant style food, made me instantly reject the notion that I should learn more of these recipies. I am the same with puddings. Can eat them, but making them at home is a disaster. If it says 'a bag of sugar', I stop right there. I couldn’t eat them. And believe me I have curves, I just don’t want to go on to become Dawn French. Or even Jennifer Saunders.
I worked with/next to Pru’s husband once and I decided then that they’re not all bad these Tory peers, they have lovely manners. I meant to look up what Lord WW did wrong during Thatcher’s years but I never found the time and the way in which he said Good Morning had me forgive him. By now he had to contend with being a meet and greet kind of guy, one of those positions where you get a fat salary for your ability to pick up the phone to various people at the top and have them take the call. But he’d lost Mrs T…..

10 April - Amora & New Tips

To the opening of Amora, the London Academy of Sex and Relationships. A grand sounding name for a new museum about sex. Tasteful colours and designs, a pretty good space if you want to try one of these.. am told the one in NY is shit and the one in Amsterdam too kinky/fetish. This one is more Spa/Vegas. It’s in the Trocadero but you don’t actually have to go inside that horrible space to access it. It manages to tell me some info I didn’t know about sex (and no am not telling you where my lack of knowledge lied) and so all in all I conclude that it would have to be invaluable if you were 18 and seeking enlightenment. Then again, it’s good I got to this age unaware that you can use one of those core stabiliser inflatable large gym balls as a surface to lie on whilst having sex. Girl lies on it (or boy ahem) and man kneels and fucks her as she’s gently supported by the ball which not being hard and ungiving as a mattress, allows for a lot more jigging and fun. Plus you get to move around the room you’re in and they’re cheap. Must get one. Though watching a short film where a man is fucking a woman who’s comfortably hanging in a harness makes me want that more. A friend had a harness but I wanted to borrow it for my own partner and not use it with the owner so it never came to pass. So yes, probably best not to go to Amora if you’re 18 so that you haven’t got it all spelt out so soon and they’ll be things to discover later on. I for one got home eager to do ‘snake’ and to ‘watch chandeliers’. Actually I do the latter occasionally but clearly had forgotten. Then again I spot some holes (ha ha) in the knowledge imparted, or maybe I simply didn’t stop and watch and listen at all the displays. Will go back some other time.

The visitors on opening night were a varied bunch. As I watched one position on screen Io muttered to myself ‘You need a long penis to that one properly’, only to hear a male voice next to me agree! I had not spotted the short man standing there. We let it drop, but maybe the place can serve that function? An instant craigslist casuals so to speak? I met the owner’s girlfriend, a not out of this world blonde in a white suit. However, I couldn’t take my eyes off her emerald green high necked silk shirt. It made me want to run my hands up and down the fabric. In my heels I matched her height and could look straight into her eyes and take in the plump mouth. Later I told Toph and he said ‘Ask her along’. As you do. All idle talk as far as I can tell. So I replied ‘I think she was checking me out for her scene, not ours’.
Maybe the thing to do is a little trade where you don’t tell your boy you’ve gone to theirs and then some time later she can come along to ours and not tell her man. That way, the boys ego doesn’t get called into question. But not sure about mine. Must engineer to meet her again and see if in different clothes she has the same effect. Am a girl you know; a man would care little about the package.

9 April - Bikers & Dogs

Social experiments can be conducted very easily. Take the Londoners our of London and they panic a little bit. I convince Toph to go to Southend on bank holiday Monday because it’s the closest coast line to London and especially easy to reach from north east London. He really doesn’t want to go but I’m in no mood to compromise seeing as my other suggestion (to go cycling down the river to Greenwich or to Richmond) cannot be implemented as his bike needs a front brake that he hasn’t fixed yet. I have energy, I have zest and I am not staying in London for the 4th day in a row despite the fact it’s been great to catch up with a variety of friends and some European visitors. Funnily enough a Greenwich/Blackheath friend was doing a tour of places in London she doesn’t know: Upton Park, Portobello Rd, Golders Green – not all on same day.

“It will take just over an hour” I promise, and we set off at 10.00. On the way we notice lots of bikers and then a few signs pointing to the ‘Southend shakedown’. Hurrah, we shall have some entertainment laid out for us. I’m driving so Toph is free to read the Independent and regale me with more fisking opinions which he shares on the whole 90% with said writer, and with observations about the bikers who overtake us or I overtake. So sweet, all these bum cracks to look at … fat ones usually and the classic g/friend and b/riend - same costume combos, you know same helmet, same colour and pattern and brand jacket and so on. Oh and the funny ones who’ve gone and glued Mohicans or bunny rabbit ears to their helmet. Hours of fun! Toph doesn’t do bikes or football so this is a new breed we’re observing. One that we assume would not look out of place on the terraces. Sure, there must be chic people at matches (in fact we know a few) or at bikers shakedowns but the evidence here points to the contrary. Thankfully at least there’s no Posh look-alike on a Chanel bike or something…Toph seems to mainly notice the out of the ordinary bikes with some 4 times the width tyre or customised body or peculiar paint colour. He’s such a kid! Why do these ordinary Brits (by the look of them, I don’t see any continentals or Americans) buy so much into the skull and bone thingy? Ok maybe the Brits were the original pirates but all the Hells’ Angels stuff is … just alien. Thank god not too many have adopted the ZZ Tops facial hair, but the overabundance of tatts is worrisome.

Until… we get there and see that the locals are far, far scarier. I was sort of expecting WAGs but it's total chav. And I thought they'd be exaggerating on TV.
As we park the car in a back street we see the following combo, skinny feral bloke with Burberry chav baseball cap, young fat girl with Vicky pollard hair and pram, other teenage girlie with white trackie bottoms and pink vest and dog of the regulation bulldog breed. I am not making this up for the sake of the story. Oh no. this is what we saw when we parked. Suddenly our Indian fabric bag was a unique fashion statement (and believe me I do know that no self respecting real Indian would go around with such bag, it’s a ‘I’ve been to India and I didn’t have enough containers for what I brought bag and so I bought this and I never really use it as it’s naff but it’s a good size to carry a towel and a few newspapers and books to the beach’.

The back streets are empty. The main drag is absolutely awash with bikes revving up slowly. More bikes are parked on the pavements and owners having a drink with friends or alone… waiting for someone to admire their machines. The scene is a sublimation of owners’ ugliness into bikes’ beauty. They are gleaming, you can eat off the engine I’ ashamed of the state of my cycle at home. Always muddy, always dirty. ‘But there’s the beach’ I thrill gaily. The beach is ‘awful’ says Toph. I don’t think so, I think it’s nice long stretch. He won’t have it. I think coffee is in order but where? Eventually a little oasis appears, a caff shunned by the bikers and with a sign promising cappuccinos. But there is no coffee in it. Or maybe Nescafe. Toph points to the coffee grains to be ground on top of the machine. I refrain from asking if they’re there just on show. Repeat there is no coffee in it. The fish and chips is good, the tea is bad, the rampant obesity surrounding us makes us feel frail and stick like. If this mob surges, we’re dead.

But thankfully we have a mission: to walk the longest pier in Europe, a full mile of it. It’s am ugly pier so it doesn’t make sense to me till I get to the platform at the end and turning around you can see miles of coastline. On the left of the pier rests the nice part of town with a few of the original Georgian terraces and a new shopping centre, am sure that one has a Costa coffee. Not that I like chains but one is allowed by Ms Taylor’s town and country planners. It has to be said that Thames estuary way the view is not all that much: a power station of some kind is blotting the landscape and some commercial vessels. Not a pretty boat in sight.
Toph is on the phone to his mother. “It’s hideous!” he tells her. Well, he did escape from Salford so this is close to home, spiritually. I have more exotic beginnings surrounded by medieval palaces and castles so this is not scary to me as in ‘it could capture me back, I could end up my days where I began and had escaped from aaarrrgghhhhhh!. So I agree that we can leave.

Driving home, there are hardly any bikers on the road to distract us from the ugliness of the housing flanking the A12. Yes, only Eastern Europe looks worse than this. I have to acknowledge it. Once we pass Walthamstow, even Holloway rd looks ok, the people we previously thought badly of, seem paragons of stylishness and composure thought the dogs are out in force here to. Compared to what we’ve witnessed, even Queen’s Park is fine. “The Salusbury is over there’ points Toph with a degree of ‘Am safe, there’s a good gastro pub there’ in his voice. Never mind he never goes to the Salusbury ‘cause I think it’s an impostor. .
We reach M’s house exhausted by what we’ve seen (bear in mind I subjected Toph to the Gilbert & George at the Tate the day before and he’s seen enough to damage is retina, he hates them). The garden is full of kiddies at the tail end of her barbecue. They have lovely faces and no hint they’ll grow up obese. They have some of those new wave wooden bicycles with no pedals so you have to walk everywhere with them, pushing yourself off and away. But who’s to know. They may rebel to the edamame beans one day. But London it is. H. tells me a story about her niece wanting a goodie bag before she went home from H’s son’s b’day. H. hastily concocted one by taking a few odd things out of drawers and putting them in a carrier bag and sent her on her merry way. Am sure in Southend they get plasma screens in their goodie bags.

7 April - Kerala & Thiefs

Am missing DD who’s in Kerala right now, and where I was a mere 3 months ago though it seems a lifetime in terms of coming unhinged after period with no long breaks. I don’t think prison would be so bad in a day to day sort of way but the thought of not being able to cross an ocean or two would seriously send me spinning. So, DD is having heart of darkness trips down a lagoon every time she wants to leave the stunning Poovar Island resort and leave she must as I think it’s a bit boring in a safe tourist enclave within crazy country sort of way. In the meantime

I bond over India with a recent acquaintance who used to buy dope in Manali and travel down to Goa to sell it and thus pay for his stints out there. He’s so young that it seems incongruous that he would do this hippy thing but… what do I know. He brings me news of the fabled and much awaited new Grace Jones album (which should contain her cover of a song written by a friend of mine, the very apt ‘Queen of the Night’. Except that L. doesn’t really know where it’s at except that his company would distribute it. I instruct him to dig a little deeper. Talking of India, a drink with Y. who’s second generation Gujarati from fashion college London. We talk about what one could do there for job or activity and he says we’ve got it all askew because your average Indian youth would love Nando’s Chicken and that’s what we should sell him, get the franchise for. Uhm, I admit I had something a little more recherche’ in mind but he’s adamant. We then talk about how many times over we’d have to pay for anything given the amount of people who’d lay a claim to what we bought or demand cash to facilitate moving our business along (even local Indians get asked for backhanders if they want to get something totally legit as their own passport issued and it’s so endemic it’s bound to wear us westerners down. I keep arguing though that there are enough new businesses or ventures in India that despite the difficulties, it can be done and that there’s a version of this probably in every country. Some friends of mine who’ve lived in Mexico for years and years, had not water or electricity for weeks/months to their new house because they refused to pay backhanders for something they were entitled to. I think they sat it out for however long it took. If I know G & M well, I know G , I is extremely stubborn…. Bit like me really.
Y. then tells me his story about being accused of stealing 50R (30p at today’s rates) from an old man, whilst travelling on a bus on the way to Armitsar, where he was meant to stay inside the temple walls for a bit of spiritual holiday. Y. is very Indian looking but in possession of long hair and a fashion/London demeanour so they knew he was foreign. He never expected the crowd to turn on him though. He could understand Punjabi but didn’t’ speak it and by speaking in English enraged them even more. Some man slapped him 3 times, which he found unbelievably humiliating and then he was dragged to the police station by the seat of his trousers (“they gave me a wedgie!” he says incensed, if that’s possible when speaking in his inimitable , soft brummie accent). Here he quaked it a bit seeing how most people there were chained to the wall by an iron arm cuff. The police chief found his British passport and £4k in his bum bag (he was buying furniture and furnishings to ship back to London) and concluded that such a young man had no motive to steal 30p and let him go. By this point Y. was so traumatised by his kin’s betrayal, that sod the temple, he just made it back to civilization, or Mumbai, pronto.

5 April - Three men and ... girls

Mmmh, just thinking about setting myself more spring cleaning tasks has tired me out so much that instead of sorting out the abode and after a quick tour of myspace which saw me travelling across the sites of many a supermodel (Marpessa, Iman, Carla Bruni, Neomie Lenoir, Monica Bellucci – once you find one they’re all ‘friends’ how sweet) and consequently feeling a little wanting in the looks department, I’ve gone and booked me the facial, the laser pigmentation removal, a bit of botox, new hair colour and so on… The receptionist said ‘Shall I book you a brazilian or a hollywood’ and I shocked her by saying ‘No, don't need that, the BF likes fur’. She recovered quickly and as the dark, dark and long haired Croat that she is, she said ‘Can I marry him?’ as she clearly has to recur to waxing very often.
Moi, I am a sort of blonde, fine haired girl so it truly never is a problem, weeks can go by and no man would recoil in horror should he caress my legs. So, yes, no spring cleaning, just freshly laundered and perhaps even new sheets and a Bellini in the morning.

However, my friends do top me all the time. Here’s what one had to say and I have permission to quote her verbatim:
“ Feeling good, yet still somehow deflated, that I have shagged two different men in the space of a week, and had an 'above board' date with a 3rd last night .... yet... will be my own for Easter long break! Hard, but... then again, I should just calm the fuck down...I have had 2 men in a week - surely I can go an entire weekend not trying to shag a 3rd, yes? YES??!”

Me, I just say, girl you wrote me this on Thursday, have faith, the w/end starts here….. and hope we're all going to find the egg the easter bunny is going to leave for us.

3 April - Posh Houses & Rich parent envy

Are fairytales always too good to be true? They don’t come along too often and so you know, you get your hopes up. My recent one was moving into a stupendous (compared to Taylor’s current lodgings which are not bad but not in one of her preferred areas such as Mayfair for example) house near Portobello Rd, so close to the garage a friend rents for his car next to the Paul Smith shop on the corner with ken park rd. Yep, I’d be next to J’s garage and the Paul Smith shop. Have I already said what joy that would provide me with? I could go into said shop everyday and slip on a nice jacket for a few minutes, whilst sitting in a stripey chair liveried in his trademark fabrics and I could gaze out at the Agent Provocateur shop opposite and make friends with the girls there, heck, I could even get a Saturday job modelling bras there. This was all going to come about not because I’ve received a massive bonus equal to 20 times my current salary but because superwoman SR was moving out of her house nearby and renting for a while and had a spare room and putting a brand new Powerplate in the next one. What more did I need to say yes, I’ll abandon my current home and cart the shoes and jewellery across, ‘ s all I need to start a new life? Oh, and joy, Toph is nearby, we could meet on corners and kiss before deciding your bed or mine?

All fallen through because the house needed some repairs to ceilings and bathrooms (not to the standard required by my American friend) and the owners couldn’t to these in time for her moving in date (she'd sold her house nearby for cash in one afternoon) or in fact wished to carry them out really. So, given the dearth of available properties (or as someone else just said ‘There isn’t much out there in the £4m mark’, SR had to quickly take a smaller flat, instead of a house and therefore there was only room for the Powerplate and not for me. So I asked ‘Who is this woman in LA (the owner) who can afford to keep an empty house on Ken Park Rd?’
I was expecting to be told the name of some actress but it’s actually Justine, better known for being the g/friend many years ago of D from Blur. I seem to remember she lived there because her well known architect father sort of gave it to her. So there you go…rich parents are always the solution.

So you know, I don’t begrudge rich parents, but perhaps it’s not entirely down to own efforts that Richard Branson’s daughter (a 30 year old doctor) is now the proud owner of a mansion in Holland Park costing £5m and which comes with no mortgage attached. Splendid news from daddy or did she really invest so judiciously her quota of stocks and shares received at birth? Is it less envy inducing when it comes from the parentals or when you marry into it? Perhaps I can ask Holly if she’s got a spare room to rent out to me.

Anyway I tell the BF who says JF is a friend of his friend A. I also remember that E. spent a lovely holiday in Thailand many, many years ago with her and Damon as he’d met them on the beach, as you do. So there you go, if I’d gone and lived in her former house, that would have been a third link between people who don’t know they know each other’s friends and thus me. Am all the more upset now because I could have removed some floorboards and surely found some lost wrappers to auction on ebay (yes, I don’t do ebay but some of my friends do). I can see the headline 'Vintage ex-popstar’s blow'. Gotta be worth something.


Some silly form of decorum prevents me from going to squat the apartment, which is silly really, Joe Strummer did it... probably to his own family...Empty houses need people in them.

2 April - Fat blokes & smelly shops

Easter, eggs will be hatching… which brings me to the guys at work whose wives are having or have recently had babies and who have put on masses of weight. Is this in sympathy? Is there no going out, no going away, no pride left for these men once they’re about to be with child? All this letting it all go/hang south? Can someone explain this strange phenomenon to me? Is it a fiendish plot on the part of the mothers-to-be to make them look similar and in this mirroring they don't stray? Or not unless they're paying?
These are people who cannot benefit from photoshopping, not when they are real and in 3D all around me. Men I’d previously found attractive - well some of them, proximity does funny things even if you’re not sharing a trailer on a film. Will they lose the extra stones when they're sleeplessly pacing up and down? Is nature making them stronger to cope with that?
Talking of which, alighted at Paul Oakenfold’s website the other day and nearly dropped my fork. I mean, in the photo he looked dishy or what? But how is that done? I want to know. It’s … just impossible to transform a person to such an extent. Ok this is a boring train of thought.

How about this one?
Never enter a second hand record shop if you have time to kill in Soho, not one that says half price sale.
It will be full of blokes and an undefinable smell that was not fresh or pleasant. Maybe it was just the old vinyl? And do these guys remember to travel with wet wipes so that they can clean their hands after shifting through all those alphabetically arranged cards with the title/artist/price and the sleeve? My hands were filthy after a mere few minutes and I do have the handy wipes.
Was considering they all looked like they could do with a conversation with a female who’s not their mother once in a while. And how about the fact that I sort of had to fight my corner to get some space and finger through said cards. Nobody conceded any room to me. I then deliberately fingered the cards not methodically one by one like the blokes were doing, as if I’d miss god knows what rarity by not checking each individual one (which let’s face it would have kept me there all day), but sort of skipped many. I almost wanted to put them back in the wrong pigeonhole just to see if anyone had a fit. I eventually found a couple of CDs I wouldn’t have minded owning at £3 or so and made my way to the counter. This is where they had had the good idea of keeping the real bargain bins and so the counter was swamped by blokes with no purpose in life. It took me 5 secs to decide I didn’t really need those 2 CDs and aborted the mission. I just couldn’t take the smell. I know I can get similarly single minded about.. shoes or clothes but ‘our’ shops are pleasant environments. This was like a toilet in Camden.

1 April - Spring cleaning & Kazoos

Spring cleaning beckons really, now’s the time, years of having to assist your mother (and the grandmother before her) have left a certain imprint. But unlike those women, now it’s much easier to ignore the call. I don’t want a cleaning person to do it. They just don’t do it right. But it’s just so daunting when you’re not a housewife and thus at home most of the day. The time around work is just too precious. That said, the floors have been scrubbed on hands and knees with a scourer and cloth, going behind radiators and along windowsills. But… the complementing chores will just have to remain uncompleted. I just can’t face them. Which brings me to many other chores or jobs I’ll never face, starting with….You remember cassettes? I still have hundreds of them. They don’t bother me, stored neatly in some drawers that I cannot even reach as blocked off le divan (or sofa or settee - is it couch that you shouldn’t use if you’re not working class?). The cassettes were last played in the 90’s perhaps so not been played for years and never will anymore…a test a while back revealed that the quality was quite appalling compared to Cd’s and ipod. They are not e-bayable (not that I’ve ever found the time to work that one out, yes never bought anything, never sold anything, the credit card fraudsters will have a hard time finding me, so what to do with them. Can’t chuck them, which is clearly what I should do. But will never file them away. And why is this taking valuable thinking time?

Let’s just move along this train of thought and reach…Jobs I wouldn’t like to have, as opposed to those I can’t tackle. Top of the list would be Channel 4 spokesperson. Obvious why… fancy spending your days defending reality TV and related fuck ups and all that other output that includes dubious documentaries masquerading as useful or eye openers on various issues or health improving or… but are just total trash to watch. Is it hard to live your life as a castrato or a 20” tall person? You bet. Wow, every time I thought about it before (zero) I reached the same conclusion that the relevant documentary proposed. And all without the benefit or hindrance of the dreadfully hushed and concerned tone of voice of the chosen narrators. All the people featured or willing to be featured always seem to be American. But the programmes are made by UK company. Am I missing something? Or are they missing something? Clearly there are series that could be commissioned. Once you’ve examined the travails of castrati in the US, you could contrast and compare with the castrati in Ukraine and in New Zealand and so on.

Which reminds me of something else entirely, but there’s a link ie… you can get anything wacky made or realised. A true tale. As you know tickets for Glastonbury sell out in the space of an hour. Considering how much they cost the festival is definitely no longer what it was/should be. But let’s let that pass. So, a guy thinks, shit, how can I get in there? He writes a fax to the festival saying he’s in a kazoo band and please could they be booked to play. Within 30 mins he gets a reply from the festival asking what are they called (a name is swiftly invented) and an offer to play. Subsequently this gets formalised with a cash payment, 14 guest tickets for band’s friends and…. I can’t remember how much to buy extra kazoos to be handed out to the public as these pied pipers move along the fields. Genius. I propose to go see relevant CH4 commissioner (Arts & Entertainment or Ministry of Silly Walks?) and get £100k for an hour on ‘The rebirth of the kazoo and kazoo classics’.