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, April 24, 2009

24 April - Jim & Jams

Ok, from time to time I think I should not write about friends' experiences because it's not fair but if there's an element of comedy in there, I'm sorry, I just have to. We all learn from other's mistakes and experiences non?

So, one - I'll make it v. short - is D. forwarding a bunch of her friends a blow by blow account of a recent date including reported speech of all the texts she exchanged with her friday date who had more or less told her he wasn't into her. I read all 2 pages of it, and kept thinking oh my god, why girl? I mean, after he told her by text and in person that he wasn't into her (nicely of course), she managed to extract from him time for a phone call to go over it again. If on the one hand you say 'I'm perfectly fine with this, it's not meant to be', then why crucify the nice guy to a phone call where you make him go over it again? Bear in mind that he so wasn't into her he at least didn't sleep with her so she has no reason to feel used in any way.
I showed said 2 pages to Toph and sort of stood over him as he read but he gave up. Refused to get to the end and put head in hands. I wish more of us women could be shown candid camera style videos of how men react to our endless churning of situations. D. probably spend ages composing texts and emails etc and a bloke like Toph, who's fairly tipycal, won't even read them.
Sad but true.

The other one is... last week we met with our friend who has the on but mostly off thing with the woman who has a boyfriend in another country and who we think only uses our friend for company when either she's alone in London and not going back to her hometown or her official man comes to visit. I mean, London can be lonely at w/ends when you're not working and have all this time to kill and if paramour insists on ferrying you to your language lessons and buying you lunch and dinner then why not.
However, and how telling is this, she proudly showed us the pajama she made him buy that afternoon. It's a nothing thingy casual that they could have got in the Gap but she made him get a Ralph Lauren one. Which is so not his brand but let's overlook the fact she made him buy something he'd object to, he only has to wear it when he's with her, in her apartment. But let's focus on this. As soon as we got into the car I said to Toph what do you make of that? And he replied 'She just doesn't want his naked body anywhere near her'. Which is what I thought to. Imagine this, the w/end before prior to the purchase of the RL pajaman, she'd insisted he wear one of hers. A fluffy pink thing she told us laughing. She says she finds not wearing pjs in bed 'dirty'. I'm like girl, it's your mattress, your bed, and you /him wash and change the sheets, what's dirty about being naked with your lover?
I'd have dumped her just for this but hey... suffer the blinded by love (him, not her)

Thursday, April 23, 2009

23 April - Gardens & Middle A

Yes, if it wasn't just enough to have Toph ring from LA to ask how his clematis is doing and are there any bugs attacking it.. (me, more interested in his recent encounter with Dave Stewart's healer and his claim that by twaking something on your jaw he takes years off you as in fact one Annie Lennox he'd done it to, called him after one of her Letterman's appearances to say that wow, she did look younger on TV, thanks to him), I'm away this w/end and am worried about the new plants in pots since have learnt that they get hot faster than those in the ground/soil, and since it's Ibiza weather, will they all be dead by next Monday?

I mean, since when do I give a f x about plants? Back in '86/7 when I bought my first property I remember distinctly deciding with my cohabitant D. that we would not look at flats with gardens as we were always out day and night and we could think of nothing worse than have to tend a garden and since ours, if we had one, would turn into a jungle in 4 weeks, we steered well away from one. Plus I hated basements and they seemed to be the only ones with gardens attached (of course neither of us had the cash to buy houses, a flat it had to be). So there, get to the wrong side of forty and wooo, coooo, look at them flowers/plants and, I kid you not, I stood and watched a red robin in the new garden for as long as he pecked about the other day. I guess it was the novelty factor or I hope it is, rather than some contemplative state peculiar to the old.

Then again, if that's what they do, time goes faster that way surely. Bit like being doped up. And it's true that I want an old person's home high backed reading chair...
But maybe just buy me a recording studio quality speakers and give me some rave music to just remember I ain't old yet.

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Monday, April 20, 2009

20 April - Dementia & leaks

There I was reading the Sunday papers at Toph's flat, around 9pm, since had not managed to read earlier in the day, when someone pounding on the door scared me out of my seat. It was the downstairs neighbour screaming that he had cascading water in his flat and I should go close the stopcock.

That's when I remembered.... that earlier I had started to rinse a little cashemere top ... and there it was, floating in the batrhoom basin overflowing with the tap which I had left running.
After turning it off and dealing with the debacle and a hopping mad Italian neighbour talking to himself about the tragedy I'd caused whilst his every calm Japanese g/friend just got on with buckets, mopping and so on, eventually the water stopped dripping and we'll deal with the damage. Since he's not insured, it's down to me, though one could argue that it's his problem non? But, er, yeah, I'll deal with it. Though to me it looks largely like a cosmetic repair is needed but he thinks the whole ceiling has to come down. And luckily the clothes have not suffered, only the mattress/bed. We're very lucky that a) I hadn't gone out and b) they were in, though best if they had been in bed early and would have noticed it instead of eventually hearing the water coming down/in.

But no amount of going back over he situation has thrown any light on why on earth I seem to have left the bathroom with a job not completed and gone to read the papers. I can't find the link. That's very worrying. My brain/mind has lost the sequence of events. Now I'm scared of driving and all those other things where a moment of forgetfulness can have even more serious consequences...

Or maybe it's just the shock of Toph going off again and not being around to save me from harm?

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19 April - Fave restaurants & mucking it up

The Cecconi debacle can be put down to human error of course and not one but several but...
A while ago had booked table at 8.30pm for dinnner for 4 on a Saturday.
When a lady rang the day before to reconfirm I was partially listening so it's lucky I heard her say 'So that's 4 people for breakfast at 8.30'. Wooohh, er no, I booked a table for dinner. She said no. I said most definitely. I have no idea how busy you may be on a Saturday morning at 8.30am since I presume not many power breakfasts take place at that time but mosth emphatically no.

She said they were now fully booked and had a table at 6.30pm or 9.30pm. I said no, neither works, so find me a table, since am sure you hold tables back in case Madonna walks in on a whim. So she did.

On the night I said to Toph let's go a bit earlier to grab that table and wait for the others. When we arrived the lady (I sort of thought was the same who had rang since accent seemed same) can't find my name anywhere. I insist so then she find a major unrecognisable mispelling of my surname and says 'Oh yes, table for 2, here you are'.

Aaargh. NO, it's a table for 4 you moron. She and the 3 other idiots standing there with her says they're fully booked. I said we're going to the bar, send the manager over and he'll have to do something. The girls are still looking at me like I don't exist and surely I must be bridge and tunnel to them but not a hint of apology. The thing I forget to mention is that 2 friends are major fans of the Wolseley and had taken a bit of effort to shift them to come and try Cecconi's.

Manager is now a manageress (of course the fab one is in LA) but she's cool. Gets the story and especially the bit where we suggest staff are trained to show some respect to cutomer and not just look as if they don't give a shit. She confirms they're massively booked but sets about inventing a table at the back which gets hauled in from some store room. By the time our 2 friends arrive our table has been ready for 20 mins but... lo and behold we get shifted to a better one that's just vacated and manageress says 'I'll personally follow you throught he evening' and she does. I feel now majorly guilty that my 2 friends are on a self imposed non drinking month, that one is one that hungry so our table for 4 probably yields the restaurant a very small return for a Saturday night. But... can't do much about that. And true to her word some things don't make it to the final bill so it's even smaller. Hence great tip. Oh and at some point in the evening she made culprit front desk girl come and apologise to me. I was good. I spared the much embarrassment and said look things get lost in translation, just sort out the attitude (well no, didn't say the last bit, as I was a waitress briefly 30 years ago and I simply HATED customers as I had to work to serve them and they were out on a jolly with money I didn't have to spend but then again nobody had bothered to give me any training or a bit of a speech about the value of customers).

So, if you're reading Mr Soho House, your staff did you proud. Now I just wish had been in less dark mood when the rather professional bartender was serving us drinks at the bar and Toph and I were just bickering on how to handle situation. At some point Toph (fresh from LA where customer rules) had actually uttered these words to me 'Do not ever undermine me' , since I had told him to tone down the aggrieved customer and was pulling him away from what I thought may turn into a scene. Very blokey this 'do not undermine me, ever.' Rather like it actually.

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17 April - What one wonders about

See, we all do it, all day long mind wandering along god knows what lines inspired it to go here or there and most of it is puff. I try to think about intelligent stuff but it's not automatic, it happens only if it's inspired by some higher discussion. Left to my own devices, apart from having 50% of actual total thougths these days taken up by refurbishment of property (example need to buy replacement seal for shower panel if want to use existing or ... sod it, let's have a new panel even though the difference is approx £120 - see how interesting is this? NOT) I still don't have any thoughts that would be deemed interesting by anyone, except that maybe Alain de Botton has nothing on me. Standard other thoughts are things like 'How differently women apply lipstick, you know there are the ones who have the tip of theirs filed down to a sliver, becuase they go left to right with some force vs the ones who have a pointy end as they twist it in between the lips and those who wear the stick down keeping the original shape. That would be me. Which is why I got a jolt only the other day when I took out a currently regular lipstick from make up purse and in applying realised it had worn down in a sort of pointy end. I kid you not that the thought that flashed in my mind was 'F uck, who's been using my lipstick????'
Er... clearly no one but me and so when did I actually turn into this other woman? I checked other ones and I seem to have treated only this clinique one in this fashion. How very odd.

Now, are you not grateful that I don't twitter or you'd have got this in 18 instalments of 40 words or characters or whatever the limit is...

Thursday, April 16, 2009

16 April - Bonus & Anus

Just as well that I had not totally lost faith in the so called bonus culture because guess what, I got one and it's 'only' 25% less than last year, which on balance is about right. It was a calculated risk then to spend money on silly things like contouring legs but ... I was still not in debt and doing my bit for keeping Britain going.

I'm not patronising restaurants and bars (though going to Cecconi's on Saturday and why not) but passing wealth on to clinics. And what's more they'll get repeat business when it comes to lifting the bosom which is still fine for now and in the very near future from my sister who's going to deal with her fine lines round the mouth, and a friend who wants the flabby tummy gone. She'd also like a vaginal reduction 'so I can feel something, anything' but that's a different clinic I think. I'd like my ass bleached. I have clearly bought into the porn look which is exactly that in mainstream stuff. But it seems silly. Am sure I can try and buy into the brazilian porn canon instead of the caucasian american one and all will be fine. It's always all just in your head.

15 April - Work & Reviews

Ah what I would have given... Friend of mine works for big cheese of industry representing bod. He's a lawyer. She doesn't like him. Too long to go into and not unconnected to the fact she's been in the industry for at least 20 years longer than him and is a woman and therefore so not obstinate and unwilling to listen to suggestions as he is.

Now as you know, unless you happen to be an artist, in most work environments one is subjected to yearly performance reviews on which things like salary levels, bonuses, promotions and so on are based. These reviews take into account the opinions of your peers, subordinates and bosses. In some companies you're allowed to view the comments which appear anonymous but you can usually play your guessing game and identify who said what about you. You can also realise how there may be diametrically opposed views of yourself out there but by and large, people try and be reasonable and helpful and it's up to you to not react like a small kid to criticism.

So, in her case, since a couple of people who had to comment on her boss were in cars at the time and used her to be connected to each other, she decided to mute her phone and carry on listening in. Oh how she loved it. Oh how much ammunition to her battle, plus the satisfaction that her opinions are shared by two external big cheeses of some repute. However, the sad thing is that right now they don't have an easy substitute for him should they decide he's not working out right and so they're giving him another year. Darn. But she just loved it and I loved listening to it since I know who/what etc. You're never safe in technoland!

12 April - It's not grim up North

Sometimes.. the sun up north is the best light you've ever seen almost icelandic. You wouldn't list Morecambe bay as any special destination but it's been such a lovely day driving around, eating fish and chips with the obese masses. And can I say it's worth having had Toph away for a while if when he's back he's Mr twice a day. Sure that's not 5 a day (darn he's not 25) but it nicely balances the day. The levels vary but you couldn't have a perfect ten all the time or it wouldn't be worth it. Definitely not grim up North for me.

9 April - Brian & Jon

Quite proud of this bit of quick thinking. So the BF was finally on his way back after a six weeks absence. He rang from the car to say the traffic into London from the airport was pretty dire/slow. I of course had been up by the time he landed, and done a good round of bathroom activities and dwelling in drawers so that I could pretend to have just woken up but have some make up on, minty fresh breath, flowers arranged just so and generally looking the picture of welcoming party of one.

So I thought, oh no, by the time he gets here there will be life to deal with (I had to go out not too long after), and so I called him back and made him tell me what had gone on in past few days of no phone due to Africa so that he wouldn't waste time telling me when he arrived. Inspired thinking! By the time he walked in, the catching up had been done and he could just jump my lovely bones. Organised or what?

Then I left him to sleep off several months of stress and went to ... collect bathroom tiles I had ordered. Yes, that romantic. Then I got back and woke him up to help me download them from the car and incurring back problem in the process. I'm an idiot. I had however warned him that life does go on and after the initial flush of excitement at the warrior return, we gatherers would just make him do gathering stuff. He was game. Just moaned about how cold it was mainly.

Then it was time to go listen to Brian Eno and John Hassel in conversation at the South Bank about... the control/surrender axis and various other things they have been pondering for a few years. I was pondering on how absence makes the heart and all that. I think the boyf was glued against me in a way that he's not often practiced. And played with my hair throughout which I adore. When I told H. later, (she was there too with boyf) she said she finds hair stroking 'patronising' and gives her the creeps. There you go, another one for we're all so different.
We went backstage and Brian and John had their little groups of friends just into them. I imagine that there must be a l ittle bit of competition going on there. But it was fun. Nobody asked about U2. Then we left and went back to do it all again. Fab.

Sunday, April 05, 2009

5 April - Cocktails & Bars

Saturday had started badly with a wasted trip to battersea to pick up tiles that weren't actually all there. You know, it is wearing very thin my already low enthusiasm for refurbs, and having to make 4 trips alone to get tiles, is frankly not how I want to spend any time, but in the absence of one of those you know, decorators that sorts it all out for you, I have to do it. Damn. Hate it. And I still didn't have taps, nothing can be actually purchased there and taken away it seems so I marched into a bathroom showroom and asked what do you have that I can have next week and the sales assistant pointed to 4 models I could have by Wednesday, so I picked one. That way you see, there is no point trying to 'design' anything. Oh and top tip, any white heated towel rail is a fraction of the price because now everyone wants silver. Well, white is fine by me.

So the invitation to go out for a drink later with the best bartender in town, a legend in fact, had to be taken though I'm a very light drinker and I was tired. He's a neighbour though we've never been in each other's house. We meet at the Portobello Star which he says makes the best cocktails. We then go to Mongomery Place and have virtually the same drinks and they're very different though he pronounces them good too. Then we go and eat at Bumpkin and back to MP since the PS closes earlier. PS wins, by the way. My tally is still low, 3 Cosmopolitans are not even rattling me slightly. Another one would be just right but it's chucking out time and since the clientele is the usual young eurotrash and we were reminiscing earlier about the Zanzibar in Covent Garden (his first job and location of my first meeting with one of my longest running friends I.) we might as well be from another planet.

In those days we'd have had somewhere else to go to now but since we're local, a stroll home is beckoning. Another good night's sleep. Just wish I didn't wake up thinking 'Oh, have to paint those A3 sheet with the paint samples'. I mean, since when is this what I waste time on? It's maddening not to be able to close the project so to speak and instead just see this stretch into Summer.

3 April - Studios & Sainsbury

I was going to stay in, but then famous producer who never bothers to reply to my practical messages since he's the house guest I never see due to conflicting schedules, texts to ask me to go listen to the album he's just putting to bed. So I go to the studio and am greeted at the door by his bouncy new assistant all of 24 years old and over 6ft. His evident enthusiasm for having landed this great gig is uplifting somehow. I discover later that he lives sort of in Bromley and when he'll finish here at the usual 3am or so, will scooter to Chiswick where he parks the car at his ex g/friend's house to then drive back and hit the sack over an hour later. And there are no w/ends in this job, but maybe in the 2 or 3 years he'll spend with famous producer he'll be nicked by Madonna or some other artist to go programme on her tour and all will be worth it.

So I sit down on the sofa and playback begins. It's not easy to cover this role, I'm not in any great position but am supposed to have good ears and make useful comments. Three songs in, I announce I'm sitting in the wrong place, behind the speakers, and move to the desk. Much better. By song 6 I've regained the faculties required and my suggestion that the vocals are too far back in this one and obscured by the bass, is spot on. Famous producer (and songwriter in this case too) says it was on his list to do exactly that to this track. I rule. It's all wonderful stuff by my favourite norwegian, since I really don't rate the royskopp boys anymore, and am shocked to hear that the record company is only going to release two singles to see how it goes, ie, they may not pick up on the album. Am incensed on her behalf, this is no way to treat a great artist but it's crowded out there and we have a good chuckle at U2 only shifting 50k in the UK in their first week. Poor little Moby is doing it by himself for example, since the large conglomerates will only invest in surefire stuff. Anyway, this is boring.

On my way out he asks if I have the car and I say sure, do you want a lift to Sainsbury before it closes at midnight. Of course. And there they go. One minute making magic stuff, the next getting microwavable meals.
But the restorative qualities of decent sounds mean I go to bed happier than I've been this week.

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2 April - Saltwater & Signs

So the world is watching the G20 and I'm taking the piss out of silly bankers I know who, upon having been instructed to dress down to escape possible lynching my angry mobs, are wearing jeans and gucci loafers but worst of all is their shirts. Nobody in any other industry apart from possibly politics, or estate agents? wears monogrammed shirts. The fools. Blending with the crowds means wearing salmon pink jeans or the basic attire of a yaching holiday with a stop over in St Tropez. Lucky for them maybe the protesters don't get handed out leaflets with drawings of what to look out for in a fiancial services industry worker. Or they don't care any way.

My doom and gloom has no origin in the big downturn crisis or whatever it is, but it's certainly deep if I greet with relief the news that a friend has headed home with period pains at lunchtime on the day that we're supposed to go to Koko's to see a dance band we rather like. Koko smoko, I was thinking that the only thing that would have made the evening bearable was going for Japanese at asakusa first. This is no reflection on my friend's company which I cherish but I'm in no mood to go anywhere, too tired and there's about ten posts prior to this one which aren't properly written. Ah well.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

1 April - Maintenance & Bodies

Whilst am not advocating plastic surgery and I think this country's media constantly peddles dangerous aspirational surgery that's clearly costly and damaging in the long run, I have no objections to routine maitenance and a round up of (admitted) non-necessary procedures amongst my friends has this tally:

P: facelift, nose, lips. All this done before she was over 40ish and very happy with it all
C: nose - at 40, should have done earlier, ecstatic about reducing it, it was never small
R: eyelids at 55, has knocked ten years off her, and sprung her into WeightWatchers and has lost over a stone as well, looking good indeed
D: tummy tuck in her 30's and due to 3 pregnancies so saggy. Worked then, now effects have gone, but 15 years later what do you expect
D: tummy lipo at 40 something, very happy about it
R: breast implants at 23 but was unproportioned small chest on tall, buxom girl. Very happy about it
Z: breast implants at 30. Not necessary in my view but she loves her new huge knockers. So do all of her male co-workers
I: derma fillers to face in early 40s. Don't see her any more so no idea if they held or has repeated.

Of course there are more but not admitted. For example I suspect S. of a bit of everything since she's over 50 and you can give her 5/8 years less but any enquiry in that direction is fobbed off on spa treatments. Spa my arse I say... For all I know there are hair extensions galore and are those different from cosmetic enhancement? and I would definitely recommend a few more friends and foes to have their teeth fixed but, that's one of the ugly processes, extra painful and at times wildly more expensive than just a lipo or botox for ten years.

So with all this in mind, and bearing in mind nobody in my small sample has had bad experiences in their repspective clinics, I'm happy to book the one thing I'd wanted done forever and a day, removal of saddlebags. I toyed for years arguing that for the amount of money spent I could have gone to Brazil, Jamaica, Thailand, Bali and so on, on a wonderful holiday but if on said holiday and resulting photos I see my thighs and sigh everytime that they don't belong to the same body of general slimness, then it's worth doing. The only thing to consider now is skin elasticity not being what it was, will the area vacated of fat be sticking back to underlying muscle or hang a bit lose which frankly would be worse than living with the bags... Mmmhh. Not sure the doctor can really assess this and am sure will have to sign whatever consent form and worry about the results later. And of course doing the thighs only, would that not then show up the really already sagging knees more? Again, there are no easy answers so, to hell with it. Am booking it. On another note, it's just as well I held back so far on macrolane injections to boost saggy breasts as they seem to be undergoing a full renaissance no doubt due to hormonal ageing changes. So money saved there.

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31 March - Summits & Sackings

You have to have no sympathy really for bankers as they don't really reason like the sort of people who are anything but arrogant, though am sure it's mostly learned behaviour for the majority and they will lose it when they have to live digging up potatoes soon.

I saw one of those City website/newsletter things that quoted some as saying (apropos the G20 summit and expected protesters) that they were ready, bring it on so to speak because "most of us have played or play rugby so we're ready for them/a fight".
Apart from anything else, the above stupid sentence presumes that all bankers are male since I've never come across a single woman who plays rugby though am sure there are teams/leagues and whatever.

On the subject of work in general, went to a leaving do (financial year ending meant swathes of workers were axed before they show up in next year's losses and can be chalked out to this annus horribilis instead). And you have to feel sorry... fewer people to sign those wretched sorry you're leaving cards, and fewer people around to donate anything to the collection, and pitiful few at the sad drinks where we drink prosecco instead of champagne. I wonder if there are cards already that actually say the truth, sorry you were unceremoniously dumped and no, we don't really believe you'll be fine in a few months when the redundancy package runs out.

30 March - Money & Friends

I could write this post w/o fail every month and I could have written it for the past few years. I try and remain zen about most of life because the first question I ask when any bad stuff happens to me specifically is: has anybody died? If the answer is 'no', then it follows that it can't be that bad. So on that, I am fine, don't panic and so on. But most people probably have different attitudes to anything in life and money for example.
A few years ago I lent a good friend a pot of cash. £40k. No, I didn't have it floating about but I borrowed it as a drawdown on my mortgage, as you do. He was going to repay me the amount owed every month on his portion of the loan and in the meantime the building society merrily deducts it from me every month. We did draw up a contracts at a solicitor. This is backed by a house he bought in the middle of nowhere suburb of ... Bristol. A couple of years later I lent him another £10k (same way) because he had to pay off a tax bill.
What could go wrong?
In all the time this has been going on, bar a flying pig kind of month, I have had to chase that FUCKING payment off him every month and most times it takes a month to see last month's due amount in my account by which point it's this month and this month's due and so on.

Of course very heated exchanges have taken place. I don't so much object to it all being late as much as I object to being told on a Friday that it will be there on Monday, only to chase it on Tuesday and then Wed and then Thur it's still not there and Friday, well maybe. You know, just tell me for sure you have funds and when I will get it because otherwise I've in turn made arrangements thinking it's going to be there and so on.

Of course I have said sell the fucking bloody house and give me my money back and be done with it, never mind that you live in it with your brood and would have to go rent, I don't CARE. But I together with most of the country had not reckoned with the recession and of course had he bought a flat in Kensington, he'd have no problem getting rid of it, but a pokey house in Bristol suburb is just never going to shift, not even knocking it down to below below below 2006 prices.

And so we are here. Every month. Of course you could say to me that I should live as if that money was never going to arrive every month and spare myself much churning but... I can't manage it. And as a consequence I have not managed to go visit his family for over a year, probably nearly 2. I just can't face it as am so resentful. The thought of 4 more years of this drip sends me spinning.
As I said, some people can't handle finding a mouse in their flat and go spare, I can't handle being owed money.

26 March - The 3 Gays

Sometimes you think you've died and gone to heaven. In turning up to meet my g/friend C. and my friend J., I arrive to find the pleasant surprise of their other friends and house sharers, M. the BA purser and N. who I never remember what he does, but something smart and glamorous.

M. & N. are beyond drop dead gorgeous in diametrically opposite, but both six footers ways. M. is a poster boy of dark Italian/Swiss looks with immaculate D&G style, a dark tan and compassionate brown eyes that just melt you, he's full of help and love and cheerfulness for everyone.

N. is Nordic looking with the height of a Swede but a more Danish tan easy complexion, when he's in fact Irish. He's muscly in that rippled way and wears t-shirts and jeans and has the bluest eyes. He can also be a total bitch, but we like that.

J. is my bearded and solid tall bear.

None of them has pronounced gay mannerisms, well, not displayed at lunch at shore house, and none of them is interested in going to see the meatfest up by the pool. Which makes it so much harder to remember they are gay and out of bounds and not interested in C& I as anything but friends. I spend part of my meal fantasising about the 3 of them together in a giant squid like entangle. They've never gone there with each other. And it's dead easy to picture me slithering in and out of that sweaty limb fest. I don't know for sure, but I'd be very suprised if they didn't all have beautiful, massive dicks and amazingly smooth skin with the best hair you've ever touched.

Suddenly, J. mentions he's gone to see the Priscilla musical, M. says he loved it too and N. says he will go, and... they're off. The gayness now to the fore, talking over each other about trannies and cross dressers, singing tunes and stuff. Darn, my little fantasy goes up in a puff. Must be worse for C. who's been in love with M. for years, goes on trips with him, lives with him but the boy is not for turning...

22 March - Paradise club & young people

I swear to god... I get captured from time to time by non close friends who want to go out and appeal to me as one who still does go out in a desert of people who want to go out. If that makes sense. So after ducking a few proposals, I find myself agreeing because... it seems unkind to say no. Thus I find myself playing guide to a 30 something friend who's trekked all the way from beyond Greenwich to come check the Paradise because she's heard it's a great bar/club of some sort. A further friend of hers who was meant to come has dropped out so am not afforded the luxury of doing the same. Darn.

I like it too. The problem for me is that an hour into a place like that, I sort of want to go home but this would be curtailing D's fun and I have to endure it till the end (ok 1am or 2am, can't remember now, so it's not till dawn or anything but...). The problem is that we only have each other to talk to and we've already done that on the way there, plus am largely not interested in much that goes on with her. A few guys check her out (she's good looking and sexy) but it doesn't go far and perhaps she doesn't want to then ignore me. I am a bit out of place here as everyone else is max 35 and at 37 D. is already beyond this age group but it's definitely not mine any more. My feet hurt too. It's become plenty apparent that going out dancing was purely part of the mating ritual. I no longer need to find a mate right now, ergo, I don't need to do the song and dance routine.

She's staying the night so when we get back and I am dying to go to sleep she remarks how nice it is to be together like sisters in old bedroom chatting into the night, which then means I can't just cut it short and say 'Am off to bed'. Oh dear. The worst part is that she has had fun and so wants to do it all again soon, since there is also another place at my end of town that she's heard about. But I manage to say something like in a couple of months and then hopefully I can stretch that to four. Oh yes I've got old!

20 March - Watches & Jewellery

Sometimes the posh papers, well the Daily Telegraph, have supplements on jewellery and watches. These fascinate me and I almost read them from cover to cover. Or rather, I don't read the jewellery articles, but read the stuff about watches. Even though I don't care if the watch can survive a nuclear meltdown and carry on functioning a million years from today. How do they know? Which nuclear meltdown did they smuggle the watch into to test this? Do they have friends in North Korea? And what if the meltdown is survivable but a standard armoured vehicle crushing your arm/watch just kills its functions?

I just like the look of an Omega Co-Axial chronometer. I do not know what the co-axial stands for, two axis of what? The standard day and night? Good and evil? Above or below water? Standard axis or alternative axis if that one goes wrong?

The thing is, I do not look at women's watches, simple or encrusted with an abundance of baubles and coloured straps. I just adore men's watches. Am I blokey? Clearly not, since as I said the thechnical spiel bores me stiff and I think it's there just to inflate the price of the watches (I read somewhere that at auctions, some buyers are actually disguised stooges of the actual manufacturer who are bidding to raise the price and make the brand seem more covetable). It's just a shame that I can't really indulge in wearing a man sized watch on my slender wrist. It would be interpreted, correctly, as a huge affectation, a signal of some allegiance to god knows what fraternity and I don't wish to confuse people that much. And I don't believe in collecting watches just to keep in drawers and show guests or just slobber over them on my own. But I wish I didn't think like this because I'd be more inclined to spend money on men's watches than on art for the walls for example. Go figure... Never had a boyf. into his watches either. Father wore his gold, simple, Omega (oh la la, one of the brands I like but lets let this one pass all ye freudians) all his life and so on.

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