30 August - Coffee & well, none really

For those who care about this things, and now I know there’s at least one of you who may be on a detox these days, (hi I.!) I have not felt like having a coffee for ages. I mean, I have drunk the occasional black decaff and it tasted so foul, that after 3 or 4 sips have left it. Only sugar or milk could have improved it and clearly have not added that. So there you go, proof that you lose the craving for it if you allow yourself a little time to stick to the new routine. A bit like when you first got used to soya milk, bleurgh! (is this English or have I picked it up from the French or Italianos?). Have not been so good on the other stuff, it’ s really not my idea of a good night constantly saying no to a vodka and tonic or of a good morning start to juice all the time, though eating protein first thing is fine, give me fish, cheese or eggs and I truly don’t have that mental programming that says those are not breakfast foods, it’s just cultural conditioning.

But then I read this frightening article in Vogue where this goody goody American high flyer who frankly did not look very good for her efforts, swapped shopping trolley and food with a not stick thin Brit married to a chef and a meat eater and so on for a week or two. Just reading the military style operations of American with her Fresh and Wild (RIP) obsession made me see that going that way is just no fun for… forever…..! With some relief I realised I don’t even know what corresponds to some of the products' names she mentions (can it be food if I’ve never heard of it?) and so am far from ‘gone’ down the healthy nut route. I do believe you live longer if you go Gandhi way but are you happy??? I still say no to meat but hey, one day am not discounting a return to bacon and corresponding packet of salt therein contained.

29 August - Russian Molls

I think this one is priceless. So this Russian female colleague is with us for a couple of days. On the Friday she says to one that she would like to go to the Portobello Road market. He groans but as she's taken him round Moscow on his previous trips he has no choice but to offer to accompany her. His escape route is that he's going to the Chelsea game in the afternoon. However as they meet early at Portobello Rd, when she says she'd like to go see the Diana memorial in Kensington.. he has no choice again but to traipse around with her. Eventually the time comes for him to leave her to it and go to the game so she asks (re. her plans for the evening) 'Do you know any rich single guys? Preferably bankers?' The poor guy is in IT so he probably feels like a pointless filler except that he's happily married to a lovely woman already and Russian colleague is not one of the pseudo Bond girls one imagines, but an altogether plainer one.
He said he didn't know what to say to her... Am dying to call her and find out which five star hotel she may eventually have gone to get a drink at... and if she was successful. I mean, am sure she's resourceful and would have got to that solution in one easy mental step. But you have to admire people who don't beat about the bush about what they seek.

28 August - Baby girls

An early morning text from Dear John to announce the birth of his baby daughter. Ahhhh, finally the Bun is out and she is given a lovely Latin sounding name. I text back congratulations and then think ‘Should I cry now?’ and I decided I should. A short little tear shedding moment, which gets buried in the BF’s shoulder. I hardly ever wished for a kid (maximum three times over more than twenty years and it was never a strong enough wish to do anything much about it) and am comfortable with that, but a baby is a baby and they receive so much love from everyone around them and more to come and smiles all around, and sometimes you just wish that were you. Freshly born today and with another 80 to 90 years ahead to take you to 2100. It’s always comes down to ‘me me me’ doesn’t it. Sorry about that. but if little new princes G needs me, I’ll be here. DJ you just have to ask.

27 August - Rum & Coke

If you can't beat them... join them. I mean, I hate the Notting Hill carnival for all the obvious reasons (too many people? and who really gives a shit for the tinfoil parade? I know, I know, it's a celebration and I whinge) but this time I had to go, on account of the BF liking it and having not attended last year, he was eager to exercise his curious gaze on the throngs, or thongs. Admittedly the thought of being able to find refuge in a home that's never more than half a mile away did ease my ... unease.

At the Gaz Rocking Blues system we find people our age, sort of, I mean, Gaz is older or has not had the same amount of hours of sleep we've had. My day is made by seeing Paul Simonon from the Clash looking not like the sex god he used to be, always neat, always with hair, as he now has to wear a hat but… he’s still a god. My eye is caught by Ray, the best kept grey haired dred I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing Moschino patchworked jeans. Are they for real? Were they ever allowed out of the factory in the 80’s? I can't imagine any white guy apart from billy ray cyrus ever attempting these. This would mean this guy’s shape has stayed the same for twenty odd years though, not bad. He's topped them with a plain Versace t-shirt, back to front kangol and sunglasses. He’s a sort of a Samuel L Jackson and he knows it. He's caught me looking so he moves sideways to catch me following him wiht my eyes and gives me the 'Ah Ha' smile, which is dazzling of course. I have to dance with him, whther he's 60 or 70, after all I also took some rum straight from an optic that was being passed around. He starts to grind and I blush I believe, I could stay here all day but the BF has also purchased a nifty hat that many people stop him to ask 'Where did you get the hat, man' and before he decides to grind with a snake hipped girl, I better regain my composure. We head back more slowly than we set off, the crowds are building up.

I get it, only way to tolerate Carnival is if you go out early, say at 1pm and retreat at 3pm before it gets too jammed and you get claustrophobic. It’s all fun if you miss street food (and the Thais have taken over a stretch of road and have a 3 year old child holding up a banner for '3 Red Stripe for £5' - child labour?) till you realise that one street away and several houses to the right, they’re having the mother of a party. Or maybe the party is nothing much but they’ve hired huge amp power and they don’t cut it out till 3am. I'm considering going to join it but Toph says we'd be dancing with people we don't know/won't speak to. Er... what is it that we've been doing all day? But the not twenty something me stays in bed quite happily.

Next day…

So it is that my second carnival outfit had to be the Kylie-esque gold pants I receivd as a gift a while back. I knew they'd come in handy one day. The first day outfit was ok (had saved some rainbow coloured skirt and top from a sale) but we took a detour to a friend's garden where the outfit was sadly far too colorful for a girl who'd just received as a birthday gift the most exquisite Prada black leather purse. So now am walking around with a madras chequered Etro long silk skirt tied above the chest and flowing open with every step I take on my matching gold platforms. Am counting on dense crowd not seeing legs too closely, but there’s a breeze and the crowd is not so tight yet so, I get the looks. Now am counting on the fact that when men catch a glimpse of naked thigh and crotch with the tiny shorts, they will see just that and retain a dreamy impression, and not see naked OLD and NOT taut skin on said legs. Women of course would notice both. Like I did when watching the girls in brazilian samba costumes outside the Mau Mau café. They were incredibly taut as all early twenties. But competing would be foolish.
So, after a while am enjoying the looks I get and Toph who has also clocked them, eventually walks 20 paces ahead and turns to see what the effect is and is shocked. It’s too much! Bless, it’s ok for him to ogle women but not for me to show some flesh. Double standards or what? But am hoping he’s secretly pleased his girl is getting looks. Let’s put it this way, he’s not a backward oik who would send me home to get changed.


We can’t find any music we like, or rather, I could do with the 'new' stuff but it's too Choice FM for the BF, so we head back to Gaz again only this time he has a real band on the stage which is good whilst they play A Message to You Ru-dy, and not so good when they plays something else. And then there’s an announcement about Superman flying and we look up to a crane from which a bare chested Mutoid Waste Company style guy is hanging ….by two hooks piercing his shoulder blades skin. He hangs for a very long time, two songs worth at least. We turn away from the quease inducing dangler, to walk and talk to a young policewoman nearby who feigns disinterest. We want to know if this is legal though the answer is probably obvious, no one else but the willing victim is involved in this stunt. She’s blond, very pretty and young and seems reluctant to say anything because… there it is, we see it flashing in the sunshine, she has a tongue stud!!! ‘You’re kindred spirits!’ says Toph, but she denies it. But she’s smiling. Wow, the Met is all inclusive, proof!

A bit more wondering and back inside for a while. We re-pot a plant or two and water the garden. Nobody seems to have used as a toilet yet. We’re Billy no mates, as nobody calls, not even to use the loo, , so the Wray and Mackay rum is all for me. Delicious… though such a shame cannot be drunk neat and have to mix with hated Coke. I know, I could try it with pineapple juice like they keep telling us on those cheesy Jamaican ads, but the thought of it is unpalatable to me. Back out at 6pm for the last two or three hours and to meet RD who’s in the area with some friends having escape the wife and kids he was with yesterday. Thank god for kiddies face painters is all I can say he would have said. Kids love the stuff and what with waiting in line for ages for their turn, a good hour or more is whiled away in that fashion. He’s at the Westbourne where thank god they are not playing Caribbean music but… the Clash. Hurrah. He’s got a respectable job in radio and a band that’s been going for twenty years and I’ve never heard of. It’s possible to stay under the radar for that long. I wonder how it feels to be 45 and not have tasted real success. Back in the days when he was on yoof TV I remember we used to stay up for it, it was so novel and different. Either coming back from clubs or just staying up late. Or was his slot on the Sunday morning yoof TV, what was it called? Janet Street Porter was lording over it and Magenta de Vine seemed like someone you envied for a jammy job going round the globe doing some touristy programme. But I digress.

I sit down next to a guy who turns out to be the bass player for Mika. I can’t talk to him about much without giving away the fact that I have barely heard two songs, hate the graphics, hate the retro (Scissors Sisters are my exception). I ask him if it’s not boring to have just the one album to play at festivals and gigs and he says they add covers. He's very discreet so no point digging for gossip about an artist I don't care about and whose number ones if he had any don't impress me, truly that artwork kills me. Must be a trend of Lily Allen origin. Ahhhh. He tells me he goes to Thailand twice a year for detox on Ko Samui to rid himself from tour food. How sensible! Another friend of theirs, D, is a very open about the fact he’s hating losing his hair at 48 year old. He’s pretty fit so I tell him with some care and attention he can age like rasta Ray or Paul Simonon and be still hot. And he could take up triathlon and sublimate it all on competing with other blokes. But he’s lamenting the lack of girlfriend, says he left the last one as he didn’t fancy her anymore and promptly proceeds to chat to two really ugly women. Beer glasses? At least they’re the right age. He’s smarting from being totally dissed by a twenty year old the night before. Hopefully he's not told her he's not a successful musician and works for a charity. The twenty somethings of todays seems to me are in training for pulling rich guys or famous ones. Sweetly I hear the BF say to him ‘What do you want with a twenty year old? Go older…’ So I add ‘But not mid-thirties, unless you’re prepared to shoulder impromptu fatherhood’. Clearly the spirit of Carnival is leaving me if I go down that route.

So we go a-wandering again. And I can see by 9pm why it can all turn very ugly. By now the sensible people have headed home or are about to and all that’s in the streets is large groups of young men fired up by alcohol and looking for some action. They’re hoping for love action but the females about are playing the long game of being chased and feigning disinterest (well it may be real but it’s also the usual strange courtship ritual). So in the absence of celebratory love action, the boys are at fever point and anything can set them off. In fact all of a sudden on Ladbroke Grove there’s a stampede, and people come flying against us escaping god knows what. The police go diving in but within a minute there’s no sign of what or why it happened but it’s dark, we’ve seen enough and we go. Bed beckons at 11pm. I guess Big Brother must be today's equivalent of yoof TV which must have seemed equally inane to the 40 somethings of the day. I wonder?

24 August - Trannies & Karaoke

What is it with karaoke? Is it this year’s ten pin bowling? Why are private booth type places opening and Sony launching a home kit? I know it can be addictive, anything cheese is, look at school discos and guilty pleasures. But how long do these silly trends last? And is there really any money in them? Can someone tell me?
So it is that we found ourselves at the Café de Paris for the launch of something called Songstar which was also raising money for an HIV charity and had various trannies doing Karaoke and vogueing on a catwalk/stage and awarded points by a ‘celebrity’ jury. During which it was observed that:
Sean Rowley is the only man I’ll ever tolerate a beard on. It was so soft when we kissed hello despite me never having been to any of his clubs or heard his radio show. You never forget the ones you coveted so much at some point. I hope I'm a good memory for him too.
Kelly Osbourne has good manners (she was very polite to the waiters) and is very pretty.
Giles Deacon does not look anything like a fashion designer (or maybe he does, Alexander MacQueen looked a bit thuggish too).
Jodie Harsh has good PR as he’s in various bits of press in the same week. Let's put it this way, a week ago I didn't know who he was and now I do know what he eats. Is this knowledge of any use to me? Of course not.
Jane Bruton, the editor of Grazia like all magazine editors looks pretty average despite all the help she can/could get.
Siobhan Fahey still doesn’t look comfortable in her skin and seems to check herself for when to smile or say something. Great dress though, and have I mentioned she’s one of my earliest two degrees? No, I never slept with ugly Kevin Rowland or less ugly and considerably richer Dave Stewart but with a first boyfriend of hers).
June Sarpong looks better with no make up on, just so much fresher and less mugging for the cameras.
Miquita Oliver needs to use deodorant. I didn’t notice but the BF did. Then again with no one smoking in clubs anymore all smells are heightened and those lights were hot.
Pam Hogg always looks amazing from a distance and it takes a little adjusting to see the age coming out from under the make up – wonder if she feels a little like Isabella Blow, ie people benefit from associating themselves with her but has she ever made any real money out of letting them hang out with her? Don’t think so. Maybe being a sort of punk Marianne Faithfull is reward in itself.

I then spoke to the largest (the other side of Barry White) black man in a sequin dress and a favourite performer of the evening and asked him what he does. I was fully expecting to be told he’s a nurse or a sous chef but he said he does this (drag) for a living. Toph can’t believe there’s money in it. Maybe he wants to try?
I run into a familiar face from my past (oops, mixing tenses again, do forgive) , Steve J and I have to ask him what his name is to place him whilst I look at him trying to place me. Can’t be more than five years since I last run into him but memory really is beginning to falter. So many names, so many faces. He tells me who he is and my name then comes onto his lips. Ahhh, always a lovely man, tells me the friend we have in common, Rene’ G. has moved to Toronto two years ago with his wife. Clearly I’m not a good friend of his or I’d know but here really ought to be a middle term to qualify people who are not mere acquaintances but not close friends… Anyway SJ has a label with Patrick Lilley, must check it out. Am very fond of PL though we’re not friends either, but back in the early 80’s he was friends with my first adored boyfriend M. and always seemed please to see him/us. My god he’s been promoting stuff for 25 years, he should get a medal for lasting this long. Sooo tiring. All these young contenders. This time I don’t bother to search for the nod and smile as truly, we’d never then talk about anything. C’est la vie.
The House of ? and House of ? (can't remember names) are pretty entertaining, we do love a costume and there are good voguers. Those were the days, late 80's... The BF who likes a good ogle, has to check with me on several occasions whether 'Is that a man or a woman?' as he needs to be sure before he fantasises that he's lusting after a female and not a bloke with a small Adam's apple.

I forget to say that at the door I got waived in by a lovely blonde who’s friends with an ex friend of mine and whose name has not come to me for the entire evening. I have spent other evenings with this woman, I like her, I can think of the names of other friends of hers (most notably ubiquitous club designer Sean) but not hers. There’s an S in there but it’s not Sharon. Darn, I had bought a ticket after all for Toph and was still trying to pick it up with her kindly pushing me inside. Have not been waved in for a while. Forgot how nice it is not to queue. Super in fact. We were home by 12 o/c. I do love S Rowley but if you play Phil Collins, I have to leave the room. No exceptions can be made.

19 August - Girl's Guide - random episodes

Darn, Tara Palmer-Tomkinson is in the Sunday Times punting her book of advice to naughty ladies. Damn it. I dole out the same stuff but couldn’t ever get a book deal for it as nobody would buy the advice of a nobody (well, we all know I’m a legend in my own little world but in terms of notoriety I’m not deluded). And yet for example some of her suggestions are part of my philosophy and those about holiday snaps are my credo exactly. I don’t accessorise with fatter friends to make me look better but I have used other bodies to shield me. I don’t hide behind deckchairs if someone brandishes a camera, but I certainly quickly grab the scarf or whatever it is that gets artfully draped around me and I do the three quarters turn a’ la red carpet. I forbid photos at the beginning of a holiday (beach ones) until one has acquired a little bit of colour, shed the fluid retention and a bit of flab and become more attractive. I’ve even converted Toph to this protocol by taking some unflattering pics. of him in red Speedos (yes I do allow them) at the start of Indian holiday where one notices the love handles, hint of man-boobs and assorted stomach flab (little but it was there) and compared these to pictures of tanned yoga god a the end.
I forbid pictures in harsh morning/lunch light and prefer afternoon softer hues. I believe in heels even if photo is from waist up as it gives you a better posture, in this, sadly I am with Vicky Beckham and Jlo, even Uma Thurman’s ankles look weird if she’s photographed walking barefoot on the sand so what hope for me? Hats are great accessories (and I don’t mean baseball caps) and you should always have lashes coated to look natural and always, always wear some kind of lip colour or gloss which catches the light. Makes all the difference and I’d go further to say white pencil for inside bottom eye lid and top of your lips. This year I lost my concealer and stupidly didn’t replace it on the beach so now all my summer photos display the pesky sun ‘stain’ on my cheek that I’ve yet to manage to remove. Bugger. And bugger T P-T, that’s my book you bitch.

18 August - Tits

Oh dear…. I had not bargained for this, for essentially being a woman and always finding fault with bodies with which as we all know, we have a very complex relationship. So there I was ecstatic about the svelte Lisa in slinky Rifat Ozbek pants from ten years ago, shaking it on the dance floor and having assorted friends admire the 2-pack stomach (well I don’t want to work as hard as a bloke do I?) when no amount of looking at them from whichever angle could disguise the fact that the bras look a bit forlorn now that the detox and exercise has removed the only beloved fat I have ie. on my TITS.

I mean, they are ok but they’re aging and seeing them some inches down from where they stood in their glory has already upset me enough since I crossed this current decade and having less of them is… just not on. I shall have to eat lots, more than before in fact to replenish the bosoms’ shelf or very soon I won’t tolerate being anywhere where they are on display on young bodies. I had dinner with a 17 year old the other day who told me (as noticed me staring at her boobs trapped in tiny vest) that ‘My boobs keep growing, I don’t know why.. I’m a F now’. I could have hit her. It was bad enough the other night watching this Spanish film from a few years ago, “Sex and Lucia” (a total mis-title if I ever came across one, yes there was sex but not that much and the film was about so much else). Two of the three female leads where ultra attractive and in their mid-twenties and every time they removed their clothes - and they were naked a lot on various desert beaches etc. - I could only but stare at their tits: perfectly round, and solid and whiter than the rest of their bodies, and sitting high on their chests... and just gorgeous. Like mine used to be. Oh ok, I probably back then wanted a different nipple, more permanently erect would have been good, but for example size of aerola was fine by me, oh, now I think about it I also wanted them to be closer together, to have more natural cleavage but .. there were always bras for that, nice 32C bras which now seem to have the top half empty of flesh. How do you stop mourning about your lost super tits? I mean, the BF likes what I have, they're a major improvement on tiny size of his ex’s, so he's well happy, can't fall asleep if has not had a feel, but… he’s never met my 26 year old breasts! He'd have loved those. I have only a few years left before I’ll have to start having sex keeping my bra on, even when I’m lying down. What a ' orrid prospect.

Ok, I was never someone who had to complain that men stare down at my front (they’re within the norm and I didn’t flash them around like that) but I admired them every day. We can all fiddle with bras and stuffing but I don’t care how tey look under clothes, gosh I could wear a Dolly Parton bra if that was the case. No, I’m not into deceiving anyone else, it’s just me and the mirror or me and my hands on them when I fall asleep. These past few weeks I’ve cupped them a lot, wonder if anyone’s noticed at work for example. Probably just regularly to check they’re not diminished further. The Brazilians know about all this. There, their very famous plastic surgeon Ivo Pitanguy, does pro-bono work for a few hundred dollars instead of thousands because he believes it’s every woman’s right to have beautiful and FIRM tits. Maybe there’s small consolation in the fact that I’m not dating a tits obsessed Brazilian or I’d be ordered to have the boob job or else. But surgery is out of the question for me, I don’t want to feel anything alien under the skin, but it’s a sad truth that you cannot have a 26” waist and huge tits naturally (a D cup would make me very happy to be honest, C was never enough) or some people do but very few. Latino girls seem to have the proportions right.. when they’re young. You want D? Then the rest of you looks like Martine McCutcheon. You look like Gwyneth? Then you have to go to the surgeon.

This is not fair and is an especially boring as has replaced worry about thighs and even saggy knees. Considering this level of preoccupation it’s a given that I’ll get breast cancer and they’ll both have to be removed and I’ll just not allow it and will die instead.

17 August - Various

So, this always happens. I don't know how other bloggers do it, I think they blog every evening about the day's events or every morning about yesterday's events. I don't seem to manage any of these two protocols because ... I'm hardly ever home doing nothing in the evening so that's out of the window. I come in... I go to bed. Clearly awake for a while longer but... not typing. And in the morning life takes over (in the form of 'Shit, why do I always fall for sex in the morning and look I'm late for work). Later in the day I jot down a few lines about what I may want to blog about eventually and the later becomes... a week and I haven't expanded. And I don't use computers at the week end.

But in case anyone is on this page regularly and sees a blank space where a week should be, here's what I will eventually 'cover' in a retro-active sort of way:

Fruitstock (again) - maybe I'll ditch this, was a couple of weekends ago.
ok am now writing this two weeks later just to experiment with what it would all be like with distance and would I care for hal of what i do/did. Furitstock was pleasant as sun was hot that day. We sat with friend and child who had missed going on holiday with wife and two other siblings as eldest child was not updated on parents passport. Much money wasted later in rebooking flights meant they got to go to the Med. on the same day we then wandered to.. below

The East London '1 2 3 4' festival and Har Mar Superstar 'Ladies! I'm single! Who wants to fuck me' rally call
this was probably a bridge to far to do in one day and without a car having decided to give Ken support and using London transport which on a rare sunny day meant half the tube drivers had called in sick so it took forever. We got there and it was ugly. By which I mean I can share the sentiments of sean mcclusky in bringing a small festival to a parched and ugly field off the Commercial Road but it felt just wrong and the music was nothing special. I enjoyed looking at the kids who totally remind me of people/us I used to know 25 years ago or so. Everyone is a version of someone I knew, the Art school kid, the skinny punk, the 50's retro girl, the I wish I was in the Factory girls and boys (both Warhol and Manchester) but the game pales after a while. We did get to meet some friends and we did get to walk back to Kings Cross via the canalside with Toph having to admit some backstreets of Islington/Angel are not bad. But it then took forever to get on Hamm/City line and we must have been tired as got on Circle line instead, missed a stop ended up having to find a cab and basically called Ken a C unt several times. Well me, T doesn't use the word.

Prince's gig
What can I say, I was lucky to go on a good night when he did a long show as opposed to night some friends went to where he shaved off 40 mins off the set I saw. It all felt to short in any case, could have gone on and on and yes, right now there's an element of pantomime. Possibly having to use the stage in such a way that disperses energy with the band in a semi pit and he didn't do the splits because perhaps he's not so supple anymore. Plus when you play in the round the sound is never that good but no gripes. My friend R. had gone to see Babs Streisand a few weeks before and that was a total con what with her not being on stage for long sections left in the hands of the young tenors/singers she had drafted in. It's good to singalong. Cheers you up even if you can't sing and I can't. A puzzle though... Everywhere we looked there were families of obese people. The row in front of us had mum, dad, and two daughters. His neck was as big as my leg. It was... bizarre. Again a white affair. Prince is not cutting edge.


D.'s Sunday lunch and Brick lane mini bar crawl
this was good. TV friend of Toph with terrace in modern block in Brick Lane. Lovely food and enough people there I already knew to make it nice and informal. Plus met three new ones and ended up on a mini bar crawl till late. Nothing of much interest can have been said as I can't remember it and only remember the name of the woman, B. , not of the guys but at the time it was relaxing enough.

A. and Richard Branson
am now not supposed to write about this.. but it's to do with work not anything more interesting. Just a good gig a friend of a friend got. And we're jealous.

The Proms
Lovely Mahler and some lieders sung by amazing German baritone. Was only able to stay for first half but totally think places like that where you have to be more silent than a tibetan monk are a modern form of enforced meditation. You close your eyes and you're off. Majorly old people though... and not full on the night Paarvo Jarvi was conducting.

The K. /Candace Bushell/ James Purefoy/private club empire owner/Ibiza thing

Roka dinner and Boujis night
young friend's birthday dinner. Mega expensive at Roka but good, shame Natalie Portman not there on our night. Got to talk to the wanna be suave SD who has written his own Wikipedia entry and makes himself sound totally mega interesting. There's a good dose of self-aggrandising involved, it's the way he tells it. You see Emmy nominated producer and in the context of it you think Emmy winner but it turns out he was part of the production team for a series of which some progs were Emmy nominated. Anyway, if you don't do your own PR then who doees. He was dining with young architect g/friend but not the one who may be mother of his kids shortly. We had a strange exchange about my BF but I'm rather pleased with my repartee. He said something about maybe I need to tie the BF to a chair and get the strap on out. I looked at him and said 'S. , stop projecting... but if you want me to come round...'. He didn't blush though.
We then went on to Boujis were we had a table booked but they kept us waiting outside in a queue long enough to see who else was going in there and we thought 'Is this the clientele? Oh no, young arab princes and assorted Chelsea wannabees, no, no, no !' So we taxied back home still tasting the lovely black cod and other delicacies served at Roka. B'day girl had no stamina anyway, was half asleep on boyfriend's shoulder when I was still up for a dance.

J. (the champagne king) and the CIA woman in Arizona

The Pigalle night
was fab, with Michel from Prince's band doing a fantastic job of whipping up a frenzy of excitement and musicians outdoing each other. But there was a better night to come of which.. later. Luca who plays guitar for Natasha Bedingfield is a dish though...

The Lucky voice night
Against my better judgement I followed 7 other women to this and acquitted myself ok with covering Bjork covering It's Oh So Quiet! Shhhh, Shhhhh. Yes, that and the Supremes, they're easy. However, saying no to alcohol when pisshead friend no. 1 keeps wanting to make everyone drink is very hard. Oh and the louder the volume, the more you raise your voice, the sooner you get hoarse and so on. I passed on original other choices such as Hong Kong Garden by the Banshees as the lyrics seemed very crap. And nobody would have known Talking Heads in my group so I'd have been weird.

FR. and the Thai woman plus B. the current g/friend of a few years - imminent mormon style relationship arrangement

The Chinawhite night
After the missed night at Boujis I had to take birthday girl somewhere and she enjoyed Chinawhite which had not changed since I last went there five years ago or so. If anything it was all BB wannabees which makes you want to puke. And as usual only guys with 'tables' (ie. guaranteed spend on expensive bottles) and all the girls vieying for a chance to join them or not. Some guys can buy all the champagne you like and still you wouldn't go there. Feminism never happened. Or girls spend their cash on handbags and not on securing a private table. Don't know. This reminds me that when I went there five years ago, maybe it was longer than five, I met this guy who didn't seem that attractive to start with but grew on me and when I went back with him, as you do, had one of those nights where you throw all the furniture around in the pursuit of more and more sex. He was great. However by 'date' no. 3 he had turned into a self-gratifying male who didn't spend much time on me so it ended quite amicably and I still remember his name, LG.

IVF

A.' s rape

More tales from the beauty and fashion world

Summer sex
It's great when you don't sleep under covers and come back from late night bathroom visit to see the sated and happy shape of your lover asleep, looking angelic and not snoring. Bliss.

See my predicatment? It's all too much. Too many late nights and in case anyone ever wonders if am making them up and if all of the above happened in one week (minus the two 'old events'), I'm well known for fitting in more than one event per evening. Other people find it exhausting but not me. I maintain that if you don't get drunk (alcohol depletes your energies like nothing else I know) you can keep going. But for example a friend who I invited to a drink on Saturday if she's free, replied to say it was going to be one of her busiest days of the year with 5 parties to go to, 2 in the day time and 3 in the evening. Instead of saying 'That's just mad!', I was thinking of how much it would cost to hire a driver for the day and have him ferry me from one event to the other without spending time and stress on London Transport. In fact, that's what she should definitely consider.

Uh ho, I feel better for seeing in black and white what I will have to tackle. There is of course a suggestion I never follow, whch is to just do a short paragraph instead of a long one. Concise is not a word anyone would apply to me. Or just not bother? Don't all agree at once.

10 August - Prince & his Paupers

I’m going to see Prince tomorrow. The BF doesn’t have a ticket as am taking my original Prince fan no. 1 friend, the fabulous ‘My hair colour shall never be the same 3 months running’ R. We stood on our seats at Wembley so many years ago that we don't remember when. We were 6 or 7 rows from the front and we loved it, would have given right arm to be Wendy and Lisa or Sheila E. I have a memory of then seeing him doing an after-show at the Camden Palace but I think this is a false memory. Like I think I saw him at the Lyceum but that can't be right as didn't live in London then, and yet, and yet... why do I think I was there???

Anyway, I have tried to get the BF a ticket on Ebay but couldn’t really bid higher than face price as had little money in Paypal and despite topping it up, the funds won’t get there till next week, so too late. Sorry if this is very boring. The BF says he doesn’t mind too much as he’s also seen Prince many years ago and it was so good then and can’t believe it can be that good now despite the reviews. We think there’ some kind of collective marketing hysteria that goes on and spreads as this is the gig everyone and their dog is going to see him. I wonder who’s behind the plan. I mean, 3 years ago you’d have had empty seats at the Apollo if he did more than 2 nights, so is this just the power of the Daily Mail? I should be told. This tour should be used in marketing and advertising masterclasses surely…

Never met the guy, surely it's also time. How can I engineer getting into his entourage? I bet he still uses BC and Jason I. as part of his publicity machine. They're no friends of mine but a little slutting for Prince would be ok with my conscience.

9 August - Bridges & Jogs

Today feel like Madonna or just feel like am having a Madonna day. No, I did not wake up to check whether little David Banda had done his 2 hours of baby yoga and eaten his special rice milk but… because I went for a jog at 7.30 with colleague. Don’t ask, am just chuffed that a three time marathon runner and endurance runner of 60km etc finds me not totally worthless of jogging alongside her. Then had a Powerplate session at lunchtime and then went to beauty place where I had 20 mins of those weird metal pads connected to a machine that sends electrical current to the pads and makes your muscles spasm as if they were exercising. Oh and I rode my bike there. That must make it half of Madonna’s daily hours dedicated to fitness, but the day is not over and I could go to a club and dance if I wanted to. I certainly don’t feel tired. Now, back to planning my next 3 world tours before I keel over at 55. It has to be said that exercise begets exercise. When we turned the corner right on Embankment at Blackfriars Bridge and I saw Waterloo Bridge and the Hungerford pedestrian bridge, for the first time possibly ever I thought ‘Oh, it’s just over there’ (we were looping back to Southwark bridge) instead of ‘SHIT, I hate all this!!! Why am I doing it?’ Quite a nice feeling to have and am aready planning how to go faster. Buy a decent pair of running shoes for a start.

8 August - Biscuit & Die

‘s been a long time but I ate a biscuit today. After 2 weeks more or less w/o sugar (ok some square of dark chocolate, doesn’t count), it did taste very odd. Didn’t like it or felt I wanted another one. Maybe it was because it’s been in my drawer for er.. a while? However, much has to be said for cutting everything out but the healthy stuff. If I don’t watch it, am now on my way to do a Rachel Zoe or a Nicole Ritchie. Put on a pair of trousers today and had to go and look for a belt. I don’t do belts much, but they were falling off. And the persistent pound or two of cellulite I’ve been carrying forever on little saddle bags has almost disappeared. Blimey, should have tried to hit it this way a long time ago. So much time wasted in considering whether to have lipo or not. But too many bad stories heard, including friend’s sister who was left with damage to a muscle which constantly feels like it’s pulled. Not a good sensation to have day in day out. Oh and her first tit job, they put one implant in upside down. Unlucky or what? And was not back street cheapo job either. Thank god I never spent the thousands – always imagining I’d need Ivo Pitanguy to do me, and what with the trip to Brazil etc, I just haven’t come round to it. The thousands are better used surely going to Thailand once a year and repeating this kind of home made detox over there.

7 August - If the face don't fit

I met a new potential friend at the gym a while back. She asked to go for drink/coffee as we work near each other. I did: 2 lunches and 1 evening drink. She asks for another lunch. We’re both busy all the time so hard to fit it in. However am not in a hurry. I don’t want new g/friends. I have no desire to share history/whinging about life with anyone new. We talked work for 10% of the time and the rest was the usual 'There was this guy, but.....'(fill in per script). She’s 7/8 years younger than me. Great figure, not an attractive face or voice. And I hear the words of a male friend who said ‘You don’t have any good looking g/friends’ . I disagree frankly (and any of you reading this pls. don’t take offence) but I know what he means, all my g/friends have aged well or less well and there’s hardly any under 40 and he wouldn’t find much to pick with the over 40 ones. He’s over 40 himself but as we all know there’s a major double standard at work between man and women ageing. I consider briefly going on some Facebook or the like and soliciting a gathering of gorgeous young women just for one evening. I guess I’d get half a dozen and then could just ask him to come along and meet some of my new friends. And see his face. I would instruct all said young and attractive women to talk to him by all means but to studiously avoid giving him the impression they’d be interested in someone his age/level of attractiveness/wallet status. That would teach him a valuable lesson ie. we all spend years hanging on to the friends we like and losing the ones we don’t value enough/need/get enough from or give to and now’s not the time to go judging them on their looks and this from me, a self-confessed major lookist. Having said that, in the summer there’s always an article or two talking about women and their less or more attractive g/friends and even those new articles about getting a slim friend if you want to be healthy as you’d copy her lifestyle more than the slim friend would be influenced by the fat friend lifestyle. In other words, fat friend may eat more salads, slim friends will not eat more doughnuts. I’d have no major hang-ups about going on holiday with J Lo if she invited me. Granted I’d be J Lo’s mate to most or nearly all who meet us, but I doubt they wouldn’t know my name by end of day 1. And yes, they’d be stupid to think they can pull me if she wasn’t interested in them enough. I’d have a good bullshit detector for the ‘can’t get the singer, let’s go for the backing singer’ manoeuvre. I have simply and studiously avoided going on holiday with any g/friends (bar the long w/ends here and there) because I’d just get bored of hanging abroad with someone I don’t hang with 24/7 in London either. I love them, but I only go on holiday with men I’m having sex with or there’s too many down hours. Sounds harsh but that’s my ethos on this. So I'll have to come up with a few ‘Can’t make it’ and see if potential new g/friend backs away naturally. Wonder if recently I've met anyone I'd like to see more of and they've not responded... Ah yes, still smarting over belle babette not ever getting in touch and ignoring my invites. She's just bought a flat in Soho with the cash from divorce settlement and is seeing an old friend who not so bizarrelly is connected to my good friend G. I must be boring to her for sure and I never fussed enough over her tiny dogs. Or god knows what it is...

6 August - Autumn conundrums

Leafing through August issues of fashion mags. Ok, I notice the squareish and rigid leather handbags. Should have seen it coming after all the slouchy soft ones we’ve had so far. Darn me and finally clearing out some in that shape/materials recently. I know friends laugh at me not chucking away anything but now I’d be smugly considering I don’t have to spend good money on buying something I had!
I also notice lots of thick winter woolly suits sort of like 40’s and 50’s style. Oh my god I need to be thinner! Oh hang on, I already am. 8st exactly, I've chucked all I can at the cellulite this time and it’s finally worked. The legs are firmer. It’s v. exciting. Why didn’t I bother with all of this say ten years ago? How come resoluteness and bloody mindedness come with age? They’re not good things btw.

On with a non sequitur but… being slinky and foxy makes you even more attractive to yourself and naturally to the BF. Is it possible to have too much sex? Man am tired. There’s something to be said for not seeing your lover for a few weeks, it does add a lot of hunger to it. There’s also the ‘Has he done this move on me before? Or is it new? And if it’s new how did he come up with it? Did he learn it on hotel porn channel or for real?' - see previous posts on the subject and btw his explanation is that the escort numbers are from a few years ago when the ex cut out sex for several months in retaliation for…just not committing to her fully/buying the house/having the babies. Mmmhhh, I think she was probably already getting it elsewhere, but was kind enough not to put forward this theory. However, I've accepted his explanation as for the moment it's conveniently continental to let things lie.
I mean I have been known to watch my porn and adjust my techniques accordingly or get inspired to try something different. Must ask him. We definitely did some mid level acrobatic stuff recently and that was not the norm. On the other hand mustn’t grumble, if your sex life gets even better at nearly two years in, it’s got to be cause of celebration that this is the opposite of what usually gets mentioned ie. some decline in interest/variety?
Ok here’s the deal, if he doesn’t go away again soon, and current quality falls below par, I’ll put in a solo trip somewhere to keep it fresh.

5 August - Architecture & Design

Was leafing through American Design and Architecture magazine full of incredible buildings – mostly museums and hotels and offices – I mean, mere mortals cannot compete with houses who have a similar breath-taking factor. I’d be the first to ask Oscar Niedermeyer to do my new house but why would he use his time on a house when he can design a church or an airport. Anyway, I realise I know no names and nothing much about this world (ok Schrager, Pawson, Stark and so on but that’s just like saying you know who Marco Pierre White is, not like saying you now his equivalent in Canada or Japan, or indeed who's hot on their heels). For example there’s an article about a Matteo Thun who’s 55 and an associate of Ettore Sottsas. Know who that is but never heard of Thun and yet he’s re-branded Illy and Campari to name just two. I wonder why I’ m not into Art and Architecture. I do have friends who salivate over these mags and I don’t buy them, just come across them. Decide it’s because I see no point in being into art objects as I think I’d want them all and a) how to afford them and b) where to put them? Handbags are easier. If you filled your house with design furniture then you’d have to live with the stuff for years unless you’re Donald Trump and keep adding new houses so you can add new furniture. I’d want a new painting, rug, chair like I want new shoes ie. often, sort of like once a week (thank you Jesus for assorted good second hand shops and fabulous sales so I’m not actually one of those people carrying a 10k debt). Owning just one or two perfect pairs would not satisfy me, and furniture and buildings are harder to update. I could argue with myself that in the meantime I’ve lived with the same sofa anyway. Bought in 1987, it has changed upholstery only, gasp, once in twenty years. Out with the Timney Fowler all the rage in late 80's, and in with plain cream which is of course by now totally outdated. But I see what’s around me as… well I don’t see it past its function. I would not walk into my house every time and think ‘God, I love that £800 lamp by ??? (insert name). So long as my bed-sheets are white, I’m happy. But many other people do up houses and then sell on. I couldn’t. As I don’t let go of many possessions, I couldn’t let go of a house. I’d have to be like Sting when in fact I’m like Stewart Copeland who says he has the money but keeps only one house, one car. That’s my boy.
Ps there’s an article in the magazine about limited edition items. Someone has thought of making a fox fur …. Hammock. See, my imagination doesn’t stretch to thinking of one. Though now that I've seen it, I can think of nothing else. Having sex in a black fox fur hammock. How can I get to it? Do you think I can just order one, keep it for a few days and then send it back? How, how, how??? I don’t think anyone who reads this blog has one but who knows, it may have reached some Russian oligarch. Get in touch. I need to lie on one, sleep on one, do whatever you want on one.

3 August - Blog fatigue

Having blog fatigue, which is common presumably. I’ve heard this writer on the radio talk about having a column for some Scottish newspaper and how after about six months the novelty of giving out your opinion on everything wears thin and … you have no opinion or you have a similar opinion to another opinion you already have. And you don’t get out of a short set of topics. Or if you do, and say you’re a lightweight commentator and you get asked about the war in Iraq, sure you give your opinion but why should anyone give a fuck and what does your opinion actually contribute to? To an ocean of more opinions, think about all the opinions of all the opinionated all over the world. The mind boggles.
If you were to read this blog from the beginning it would be easy to work out what I think about most of the time (like those vignettes in newspapers where thy portion out celebrities’ brains and if it’s Daniel Radcliffe, half of his thinking time is on Harry Potter and so on) as I only write about certain subjects: sex, Toph, health and fitness, a little cultural stuff sometimes books, sometimes a movie, sometimes a show, music, very little TV, fashion, my friends’ predicaments (which include sex, relationships, health, hobbies, kids, pets and so on), the kids they have and the kids I don’t have and TRAVEL. No cooking, no politics, no saving the world, not even recycling (been refusing plastic bags for years me, mate, why wake up to it now?). That’s about it, sum of my life. Is this ok? Doesn’t look like much. In fact, it’s depressing. Think I need to go do one of those ten days all silence, all inward meditation retreats and seriously come up with something better to write about.

2 August - P Diddy & Gods

We were discussing dirty dawg P Diddy and Penelope Cruz staying the night on his yacht. Am trying to picture it. She could have called a minion to bring her fresh clothes the next morning before leaving in the ones from the night before so she’s either setting it up deliberately or.. she doesn’t care. Or she wanted to spite Bono or something. Anyway.. an email arrives from male colleague who had to listen said inane discussion. He writes that he just brushed past PD but no PC in sight. Takes me a while to work out what he’s on about and remember he left yesterday for hol. In St Tropez ahhh.

Later on the same evening I go to a snazzy book launch by no longer struggling author.
tbc

1 August - Morgan Freeman

Toph rings excited and exhilarated by having had his day of filming MF in Clarksdale go well. He had to direct him (though we’re talking documentaries, not movies) and in giving him directions he had to ask MF to do it again with a different emphasis. He said he felt his voice die in his throat when he heard himself tell the Oscar winner ‘It’s too… technical, too dry’. But MF is a pro, he raised an eyebrow and let Toph know it was ok to tell him to do it again and they were off. He also had the good sense of humour to acknowledge the elephant in the room in the form of a young disabled woman who, in the absence of budgets for make up, had been called in to apply the anti shine face powder to his brow. The girl who had noisy leg braces which allowed for slow and laborious movement, introduced herself by saying ‘Hi, am XX and I’m your runner for the day’. To which MF replied very gently and kindly, looking at her legs, ‘I see….!’ Toph says this had the effect of putting everyone at ease about her and besides she was beautiful so MF who’s a sprightly 70 year old, did a small amount of playful flirting. MF rules!

Toph says I can have the Mac face powder I got him to buy for this at the airport (remember, no budgets these days, the director goes to get the make up and the lights and the cup of coffee and a doughnut presumably) and the brush which will have touched MF’s face… wonder if that goes on Ebay? Oscar tinted powder…as also used on Nona Hendryx and Chris Thomas something who was in ‘Oh Brother Where are Thou?’. And what six degrees can I play with Toph and MF and MF linking to god knows who? Tim Robbins, Susan Sarandon, the list goes on.

30 July - NOTW or was it the Mirror?

Went to see Chicane recently. Poor lambs, they (or I should say he, as it’s one person’s band) want to be taken seriously as regular pop/rock songwriters now that the super clubs and superstar djs’ no longer appeal. But the crowd (in a regular live venue, not a club) was just waiting for the old hits. They dropped a few throughout the set but really saved the best ones till last. By that point it was too late to dance really to ‘Don’t Give Up‘, ‘Saltwater’ and others (I was not a major fan). And it’s like ten o’ clock on a Friday hardly dance hour is it? So it seemed silly to see people punching the air but I was jealous of a few couples next to me who were turning to each other with that love recognition sing, the look straight into each other’s eyes as if to say ‘Oh my god baby, do you remember when we danced to this in… (insert name of club/bar/beach in Thailand, Ibiza, Bali and so on). I don’t have many memories like that as never had clubby/hedonistic beach boyfriends. Or rather, there was Craig and the full moon raves but have no idea what the music was back then. Early 2000. Could look it up I guess. No major tune apart from endlessly repeated Café del Mar compilations in our little hut, falling asleep to Groove Armada or some such. Makes sense at the time.
Anyway, all this to link to the following. A few days later at work ….

I've worked at my present place for a year and for 8/9 months have sat opposite this great girl called DE. She's the one I go to the gym with often and generally the one who gets everybody out for things like stupid karaoke, stupid pole dancing and lunches galore. She’s 30 something, lives in Essex, loves Big Brother and Vicky Becks, but I forgive her.

She saw me nodding my head to music and asked what I was listening to … It was Chicane, I was checking them out on Myspace as a reminder. I said ‘Ibiza clubby old stuff, chicane if you remember them’. I further added, darn that I never went to Ibiza in all these years considering I used to know Mr Tong and Mr FBS. DE said she went for a crazy hen w/end a 8 years ago with her friend S. and because S.’s friend is Rav Singh he put them on guest lists to all the clubs and they had a grand old time. My turn to say 'My friend CH knows Rav Singh really well too !!! (and we sold him some gossip years ago when he was at the Mirror or NOTW or the Sun who knows. It was hilarious, we got free Reading tix and cash for some frankly innocuous gossip). DE replies ‘I think I know your friend CH then, she was with us at the hen w/end and going on about this guy R she'd just met.

If you ever need proof that some people gravitate together no matter what jobs they do and that the pool of people you know/meet is small and you’ll meet them all, this is it. I was chief bridesmaid at CH’s wedding to R. only a few years ago and we’re best friends. However, after frantic exchange of emails to CH and S to tell them respectively I work with someone who knows someone who was at the same Ibiza hen w/end… it emerges that CH and S have not been in touch with each other for a long time. However Rav is about to get married to I don’t’ remember who now…

29 July - Handbag search psychology

Am out with my plastic pseudo crinkly beige Prada I bought a mere two months ago in Lisbon for a few euros. It was alright at the time as it didn’t seem to come from the same Chinese factory that makes all those ghastly plastic handbags or I so deluded myself it was ‘different’. However, the vinyl has began so seriously peel off and I hate scruff. So am in Retro Woman and see a gorgeous Furla handbag for £120, brand new and in cream ostrich type leather. I fall in love but am now wise to the fact that such surface will get dirty instantly rubbing against my clothes, god forbid I should wear a pair of jeans. That blasted indigo has even ruined shoes by leaving blue streaks on them. I uhm and er and eventually leave it after asking if they’d drop to £80 in which case I’d have taken the risk and the future pain. When something is scuffed I no longer love it. Then I search all charity shops nearby, why not, I have spare time on my own, nobody is going to suffer waiting around for me. I see nothing I like as much as the Furla but at 5.50pm I then buy a soft bag which is a bit too sporty for me in Dune for £26 and also despite the fact it has brass buckles things and I hate brass. But it’s good enough to allow me to chuck the pseudo Prada immediately. Only a couple of hours later when I get home I then remember I have the camel coloured one short handles ostrich type leather one that I have forgotten to get out this year. Damn. I console myself with the fact hat the Dune one was cheap and has long handles. I need handles to go over shoulder as can’t do the Jackie O carrying handbag. Whoever does that has my admiration. If I had a Hermes I’d be constantly trying to heave it over my shoulder and not just hold it on forearm.

I remember the photographs that Auntie Annmarie (émigré’ bride to South America in late 50’s) used to send to our family. In all the photos she was always carrying a Jackie O style handbag outdoors and hilariously indoors! And she’d be wearing or holding the short gloves. That was her idea of top style/decorum and she stuck to it. My sister and I always wondered what did she have in the small handbag? A purse, a handkerchief, a lipstick and mirror… Life was so simple. I lug books in there and spare shoes and huge make up bags and sun tan lotions and food …. In fact giant handbags would be me if they didn’t dwarf a shortish person. Am reminded I recently chucked a book on Jackie O given me by the boyfriend who also had the Audrey Hepburn fixation. That's what he wanted and I so love Gisele Bundchen (when she's wearing Cavalli, not jeans and a tee). Go figure how we lasted two years.