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

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

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.


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