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

Monday, January 26, 2009

28 January - A4 & Art

From time to time I try to do stuff that somehow connects with a previous, younger life, and then decide that it makes no sense, but I still do it.
A recent example is that one of those companies that specialise in those things that matter to people who have products to sell, you know, organising focus groups, being at the cutting edge of emerging trends, predicting the future choices of consumers blah blah, sent an invite for an exhibition of art by Chinese students, on A4 sheets.

It appealed to me, the simplicity of the concept and I wanted to see the execution and the 'gallery' was said company loft space in Soho. So I invited Stacey along who works nearby with the promise of 'there must be cute young guys there'. And at 6.30 we were the first there, so we got our glass of sparkly, ate some chinese sweets, walked around - took all of ten /fifteen mins - and then sat on one of the sofas by the door and chatted for another 90 mins, all the while (me) checking arrivals for Stacey's dating potential, whilst she was talking about, among other things, married man who she's no longer seeing and will receive a Dear John email very soon. Yes, we need to write those 'it's over emails' to feel empowered, when the reality is that we always feel tremendously let down even further, when the recipient merely acknowledges receipt and does not reciprocates with even 5% of the level of care and sympathy we've put into writing ours, but I digress.

Of course all arrivals were arty/marketing/creatives some of whom I would have lusted over a few years ago, not sure about Stacey as she prefers her creatives to be more r' n' r and these days finds businessmen a better fit, but truly, there was nothing to tempt us off the sofa. Apart from anything else we really no longer have any common ground with this field, and indeed as the launch was filmed for a podcast, there's probably now some employee busy trying to work out who the two older women were (we were also not dressed for the occasion, very drab in my case)who gatecrashed and just had a drink and a chat. Didn't eat any of the noodles on offer though so don't feel too guilty.

But truly, we needed a venue to meet, but why do I bother? What's this compulsion to still at least be near young people though not having anything to say to them? I made it worse by going into Topshop as I was heading home. The array of funky tights on offer had me almost depressed. Here were dozens of styles I cannot wear (horizontal stripes in fluo colours anyone?) though in the queue to pay (I bought some almost plain purple ones and some crazy lacy blue ones for the bedroom, don't ask, Toph will like them) there two muttons dressed as lamb if I've ever seen some.
There was also a woman whose till rang to the tune of £520. How do you spend £520 in Topshop? Ok, I did notice some handbags for £80 and I thought it's meant to be a shop for teenagers, you can't charge that!. But still, I felt like some pervy old man in that cathedral to schoolkids.

I really need to stick to friends who run the UN or something. Don't know any but that's a more satisfying milieu at this point. Any invites?


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