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

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

Friday, January 26, 2007

26 January - Third tier models

A Thursday night at the Barfly in Camden (easily been over a year or maybe even 2 since last time I stepped in here). I can’t stop looking at the youngsters socialising on the ground floor, don’t think they’re here for the gig. I spot very few people my age and Ezzy. This used to be our life. Out every night for some work that only seemed like work if the artist in question was not successful (we felt their pain) or if their music was not what we liked. I remember once when someone thought Indian ragga would cross over and I had to work an artist in that field. Boy was that a mountain to climb, boy did I not care, boy did I never manage to drag along any friend to keep me company, boy did I hate my job in those hours.

Anyway, we’re here to see Futon. Simon from Suede is their drummer. The rest are mad Orientals. Matt from Suede is easily spotted at the back as he’s 6ft 4’ or similar, and then I turn and there’s the lovely lovely lovely – can I say it one more time? LOVELY Brett looking healthy, tall and classic in his blue pea coat and just aging in an imperceptible David Bowie sort of way. Just you know… a getting better and better way, compare to early photos from 15 years ago or so if you don’t believe me (on his website).
The next day I look up his g/friend, on the internet, the woman who wakes up next to him everyday since '03. She’s a model so no one can compete, probably. A quick google and she turns out to be on the books of an agency that only does events, not catwalks or magazines. Meow! Am happy, strong competition but not impossible to overcome if one was determined. There’s literally hundreds of these model and I waste ages clicking along. What a new world am discovering. One could easily own a company that is nothing special, but you could have a launch and you can hire yourself lots of belles from this agency and hope that at the end of the evening, they stay around for more champagne, like your Porsche and dream of getting out of a job requiring much draping of your body around various products. By contrast, the male section is poorly populated. Wonder why this disparity? Not fair. If I wanted to hire myself some male models I’d have to end up with real third raters. Yes young, yes cute but sort of nothing special at the same time.

24 January - Shoes & Knickers

That old familiar fave topics of mine. Today am wearing a pair of shoes, very Prada-esque from a few years ago. They’re in very good nick, the shiny calf leather hardly creased. Their slightly chunky heels are not too passe’. The not too pointy front makes them hard to date. Makes you think though, at some point I would have coveted this style and been prepared to pay a handsome price for them. Who knows how much they cost, I never keep boxes. Now they’re just another pair of shoes to be worn at work.

Toph is ambling through the West End and phones excited as has just spotted an Intimissimi shop at the horrid end of Oxford St. What’s he doing there? Ah, he parks north of Oxford St en route to Soho of course. He says there’s no need now to go to Italy any more to buy his fave underwear. Ah yes… I like the shop, it’s good quality and they do pretty stuff in a variety of options, but always young/sexy as opposed to erotic/sexy though I suppose that’s whatever does it for you. It’s kind of funny how you change according to what your lover likes. I now find myself wearing bright and sometimes even carnival colours. At least he doesn’t prefer boring whites. I once had a girlfriend whose husband not only liked plain white but they had to be large granny style knickers. I’d be worried if my lover’s libido was kickstarted by his memories age 7 but there you go. Intimissimi do nice plain stuff for men too. I like their shop dummies with a simple six pack shape. My fave new colour on the boy is chocolate brown. Suits him. Anyway, I wonder if he’s bought me anything new??? His current excuse is that he’s still seeing everyday some u/wear he’s not previously seen on me. Slight exaggeration. Am sure I have 365 items but am also sure that boys are not that clued in. If you mix and match a different combination, they view it as new.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

23 January - Bobby Gillespie is an old man

Am officially old, but at least am on a par with Bobby Gillespie. He complains about the pub next door where they play loud music after midnight – this from the man whose roadies refused to travel on the same tour bus with and demanded a separate one as they couldn’t take the pace of drug mayhem – a former collaborator of his swears it's true, he signed the money for the extra tour bus so he knows. And I’m waging war with the unemployed wannabe DJ’s in the next door house who start playing music at 2am and giggle and talk, play till 4am - quite like most of the tunes, but it's like it's happening in my bedroom. And of course they don't do shit and somehow the rent must get paid. If they have parents or taxpayers funding them, them am outraged.
I write letters that say 'I have to go to work in the morning, if you want to be a DJ go get a job at Turnmills'. What has happened to me? But it’s torture this sleep deprivation. Whilst I was away on holiday the other leaseholders in my building called the environmental noise agency and the police and stepped up the campaign against the twits. Wow! This lot are in late twenties and early thirties respectively. I’m not old! I’m just… employed. Though even that is debatable. On first couple of days back here in toil-land, I could not remember any of my computer and various other packages passwords. Had conveniently erased them to make room for other important stuff, the exchange rate of rupies to the pound perhaps.

20 January - Evil Weekend papers

It never ceases to amaze me. You go 2 weeks without reading a newspaper, or just some local stuff, relying on the fact that if there’s something big back home, someone will tell you. They did tell us Saddam had been hanged and the rest, but I bet you don't know that there were strikes in his support in Southern India??? Just strong anti american feelings have turned him into some sort of hero.
Then the first week end you’re back, you’re feeling like a loser or under achiever because you cannot manage to finish any of the papers and supplements. I wonder what was in the 2 or 3 week ends I missed. Nothing major I’m sure. Of course resolving not to buy them/ read them, doesn’t work. And I’ve already limited myself to one. I decide that from now on I will not ready celebrity interviews because they don’t tell me shit. This past week end I’ve skimmed over Mackenzie Crook, Captain Picard (whatever actor’s name is, sorry) and Mel Gibson. Utterly devoid of any interest to me, especially the first two. I must be resolute. I should also stop reading irrelevant stuff though I already don’t read gardening, cooking, sports, motoring. But I do read travel, business and property. And it all just takes too long. As for reading other people’s blogs, I’d so like to, there are so many good ones but again, where do people find the time? Before Xmas I was lent by kind friends, various DVD series that I’ve totally lost touch with or not followed. (“24”, “Nip & Tuck” and so on, said no to “Desperate Illogical and increasingly cartoonish Wives”). I have not watched them still, though in fact, I had 4 episodes of Nip and Tuck series 3 in the background whilst I updated this blog. Apart from turning to the TV when I heard some interesting sounds (watching Christian Troy’s bum or Matt’s bum is a main pleasure of this programme), I really didn’t find it that compelling. They’ve even introduced a psychopath ‘Carver’ in the old Scary Movie ploy and frankly that’s not the series I started to watch. Not entirely sure where I’m going with this. Guess just interested to find out if anyone has top tips for fitting it all in. There’s novels to read too of course.

22 January - Days of the dead?

It’s the month of reckoning clearly. Apart from having to consider yet again that no, just by being away and getting paid a salary does not mean that the debts have miraculously cleared themselves, there are other reckonings. Coincidences if you like but a few similar ones in a row surely make you wonder if there’s a hidden message you’re meant to understand.
So, on the beach in Kovalam, Toph runs into his most salient ex. The one that still bugs him. He was not meant to walk across that section of beach and not at that time but he was in a hurry to reach me and some friend on way to airport and so … took a small detour to destiny. He recognised her because she was wearing a dress she always wears on holiday. The Bitch in me registered that I never take on holiday the same clothes. Correction, there may be some useful staples depending on which country I’m visiting, take for example the useful blue thick thai silk ‘combats’ that go well under short or long dresses and could pass for salwar kameez style trousers. Those go to India in the year that the black or green version doesn’t. I digress. So there she was and he stopped and had a short, unsatisfying one sided conversation with her. She still looked at him like he was dirt despite not having substituted him with a new model and being there for 3 weeks of shivananda yoga (the boring one in our ashtanga opinion). Am sorry to have to agree with him that the vast majority of women on yoga holidays are single and not that happy usually. Boys go snowboarding instead. Having a considerate yoga teacher adjusting your position can serve as a bit of thrill nevertheless. You have to get your flesh pressed by whichever means.
My shiva god had no choice but to consider, after 24 hours of shell shock-ness compelled by me joining in (“of all the beaches in the world she had to come to MINE???” and accompanying tears only banished after a lovely, large glass of vodka), that he was indeed mega fortunate to be able to have enjoyed an idyllic holiday with a superior sexy being as his present Mohini (aka temptress). Ok well, last time I was in India I was a maharani for someone, this time I had to find another identity and I think Mohini is better, Maharanis may not be so keen to get down and dirty). No 'sexual items' were possible for a further 24 hours what with flying and er… probably seeing the ex in front of our eyes. And knowing she had a further week of holiday on top of our two. Toph forlornly saying “When we were together she could never take 3 weeks, she had to be at work on 2nd January”. My poor naïve boy. But afterwards normal service was resumed. Having a cold and blocked nose and having read that sex kicks starts immune system to fight colds, we just got stuck in.
So that was a bizarre encounter that taught him he’s well over her. Just still smarting a little for bruised ego. No wonder she thinks he’s a bully. He tried so hard to not let her leave him.

The day after our return, we’re strolling down a street, horrified at prices and the weather (though am secretly pleased the shops are empty and browse a little) and we cross with Eugene, my first real boss at first beloved job. So defined by not involving re-arranging items on shelves or serving people. Though it did involve a certain amount of serving rock ’n’ roll juice. Believe it or not I also had to divide my time fulfilling the demands of a total sexist clown who happened to be good at his promotion job and therefore excused for being contemporary of Leo Sawyer or something and demanding coffee by calling it rock ‘n’ roll juice. There was also some 80’s popstar who used to bring in his own herbal teabags (hello Roland). If only I had spotted this as a trend I’d now be the owner of Fresh and Wild but at 22 I just thought he was weird. A good chat ensues with Eugene who still looks very dapper at nearly 60 I think, wearing a Belstaff jacket. After he recommends we shop for bread at some incredible bakery we don’t know and he leaves, I tell the boyf that Euge looks so good partly because he always had a younger girlfriend and no kids I don’t think. What I learn from this me encounter has not yet filtered though it did remind me that the first time I was made redundant, for stupid reasons, the person I had entrusted with defending me, ie him, didn’t stand by me and if 25 years later I can still think that Pisceans are traitors, well, it’s his fault.

Later in the week am sat in an Italian restaurant at 5pm on a Saturday having a bite to eat, whilst reading the paper, whilst waiting for a friend to finish his class at Triyoga. I hear the voice before I look up and there is a nice ex, lover, not boyf, who is collecting a takeaway pizza. So he still lives in O… Rd. So he’s still smoking. The pizza at 5pm is a giveaway and possibly he’s still single as if he had a girlfriend, he’d be dining later with her as it’s Saturday night. Not sure if you agree with my Sherlock logic but I do. And btw his name had come up on holiday as he dated a the most boring singer ever, four letters, begins with D. and our friend A. also in Kovalam at same time (forgot to say two couples of friends were coincidentally on holiday in our spot) had turned down said singer's advances. I surprised Toph by saying I fancied said singer's brother. So I have the choice of calling out his name and chatting, but I remember that less than 2 years ago I finally deleted his number in order to avoid the occasional call (usually when I read something about him or something about someone he works with) because the call would invariably lead to making plans to meet and then we’d always not bother. So I stare down into my paper and if he saw me, he thought the same and didn’t cheerfully say hello. Shame, in a sense as was looking particularly dishy. Me, not him.

The following day, Sunday, I go to the cinema with a friend and she introduces me to a colleague who’s just come back from Kerala (exactly same dates as me) and who’s waxing lyrical about the time she spent in some eco resort cum orphanage, not my orphanage but still, spooky. And she works with people I know etc. No lessons are gleamed from this except to remind me to get in touch with two of her colleagues about some work I could advance their way. Plus she’s very tall and good looking and has a slightly northern footballer’s wife hairstyle so I could pally up and overcome my snobbish attitude vis a’ vis good looking women who probably got through to the interviews because of their looks. I shouldn’t feel this way, I know it’s helped me too in the past.

Later on same day am driving towards home and see a friend on the street who doesn’t belong to the neighbourhood. But not easy to stop, so I don’t. Lesson? Not sure and not as important as the one learnt a mere 1 hour early. Do not for a second think you can go to the last day of David Hockney exhibition at the National without having booked it a month ago. It's sold out of course, you silly, relaxed and chilled idiot.

On the Monday, today, a friend emails to say that an old flame of mine (a very long association, called relationship only for the first few heady weeks till I was disabused of the notion that I may be his only flame) is due to meet with her boss at 5pm. At 5pm she kindly proceeds to type in emails to me what she can overhear of their conversation. Very funny as in order to listen she has to stop typing and in order to type she can’t listen. Turns out he calls himself a director these days. Of what? Instant googling doesn’t tell me but he has a Wikipedia entry. Shock horror. I don’t have one. Can someone pls start a Lisa Taylor entry? I instantly take umbrage to some facts and enter the ‘editing’ section, coolly considering what to write. But the message warns me that I will have to sign in with own name and it will be clear who’s edited. I will consider further if it’s worth actually not being anonymous and still writing my corrections. Along the lines of ‘surely he’s still a selfish cunt?’. But shockingly my spy friend is also emailing that him and the wife are fostering a 12 year old white british kid. And this seriously stumps me. This can only have come about as he went so far into recanting his dissolute life that merely going NA and AA was not going to fill up all the hours in the day… That or it’s the wife extraction by way of going on the straight and narrow? I don’t know. The lessons seems to be that I no longer care as am not waiting with bated breath for further instalments on what he said/what he’s been up to and so on.

It goes on. Earlier as I step out of the train at my station, I step right in the arms of a lovely former colleague who’s been decanted at my station by the previous, malfunctioning train. In the 2 mins it takes her to push into the carriage, with much help from my hand on her large ass, we catch up briefly and she says ‘you look great with a tan’. The lesson here is that clearly if you have to run into people, it’s best it happens when you’re looking like you had botox. I kid you not, the frown line is just not there. Maybe that ayurvedic stuff works after all.

Only 9 days to go to the end of the month. Tonight am going to bed deliberately thinking of someone I’ll hope to see and will let you know if anyone materialises. I just hope I don’t run him over.

21 January - Suits & Sods

The last day of the Selfridges sale I was in there for only 90 mins. Having finally heeded own advice not to go check lingerie. Toph says he still sees me wearing stuff he’s never seen before so I have to wait another year ha ha ha. Or less seeing as currently he’s been in my night company for a solid month. I also forget all about going to check on shoes – a fab pair of flat boots was the only item I really needed and in the event, my subconscious who hates flat shoes conspired to erase this need. I do go to furniture as I do need a ceiling shade for my living room but do not see anything I like enough or at the right price. In the time up there I get somewhat enraged by the number of gay couples. Simply because they have disposable income or so I perceive them and they can afford to buy new linen all the time. I can afford new linen too but I walk away from the heavy thread white cotton because of a self-imposed limit to 4 sets. I mean, this stuff takes up space, and I need it for my clothes. Seriously, what is it about bed linen? Do I want to stay in bed so badly. Answer is yes. At least am wandering around by myself having left Toph downstairs. I was getting annoyed about his moth to a flame attitude to shirts. No you cannot buy another shirt, you’re bursting with shirts AND YOU DON’T WEAR THEM. Yes, just over a year has turned me into proper “I can tell you off” girlfriend. Anwyay, but wandering alone I, at least, am not annoying single women who hate couples wandering around shops. I wonder if anyone sees me fondling some Vichy oxygen spray reduced to a quid and think I’m really sad. I don’t buy said item and others because as usual there’s no one at the tills or you can’t pay for everything at one (it doesn’t have the department code palaver) and so I abandon my goodies which had totalled to a mere under 20 quid. Amazing but true. There was nothing I wanted ! but let’s not forget I skipped the ground floor jewellery and bags entirely. I find Toph similarly bereft of a new shirt, hurrah! But he says let’s just go and take a quick look at those suits and lands me with 45 minutes of extra hell whilst he chooses between two Aquascutum. Yes a bargain at a third of the original price and yes I was useful in stirring him away from the more boring one. Who does he think he is? An office worker? And yes it’s a better buy than ten shirts at £30 but still. He doesn’t wear suits, so am wondering why he’s so fascinated by them. Like me with flat shoes perhaps? So he pays and we’re just about to reach the door on the ground floor by the west exit and he’s once again fondling some shirts. The voice now comes out steely “Did you or did you not notice by the tone of my voice in previous thirty minutes that I’m about to lose it big time we don’t leave this overheated hell and I get a bottle of water???’. He smiles, says yes baby and pecks me on the cheek. My god we’re officially an established couple. I have to change all this so as soon as we get home and he starts to read the Sunday papers, I change into the sexy mini skirt I had picked in Miss Selfridge upon entry and which he’d pay for to thank me for my patience. On come the sexy wedges and off we go to bedroom wall before getting ready to go out for dinner. Back to lover mode. Much healthier.

19 January - Indians & Big Bro

I have nothing to say about Jade and Shilpa. Except that imitating accents is easily done without much malice. I don’t think there could be many people visiting India who at some point haven’t found themselves saying to whichever friend they're with little sentences that have stayed with them and in repeating them (‘You are hearty welcome Sir’ was our catchphrase since we heard it) haven't used the original accent of the person saying it. Indian accents are just too funny sometime and all the head shaking is contagious. Toph used it in replying to a waiter at the Malabar who was taking our wine order. He simply hadn’t noticed he was doing it and the waiter presented with the no no head shake that actually means yes, was as confused as we normally are. I think if there are issues of racism, there should be degrees, like there’s assault and aggravated assault and manslaughter and murder and so on.
Anyway, some questions are in our heads. Ok, it’s the way you ask them so Jade had no right to ask do you live in a house or a shack. But equally, given how high the incidence of Aids is in India and how separated the genders seem to be (describe NYE on the beach), I was wondering how do you spot an Indian prostitute. What is the equivalent of the miniskirt and platform boots. I’ve seen no fishnet sari. Frank has the answer, having worked for abused women’s charities and travelled on their behalf in Gujarat. He says you find them at roadside cafes. As to how you recognise them, I come to the answer in a lightbulb moment. The sheer fact that they may be in such a place where a respectable Indian woman should be, means they’re that category. I have other questions about where do they go in such a crowded society where we couldn’t find a space to have a solitary PDA until we got back to our hotel room. As for how much…. A quid seems to be a going rate. How sad. Probably better than breaking rocks to make road building paving materials.
I have other questions, about which caste they are drawn from mainly. Are they the Dalits or are they fallen middle class women? Are they doing it to score drugs like in the western world? I have to keep my curiosity for the time being and it’s only curiosity. Am not planning, after all, planning to do anything to help their plight.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

17 January - Jagger

A friend of a friend, JC, is in town from LA. I like her, she’s down to earth Scot but has lived over there long enough to know that the following is bizarre. She tells me that when she recently moved from NY to LA, her dog did not take to its new home and was scratching himself raw amongst other things. So, as we’re in LA, he’s having acupuncture for anxiety. We can laugh, but she says you try everything when your pet is unhappy and a pet is your child when you have none of those.

We talk about other stuff and reminisce about times with Jagger who she worked for for ages. He’s very generous despite what people think and she won’t hear a word against him. A couple of assistants later I got called to meet him for a job. My interview with him was slightly surreal. I was left to wait for him in the part of the house occupied by Jerry. A traditionally furnished huge drawing room in which a Warholesque painting of Jerry dominated the walls. I kept thinking that nicking an ashtray and getting found out would not be a great start to our relationships so I resisted the temptation. At some point I needed to use the loo and was shown downstairs. As I closed the door to pee, I was faced with a collage of photos of wife and kids and other family and friends staring at me. Later, I crossed the door to his part of the house, all modern white and Perspex and Apple Macs. He draped himself across a chair, happily chatting, whilst I was trying to steady my heart from thumping ‘I’m here with Mick!’. It was all going v. well (by this point I had already passed previous interviews) with other entourage) till he left me for 15 mins in the company of the woman who run his film production company in the US. She didn’t take to me, funny how you can tell in a quick beat, and that was that. I didn’t get the job. Forget the name of stupid bitch. One of those little junctions where life could have gone elsewhere. After all JC met her husband in the US whilst there on Jagger business/movie. I told myself it was ok, I wouldn’t have to deal with tantrums. Apparently he’s easy, (JC says he has a sense of humour, down to pointing out that he says things like ‘Look I’m combing my own hair now am back from touring!’) it’s the kids that would drive you nuts with requests. After she goes, I have a long discussion with Toph re wrinkly bits. I don’t even like Jagger’s ones. Am happy he’s refusing to go Robert Redford on us and get a lift but I really can’t stand so many lines. Toph chooses this time to reveal he’s been turned down by Annie Lennox once as deemed too old – hang on a moment, she’s older than him but I can see her point. Or maybe it was just a polite way to say not interested. He went to an art gallery with her once and some friends of hers and found he did not know what to say to her. I mean, he doesn’t like her songs so that’s pretty much a non starter.

Reminds me of the only time I tried to sing (never even done karaoke me) and rehearsed Eurythimics’ ‘I need a man’ for sashaying on top of counter at bar Italia which was screened out that night for my private party. It was quite something to have Chris Sullivan & Co. or whoever that was wanting to come in and Kerry at the door saying ‘No it’s a private party’ and turning them away. She was jumping up and down with happiness, had been wanting to say that for ages. We usually didn’t have much of a problem getting into everywhere but probably had to put in a little time in the queue rather than be whisked straight past the rope. Can't remember who the dj was... I think it was 15 years ago but it could be more in the past than that. Btw, even after all the rehearsals, I bottled my singing debut. Just couldn’t remember the lyrics, there’s a bit of a fast little rap in the middle. Too much of a tongue twister.

12 January - airports 2

tbc

15 January - Depressing googling

Google stumped. Can’t find an ex or rather can find him, think it’s him though seems to have changed job description but it's in same industry so must be him, but no way of contacting. V. frustrating.

So I google this woman I met at a party before Xmas. It made me feeling like an under achiever talking to her. Valkyrian good looks (LA of course) and on the arm of most important man there who sweetly mentioned she was one of the most influential people in Hollywood. Left alone my opening line to her went something like this "Hope you didn't work on the film I just saw the other night which was a good 1 hour too long and despite great cast was just flat....."
"The Holiday? Yep, worked on that"
"Oh my god sorry... etc etc"
We then got on pretty well (well she sat down on a sofa arm and so I could look her in the eye) and she was a lovely mixture of wide eyed and 'normal'. When she then shared that she wanted to eventually open a knitting shop, I just saw the overworked and stressed executive who, like all, is dreaming of her escape.
Anyway, so I google her and find photos of her with some guy who works in US and is president of a big corporation and whose younger brother was a boss at some former establishment I had the pleasure of giving many hours of my life to. The younger bro of course never had it said that he only got the job because blah blah. Of course he was good, but so can we all be if we can always call Senior to say 'what would you do in these circumstance?'
So I suffer the recurrent thought 'But I worked in marketing, I was good, but I never made it to president, and I have similar friends who were better than me and equally still have no equity or shares in the companies where they work and WHERE did we all go wrong?'
This leads to the following email exchange.

Friend A:
My take on where I went wrong personally is :

1. wasn't cute enough
2. never did coke, therefore was never awake at 3am when the real business gets done

3. never fashionable enough
4. never sucked any corporate cock
5. back on #2, just never went to all the parties, got my face around

Of all the marketing/pr people i know who did well, they were all, quite frankly, party animals. Went to every single party possible. That's my theory and i am absolutley positively sticking to it!

My reply:
It is a good theory and I suscribe. However cute I may be, I'm not a 6 footer blonde goddess like our Miss x for example and I never did 2. and 4.
I think 2. plus alcohol or on its own was essential because it led to lowered barriers and hence to 4. which frankly in most cases, no one would have performed on such ugly monsters as were our bosses. Am not sure if 4. really was the clincher but bue one had to do it, even if not literally.

But how does that explain XXX and that other awful YYY in promotions who were themselves old and ugly women? They made it almost to the top but must have eaten shit at the prospect of never making it to Chairman?

Friend A:
XXX was exceptional - very very good at her job and just a complete and total ruthless bitch.
The other # 6 to that theory is that I didn't work like a man

XXX and probably YYY (is who you are thinking of), were both in the office 8am until 10pm - it's what broke up T and XXX in the end (though he told me it was because she got fat)
But i know it was that he hated being stuck with nanny and child at 8pm, 5 mins from her office, when she was there 'til 10pm.

It is a man's world and in our 40's it's a case of , for me, just accepting it. It's not good, we gals have made strides over the years but it's a mans world. The successful women do 12 hour days and would be horrified that I have an 'issue' with wanting to leave at 6pm. They did their jobs - and then some.

Either that or they looked like K who, at XXX, was a rubbish designer, but got some of the good gigs because she did the drugs, went to all the parties ALL night and looks like she looks.

I'm not bitter about it as for me it's wasted energy but it's more a philosophical: I am not particularly stunning (though I do believe I have my moments!), and whilst I would say that I am in fact smart, I am not willing to sacrifice life outside of work for work. And even if, for me, 'life' means just a damn solid 8 hours of sleep at night and no work at the weekends and in bed at 9pm with a good book... I'll take it. Gladly!


My reply:
Ahhhh, that explains it. The 12 hour days were never my thing. Called it off at 9 or 10 occasionally. Thanks for explaining.

Ps.... are we bad for, post 2000, post years and years of feminism to still believe you only have a chance if your face fits? And some bloke decides not to obstruct you? or bucks the trend and mentores a female who doesn't remind him of himself when he was that age? Does this sort of debating go anywhere?

1 January - Engagements & Cherry red patent shoes

Leela got proposed to on NYE. How fab. In two weeks time I will be at her 50th birthday and eventually see the significant 3 diamonds ring. This news cheers me no end. Old love is possible and she’s bagging a younger man of good prospects and more and well above average income. And they only met about two years ago and it was through the contacts of a magazine or website. Truly they should feature in some advertising to stress how positive outcomes are not so rare. Though at the same time I have many 'unsorted' 30 something friends. I tell them they just have to wait, life unfolds when it unfolds, you can't hurry love and so on. They slap me.

Leela's butch daughter had been flirting with me at a pre xmas party and I enjoyed it and played up to it. Then I was introduced to her new girlfriend, the tiniest femme I’ve ever seen, she comes up to my chest and looks like a china doll with copious, bouffanty hair. She looks 12. Toph and Duke are fascinated. I better nip that in the bud and point out it’s ok for a 21 year old lesbian to fancy an 18 year old who looks 12 but not for men of the 40 year’s old section. So they look around and then become fascinated by miss Greek’s shoes. At least she looks 28. Hers are patent leather cherry red high heels. She says she made them herself and the fools believe her. Men! I should be more extravagant with facts or tell the outlandish truth only for them to think it fiction.
Duke is very taken. His girlfriend is in Brazil as a guest of some rich people who can only be older and sleazy on account of finding a way to get his young, stunning girlfriend away for two weeks to just do some work which is largely decorative. . Am not sure that’s the case (why pay for a sexy European to fly to Rio etc when you can pick up sexier local talent if that’s what you have in mind to do?) but this is what they think and it’s possible that they don’t trust that gorgeous girlfriend will not fall prey to the lusting lures of older, experienced men, so we allow Duke to flirt with Miss Greek and I even set up a lunch for when he’s back in town. Presumably when she goes to work, she has to forsake those shoes/accessories and if he sees her in a less alluring outfit, he’ll lose his fascination? I don’t have much allegiance to his girlfriend, but I do have some old fashioned solidarity.

3 January - No alcohol & No love handles

Well if entire states in India can be dry, then so can we for a few days. I find it surprisingly easy, given that my consumption is usually low and that I never associated alcohol with having a better time than without. Besides, as with giving up cigarettes, I was once told that these kind of substances are only addictive for a few days and if you get past a week or so, the craving does subside. The rest is pretty much all in the mind. Toph has decided to buy himself a pair of continental swimming trunks as was tired of having white legs wearing those surfer dude big loons. However the trunks are very unforgiving in the waist and belly department (though delectable in the groin one) and the love handles are lovingly recorded for posterity on digicamera. I promise him repeatedly that no alcohol is all that's required. He goes along with it and here, in the heat, it's easy. We're not beer drinkers and wine is truly not the best think to enchance veggy curries and fish. Of course, like any woman on a diet, he would like to see results immediately but I know from previous experience that it's between the 2nd and 3rd week that you start to dry up. I promise, I promise. I could also recommend an indian fortnight or more to anyone who wants to kickstart a new health regime. I know am boring, but it's the combination of walking, not overdoing AND seeing toned yoga bods everywhere around you, plus skinny indians (ok not in the South perhaps), that truly hightlights and shames your lardiness. Ok, nazy health police announcement over.

I do get some unexpected help from the ayurvedic doctor where we stop by to book some massages. He very bluntly tells Toph that over 40 is practically next to dead in terms of managing your body effectively and predicts all manner of sexual dysfuctions if one doesn't control diet and weight (he's referring to cock not performing I gather, not any perversion). Toph is suitably scared, he knows I'm a bit demanding in that department. Plus it can't have escaped him that in his examination of moi, ayurvedic doctor found nothing to berate me about. I'm on a winner to start with when I declare the I don't eat meat badge of immunity. Toph gets his own back later on at ashtanga yoga masterclass where I fail to complete even the first series and he's clearly a yoga god. Darn. He can't believe the love handles crept in despite the yoga, till I remind him that his attendance has dropped to once a week from previous regular 3 to 4 times. Am so kind to him non?

6 January - yoga bunnies & crows

to be re-arranged, re-plenished later.

Kerala wine. We need some.

The yogis and their gurus. The real shiva vs lino miele vs shiva rae.

Toph meets a temple dweller who covers his forehead in ash (or is it cow's dung?) who recommends 41 days of pilgrimage coupled with 41 days of 'no sexual items sir!' Mmh.. could be good. Temple dweller does not give me any recommendations.

The pilgrims. Sort of envy them. They give themselves this tall order – you try and go from some holy cave in Kashmir to Kannyakumari at the the extreme south, using only public transport and not having access to airplanes and this could take months. During which presumably you have a whale of a time meeting likeminded folk and surviving partly on your wits and avoiding your usual life/work. Tempting….

Holiday discoveries and men’s preoccupations. Food and fishing or fish. How many pictures of fish in a fish market can one take? or men fishing? or fishing nets? And planning. I can benefit from this as my planning is a bit hazy. Am fine with the long distance but the short distance I sort of leave to sort itself out. Tbc

The six floors of sari heaven shop. Toph gets 6 sales assistants all to himself, giggling at his manners or just floored that a man is actually talking to them and his girlfriend is actually laughing with them. None of us understand what the other is saying actually....

No PDA (public displays of affection) on Cherai beech nearly unravels me. What would I do in Saudi Arabia? At least here the chances of getting stoned are remote. Thank god he says…. tbc

5 hours to do 180km in a car… that's why India takes forever. Someone explains the government has no interest in building dueal carriage roads or even fixing them. This way, should anyone attempt an uprising or revolution, it will be very difficult for it to spread, just install a roadblock or two and that's it, nobody can go anywhere. Same for the trains, can't be used by troublemakers if they need 4 days to cross the country. tbc

The longer you stay in one place the more gets revealed. The backstreets, the barber with the geardening sheers

Any lessons? What we look for is probably the same as choosing a restaurant. Something busy, with a little vibe going on. But we don’t know how long it takes to get served or if they will star to play crap music or good music on a distorted stereo and we’ll just want to leave.

Savatri and her 3 buses to get to the beach to sell the most expensive fruit ever. a quid for a pineapple, surely more than Tesco and all that carbon emission stuff?

the kashmiri boys

boyf vivid dreams he ascribes to no alcohol and I explain with spicy food. But.. we're eating the same and I'm not dreaming...

You can take the marketing out of a girl but… here we are in Cochin, at the so called Dutch Palace. In the basement there are the most fantastically erotic murals we’ve ever seen. Fascinating and beautiful and the text giving brief explanations is so……. As there’s a ban on taking photographs we ask on the way out if we could buy some postcards or booklets depicting the murals. But we’re told no. This must be because they wouldn’t sell them to Indians as presumably too strong in content given how they pretend that there’s no sexual items going on there. But we want them!!! A quick reckie in local book shops also doesn’t unearth any books featuring these murals. I now feel like early collectors of pornography. I’ll pay good money, please someone tell me where to find depictions of these drawings.