28 May - Will resume

...just as soon as I get some space in rather hectic time. There's a fortnight of saved /draft blog entries but as usual they require fattening up to make any sense. Just letting the few faithfuls know. I guess some of them in current form are whinges or rants of some kind and it's never the form to just use this arena for venting frustration, it's not that entertaining but boy do I strongly wish more often than not that I were not just living on a desert island but was the desert island itself. Only perhaps in that case someone may be cast away on it and then how do I get rid of him/them? Laters....

27 May - Families & Worries

Does anybody else out there occasionally think that their life would be easier/simpler/better if they had no family at all? I don't mean wishing for real that the family they have would just die all at once in a tragic accident /plane falling out of sky sort of way, but that they just didn't, had never existed? So that one wouldn't have to worry about them worrying about them and worrying about each other?
I just need to know if this happens /is normal or borderline normal because I get to this point regularly. The constant process of compromising/mediating/changing one's wishes and desires because they may upset someone who you're too conditioned to care for to actually upset is pretty hard work. I'm a natural selfish person left to my own devices. By which I don't mean I trample over people's feelings but would be inclined in really doing what I want/when I want, rather than feel unable to because, oh I don't know, your father would think it's a cruel twist of fate you're presenting him with.

To give an example: should a person who wishes to relocate to the other side of the world imminently, be held back because of ageing parents and vulnerable siblings, or just go and run the gauntlet of society's disapproval and guilt trips laid on her by said 'abandoned' family who would wail 'What have we done to deserve this?' Why should their equilibrium come at the expense of my own freedom of expression or just freedom? It's a cruel twist to me that having eschewed the chains of child rearing I should have to be chained by ageing family. Why can't I care remotely, why does it have to be in the same country? Rant over.

24 May - the old people's homes view

An old friend in mid fifties writes and amongst other things says that she's finally managed to shake off the the thing about conditioning to get goals that we all get brainwashed into and so is beginning to enjoy life w/o feeling like a loser for having not achieved this and that.

Praise unconventional views and behavious is what I say. If only.

I have an unconventional views re the care of elderly which I think we westerners should re-locate to places like india or thailand or where it would be cheap. Whenever I express somethign along these lines, having thught about it and not understanding why we have to sell what the old people managed to accumulate in life and what we have in order to front thousands of pounds in nursing homes etc, people think I'm being selfish and heartless. But hear me out.

If we're taking the old person away from his /her home anyway, and the old person is by that point not terribly mobile and if the other guests/inmates whatever you want to call them , are also from the same broadl speaking neck of the woods, why does it make it any different if the home is in the outskirts of their original town or across the UK or near a hill station in India? Have you been to a hill station in India? It looks like the Cotswolds, sort of.

The people I shock with this view tell me 'oh but they'll die in India in the heat' . No they won't, they'll be in their airconditioned home and in fact have a better time if they can walk out when the seasons are sunny. 'They'll find the fact they're with foreigners bewildering' . No they won't, name me an older person in your family now who doesn't have a foreign carer? They fall silent thinking about the Easter European, Philipino, African, Caribbean carers they deal with. Most (though not all) of these foreign carers have nothing in common with (culturally or educationally) with the patients and what matters then is only that care should be administered with humanity. But do you, age 79 need to talk about Tolstoy with person spooning you food or washing your bottom? it's too late for all that. Ask a 79 year old.

As for interaction, if they're well/functioning/sentient enough to watch TV/read a book they'll watch Sky /local product they know, if they're gaga, well they're gaga and it doesn't matter if it's Thai song and dance. 'What about not being able to visit?' say my questioners. Again, if they're sentient, let's set them up with Skype, if they don't know who you are due to dementia then you walking into the room instead of another local volunteer /visitor makes no change whatsoever. Of course you want to see them, so make the trip once in a while, using the money you have retained from their property/your property, instead of spending £2k plus a month in care in the UK. But if you try and separate the religious/cultural conditioning you have endured from the reality, you'll find that my solution is not a bad one.

I don't want my parents cash but neither do I think it' s a great use of it to see it used pretty fast and furiously by average homecare or nice home care. I'd rather they were comfortable somewhere cheaper and use the rest for the living, children, grandchildren, other children.

People think I'm a monster when I propose this, I can tell by the silence. I end up saying 'look by the time it's our turn we may be sent to underground colonies for geriatrics on Mars. Get over it.'

Debate.....

23 May - Toph's LA stories

Since there is a small tradition in this blog of using other people's stories from time to time to break the monotony of my preoccupations with the same-same things, here's some of Toph's run ins whilst in la la land.

So LA is still hot as a handbag – a freak heatwave has hit town and it’s close to 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Within seconds of walking down Larchmont Blvd I hear the words “He’s soooo cute. And I suddenly feel a strong desire to scream abuse at both the dog and the owner - and I like dogs – or did. “Where did you get him from?” “We got him in New Jersey” the owner boasts, as if it were Pomerania.

Thursday afternoon they shut down part of Hollywood Boulevard to allow Depeche Mode to promote their new album on something called The Jimmy Kimmel Show. To me, Kimmel is just another blank dude in a suit who does lame talk-shows. Somehow these Lettermans and Lenos and Fergussons are seen to be counter-cultural over here. By 7-00 pm the tattooed hipsters who have been duped into waiting for hours for this free concert are too fed-up to acknowledge Kimmel’s lame attempts to bond with the crowd. He thanks the sponsors and the local politicians who allowed this street party to happen despite protestations from the killjoys who actually live in the area. “If you like Depeche Mode vote for him.” The whole thing smacks of corporatised radical chic – overpaid talk-show hosts trying to get down with an audience of extras from a vampire movie. The warm-up man gets ignored and then booed. This turns out to be the most rebellious part of the evening.

The DJ plays assorted 80s synth pop tunes to keep the crowd on-side and then, after a run of tracks by New Order, The Cure and (ahem) Erasure, the bendy-string intro to The Killing Moon bounces off the buildings on Hollywood Boulevard as the sun sets. It’s a truly great moment.

At 8-30, The Mode finally come on and go through the motions: Personal Jesus, Walking in My Shoes, some songs from the new album. It sounds tired and flat, like they’ve been doing it for 25 years. Then I remember that they have been doing it for 25 years. Now it’s personal, Jesus ! I’ve been walking in their shoes for 25 years. I’ve had all those haircuts. I used to hear their songs at college !!! But Dave Gahan looks great – a few lines under the eyes (but, hey, we’ve all got those dark craters now). It must be the heroin. He’s pickled in opiates.

The crowd is going through programmed rock & roll motions: handing round marijuana, climbing on security fences, tearing a few things down. The LAPD are here in force and have started to draw batons and shout at people. One young girl is violently dragged from a fence she’s climbed to get a better view. Protesting that she’s pregnant, she’s pushed to the ground and arrested. Now, I’ve seen Crash and I’ve seen LA Confidential and I know the nasty history of the LA Police Department and I’m bored by the Mode, so I decide to move on….to The Viper Room.

Yes. To The Viper Room to see my friend J. play an acoustic set with his band, Darlings of the Day. His wife is the lead singer. She’s called Sterling and looks a bit like Chrissie Hynde. They sing witty, punky pop songs which wouldn’t have been out of place in 1979. In fact, they could have influenced the young Depeche Mode. The Viper Room is like a dark scout hut and there are about 40 people watching and woo-hooing. J. and Sterling leave the stage complaining of monitor problems and general techie disappointments. They are followed by The Policecars – you’d better believe it - a band which alternates songs by The Police and song by The Cars. When they launch into their perfect facsimile of Message in A Bottle, the giant bouncer on the door is so excited that he has to come in from the street and bop around like Mr. Blobby. Suddenly any under-age kid is free to rush the Viper Room and quickly take a drug overdose and die. It’s a window of opportunity which only lasts until they play the next in a succession of Cars’songs which I don’t know - and never knew.

So it’s back to J and S’s apartment behind the Viper Room. Where else would aspiring rock stars live? The smell of marijuana hits you from a block away. Inside the tiny studio flat is an assortment of bandana-ed and tattooed rock types. It’s very Spinal Tap. I’m introduced to a Healer called Ramyn. He’s been giving free sessions to the girls in the room which involves lying them down on the sofa-bed and feeling their jaws and their breasts. He tells me he’s Dave Stewart’s personal healer and that Annie Lennox always uses him before she goes on The Letterman Show. She adores him because he can make her look ten years younger. He’s now working with Pantera. I assume that’s a heavy-metal band. “What’s wrong with you, Man?” “Well, nothing, really.” He feels my pulse: “Your right kidney is out of balance, Man.” He feels my jaw: “Wow, Man, This side sticks out much more than the other. Feel it, Man.” I feel it and convince myself that he is right. He lies me on the sofa-bed, massages my jaw and pushes down on my breast-bone. “There you go, Man. You look ten years younger.” “Great ! What’s the name of your technique?” “It has no name, Man. It’s a gift.” When I look in the mirror, later, I look exactly the same. Ramyn gives me his card and tells me I should pass it on to E.S. or any other celebrities who need healing.

As I try to leave, a little, twitchy guy who looks a bit like Joe Pesci, grabs me. “I hear you’re a director in Hollywood?” “Well …sort of. I’m actually ….” “Look, I’d be honored if you’d take a look at the script for a pilot I’m producing.” “Are you a writer? A director?” I enquire. “I’m in the beauty industry.” It turns out that he runs a tanning-salon in Santa Monica and is trying to develop something with an actress and comedienne whose tan he manages. He then introduces me to “one of LA’s top hairdressers” whose own hair looks like a matted jungle and is too important to talk to anyone. People are offering me their cards and phone numbers, inviting me to their acupuncturists, yoga gurus, spiritual guides. It’s all too perfect. I have to leave immediately.

And another night produced these reflections..


This time Culver City - a newly chic area inland from Venice Beach. I'm in a restaurant with a Swedish model, her talk-show producer boyfriend, an ex-dance music impresario turned writer and his Brazilian date. It's pure LA and I'm loving it. D. is tired after recording two episodes of his talk-show back-to-back. He's been dealing with Martin Sheen and Hiro from Heroes. He makes a lot of money but he's burnt out by his work. The waitress asks for his order. He doesn't know what he wants. He 's not really hungry. He goes straight for a side-order of brussel sprouts as an appetizer and then he's stuck. A long conversation with the waitress ensues about what he should have. This goes on for about five minutes. I can see why he's good at talk shows. Finally, he asks, triumphantly, "What do you have on skewers?" It's brilliant. I've never heard that before in restaurant and never will again. I congratulate him on spontaneously creating a scene as good as Danny de Vito's all-time great restaurant scene in Get Shorty where he orders off-menu: egg-white omlettes with shallots, lightly toasted, not burnt; suggests everyone should have it and then leaves before the food arrives.

R., the New York of the 80s club-scene survivor ("most of my friends are dead now") also loves that scene from Get Shorty and gives me a high-five. This is praise inded from a man who has been a writer for Oliver Stone. "So which films did you work on?". "Well, I worked with him for a couple of years on a script about the assassination of Bobby Kennedy - he was definitely murdered as part of a big conspiracy." "Who's behind it?". "The same people who killed John Kennedy." "Who's that?" "We don't know?" 'Did the film get made?" "No". "Is Oliver Stone a nice man?" "No."

His Brazilian date reveals that she is studying psychology - spiritual psycholgy. "What's that?" "It's very deep. It takes a lots of insights from ancient traditions in order to heal. It's all about getting those rocks out of your backpack. We believe that we are not bodies with souls but souls who are occasionally in an embodied state." "Aha! I get it." She tells us she's looking for a place to rent for when her young kids come to visit. She's found a place in Malibu for $6000 a week. Clearly souls need a bit of luxury.

J. the Swedish model has spent the morning shooting a commercial for a lot of money and the afternoon riding horses in the desert. She's only in LA for a few weeks visiting her boyfriend. She's noticed that everyone in LA is writing a script - even cab drivers. 'Are you writing a script," I ask jokingly. "Yes" she replies.

They are all lovely, smart people. I conclude that you just change imperceptibly, day by day, when you live in Los Angeles. Please slap me if I ever ask a waitress if she has anything on skewers.

19 May - Multiple kids

I saw my former beloved Dr. S. for an hour or so yesterday at Kings Cross champagne station bar as he was on his way to see daughter E. nearby for the evening. He's still having arguments with the mother, K. as she’s still breastfeeding her (she’s 2 and a half!!!) and sleeping in same bed. Bit .. er.. problems later in life perhaps??? Am aware that in some cultures you can breastfeed till they're 8 or something but I just find it weird in ours. Apparently E. asks for mummy's tit when she's at some kindergarden thingy. Wasn't there a Little Britain sketch with adult Wallians diving for his mother's breast at parties and so on?

Dr S.is going to be in the country at lot more now since the business he's laboriously been setting up in the Bahamas for the last 3 years is a little on hold .. Doesn't surprise me as it's geared to the super rich who are now less super rich than a year ago but he says it's not so much due to lack of clients wanting to sign up, but to his major investor who has lost money on markets and so wants to get rid of one out of 2 helicopters they bought (both are not yet equipped with medical stuff and on sale for 6.5m.. if you want one). He has however another investor, mr Campbell soup son or grandson but in the meantime he’s going to take a locum job in X(where V. and his 3 and a half year old son C. live) … anyway. He has been asked by the Norwegian doctor he’s been ahem shagging on and off in Bahamas for 4 years to fertilize her eggs (she’s 43 but has frozen the 35 year old ones in NY a few years ago) and he’s not sure if he wants to do it because she’ the type saying ‘You do love me, you just don’t realise it’ (yeeekes! future stalker alert) so he’s worried she may not be as detached as mother of E. is .. I said that’ s an understatement and told him the crazy story about G. ‘sister in law’ and the wedding plans/dress etc. (the 'If I build it they will come' delusional story so common in many lives).

I don’t know why he even wants to go there... he’s already proven that his sperm is super good and E. and C. are picture perfec kids. But he agrees that if only it was made easier for these single women to adopt the orphans out there, the IVF clinics and so on would not make so much money. Just give an abandoned kid to someone who wants one for crying out loud. I asked him if he knew about the link between IVF and developing cancer in women who have had the treatment and have or have not had kids as a result. Why do I know this? because a friend's sister was a nurse in an IVF clinic for ages.

Anyway, in the course of conversation and the bottle of red he drank almost by himself .. he said it’s very hard to find someone who enjoys a spanking these days. Being unable to avail myself to such delights, or as provided by him in any case, I said I’d check with a friend of mine and maybe introduce him to her, but I mentioned the deal breaker of super duper nice hotel and that my friend is not like me and my willingness to enter a Travelodge if he was on the bed. So he’s not so sure about that but he does have the cash , so I hope it happens and I can vicariously have the story from both sides.

He still looks good to me, but a little less hot perhaps. I said "What’s with the clothes (polo which had seen better black colour days, and faded jeans) you look like one of my Polish builders" and he said ‘I’m travelling’ and I said "Yes I see, but we’re at the champagne bar and you're meeting me, though maybe you only called me on the offchance and I run to you as usual". and I also told him I’d love to cut off his white hairs protruding from neck of t-shirt … small things. You still feel a little proprietorial of your exes.

He then took a call from V. and put me on the phone to her after telling her that I was ok, I do not have Alzheimer or tumours (so I realised he had discussed me and my health concerns with her) and so I told her maybe I’ll take a drive in the Summer and go visit /see little C.
I mean??? How did I get here? Nice aunty??? WTF? V. was my enemy!

He also is deluded. It was clear from the way he spoke to V. that there is affection there and they’d just come back from some family wedding in her native Slovakia so if he wants to pretend she’s not his g/friend, fine by me, but .. I rather think she is.. and he’s finally getting older and realising who loves him. However, I know V. doesn’t do spanking, hence he’s f rustrated. And there's me trying to find him a solution. Wish he found me a solution to more mundane stuff, like offer to come build some shelves (which he was going to do for K. who was also aware he was having a drink with me first).

Suddenly it's like I'm part of one of thoes modern extended families where everyonoe is cool with each other. Maybe Toph should go on holiday with him/us/them? He'd like the kids....

18 May - There will be blood

It's a source of occasional sadness to me that I don't seem to watch that many movies anymore or I should say, fewer than I ever did. Then again, when something is on TV, or I look at friends DVD shelves, I seem to have seen it or partially seen the movies on offer or they fall in the category of 'I would never bother to watch this one'.
I work on some sort of 'If it's good, I will eventually see it somewhere' path, though I seem to not have seen any Almodovar films in the last six years or, or, or. It's partly to do with spontaneity being blunted by the need to book something which if you just turn up is sold out and/or getting my times wrong or the wrong cinema, or thinking that I don't fancy dropping £12 right now or D. (my movie guru in the sense that her opinion usually matches mine about books and movies) telling me not to bother (she goes and watches tons).

So it's kind of nice that getting out of your house to go look after friend's pooch means you relax in her house where there are none of my usual distractions, and manage to watch a very slow 3 hour movie like There Will Be Blood. Which said friend bought on DVD because she had walked out of it at the cinema. I can see why. It's totally exasperating and unsatisfying in creating anything in the viewer, but some kind of car crash hypnotic thingy where you carry on watching sort of mesmerised whilst at the same time wanting to get up to go to bed because you can tell already that there is no pay off (for you or the characters) at the end. It must have looked great on a large screen though. Not so sure about the music which at the time was deemed amazing (Radiohead guy wrote it) . And I guess it must be one of those movies that polarise people. Me, I liked it. Just kept wondering how you manage to get something like that made... just getting DDLewis alone in it is no guarantee you'll get the finance. Weird.

9 May - Island 50

The other day a friend told me about the impending celebrations/marking of 50 years of one of the best record labels, ever, Island Records. I sort of did a double take since I remember going to the party for the 25th anniversary which was held on the grounds of Chris Blackwell's house somewhere an hour further West from Heathrow. I remember dodgems and a funfair. Back then it wasn't included in every single party so novelty enough. I must have left at usual decent time however becasue subsequent stories of spiked punch and people reminiscing about out of their heads great times leave me with a blank. I must have retired too soon as usual. I had a good time anyway but can't really plug into it. If this blog had been around then, I'd just shift back a few thousand entries and find the relevant one. Maybe there's mention in some old diary.

I do however go on the milestone website and since am at work so better attempt to be discreet from time to time, I'm listening but not watching the vids. I easily recognise what I don't like, never did and can't give a toss about though have never gone out of my way to listen to them, they're well known and so my brain does somehow know it's Keane. Yep, I open the screen and there they are.

More shockingly worryingly (you know by now my recent obsession with registering my own mind's memory failings) is that I don't recognise Portishead's rather distinctive, one woudl say, sound and have to switch to the screen to actually watch to see the name under the youtube clip/Beth. Clearly I know it's Tricky when his tune comes on but by the time I get to the Fratellis, am back to the Keane feeling, 'don't like this' but I don't know it's them.

This website sets me off trying to remember band members names or people who worked there but the black holes are multiple. Then of course the whole thing links on to corollary and external other people /personal events of 25 years ago and so on. At least in 25 years if the whole internet thing hasn't been blown off the sky, I will be able to re-read these current entries but it will be most likely totally boring because I won't be able to tell I'm reading about myself and w/o that link, this will be like finding a copy of Gas Power Magazine and glazing over?

8 May - Beauty & Upgrades

I tell a friend who's recently travelled to the West Coast and has a very damanged foot but doesn't use crutches, that at a dinner the other night young A. said that her family use her younger sister and her old crutches (which she no longer needs after her mobility problem was resolved), as a decoy/ruse to ask for, and regularly get, upgrades on flights. The family is divided over this; mum and 2 daughters want to do it, dad and one daughter think it's deceitful and wrong. A. also says she got an upgrade (travelling sans family) on her way back or from Barbados last week. In relating this to my friend, I tell her tha A. is a beautiful 22 year old who favours high heels and extremely short skirts and has a Cheltenham ladies college uber posh accent which would put off a number of people but there are some who find it irresistible. She also uses her ladies college stare to make men get up and give her a seat on the tube. I remark that this never happens or happened to me as I thought the stare is a bit unnecessary.


My friend with real foot operation replies that she paid £800 extra to go premium economy this time and that it's A.'s beauty that gets the upgrades not the crutches since on her recent flight she witnessed 2 old /frail and with walking stick ladies heading for economy when in fact there were seats free in business and premium econ.


I reply that I agree about her point re A. and upgrades due to beauty but was thinking... can’t be true on all levels. In other words, what benefit does a check in woman for example, gain by upgrading beautiful girl A.? She’s not got second motives (which we could well ascribe or suspect in check in GUY, though he’ll know he’ll never see A. again unless he's doubling up as cabin crew, so … no chance to get to know her. So why would you upgrade on the base of looks vs. helping out the 2 old ladies who clearly need the more comfortable seats? Sure maybe there are guidelines from the airline that say people who’ve paid for Bus or first class ticket do not want to be sat next to 2 old ladies, though one of them may be Peggy Guggenheim and the other Barbara Bush (ok one for sure dead, can't remember about the other one). But why? I think charm for sure gets you stuff and A. is charming, no doubt about that. And maybe the 2 old ladies didn’t ask so it wasn’t offered. I think a major thing in life that we forget is our right to ask. They can say no. But .. we could go on. Maybe the old are discriminated against in general…. So I better start practicing asking!

8 May - SBS goodbye

Am I the only one that doesn't mourn for a second the fact that the South Bank Shooooww will be no longer from next year? And am I the only one who thinks maybe not getting UBS money and no other sponsor forthcoming for such small audience figures, is contributing reason?

Melvyn never did it for me. Though am sad no arts programme will provide a bit of an introduction to things I didn't know about, in recent years he's turned down a few good proposals that I personally know were put to him for coverage of this or that 'art' and have to conclude he just did what suited his patronage/hubris. Fair enough you'll say, he devised the progamme, he is the programme but, don't know... he was never positing anything very challenging to those he covered and he was also doing plenty of puff pieces.

7 May - Le Twits

I still don't get the appeal. Everytime I check someone I find the combination of those little character sequences etc that precede speech as in names or codes for people and their reply utterly annoying. Tk god I don't have any automatic feeds to me and will only look if I choose to look/read. If I did do it I'd be boring more people than the ones who from time to time check this blog with stupid musings that wouldn't change their lives like...

#1 All food should be served to you in styrofoam container, bad for environment but you'd get to feel in your own hands the actual weight of what you're about to eat. Take my 'healthy' (because i decline any sauce added to the wok stirred vegs) oriental veg and fish stirfry with brown rice. It weighs a ton once the container is placed in my hands. Hence, I chose to eat half of it and save the rest for tomorrow or chuck it. I kid you not, it feels like 2 pounds of food in the container, sure maybe the green beans and broccoli and pak choi are practically water when ingested but still.....



#2 I have been getting (thanks to elderly relative who gets it on prescription) that toothpaste that builds enamel on your teeth or at least doesn't erode it further. Used to buy it in Europe but expensive so thanks for free tubes. However, was helpfully told by said relative that you should spit out excess but not rinse as the active agent works in your mouth for a while after you've brushed. Despite using it for a while now, 9 times out of 10 I say 'shit' after I brush because I realise I've just rinsed my mouth. This is making me think about the force of habit that must similarly apply to a zillion things we do. I mean, how hard can it be to stop rinsing, just spit out? Get it? But weeks after I started i still do it. So for someone not to add a spoonful of salt to his chips as he's always done for last 50 years, would probably require active thinking on his/her part. Or a buddhist style 'have I checked my intentions' sort of moment before starting any thought/action.

In my toothpaste case there is an easy solution, ie. after i've inadvertently rinsed it out, I just squeeze a bit more in my mouth and that's that, but there are other cases where the baby gets thrown out with the bathwater and so on. Am thinking religious, ingrained rituals that then get ratified by some kind of cultural law into 'This is how we do it'. And you're not allowed to do it any differently. Same with sex really, all those people that would not shift a movement a fraction of an inch because they never did and so on.

See, got to sex even talking about toothpaste. I just can't help it.

5 May - Passwords

I hate how many frikking passwords and accounts we have to have for everything, drives me nuts. Suspect that even going to live on a desert island wouldn't exhonerate me from having to have a password to, I don't know....order supplies to be parachuted down on a regular basis.

I have to keep checking the xl spreadsheet every time I have to access something on line or phone. there's 2 pages there. And of course you read these articles where they tell you never to use the same password, never to use simple ones like Welcome. Ha! yes have that one on something because I got bored once of being locked out of that account. They tell you not to just change the numeral at the end of the password but to overhaul them regularly and start again. In which case it's just so damn handy I lost my purse with all the cards and have to re-register everything. Drives me mad mad mad. May use Bollox for everything and see how it goes.

Who, apart from geeks do you think would do it the suggested way which is write a word and then shift your fingers on the keyboard to type that same word but starting from a letter to the left, in other words
Welcome becomes Qqw;x[.w
and next month it becomes ewkvimw
I don't know if I did it right btw
wtf????
I am sure 99% of the world is not geeks, half of it is women who would never ever use anything but the name of their husband/sister whateve and so we're all frankly dead easy pickings for the web crims out there. So be it. Come raid my accounts you cyberbastards, I'll find you and kill you.
Ok, rant over.

1 May - Posh Schools & Boys

Am going to one. To check it out. Will let you know why when the time is right.

29 April - Pizza & Purse

And here's another one, they come thick and fast. Between paying for a slice of take away pizza at Arancino in Notting Hill (not one of my usual dinners but had period and felt like a bit of carbs and tomatoes) and getting on and off a bus home...my wallet has gone. Not only that, but I only noticed the following morning when I wanted to leave the house and check something.
Lost or stolen, who knows. Nobody has it. And the bore of changing /recalling cards, drivers licence and what have you took the usual few hours. I probably have not cancelled something I should but I cancelled a cheque book that was safely in a drawer at work.

My clothes are still on the right way round but I've noticed this week I can't type properly, I press the wrong keys and constantly have to go back and re-write. Does it happen this fast? What tests are there? Any doctors out there? Where's Sean when I need him.

27 April - Shannon & Venice

If further proof was needed that the neurons are dying. I was rescued at top of the ramp level on a plane to Shannon at Stansted. I had no intention of going to Shannon. I had been waiting patiently to board a flight to Venice and when they called it, I thought I'd go to the loo.

Clearly there are 2 diametrically opposite entrances to this loo, because I must have come out the opposite way to the one I entered and since I had no doubt I was facing the original direction and there was a queue boarding, that's the one I joined, never once bothering to look at the screen again since I thought I was in front of gate 46 as indeed had been. But oh no. I was now in front of gate 43 or some such and proceeded unaware till their little cheques revealed the impostor. And thank god for that as I can't think of what I'd do in Shannon apart from going to bed and pondering on the alzheimer.

Yes am stressed but...