31 December - Thai babies

G's Thai g/friend' pregnant. Must have got so as soon as he had her shipped over in September since baby due in June. Feel super sad for official girlfriend who only heard of Thai one about a year ago but didn't do the sensible thing of cutting off all ties and entered in some kind of battle over the man. She still didn't quit when he brought this one to live in his house (never allowed official g/friend to live with him). This time she loses. Apparently he's pretty made up that his sperm has generated a baby, though me and the ex wife can't begin to imagine how he'll look after a baby. Then again he may not have to. I fully expect Thai g/friend to flee back to Thailand in the first few months after she's sprogged it. And he, father, will be quite happy to go visit once/twice a year as he's been doing for the past 7 or so. Oh and just send money.

I asked ex wife how he had met Thai girl. She said she's an optician and he met her when he went to buy new glasses. I thought for a second oh, that then doesn't allow me to feel it's such a cliche' as he did not meet her in a bar. Then 30 seconds later I though, no, we only have his story that she's an optician. As if. This woman has been in London, in a suburb to boot (I mean nothing outside front door apart from the Coop) for 5 months and all she does is sit at home watch thai films on computer. He never takes her out/with. For some reason am convinced that if you worked in an optician you may have had a bit more oomph about you and wish to explore, get to know, learn English or other. Whereas if you worked in a bar, you're just super happy not to have to say inane shit to tourists and just chill indoors. It's not even as if he's fucking her much. (have it only on his saying so to ex wife but they're good mates) so as I said, she's just found a meal ticket and a rest home.

31 December - GPs & Gyms

So, why wait till the new year for the new me. Here I am at the GP in the morning to ask her which of various suggestions from friends she may endorse vis a vis the 'I'm angry/irritable/Greta Garbo all the time' new me (or latently it's always been there, now it's more to the fore). She dismisses DHEA supplements - no evidence apparently though my friend S. gave to me and swears by it and melatonin, but approves of Isoflavones from red clover. Or rather, she says try/carry on, see what happens. Doh! I wanted more of an instant solution, these supplements things take weeks to have any effect if at all. She says it's different for different people. I better save the good stuff for when things take a turn for the worse. Right now we're only at the stage where everything feels a bit 'So what, been there done that'. You know, when somebody could tell you you're going to a fab show, fab dinner, fab hotel, fab club and you just think 'yeah but, it's just a show/meal/hotel/club' etc etc. In other words you're basically envying teenagers like mad. They talk in superlatives, are super excited, can't wait for this or that to happen or not happen and generally right now on NYE would be sorting out super mega charged with happy hormones what's going to happen as the night unfolds. Moi... I had a choice of several gathering with friends. I mean, what's great about that? Everything is a foregone conclusion unless someone slips rohypnol in my drink and I have a 'Hangover/the Movie' adventure. I mean... lots of people hated that film but I truly thought, gosh let's shake things up a bit, let's get some. Ok, ok, it would not all end up fine in the end but still.

In the meantime have had my gym induction - yeah, not been for a whole year can you believe it. The woman says my BMI is one degree under lower end of spectrum which makes me underweight! As if, I think these things are slanted in favour of fat people so they won't feel too bad when they get these results. I want to say 'woman, you've just measured my waist, admittedly not as tight as I'd have done but you just wrote down 69cm that's outrageous, used to be 65cm at the most. Clearly I have not said no to xmas food as should have done. Anyway, today here I was doing a mightly boring pilates class (I'll never get it, too slow, too... drippy) and a 15 mins core session and then the kind gym instructor who had nothing to do at all, place empty, nobody at work, gave me a fantastic side stretch to arms - they're a bit like my hamstrings, always stiff) so I was able to do a pretty satisfying bridge.

So, there you have it, mood uplifted already. Though I must say it also helps not to have any colleagues whatsoever wanting to talk rubbish at me for their 'downtime'. And there I was, about to press 'post' w/o even saying happy new year but that's what I mean, who cares about best wishes, it will be what will be surely.

30 December - Bridesmaids & Sherlock

Start the evening in mad Westfield (I guess all shops are mad right now that the usual 'shop now before you really notice the recession' brainwashing frenzy is at its height) with N. to try and find our bridesmaids dresses in the sales. Gosh at least she's younger than the bride, I'm well the other side. We have a problem. Bride wants us to wear non bridesmaidy clothes , not long, not taffeta-y and not to be dressed alike. N. is determined that we should dress alike to make it easier for guests to spot us and ask for any help with the proceedings (extended sides of the families will not have met and wedding and reception are in unfamiliar territory to the incoming Irish contingent).



Actually we have several problems to solve. The one about finding dresses in the right colour is minor (bride wants us in a light shade of mocha and the shops have tons of black, purple, red and so on) compared to the one about finding a dress that suits the following diverging body types: type N. is very very tall, no bum, no hips and flat chested with gorgeous long legs, milky skin, dark mane of hair and cornflower blue eyes so for example she picks a floaty thirties flapper dress with lots of fabric detail and low waist from Karen Millen and next to her in same dress Type L. -who is short, has bum, has hips, has breasts, with short ugly legs and uglier knees, caramel coloured skin post Thailand and honey coloured hair and green eyes, just doesn't suit it.

Converseley, SJP/Kylie style dresses that look great on Type L. make Type N. look like a sorry lampshade.



Eventually we settle for a couple of dirt cheap dresses from Coast, who'd have thougth, I never go in there, but honestly we went everywhere else and nobody had anything right though I said Armani would, but didn't even cross threshold as N. said out of her price league. They're in the requested colour though look better on me colour wise than N. However, she wins hands down since hers becomes a mini dress and the legs get a great showing. I half win because the shape is actually more my shape than N's. But I will have to accessorise with an underskirt of some type since at my age I'm def not having the ugly knees on show and will have to request that N. wears flat shoes whilst I'll be on stilts. We hope to get away from the 'no same dress' dictum by having me in a short jacket, she in a shawl or other way round. Me in a hat and she a fascinator or nothing or other way round. If bride hates them... well we have 2 and a half months to go.



It was a good start to work out what to do. Never mind that we spent half the time being drawn to non wedding items which we had not come out looking for but were more 'us'. However, we talked about our other roles. We have to give a short speech each - terrifying prospect, we don't know what to say past filling 1 minute. And we have to organise the hen day which again comes with exclusions. Amazing how in canvassing suggestions I give the bride speech to us: a) must not be outside London, b) must not be expensive and most women reply 'How about a long weekend by the Red Sea or in Morocco or... blah blah. I mean... there I am, pissed off half the time that bank clerks, Habitat order processing people and all sort of other idiots don't read the notes on the order (please deliver new cheque book in BRANCH AT xx, only to find out after 3 weeks of visits and phone calls that it has been posted LATE to my actual address or Please do not deliver new bookcase before 15th Dec, as nobody at address till then and oh they come on the 14th of course) and here I am gawping at intelligent sensible people, my mates, who have not heard the very important bit about NOT outside London, NOT costing a lot of money. Are their brains made of strudel? Anyway, bride also said she wants a competitive sort of activity and here is my intelligent sensible co-bridesmaid saying 'There's this place in Camden where we can go make /paint pottery and we could all then give her a plate/cup/teapot we've handcrafted'.

Er, N., dearest, what's competitive about that? How about archery, shooting, showing off doing a burlesque routine, remember the bride wanted us to go learn how to play polo!! Suggestion nixed on the grounds of 'You mean you want to fall off a horse and break something 2 weeks before your wedding? No, no, no'.

So here we are... nothing decided yet for hen day, but we have two half-right bridesmaid dresses. Oh and we've bonded a bit more which is good. For some odd reason she's in awe of me (age I guess) though it's me who's eager to please and accept her choices rather than force mine.



My evening ends at a friend whose friend N. was the art director on Sherlock. Which my extended family went to see the other night (I wisely sat in the foyer with the papers for a blissful two hours of 'me' time and found ten mis to spend the cinema ticket money on fripperies) and N.s own good friends went as a six strong group to see it the other night too. They all agreed that... the sets are fab. And that Robert Downey looks hot (six strong group was gays and beards). They have nothing else to say that isn't disparaging about the film. So how do you vote on a movie if all you thought was good was the sets and one /main actor? Mr Ritchie, I think they mean to let you off on this one but the naked torso fighting thingie is your usual homo erotic way out of thin plot. What was that dreadful film with Brad Pitt as a boxer that you made? Anyways... did I ever tell you last year about Mr Ritchie leaving behind after a crew meeting in NYC his notebook on which he's always scribbling and crew being surprised that the notes were actually just doodles? Yep, and you know the story about him not really directing much but just being there? Gossip, I know.



My gay friend J. was most taken with my £3.50 gift of a tattooed stocking that he can wear on his forearm under a t-shirt and from a distance it totally looks like he's had his arm tattooed in bright sailors colours. From American Retro on Old Compton St. The other gays there are beating a path to it as we speak. They loved it. As I always say, I know what to get. Was it for this reason that my gay friend thanked me profusely by grabbing and kissing full on on cheek at least twice (but there could have been one more time behind my back) my lovely Toph? I got to get a rub of his huge beard too and very nice it is too. However, the suggestion of spending NYE there may have to be declined. I have a feeling that Toph would not be safe from attention. And that's just the men.



Oh and I have no room to tell you that J. is going to move in with another N. the translator, who lives next door to the two gays with the parrots where J. lived over a year ago and moved out because there was trouble brewing in the relationship. Turns out that N. had his walls practically shedding plaster as the couple next door were fighting and throwing each other against the wall, all 140lbs of them, they're tall and muscle marys. One has moved out and has since called the RSPCA since the remaining one travels for work a lot and the parrots are left on their own. Oh my the drama. Wonder what the parrots have to say.

29 December - Science & Food

For once am at work between Xmas and New Year and what an eye opener it is. If I had thought there would be a modicum of trading... I was wrong. This parrot is truly dead. Nothing doing, nobody ringing, nobody visiting, nobody requesting anything (and no, am not working on a helpdesk, but someone has to water the bonsais - yes plural and no, don't ask).

In fact, I'm the one with the request, since have gone and jammed a large filing cabinet containing amongst other things my long forgotten gym stuff and well, what better time to use one (not gone in a year) than when there's no work to do? So, here we are, in the vast tumbleweed central of huge company X: me, Polish facilities person who is currently making noises like he's trying to open the doors to the safe in a bank - you know when they twist the secret combination dial this way and that way, and one colleague. The one who, on the Saturday of the 'Snow & Bad Weather' afore xmas, flew to Bucharest in Romania - for world readers with scant grasp of geography - only to be diverted to a strangely named (basically I can't remember it but was not the capital and was near the Dead Sea) airport in ... Bulgaria. At 1am. After dumping the passengers there, the Air Lingus plane took off back to London ... with all their luggage. In the morning the passengers organised themselves into lists and took staggered coaches back to Bucharest and thence home to other towns. Apparently this made the front pages of Romanian newspapers.

But I digress. I wanted to tell you of this morning's experiment. Since the fridge is full of abandoned pre-pared foods, I took it upon myself to clear it. Only, before I did, I thought, this stuff looks alright, despite the well past it sell by dates. What if it tastes alright? So here are my first two results, which I hope you'll find as staggeringly suprising as I did. M&S cubed fruit (melons, blackberries, watermelon) sell by date 17 December: just turned fizzy but only slightly so, if you were really thirsty/hungry, you could eat them. M&S low fat probiotic yogurt with redcurrant and raspberry compote, sell by date 5 December: totally perfectly yummy. Have actually eaten all of it. M&S Super Green Soup sell by date 17 November (this was actually mine, had bought two and never really liked the taste possibly because I was drinking it cold rather than go find a microwave): it looks like the ingredients have separated and I don't dare open the pot for fear of releasing toxic odours. But I'd wager that the reason it looks well gone is that I had consumed half of it back whenever, thereby opening the seal then and introducing air. Were it still sealed I'd taste it and tell you how it is.

There you go. Since we'll all go and see The Road (because Viggo is in it) and wonder about stockpiling food for when the end is near, you can have at least a month or two of nice soft foods, it doesn't have to be all tins. So don't be scared of the sell by dates. The stuff won't kill you.

28 December - Foreskin's Lament & Billy Elliott

The bookclub has decreed on Shalom Auslander book 'Foreskin's Lament' which at least is making me laugh. A lot. He talks about being abused by religion at the hands of his parents. I have been going round for the last two years at least telling anyone who would listen at dinner parties that if it weren't for religion, we'd have a marvellous life, bit like the Romans who at Pompeii had brothels selling or giving away sex like it was loaves of bread (men and women could help themselves equally. Can you imagine, me/any woman walking in there and saying 'You, young man, lick this for however long it takes) by which I mean you just went and had sex everyday with whoever and no guilt, no you shall go to hell, no you will have to be a martyr and wait for your 36 virgins type scenarios complicating your sorry life on earth.

I retain very little of the customs/traditions etc of the catholic religion though the imprint is well deep and I do remember stuff you're not supposed to do like fish on a Friday or is it meat on a Friday and did it not all rather depend on availability/regionality rather than dogma? But I count myself lucky not to have grown up in other religions, the Jewish one being a mad one with all its rules and regulations and this novel acts as reminder of how bonkers it all is (anything that seems to force you to just live amongst a small sample of humans who want to keep you restricted to that small sample of humans is a recipe for both disaster and many dreams of escape). He's very funny indeed. The rabbi's spelling bee contest which is about guessing which of 4 (or is it 5?) categories each food and its combinations can be assigned to in order to be correctly blessed is a perfect example. Who spent the time to dream up these rituals and why? Did they have so much free time? I guess if you entered the kabbalah of priests to be idle ie not to have to build stuff or bake bread or work in a field, you had to to justify what you did all day and so you had to say that the sages said in the Torah this or Torah that , that this is how you have to do it. And who amongst the inferior classes is going to bother to read it to find out that it says no such thing but they're all codicills added at a later date by you.

It's as if I woke up today, had some power over a few people say in my office, walked in and said 'You must twirl three times whilst touching your head and say 'Stilettoes' before you open any door. But if you open it before lunchtime (before 12 you also say 'granny' and between 12 and 1pm you say 'granny' backwards) you have to add a curtsy and if you open it on a Wed and Friday you have to also wiggle your toes but if the Wed or Friday falls on the 12th or 14th of that month then you must also find another person of the same sex to do the same thing by the same door'. Failure to do any of this will make you rot in hell and one member of your family will die before he's 20 years old and the rest of the family will be raped by aliens from another religion.

I mean WTF?

So I would like to carry on reading my novel but no, I have to go see Billy Elliott because it's Xmas and Toph's family is all together. 8 of us are giving Billy Elliott's backers/producers and so on, the money my return ticket to Thailand cost. Granted it only works at £25 per hour each for each of the 3 hour too long production. Here's my review.

The show is largely unintelligible due to the fact it’s set in Newcastle and everyone has to speak in that accent. It’s one thing saying ‘naught’ instead of ‘nothing’ but there was lots more impossible dialogue. Felt super sorry for all the foreigners there (I swear, the audience was 80% French/Italian/tourists) and S’s American daughters didn't get much out of it. There was also an awful lot of swearing which jars a lot when the audience is children and some of the swearing is out of the mouth of children. Then of course the backdrop is the miners strike of ‘83/’84 and boy do they go on about it. Ok so if you go to Les Mis (never again , I’d rather die, see what happens when you agree to go see someting twenty years ago with a colleague you didn't much like at the time but you capitulated as well, she seemed a lonely soul with a nerdy passion for musicals) you possibly don’t remember much about French revolution and it sort of works anyway, but here it was just too much. But the absolutely worst part was… NO SONGS! I mean Elton John came up with the tunes???? There is one song that may be memorable. One. Out of a nearly 3 hour show. And I can't remember the chorus to it. It beggars belief. Oh and a good sequence is when Billy dances with a real ballet dancer to a goregous tune.. oh wait, I recognise this one, it's .. SWAN LAKE. Yeah, we know that one. And when the show ends, on a downer (Billy leaves to go to London, bye bye miners), you think oh finally. So the entire cast then comes on stage a propos nothing and do a ten min Busby Berkeley sort of dance medley all cheery and fun and tap dancing, perhaps in realisation that up till then you’d have gone home saying what the f…?

Toph's mum enjoyed it (the part about the boy not having a mum etc I guess was kind of right for a 70 year old lady) and we had to underplay how much we hated it so as not to embarrass her (was her choice out of the various shows proffered, not that there was much better, Mama Mia anyone?. Jeesus.
Got home and checked on Wikipedia and it’s won dozens of awards blah blah. What do I know? But surely it can’t be performed in that accent on Broadway? To add to the misery I decided to watch a few clips on Youtube of the salient songs. There you go, the Electricity sequence performed a few times here and there. Nope, still didn't seem that amazing. As for the dancing, sorry... those X Factor kids last year surely have proved that it's not that difficult.

This show at least serves to give me the get out clause forever hereafter. I do not do musicals. End of.
They’re crap. Unless of course they may have ten songs to remember like that old chestnut Jesus Christ Superstar. But I was a kid then and saw the movie not the musical and movies are ... better. Plus I did fancy Jesus of course.

26 December - Xmas Dances & Hamlet

So, ho, hum. Since it was decided that this year we go easy on the gifts since we spent a pot of cash going to Thailand (though as usual had bought some nice stuff for myself that Toph just had to hand notes over for but I hadn't really bought him anything much), there I was wondering on Xmas eve what to do. And so I decided that for a change I'd go see what's in the shops at 4pm.

Nothing for Toph sadly, thought plenty for me as ever. But what to do? Forlorn I found myself out of Selfridges and wickedly near that temple I swore never to enter again, ie PMark. Off I go telling myself maybe there's some late thingie I can pick up for the teenagers/nieces and sure enough there I see it. A Santa's red short shiny skirt with white 'fur' trimming (all probably made of plastic rather than fabric and highly flammable). It's on a rack reduced to £1, because it's shit but also because it's a size 18. Ha! that don't scare me. Low low on the hips it will go and a safety pin on the elastic band will do the trick. At this point I have no option but to go upstairs to the see the rest. And there they are, totally slutty platform high heeled furry/leather shoes with a sort of lizardy print. Bargain reduced to £10. In the bag. Not even much of a queue to endure. I know I have a red bra at home, who hasn't got one.

And hey presto, surprise Xmas gift for the boy. I sit him on a chair in the l/room , tell him to pick a dance tune from some old CD and march in, first with black top swiftly removed so am down to the red bra, and give him a dance. Admittedly it's not as great as it could be as am slightly worried that my heels will mark the relatively new floorboards (gosh, abandon goes out of the window as you become an 'old' adult), and especially because he's picked a really old Pete Tong compilatio from mid-nineties, I mean it sounds really like shit now this stuff, but he seems to enjoy it. Especially the repeated 'Don't touch or I'll get the bouncers to throw you out'. Toph being Toph, he keeps glancing at the street windows (have yet to make a decision on blinds vs curtains vs whatever else). Poor darling. Afraid to draw passers by's attention. So I playfully slap him but no, he's not relaxing till he makes me move the action to ... the bloody hallway. Bit narrow for my liking but oh, look, we have a full length mirror here. The dance comes to an abrupt end against the mirror. This boy would not have been good at controlling himself in a real club surely.

I think this will become a Xmas tradition to be improved for next time. Maybe I'll spend 20 quid next year, what the heck....

Maybe David Tennant would have appreciated my performance too. Maybe a future Hamlet will be set in some club in present time. Reason for this jump of subject is that we're at a sick friend's house on boxing day to watch Hamlet with her. In religious silence five of us, broken by her father's kind offer of wine. Must say it's not as overwhelming as I thought it would be, in fact remember I have seen Hamlet at least twice before on stage and I never quite get to why he's so troubled by the mother/uncle thing. Surely happened a lot that way in the past non? Sorry DT, you're too typecast as Dr Who to be anyone else. Bit of a crazy little Hamlet.


Am super aware though that a play on madness may be hard to endure by our friend who's fresh from a breakdown and still raw. Very touched that she's chosen us as a brief re-introduction to the world outside the clinic. We tiptoe carefully and don't pry, but she's sweetly open about what's going on with her and I very much hope the therapy will help banish the darkness and depression. And enjoyed very much the post Hamlet supper with her super interesting parents. It may be hard perhaps to grow up with such strong personalities, so engaging and involved in things like policy shaping/law changes etc, but for children like me and Toph who come from families with hardly any books/culture in the house... well, it always makes me wonder what have I lost by not having this and is that why am such a knowledge magpie now?

23 December This Time of Year

I'm never here or am about to go. Mighty odd to be stuck in London though would thoroughly enjoyed it if alone and not working. But alas, there are xmas lunches to go to and families to hang with. Tomorrow that is. Over there in someone else's house but Toph rings to say that house is not ready today, the builders who were meant to finish the upgrade/extensions are still installing/building and so on and so plan B is that his parents come to ours like, this afternoon. Grand.

Was not expecting them till the 27th and of course no cleaning has been done since early Dec when we went away and all our various suitcases, chattels and so on are variously dispersed on every single surface. Heart sinks. Toph says don't worry I have 3 hours before I collect them from the station and I'll sort it out. Yeah and the washing machine door refuses to open and so clean sheets are stuck in there till I decide that hammers may do damage but may make doors open. I'm at work ha ha so can't do naught. At least they like eating out and kitchen will not have to be used. My mind goes to the tea stained cups that have been in the sink till beg December. Yes, I've been back a day or two but bleaching dirty crockery was not top of my list. All these things I was leisurely going to do on the 26th whils the rest of the world went mad visiting the sales. Alas... MIL will think I'm all window dressing with a hundred pairs of shoes but dirty knickers. Darn! Darn! Darn!

23 Dec - Marrakesh & Ted Baker

Friend went on hol in Marrakesh and Morocco and stayed in various fab riads including Richard Branson's sister's one. In one she had to listen at breakfast, by the pool and here and there to a loudmouthed, rude and horrid to his kids bloke who was there with wife and a baby I think. Horrid as in chiding them and sort of trying to make men out of them and this is how you do it dad style sort of way.

Turns out he's Mr Ted Baker. Not sure if that's his real name or just the shops' name. She's now forbidden me to buy anything there ever again. No great loss I say.

22nd December Party Dresses

Am at fashion friend's house, she's sorting out through a pile of summer clothes she doesn't want/can't fit into. As usual I end up with lots of items though mentally they're already pegged some for me, some for sister, some for mates. I see a couple of stunning evening/party dresses hanging on the back of her dressing room door. Those she says are for her firm's Xmas dinners. Those are work do's, they're not fun. She has to remain ... poised and responsible.

We stare into the distance for a wee while... trying to remember years when going out was a huge event to be planned, staged etc. I have a couple of great dresses bought for £25 at the Kidz org charity event a month prior... And absolutely nowhere to go with them. I wore the Chloe one in Thailand but frankly was overdressed for dinner in some hotel restaurant. Truly... no fun anymore this old life.

19 December - Post Hol & Grey

The time to go on holiday is approx a week after you've returned. Your body has grown into a nice shape thanks to the fact that there were no shit foods to tempt you, and a week of no alcohol leads to another week of no alcohol, because you thought that your first beer would taste amazing and it just tastes like.. a beer. And the skin feels lovely and smooth having received enough sun in the non witching hours of 8 till 11 and 3 till 6 and basically you're not ready for your close ups.

Truly I think we should all be allowed to go away for 2 weeks, come back, sort out a few admin things, change wardrobe and set off again. Oh, wait, that's what Jade Jagger probably does and she's opened a shop down the road and wnen I could easily crash an opening I just have to read about it the following day in the papers. Darn. Would be handy to be on those Pr lists that tell you who's in town and why.

Other than that, one adjusts to a totally different sky with remarkable haste, it's like you're wearing variable lenses and you just see the world sunny one minute and grey the next. No big deal. One minute someone has made up your bed and the next you're struggling with the duvet cover to change.

Toph stayed on and gone to Pattaya as no yoga retreats handy. He sends texts and emails re. blokes he's having conversations with in bars. Ha ha... like, what bars, there are no regular bars in Pattaya and these blokes surely are talking to him in between sorting out the cash to the mamasan to take the girls home. Toph tells me of this woman who has a different boyfriend booked for every month of the year. Different nationalities. Once she got married to a Brit and came to live with him in London. Only he is a baggage handler at Heathrow and lives on the other side of it in some sad suburb and would not let her go out on her own. No doubt for fear she'd come into London and see the better variety of other blokes she could go off with instead. She's now divorced him and pinning her next career break on a Uni student. What kind of a grant is he on you'd think until you work out that the Thai girlfriend experience can cost you as little as a few hundred quid per month (am extrapolating long term deal from the £40 a day max you'd pay in Phuket and considering that Pattaya is a third cheaper than that).

As ever I curse the fact that no Western woman on this planet has ever been known to want the Thai boyfriend experience. Think nearest equivalent has to be found in Caribbean but not as cheap.

14th December - Bang Tao and Surin Beaches

Just made a beeline for the first shop I saw which could have had something I liked. Indeed. Since it is positioned by the foot of two of the most exclusive hotels here, The Chedi and the Amanpuri, it stands to reason that it would sell the kind of clobber that looks amazing on yer Kate Moss. Sheer sheer silk in muted colours and cut Ghost stylee to hug slinky figures. Guess very cheap by london prices, on the 100/150/200 quid mark but I don't happen to have that to spend right now, or rather, am about to board a plane back to zero degrees Western world so the little silky dresses and camisoles would have to stay put for a few more months, hardly worth it. But at times like these wish was carefree millionairess who would practically buy the shop and give away one or two of each to the girlfriends under size 10. Mmmhhh. not many of those.

And why is it that on the last gorgeous day at top hotel nearby, slighly less swish and exclusive as it's not hugging the top of the promontory that straddles both beaches but is in the valley so to speak, that thoughts have to turn to offices and drudgery life therein. I mean, when I get back tomorrow morning, I kid you not, I will have to deal with office Xmas cards. Yes, those, the most useless use of paper/trees and ink ever. Companies send millions, Royal Mail makes their money in expensive stamps and all for what? Toss in the bin a few days later. Insincere greetings if ever there were some. Clients, like... they care? Anyway... back to palm trees, butterflies and incredible flora which I so wish was growing freely in my garden. Another sign I am now officially very old. I constantly look at flowers, buds, leaves. I may have to expand my vocabulary since it never contained much to describe green stuff. Deep sigh...

12th December - Railay and Tonsai Beaches

Ah finally a place after my own heart. Ok so on Railay you have one of the top hotels in Thailand, the Rayavadee and some other five star but you also have the sort of treehouse complex where Toph stayed 5/6 years ago when he was on his tod and you have our lovely one, Princess something with the pond in the middle. Me like this place. When you get off the boat you don't see any buildings through the trees, everything is built below palm tree top level and so you think you're going to disembark on some sort of Robinson Crusoe island. Ok, there are longboats moored on the beach and people on the beach but you get my drift. And it's a peninsula with a narrow middle so in ten minutes you can walk from the East beach to the West beach for variety though the East beach doesn't really have a beach, just the landing areas if you were approaching from Krabi rather than Phuket. Lots of nice bars at night though nothing like the nightlife of Koh Phan Gan on the other, Samui side but still.
Next door but takes a while to scramble to it or a cheap boat ride, is the rockclimbers paradise. They can indulge on the beach, in their swimming costumes and they clearly are good enough to know they won't cut themselves on razor sharp rocks. I currently can't do even a beginners climb due to malfunctioning big toes after my surgery, you need them to grip the rock to go up. But I can watch. Hidden away from the beach are more travellers' style accommodations here but also just lovely twentysomethings on their gap years. I could watch them all day and be jealous of their unencumbered lives.

Next door on our beach there's nowhere to go with a super pretty dress. Darn. The Swedes and their happy go unclassy lives.
Nothing seems busy at all thanks to recession so we can move hotel room after first night (don't know who's next door but she has louder orgasms than me) but it's 80% Scandinavians so I can't find a second hand novel in English anywhere. How odd. Or rahter, can't find one I want to read. I leave behind a booker prize winner and I have to make do with Emily Barr and her stalker novel set in Brighton and Cuba. It's worse for Toph. He took my about to be abandoned copy of The Road. I told him not to. He keeps interrupting to read me sections of monotonous same same stuff. I keep telling him not to. I suffered enough already. He tells me of when John Hillcoate, the director of the movie, had phoned him years previous to offer to collaborate on something Toph was maybe doing on John's mate, Nick Cave. There you go, one year you're doing promos, and a few years later you're helming big Hollywood movie, though can't imagine it will do amazingly well at box office. Am only going to see it because Viggo is on screen pretty much close up throughout I imagine.

Back to the holiday. Men and kayaks. What is it? I said 'That island over there is a) much further than you think and b) it's not just getting there... it's coming back'. He over-ruled me with 'If you get tired, I'll do all the paddling'. Yeah.
Last famous words of course. My contribution was invaluable. And yes, my objections were proven correct. Getting back was touch and go. The current was against us, the wind was up. We were heading straight and mysteriously constantly finding ourselves going left left left to ... far away. Of course we had no suntan lotions on our feet, easily missed or not re-anointed in the 2 hours it took to reach the right shore again and they were burnt. Mine uniformly, Toph with attractive stripes of his birkenstocky sandals. Toph keeps saying there are boats about who could rescue us. Funny I don't see any as I plow on with my Lady Gaga veil draped over my face. No sun is going to make crepe paper of my face, that I swear. He says I am wearing a life jacket and it's not that rough. I tell him through gritted teeth that it's not as rational as all that. It's in fact irrational and I said that before we set off. I am not a water babe. Hence my dust gathering PADI and the snorkelling stuff that travels with us all the time to remain unused. Give me a black run and I'll go down it despite being a crap skiier but open seas are not me. P Diddy would get a 'no thanks' if he invited me on his yacht cruising the Med. But there you go. I remain calm. We make it back. Toph's penance is to buy me half the stall of this not so cheerful woman called Joy. She is partly travel agent, partly rock climbing school and bookshop and mysteriously she's selling tons of eye and lip make up from Mac and Anna Sui. Really really chep but it appears to be the real thing. Upon enquiries she says she gets if from a friend who works at BKK airport. Makes sense. Only later when I get to BKK and see what it really costs, I wish had really bought all her stock. I never buy make up, I mean, am still using pressed powders 20 years old so I didn't know that some shitty plastic compact thingy with 4 colours in it can cost up to £30. It's unreal. I'd be outraged if it wasn't that moisturizers galore seem to command even more silly prices for incredibly small amounts. I mean there's an area of BKK airport that 's like a separate room selling only Creme de la Mer and another one I forget, but you know, one of the scientific ones. What a con. I have cut out that photo of Twiggy at some do as herself, ie not as retouched in those ads for Olay or whoever pay her and which show her with just a few lines. The woman has plenty. She's 60. Just about right, so you know, if the lotions and potions don't seem to work for the rich and famous of this world, imagine if they work for you. Suckers. But I digress. Back to the beach. It's like The Beach. Boy did I enjoy that book when I read it in situ ten years ago.

4th December - I Love Airports

Because I've never had a sad experience in one. Though in general I like departures more than arrivals. You just know nobody is going to bother you for hours once you're on a plane and if you can snuggle up close to boyf. who's doing the same, then it's grand. Goes in a flash. Just remember to ask not to be sat anywhere near the toilets. I can take crying babies and restless kids but not the toilets.
So, back to Thailand after 9 years, almost 10. Wonder what effect it will all have on me this time. Same same but different? Or very different more likely. I didn't have a care in the world then, since by the time I reached Thailand I had already had nearly 3 months to get comfortable with just me. Nepal, India and Sri Lanka saw to that.