31 May - Gangs and Hairy

Boo hoo, a friend was hoping to direct the last in the series of Ross Kemp on Gangs, but was turned down at the last hurdle, because Ross has had a good run of these docus filmed often in mildly dangerous circumstances to himself, and he doesn’t want to jinx the last one (gangs of Belize? Well, I never head of them so I wouldn’t be scared) by working with a new director and a suitable old hand is coaxed out of his previous refusal. More money? You never go wrong with that. Makes me smile to think butch Ross fears the jinx. Guess he couldn’t really wear his SAS protective clothing as worn on that other drama he's in (watched one for research with docu friend and we were mega bored) and it’s true that with most of the gangt programmes on youtube, the anonymity offered to the subjects of the docu at filming time is blown and yes, there could be some angry people out there sending messages to the gangs in Belize to just off him. Would make for great TV…

A day or two later the same director friend gets news that a planned docu in India where an American expert doctor in alopecia was going to travel and examine the DNA of the hairiest person on the planet to find if there’s a cure for baldness (yes, who wants to watch that we said, but work is work) gets told that the doctor has been told by her husband not to travel to India as he’s had a bad premonition about the trip and their child cold grow up motherles. Oh yeah? I think it’s because the budget was crap (director would have had to film as no budget for cameraman) and she didn’t want to rough it to Poone. What kind of scientist gets halted in her tracks by a premonition? Hardly scientific is it?

But so it is, that my docu director friend ends up being the jinxed one on this occasion.

30 May - Before I get to work

I can't believe that with all the advancement in medicine and neuro studies that are made, one simply can't come up yet with some simple software for our brains. I personally would like one that substitutes all the recurring useless thoughts I have everyday with an altogether more productive kind of thought.

I could be learning a new russian phrase every morning for example instead of thinking 'I wish these stupid kids/teenagers didn't pull the same stupid stunt every morning of trying to get on the bus w/o swiping their oyster or swiping one with no credit and then getting called back/yelled at by the driver who won't drive on till this is sorted and this is wasting all of us going to work precious minutes'.
There, if I learnt a similar lenght russian sentence, i'd be reading War and Peace in no time. Because after that one comes 'These idiots who cluster around the bus door instead of taking up all AVAILABLE SPACe so the bus looks full to the driver who won't let us on but it's not and I can squeeze in there. Just F king move you f king idiots'. See for any of those I also get raised blood pressure whereas I'd rather raise pressure by having an unbearably clever idea for a gap in the market that would make me rich.

After that I usually think 'What is it that makes it take so long to get off a bus? There's no crippled person holding us up, no ancient pensioner with a trolley so why can't all these people /kids get off the bus faster, they're wasting yet more of my minutes'

For an equivalent sentence in russian I could find I can order a coach and horses in St Petersburg and go see the sights conversing with my coachman. After the bus pointlessly repeated thoughts, I have yet more of the kind on the tube, you know the one about idiots not standing on the right on escalator and the one about clogging in clusters by the doors and not getting on or off fast enough etc.
I don't want any of these thougths, they don't advance me, they don't do anything, they're the equivalent of pointless flies. But you think they could tweak our brains somehow like in the Matrix but no, we're still here, just merely functioning. Oh it could put you in a really bad mood to dwell on this! Especially as a variation on this theme is repeated when I leave work.

29 May - SATC

Well, it's a bit too long at 2h20mins but it's like sitting in front of several episodes. It doesn't snap crackle and bop all the time at all and on a big screen I find Big even less attractive than he was on a small one, but... it holds its own and deals in advance with what some of the criticisms would be namely the 'feminist' ones about .. 'Do we really deep down want marriage and romance all the time?' Is this all there is? By leaving Samantha at 50 eschewing devoted loverboy Smith for remaining free and not wanting a diamond ring (just a ring with diamonds), you have the one who doesn't want to live the domestic life. So, it's fine.
I really can't find much fault with it. The performances are fine and credible. As for all the male reviews who dwell on SJP's unsexyness, well, she's a writer in the film/series, not a supermodel or cartoon actress like Jessica Alba so why even go there? Leave SJP alone.

I must say though that it got me in a funk the following day. I was still thinking about the 'who cares for the wedding really?' question and got annoyed with myself for still sort of caring, so I did the right thing and projected all of that on boyfriend. He did the right thing by his species and sat there vacant faced saying repeatedly 'I don't understand where all this is coming from' (me, from a movie, so what, movies can have central conundrums that are a basis for discussion non?). He 'baby, I've just had some skin cancer sliced off my chest today, must we talk about this now???' (me, yes, why not, you big baby, it's only 5 stitches, you're not dying). He... oh well, a bit more staring into the distance till I got tired of hearing myself. He won... the battle. But not the war. Darn that Carrie waited ten years, the silly woman.

27 May - Indexes

So, I bought some of those so called dj cd bags, the ones that allow you to store your cds like in a folder, but having got rid of the jewel box first. I thought it was time to slim down the collection on the shelves as every few years you chuck lots of things you thought were essential (drum n' bass anyone? gone!).

So, I did get rid of about 200 cds and duly started strippig the others of the box (this is more laborious than you think) in order to extract the sleeve on the back tray together with the front sleeve and the booklet.

It also takes time to re-insert everything in the pockets of the bags. I was going to keep to a sort of system I have which is not alphabetical but by genrel and male and female and bands separated. Then I thought 'Sod it'. And started filing everything at random followin this train of thought 'I hardly ever listen to anything much anymore, or rather, I listen to the newest acquisitions but don't go fishing out a Prince album from early in his career cause.. those days are gone, so it makes sense to have everything in a sort of ipod shuffle kind of filing. I'll open, turn some pages and pick a cd that talks to me. I won't need to go searching for Sting or REM - oh, got rid of those in toto - or any individual thing. Let the mood of the moment take me to the right music'.

What do you think? I should add that I got bored 1/3 of the way and decided that boxes of reggae or early Island Records don't even need to be decanted into the bags, they can just stay gathering dust as they are...

And I don't even know why am doing all this as I plan to go live the ascetic life in a country far far away soon and truly I'll save a few tunes on the pods but will not have a cd player ever again. Did you know for example that you can no longer buy a VHS machine in a high street shop? Gone, the format is dead. I know because a friend had to borrow my vhs machine so her kid could watch some Pinter plays borrowed from his school library and only available on tape.

26 May - Sad Stages

Against my better judgment, I had to leave the comfortable hub I’d made in the living room (duvets piled on the floor in front of TV and lamp essential for reading novels/magazines in grey light due to grey sky due to constant, incessant, interminable raining) and went to Trafalgar Sq to meet a friend and his small daughter who wanted to see Africa Day festivities.

All I can say is that this is the second time I find myself at this event and like last time it was dysmal to watch people trying hard to convey cheerfulness and happiness on a stage when all around is umbrellas and biting cold making for a sorry audience. Poor Kanda Bongo Man! Poor Miriam Makeba last time. Poor people manning stalls trying to sell stuff to wet and shivering passers by and too few to make any profits. I know Ken meant well but he should have picked a day in July or something with more probabilities of a ray of sunshine. Or they should move it.. to Africa and ferry a couple of thousand Londoners to it. Then again Boris may cancel it so that will be it. E, who’s not even 4 years old yet, enjoyed it and made me stand by the stage for the entire KBB show which I found addictive on account of extremely good booty shaking for a woman that looked like my fat grandmother (if I had one). She wore leopard print hotpants! She had a big belly. Way to go. E’s father was keeping warm and finishing cake and cappuccino at the café of the National Gallery annex and generally having a breather from the energy depleting task of looking after a live wire little girlie.

Earlier I had managed to arrive an hour ahead of time by accident and so went into the National Portrait Gallery which was heaving with other people with nought to do on a rainy day. I found it unbearable. I realize I can only handle special exhibitions because they only take up a few rooms at a time. The prospect of the whole gallery was overwhelming so I gave up and read the paper. I found it odd also to be entirely on my own and not in a shop which I enjoy as a solo expedition. Very odd. I haven’t been alone much at all for years now. I should miss it but I like to have a handy body to stroke/pet/kiss/cuddle/lean on etc. Very odd.

25 May - Property & Angst

I have to stop leafing through those annoying free property magazines relating to Ken and Chelsea area. It’s beginning to make me ill to constantly look at flats/houses I can’t afford. I look at square footage and I require around 100 sq metres, it’s my mantra. Plus the high ceilings and tall windows and light, light light. And it’s all around a million. I just don’t have it, and vastly more depressing will not have it, so what to do?

I don’t want a two up two down boxy little home. It’s just not me. Plus I’d just fill it with stuff! Maybe I should go opposite way, a high ceilinged, big windowed one room only in which I live a monastic sort of life (after I’ve ditched the sprawling closet). I don’t entertain at home as it is, so all I need is a huge bed!, walk in room and lie on bed. What could be better? Except that the one bedroom idea runs at around £400k so it’s just ludicrously stupid to spend that when I could live on the other side of the world for ten years with that money. Ah, what to do???

24 May - Songs & Dogs

It’s all very well deciding not to go away for bank holidays due to airport fatigue and nothing under the radius of 2 hours in the air that I want to visit (very jealous of L. who went to Oman for just the four days though), but when it’s depressing weather it all seems too much.

So it is that the invitation from a close neighbor to go watch The Eurovision song contest in his flat with a large TV, cocktails and chilli con carne (well, I brought my own scallops) seemed like a lovely idea. He had recorded it earlier and I thought we could fast forward the boring bits. But no, I was with a purist and so it is that thanks to the alcohol, I managed the full 3 hours complete with voting and prizes. Needless to say none of us could have believed Russia would win as it was a shitty song and we were voting for good song, good performance and the like and not ‘politically’. Poor Terry Wogan, this time finished him off, his faith has gone, it’s all too pathetic to want to deal with it again. Greece, you were robbed.

Anyway it’s kind of nice to just stagger upstairs after a night ‘in’. The evening was nice also because another couple of guests had a King Charles spaniel puppy who was just too lovely for words. This led the host to confess that he wants a dog (not allowed in his lease) and that he logs into the Battersea dog’s home website regularly to look at doggies. He says that there used to be pictures and descriptions of dogs but now with recession biting and people dumping dogs, the home has for example 14 huskies which start at £1,400. I guess people never think about how much vet’s bills amount to or how much it costs to put them in a kennel when nobody else is available and you want to go away for the w/end.

The next day I start telling my fifty something Jewish g/friend R. about about the lovely and also Jewish twenty something B. who is bereft of girlfriend and would like one and I hope she can think of someone given that his parents (not sure what they do) are owners of a pile in Upper Phillimore Gardens where houses go for minimum £10million, but more recently double that, and also have country pile etc. and basically, wouldn’t a nice Jewish girl welcome a boy who loves dogs and has a massive inheritance? I can’t apply sadly.

I go as far as far as mentioning the Eurovision and the dogs and she says ‘He’s gay Lisa!’. I say ‘No no, he had a g/friend, she was just a bit too mad for him’. And R. says ‘So had her best gay friend 40 years who back in the early days had a g/friend or two as well.
Well, I don’t know what to say. Time will tell. But I still want to find him a g/friends so pls apply

23 May - Shoes & Grannies

This post is inspired by a Belgian uber rocking mama. I thought she was cool when I met her, then I thought she was even cooler when she told me she'd found some lovely second hand clothes one morning in her hometown, but by the time she'd pushed her toddler's stroller 5km (yes 5km) along a road to visit her sister, she discovered that one of the boots she's bought, the one lovely low slung flat tan pirate boots with tassels she'd alwasy wanted and never bought... was missing. Having paid 2€ for them... she'd lost 1€ but she was in love with them already.

I asked why she didn't go back along the road for it but she quite rightly said she was tired that day and the little one was hungry. She did contemplate putting up signs in shops nearby ... The next day though she was still mourning it, so she actually pestered and pressured her sister into going INTO the Louis Vuitton + Hermes store to ask if they hadn’t found her old trashy old boot as her car was initially parked right there. They treated her like a dog of course.

Then I discovered that uber rocking mama's mum holds clues to her pedigree. When I asked why couldn't granny babysit whilst we go to Ibiza for a long w/end, I was told that she was busy that w/end.
'Granny is probably jumping out of an aeroplane or rock climbing or something… No seriously; after she walked the pilgrimage) on her own 3 years ago from France to Santiago de Compostella in Spain ( 6 weeks), she is now volunteering in one of the refuges en route and that is from August, 1 – August, 21. She loves her grandson of course and is always asking to babysit but she also has a Life with capital L. She has more guts and adventure in her bones than any of us. She just went mountain biking for 5 days near the Mosel in Germany and is literally getting on a plane in 30minutes to go explore Prague. We (the kids) have to beg her each time to please please not hitchhike anymore. And we remind her she was born 1945 and that she should act a LITTLE bit like her age…

So you see, she was my cool idol. Until I spoke to my friend R. who at the w/end was taking her 90 years old aunt to a shopping trip in Brent Cross as she's still mobile and likes to go out. Auntie said there was a song she heard on the radio and wanted to get. After a little bit of description and humming, R. worked out that auntie liked Adele's tune. So off they went to HMV to purchase the album.

Can that be topped? Sure it would have been more amazing if she'd asked to buy the new Marilyn Manson but still....

Way to go.

22 May - Good, Bad & Ugly

Well, I can’t say am nothing but reasonably eclectic in taste. So it is that recently have gone to see Bjork – excellent, she always sounds like it’s from the heart and I do like some of the current stomping songs ‘Earth Intruders’ and ‘Declare Independence’. Toph says the latter sounds like the mad howlings of a menstrual woman and I maintain that’s exactly why I like to shout along to it. He missed the old, more delicate arrangements and so do I but I can never tell if the sound is bad period or if it’s the Apollo and where you’re standing in it. And I must have words with Leila as that was a poor support slot. Nothing more than reasonably lazy djing. Come on woman! You used to be a breath of fresh air.

Then I went to see Nick Cave and I’m not sure about the current rock kick out the jams sort of songs. I think he should sit down behind the piano a bit more but perhaps he doesn’t want to sing those songs anymore because if your heart is not currently being crunched anymore by some desperate passion then maybe you can’t quite imbue them with the pathos. Plus it was the Apollo again, plus it was hot. Plus I never fancied him, plus he had the most goddamawful support band I’ve ever witnessed. Have blanked their name, though I should remember it to warn you. We went on the night after black bass player what’s his name had performed. Oh god, used to love him and I forgot his name!

Then I went to see Girls Aloud and why not. Can’t rubbish them too much as went with/as guest of a friend who’s bezzie mate with their manager and in fact that’s all we could say, ie. how well our friend had done to elevate a manmade TV novelty group into something that fills the O2 two nights running whilst selling lots of related paraphernalia. Does a glow stick really make you a GA fan?? Hurrah for H. if she gets percentage of all merchandise too. Just saw those initials, like Giorgio Armani. Not. Watching the crowd going in was more fun than the show. 80% women of all ages and all totally aspirational in clothing. As if being a WAG clotheshorse was something to aspire to. But who am I to talk. That Ashley Cole is not too bad looking. I didn’t see him there but I saw Gerrie Halliwell or her granny. The woman was her but … older? Can’t explain.

So… we also thought the staging was good and er.. the costumes, and we like a couple of tunes but as for dancing and singing. It’s very poor. And yet I read that the red headed one used to win singing contests by singing Whitney Houston’s songs. I marvel at this. I truly do. We left before the end of course, which is a shame as we had those much sought after VIP passes. In fact we nearly went into the dressing rooms by mistake. Considering that on the way in we witnessed a sobbing gay man who had won a competition and only found tickets and no passes in his envelope, it felt very wasteful but what you gonna say? ‘Hi, I thought you were great?’, or ‘Seven for effort girls (after all they do have to turn up to rehearsals) but don’t book Vegas or they’ll stone you’?

Toph is of the opinion that the only really satisfying thing we’ve seen this year is the Sibelius concerts at the Barbican and I’d have to agree. If that didn’t suddenly make me feel like some dowager with a pet poodle and a walking stick. I do want to find my modern music better, but it’s hard.

What shall I go and see to restore my faith in r’n’r? Folks? Suggestions?

21 May - Flats & Heels

I’ve clearly shocked my girlfriend G. with the simplest of phone exchanges.
‘So what did Toph get you?’
I list a bunch of things, this and that and that ‘And something I can’t mention…’
‘Oh, a vibrator?’
‘No darling have those already, no, something I’ll tell you some other time after the event, but he also got me a lovely pair of shoes’.
‘Oh darling, Loubutins?’
‘No, Clarks.’
There is a long silence whilst she processes the information which clearly doesn’t compute. So I add:
‘I asked for them, they’re cute, white, with crossover straps and buckles and I wanted them for travels, as I don’t do trainers and I think flip flops are for the beach and these can work with trousers or a dress, though they’re a bit nursey comfy what can you do, I can’t do Liz Hurley high heels on the cobblestones or Ravello or Taormina, I’d fall over’

But yes, it happens, mystique ebbs away and you get… comfortable. I’m sure I’ll look ok and will only use them in emergencies. Plus Toph is genuinely finding them sexy. Deep down he likes a girl in a vest (an Urban Outfitters one was included in his gifts), jeans and flat shoes. That’s what I get for having Carrie Bradshaw as my spiritual guide… a guy who likes girls the likes of which don’t even figure in that show. Ever. Or maybe they’re the waitresses, the studenty ones in the caffs, not the done up to the nines ones in the clubs. But hey… I should take it as an omen that he won’t mind too much the progression to retirement home attire that will assail me oh, in thirty years or so. He loves smart too but is just happier out of smart. Justifies him wearing his favourite faded t-shirts. I once had a boyfriend who was always in casuals and blurted out 'How can you go out with a scruff like me?'. To which the only reply was 'Your huge penis darling, oh, and your intellect'.

However, what I fail to tell G. is that the following day, I went into Clarks again and got a pair of cute red flat sort of Todd’s style driving shoes. Just to walk to work you understand…. And they have a cute grosgrain bow that I can change for a velvet one of a different colour if I want to match them to some other outfit.

To be honest I was surprised at how mobbed the shop was. They all seemed Spaniards and Italians in there. I wonder why. Maybe they don’t do Clarks or comfy shoes in those countries. But surely they do? Or maybe Geoxx are too expensive? It has to be said that the range was reasonably modern in design. Oh there I go again, trying to justify rubber shoes.

Oh dear, just had a thought. In some 'Summer/travel clothes' storage box, I have two pairs of air Nike sole design flat shoes bought in HK when I was thinking the same thougth 'Need some plain and stylish flats to use on holiday /go to work'. Both are black. So now I have four brand new flats to go to work with, plus all the other crappy flats that these are meant to supersede - you know, the silly ballerinas you buy here and there when your feet hurt and you dive into any shop. So, two things here, memory fading, and the worrisome trend for admiring/purchasing flats. The thing that's even worse is that I often get into work and fail to swap them for the heels and spend the day in them. Which is plainly wrong as my clothes don't match flats on the whole. I need to re-progam back to the 'younger me'.

16 May - Leaks & Lessons

None of my sunglasses is clear of scratches. And I have to have them. My eyes are light sensitive and I wouldn't last five minutes in the desert withouth them. This means for example I'm always having to remember to take off sunglasses in photos. But I then get immortalised squinting which is no good either. Toph has 3 pairs exactly the same so year on year off he always looks like he’s on the same holiday. He has other sunglasses but never uses them and they're left for me to expand my collection.

The reason why they're scratched is that they're never put away in a bag or elsewhere inside the rightful case that they were sold in. No, they're always lose. I sort of don't mind, I wish they were more scratched so I'd move on to some new model instead of sticking to my favourites. Though it's also upsetting that you can't see out of your favourite vintage diors for some blotch on the lens. But it doesn't stop there.

I was writing something in a restaurant to help a friend with a project. When we were leaving I couldn't find the top to my biro, so I wrapped the tip in some tissue paper. God knows why I didn't just chuck it away there and then. Somewhere at the back of my mind I knew it would leak. So no suprises there, when will I learn and all that. The stupid worthless pen ruined a precious and much loved fine wool John Smedley beany hat. Yes I keep that in the bag as if it’s cold of a morning or at night, it will make me feel better as I strongly recommend always having your extremities warm and you're fine. Plus with its bright, summery colours I just loved finding it and adrmiring it. This is no longer possible as it's covered in ink.

I doubt this will make any change whatsoever to the way I fundamentally am. Not anal enough to care for my belongings.

15 May - I.O.

Not Incredibly Odd, but Information Omnivore. Was helping out Betty with BA homework for her business college and it's clear that I'm an ‘information omnivore’
She's doing some marketing project using British Airways as 'the company' and I'm straight in there with all sorts of things I've read not just about the fiasco at T5.
This is because I waste lots of time reading everything I pick up instead of 'War & Peace' as thoughtfully bougth by Toph for me at Xmas (and am not saying of which year). B.'s project is a little challenging though, because I have the info but have no recent experience of fashioning this into an essay. Not that I have to, she's got to, but it's due tomrrow and she's nowhere with it so am suffering what must be common for middle class parents the world over and I want her to succeed, get a distinction if possible and so go into overdrive (we're meant to have a social evening, not a business mentor/mentee one) and it surprises me how much I want to be superwoman in her eyes.

I tell her to call me the following day in her break and I'll dictate after having done a bit more research and coopted the boyfriend into answering the strategy questions. It will do him good to.


One area where I can be superwoman quite easily for her is that she’s a Chelsea fan and it so happens I have a friend in Moscow for the Championship League match final, so I ask if she can get an autograph from Michael Essien (B.'s fave player as he comes from her same country) or failing that...Drogba who's from nearby Cameroon. Even Toph says 'How do you know about Drogba? (Toph is a football agnostic and doesn't follow it at all), and I reply ‘Well I just do’ - because I am an I.O. - see above.

12 May - Turners & Turnips

I'm well acquainted with that waste of time that is retroactive jealousy… I'm the one who googles ex lovers of my lovers and get worked up about stuff that no longers figures in his mind.

But this morning a colleague takes the martyr top spot… Her husband’s previous past long relationship (12 years?) was with an artist who’s on the Turner prize shortlist and let’s face it, she has 1 in 4 chance of winning - £25k thanks very much and all the publicity and commissions you can handle, plus she's already repped by a top gallerist - and so er… yes… she’ll be in the public eye a lot. It will hurt a lot to see her face everywhere (pretty in an exotic sort of way) and the fact that it had ended in ’01 is not much consolation. My colleague is also an artist but as we’re not working in a museum or a gallery or in the arts period, you can assume she’s a frustrated and not so practicing one and has a long way to go to make it to the Turner/Turnip. I try to make light of it, after all, who can name the winner from 2 or 3 years ago, but she's not having it. I tell her that she earns twice in a year what the prize is but she replies that the artist has been doing what she wants, not what she has to. Fair enough.

I hold my colleague's hand, I feel dreadful for her, but the reality is that her husband is happy for his ex, and for the nurturing role he played in her development and not looking back. At least that’s what I want to believe. And did I say he also taught or mentored one of the other female short-listed artist? He must be feeling pretty good in the talent scout department. Wonder if he gets invited to the ceremony/dinner and my colleague will have to go and smile congratulations? Then again she could use it as a PR exercise for herself, but no, it would probably be too a poisoned evening for her.

10 May - Hands & Feet

This age thinking is a downward spiral. It just occurred to me that I should also aim to deal with the bunions sooner rather than later. As that surgery requires a longer off work period and apparently is a lot more painful to deal with. I was surprised when mentioning this that a few younger friends have already had this surgery at times when I perhaps didn't know them or was in constant contact. And my mother of course, there goes the hereditary cross again.

I don't really get this doing things in stages thing though... I think both hands and feet at same time would have narrowed the time during which I'll be mighty pissed off at the world due to pain/frustration/general ugliness. And I'd also have less time to chicken out. E. had her right foot operation back in Nov. and it's still not right and so, understandably, she's scared stiff of having to repeat this annus horribilis again for the left foot. Walking with a crutch was the least of her problems, it's just the pain and the fact that doctors will admit only months later that something didn't go quite right as was her case.

I'm not worried about slicing a bit of my hand/s to widen a little tunnell through which my nerves pass, but am totally worried about the surgeon having a bad day and accidentally slicing through said nerves thus making me pretty much disabled and guys, what would I do if I can't type these regular musings? Am not considering dictating them to anyone else.

Ps. such a shame am not having hand surgery in winter... Would hae worn fetching gloves over bandages...

8 May - Surgery & Tragedy

I've been told the pain I have been experiencing in my right hand has got a name and I have it in 'moderate' quantity and it needs an easy operation. A month or so later, I should submit the left hand to the same procedure.

My eyes filled up with tears and the consultant was quick to re-assure me that of all the possible ailments to have or surgery to suffer, this is really simple stuff. I know but... I've never had my body tampered with and this is the beginning of the end. In a few years I'll need my feet done - those pesky bunions will turn my feet into Duffy Duck's - and that will surely open the floodgates?

I know it's partly hereditary as my mother had similar ailment and so did an auntie. But imagine my surprise when I asked my mother about her operation. I was convinced she had it in her 60's but no, she said she was 45. Admittedly she's had nothing done since (oh, the bunions, just remembered) and currently is only taking pills for high blood pressure (I have low) and cholesterol (I have none). But still. She's developing a hunchback - yewwww - and my father has another set of complaints so potentially the biological destiny is ... not amazing. I'm wondering at what point the balance will tip over from vanity worries to real /health ones.

It's absolutely of no consolation to mentally list how many (younger) friends this past year have had knee or feet or other operations due to age, not to mention the ones who broke an arm whilst skiing at 40plus and saw had longer convalescence. I just thought I was better than them. That looking after my body in terms of diet and exercise, would spare me stupid stuff like carpal tunnel syndrome. Who knows what else is lurking there? And never mind that from diagnosis to surgery it will take a couple of months and I'll be in a super duper nice private hospital that has already sent a stylish brochure. I mean, I feel guilty. Those peeps in Burma have only paracetamol...

7 May - Wine & Tea

On the delights of Kennington gay dinner parties and the discussion about opening a wine bar or two which seems to please gorgeous BA purser M. who’s got a way with people and my Toph who imagines what life he could have just sipping and serving loyal customers. It tell both that I’d never want to be front of house, am too moody for that, but I could be counted on to be a super bitch to staff who let us down – one strike and you’re out - or try to steal from us. Believe me I say, everyone is out to fleece you and scam you.

Tbc.

Next day I meet a friend who last year opened a cafe’ to pursue his dream. He’s lost 3 stones and falls asleep cycling home as he does 6.30am to 8pm days most days and on some he has to stay later and has had no holidays, nor can he plan one. This is partly down to problem with staff. You know, you can’t find the right chef and if the chef doesn’t turn up and you have to step in and do all the prep, then when you’ve cooked 70 meals you have to deal with all the ordering/admin because you can’t find the right assistant manger etc. This is not what he had envisaged at all. He was looking forward to being front of house and making friends with interesting regular customers. The location is opposite a major TV channel. Turns out also that his devoted g/friend leaves her office job at 5.30/6ish to go help with cleaning, and more. So, she’s equally stressed. I tell him to give it a bit more time and don’t crack yet but he doesn’t look healthy and no matter how nice the place is, it’s not making him lots of money and it’s causing him grief.

Not ... fun! Must tell the wine bar dreamers...

5 May - WAGs 'r Us

Am dressed like a WAG, including those self adhesive rubbery chicken fillets you stick over your tits if you can’t show bra straps. There’s a reason for this (will spare you) and am glad the lilac WAG dress slashed to the waist and bare at the back only cost £15 at a River Island. The jersey is made of is not that different from some I touched at Browns. But it feels weird. Looking down my chest and seeing the bare strip between the breasts and the breasts all round and smooth… It feels odd. Wonder how they feel after people have had plastic surgery? As I walk I hold my coat closed and it’s too hot. But if a man catches a glimpse they look. This is easy. Too easy. But it’s so everywhere surely there’s no novelty value? But it’s a pavolvian response perhaps: see tits about to spill out of girls dress and … look.

I am totally overdressed when I turn up to meet a friend at 6.30 at the Mandarin Oriental. I am too old though (I hope) to be mistaken for a hooker. Oh look, there’s Rowan Keating with his wife. And later outside there are the fattest bunch of American girls you’ve ever seen, they’re waiting for some bulky short guy who used to be in Backstreet Boys (I had to ask…). I am still overdressed later when I go for dinner in a nice but understated Sardinian restaurant with Toph. He’s also looking down my chest. Which is dead funny. I tell him about the plumping up extras but he’s unfazed.

Later on, the dress gets pulled this way and that by Toph. Thank god it’s easy jersey. I was going to throw it away/consign it to a cupboard as it’s done its duty and lost its novelty value but he enjoys it so much that I’ll keep it now. He likes to pull the breasts out through, the middle gap and ravish them. Oh I love that verb. Perfectly describes what I presume gods do to nymphs and what have you, in all those paintings we’ve seen or frescoes etc. I still remember the frescoes in the old fort building in Cochin of multi limbed Shiva performing circus tricks on Mohini and her friends. Shame there were no postcards one could get or books, I did a search on internet at the time but if they don’t allow them to be photographed, they can’t be reproduced. But Toph is working wonderfully from memory. Aahhhh. He doesn't seem to mind when the fillets come out but he finds them a bit odd following morning as they sit all flesh coloured silicon proud on the bedside table.

4 May - Are expensive vests the equivalent of album fillers?

Am meeting C. who’s in town for work tomorrow. She’s in the shoe department in Harvey Nicks. ‘Why are you buying Italian designers here when at home you can get them with 20% discount?’ I ask? ‘Because I have no time to shop at home’ comes the reply. Oh yes, she works too hard.

She eventually settles on a pair of Siegerson Morrison and drops the Guccis. She’d picked up two pairs and one was frankly unremarkable, not that either was worth the £300 plus price tag. Then remembers she’s going to NY in a few weeks and could have bought the gladiator style cream and gold sandals Siegerson Morrison there. ‘But sometimes they don’t have all the lines, each shop chooses for own clientele’ she says in her defence. I know, I know. ‘And I have no time’ she adds for good measure. ‘What? You’re so far from a Harry Bendel that you can’t run in and get them? Get your PA to phone ahead and reserve the size. That’s how you make best use of your time.

As I wait for her to pay, I pick up some perfectly plain ballerinas by Alaia and they’re over £200. That’s taking the piss and whoever buys them is really stupid. Don’t mind paying for something specifically different/tat required some craftsmanship but these are plain little nothings which will get ruined in a day.

It’s the same at Stella Macartney. Some items are nice and unique, some are just fillers. Maybe designers do the same as recording artists? Would a plain t-shirt be the equivalent of the 3rd track from the end which could be dropped and nobody would notice? My other friend M. buy a plain shirt with a bit of ruffle, over £150, nothing to denote any design nous. And her sister L. picks up a simple vest with a bit of lurex, £120 if am not mistaken. Why? Because the mark up is incredible probably. It’s a silly vest. Ok made in Italy, so not such cheap labour but it’s a silly nothing vest…. And M. has it in black she says. I predict that after one wearing and one wash, it will be treated just like any Topshop vest. But these two have to have labels…

Why does Stella make these things? Probably because she knows her suckers, and am not just singling her out. On the way out I see a L’wren Scott cardigan that seems sweet, until I turn the tag and it’s over £400. Totally ludicrous. I make a note to limit visits to these shops to a minimum. They raise my blood pressure unnecessarily. Like a tube of Laura Mercier tinted moisturiser for £32. They’re all at it. Milking stupid consumers.

3 May - Bohemian Rhapsody

Boy are my friends who got married the luckiest people in the UK. Summer has come out just for them and their grateful guests.

tbc

2 May - Lipgloss & Glue

Do you know how much Vaseline, grease or whatever else of that yucky sticky nature there is in a tube of lipgloss? And how hard it is to shift?
My new Primark handbag, (yes, I had a moment of weakness and went in there) is awash with gluey lipgloss after a cap that wasn’t screwed on very well, led to said tube discharging the entire contents. The various sets of keys for my gypsy houses are covered. My wallet is covered. My make up bag is covered.
It’s only a £6 bag and I could get another one, but this brings out the resourceful housewife in me. I spend enough time soaking the lining in washing powder. Then I rinse and in the end, after it’s all dry again, I use my trusty old remedy, nail polish remover. The grease is gone and am just left with a pinkish extended stain on the lining, which I’ll try hard not to notice. The lesson has to be, to stick make up in make up bags and not leave it lose at the bottom of a bag.

Again and again as I scrub and clean, I think if this had happened to a £1,000 designer handbag I’d have not got out of bed for a week for the upset. And there you have the main reason why I never really purchase anything expensive. Because I pretty much damage a lot of what I own and it hurts less if it’s an item I haven’t gone hungry for (well I have never gone hungry for anything or anyone but you get my meaning).

1 May - Essex

Still publishing on 16 May with no editing skills involved.

We're going to a wedding huh huh! A poster wedding for 'there is hope after 50'. The bride is 51 or 52? and she's marrying a man nearly a decade younger. And he's rich! What a turn out for a former single mum. Can't wait.