2 March - Nowa Huta in the Sun

The BF did me proud, there he was with the flowers and homemade sign with my busy agent/producer/organiser g/friend nickname. I have another one for when am not organising shit, and for the just fuck me other hours in the day/night. But I guess he would have felt exposed to use that, that's the secret one right?

So he drives me where he's staying, the Oakwood apartments which a zillion people seem to know since they're a sort of holding pattern for minor characters in the TV world and conveniently placed next to the Warners and Universal studios. There are two identical pools and about 20 blocks of god knows how many identical apartmetns. If it wasn't for the sunshine it is a sort of Nowa Huta communist foundry worker complex. Though the beds are considerably larger than back in Poland I'm sure.

In the convenience store on the grounds, there are headshots of kiddies pasted all over above the shelves. I don't recognise a single face/name but then again I don't watch soaps of any kind. One day the OC the next you get a movie, that's how it works I think.

Practically next door is the Forest Lawn cemetery which seems very nice and probably contains yet more famous corpses or ashes. A few minutese above is the Hollywood sign and a few minutes away is the Hollywood Bowl. I couldn't be more of an aspiring non entity if I tried. I have to borrow a script of any kind to carry under my arm should anyone stop me and want to make friends.

I have the guacamole that I seem to like only in LA, a beer, has to be done, a little tour of Venice Beach and then it's fun time since the boy has not been roughing it up with me for a few weeks. I slept fine on the plane since I had 3 empty seats so I'm definitely not nodding off any time soon.

11 January - Posh & Burbs

A trip to Connecticut, to one of those picture perfect towns where wealthy Wall St Bankers commute from whilst their kids live the small town ie. safe life and their wives get super bored. Manhattan may be less than an hour away on the train but in reality you don't keep getting into town to meet your girlfriends or have your hair done if you also want to be at home when kids return from school and so on.
We go for a tour, it's all a bit like living in Hampsted and to be honest the house of the relative we're visiting is so utterly perfect with all those new england touches, that I have to feel like an under-achiever not yet out of student digs by comparison. Even their two cars are the potent tractor and the sleek german towncar.

And their basement den and utility room are larger than my flat in London, but much as I envy the space, I don't envy the life. I don't think mine is necessarily better (not any more that age has made me drop out of any scene, and now that being 42 and a half (ahem!!) and knowing who Lady GaGa is before she's topped the charts is not going to impress anyone and even if it did, it's of no use on a practical or working level. Am not working as a style/trend or makerting or brand scout so you know, it's of no use and maybe it would be better to have the great house and the great kids and the cute dog in the posh burbs and the holiday in the themed resort in Barbados(the kids love those ones) but I just can't find myself wanting it at all. I'd run away after 48 hours (we had to spend 36, so perfect timing) and it cannot be mentioned by the couple in question that when he lived on the 30th floor of portered modern block by Grand Central with panoramic views of the Hudson (or is that the East River, I can never remember the two) and walked to work... maybe those were better times? But you have to move for ... the schools if nothing else. Well,now that all these families have had zillions of cash instantly wiped off their shares in the downturn, it's even more important to be away from the costly city thought they still have to wonder how they'll pay for Yale/Harvard when the time comes. The shares bloodbath having cleared out also the grandparents and uncles and aunties so you know ... nowhere to turn. I'm not sure I believe you have to have gone to the main uni's with some cachet, I know they open plenty of doors but I think they're overrated.

There you go, I'd have been a terrible mother, forcing my kid to inhale traffic fumes and live w/o any green spaces and going to a not so great school. I'd have never left Manhattan. I may be wistful about the odd thing but not the exile from the City one, not going there. Not till I go to the deserted beach to live just in order to read, that will be a different story.

Another family who I didn't have time to visit but met, also live out north of manhattan but on the other side. Sure, Al Pacino and Baryshnikov have houses nearby and Bjork and Matthew Barney but those am sure, spend only a portion of their time in those burbs and the rest they travel for exciting work. In Bjork's case they have their own boat to come into the city with every day perhaps as his studio is somewhere suitably matthew barney-way. For those like my friend who see their husband leave the house at 5am every day and stay behind and for those like him who leave the house at 5am every day and have to return every evening (or the wife would be upset that he stays in town having fun whilst she isn't) it's er... great. But it's the way they say it that is so not for real. They have to say it, they have to re-inforce it. In this case my friend's sister still lives in fashionable Brooklyn by the bridge and has a terrific job with L'Oreal but can't get a decent date (she's not 40 yet) and so it seems people, myself included no doubt, just chose to highlight the best of the path they've taken or had to take.

mmmhhh... Boy was I glad to hear the train announcement say we were back in Penn station.....

6 January - Nail Varnish and Uggs

Terrific news from the beaches of the Mayan riviera... There are no Uggs on site (I thought there may be some idiots who insist on wearing them with their bikini) but no, even in downtown Playa which attempts to become Ibiza trendy, the gals are happily wearing whatever but.

A word of advice though, don't paint your tootsies and go to the beach an hour later, the varnish is still soft enough to be ruined by sand. I have no remover for now so it has to stay embedded on my varnish. Weird.

Pete Tong of all people is meant to play outdoor in the day at the Kool pool/restaurant /bar but he's cancelled due to personal committments. Mmmmh, was he ever coming? Toph is very happy to just stand and watch the action and to point out to me various hats, shoes, outfits. I think it's sweet that he doesn't credit me with knowing that he's actually looking at the tits and bums of the various shoe/hat/sarong owners... bless. Men. I yank him away after a couple of hours. That's enough. Thing is, that he can look all he wants but he's only got me for 'solace' and indeed all the flesh on display just makes him extra horny and I benefit. He has to stop saying 'You look the best ... for your age' though... saying nothing is probalby the best course of action.

tbc

2 January - Alone or?

When travelling with people one should invent some rituals for oneself so as to carve out time and space for themselves... I'm loving being with my hosts, their siblings, my siblings, other friends from London but I sort of like to abandon the 4 novels I bring to read and would even like to get started on some of the ones Toph brought (we never manage to consolidate our books) and it's going to be difficult at this rate of... interruptions, managing rendez vous and generally spending time to compromise on times we all leave house or meet to meet or to have coffee or a drink etc.

My suggestion to myself but feel free to adopt it, is to declare that (a' la Gwyneth or Madonna or the likes) every day at 12 till 2pm you like to go for a long, SILENT, wak to meditate, or that you must nap ALONe away from all. Nobody can question your ritual because it's part of you as much as not eating meat for example. This way you'd have your sanctuary and if nobody spies on you then they won't find out that you've actually gone wandering the shops in downtown Playa or are under a palm tree elsewhere, reading your book. If they find you out, then come clean and say that unfortunately nobody's rhythms and timetable match and trying to keep up with others requires too much self-censure (for when you're about to explode and say 'I like my beach at 8 till 11 and then 2 till 6. Whaddayamean we're arriving for the third day running at 10.45 when the sun is buning and you have to have the brain of a raisin to want to lay your towel down now?'

Talking of raisins, yes, I'd say they exist, and most men are in this category. I never tire of showing friends my hands/face which seem to tan even with repeated application of factor 50, as proof that the sun will get you no matter what. The poor souls think that using factor 25 or 30 is already a great improvement on the old days of factor 4 or ... nothing but if I had a quid for every time a man slathers on cream upon arrival on beach (wrong, had to be done earlier) and then immediately goes for a swim... I'd be rich. They say things like 'but it says here it's waterproof' and I say 'believe that and believe anything'.

So you can see that going for my 2 hour ALONE time would probably be very welcome by my holiday associates too who'd get a break from my sun nannying interference. When it comes to the sun's bad action on their skin, I cannot obviously say that it's not enough for me to avoid lines on my face or general skin ageing if my nearest and dearest then let the side down by looking old when stood next to me. Yes, my body fascism now has a new facet ie. I don't want my friends to make me look old if they look old, if you see what I mean.

It's bad enough that we collectively act old already as in 'Let's get away from the section of beach with the dj's and blaring music'. Mmmhh... Well, not the entire day there surely, but I can take a few hours? I can read whilst listening to blaring music much easier than when I get interrupted with 'Hey did you know that there are more grains of sand in a glass of water than there are in all the beaches in all the world?' I say 'Even if I cared to ask you where you read it, how did they work it out and why do you believe it and why does anybody care for this piece of information, I'd rather get to the end of thsi chapter of this excellent book by Colm Toibin based on the life of Henry James. Would you like me to tell you the plot and which novels of HJ the various biographical details refer to? Oh, thought not! Leave me alone!'.

28 December - Beach advice

Well, I have one piece of advice I stick to religiously when on holiday: no photos for the first few days, till you've caught the sun, started to look healthy. And then photos are only allowed when a little lipshine has been applied if nothing else. Trust me, it's amazing the difference the shine reflecting off your lips makes. It lifts up the photo to magazine shot. If you can curl your eyelashes that too... lifts everything....

However, I was not prepared for discovering that not having gone to the gym at all for the whole of December and part of November (my gym buddy/motivator has slacked for her own reasons and being devoid of committment myself, I followed suit), meant I looked like shit even without fearing any photos. It's amazing what happens. I didn't go mad at Xmas, hardly that, but just eating as normal and not exercising and there you go, fat thighs. Ok that's what sarongs are for, but I never find one I like.

26 December - Cold spells

Ah the joys of a Manchester London done in 3 hours on xmas afternoon. Nobody on the roads, not even the police. Counterpointed by arriving to find boiler does not kick in and one has to wear the new Xmas jumpers and scarves and go to bed early and cosy up.

But what bigger joy than wheeling your suitcase down an empty road on the way to an airport, on the way to brilliant sunshine? Can't beat that feeling, can't beat winter holidays! Nothing will ever make me be here at this time. Hasta la vista.

31 July - Beach & Besos

Off briefly to sunny Majorca where friends with lovely house await. And where one cynic with a soft heart may just be feeling happy enough to celebrate (in advance) a lovely anniversary. And to think he had a house full of women and he only 'saw' me. It's nice to hear things like 'You were by far the best of the bunch baby'. Aaahhh.... Love Island it is...

However, there will be precious little sea and sand this summer. Bummer! Lovely friends also awaited in Sardinia but what can you do? Maybe Sicily or Puglia in September, as 1 out of 2 people I meet these days is going or has just returned from Puglia. It was a boring sort of place last time I looked... but hey, things change fast in the world of sunday supplements.

However, a bunch of us will be going to see Krafterk in Krakow in September. Had to be done because of the (forced) alliteration and because despite the fact that they're 60 and they're probably a bit static and boring live, they're performing inside the steel works at Nowa Huta which is just ... grand. Am expecting it will be in some spectacular turbine style part of the steel works. Would be upset if it turns out to be just a hall nearby... mhh, could have found out before booking it all but I'd rather have the expectations!

I'm also thinking it's a neat conversation opener for when I eventually meet Mr L. Mittal (owner of Arcelor and Nowa Huta) as it's a small plan of mine to work in Mumbai in a few years and it's either going to be some TV thing or.. the richest man in India. Why not?

12 April - A shore too far

Sometimes I think that giving up my nort east London abode to move West has basically turned Shoreditch into a foreign country to me. Despite the fact that several of my friends live East, the trek takes an hour by car. So if you're invited for a brunch at 12 on a Saturday at Shoreditch House, it means leaving West at 11am which is tad too early for me to get out. But it has to be done because 'over there' is lovely. Especially when meeting J. who's such a solar character that even on a day of alternating hard rain and rays of sunshine, being in his company just makes you feel rosy and cosy.

He's trying to get us all to go on a little road trip in Spain at end of August but ... only A. has taken him up on it and A. is a boring (well met him twice and he's still not managing to remain memorable in any way in my mind) architect. The rest of us want to go but can't quite manage to sort it out which is a major shame as half the time I think it would be great to travel as a little possee intent on mischief along the way from Barcelona to south of Valencia and beyond, (think of all the adventures we would have, splitting into smaller groups, enticing new people into the group, observing budding rellationshops with locals or othewise), and the other half I can't square it with the desire to be alone in Sicily with the loverboy who would be top company as we taste tomatoes in Pachino or sit in the shade of an ancient house in Noto or eat an icecream in Syracuse. Why can't I have it all ways, both ways, three ways etc?

tbc

11 March - Wiki 1 & Wiki 2

Am missing the mountains and the snow, especially as all my leg muscles have come back to normal and seem more stretched than before, I can happily bend foward and rest the palms of my handds on the floor, and how nice is that?
But there's no time to go again, despite the super good offers for Easter and April. Next year it's already decided that we'll go on the TransEuropeExpress. Well, just the regular train to the Alps but we're all fans of Kraftwerk and that's what we're calling it. Geneva airport was just too awful for words, choka with people glogging every surface as it was probably built to just play transit to rich bankers and not hordes of cheap flight skiiers. Nasty.

Am also missing B. and I. who despite an age gap of maybe 20 years, were regularly trying to outshine each other by coming up with 'Did you know that... ' facts and were dubbed Wiki 1 and Wiki 2 for their fountain of knowledge style entertainment. B's 7 year old is already on the road to know most of what her dad knows (by the time she has matured to read Joyce ... ) and she was already Wiki and a half. Pretty precocious but nice with it, though I lost my patience when she was hogging up time at scrabble. Had to remember 1) child, 2) not my child and father a few steps away, not good to chastise other people's kids.

Toph was dubbed double phD for his efforts to keep up the fountain of knowledge, but he doesn't like the sound of his own voice as much as the other two and so ducked out of a lot of info exchange. Considering that the acoustics in the chalet were crap and all could be heard from any room on any floor, I have probably absorbed more facts than I'll never need even when I was sleeping.

8 February - Le ski c'est chic

Especially if you can people watch in Meribel and Courcheval (colonised by russian oligarchs complete with own magazine in Russian featuring lots of ads for bodyguards, helicopters, diamonds and furs). But seriously, am now the proud owner of not one but two pairs of fabulous apres-ski boots, with various furry bits that delight me every time I stroke them (one is fake fur and the other one is er.. real, but it's only trimmings darlings, don't hold it against me, it's none of the precious ones anyway... not fox, not mink etc). And they were a serious bargain as in the sale and when I said 'Est que ce vous pouvez me donner un bon prix pour le deux?', the madame said 'Cent euros?' and I said 'Done' , as previous prix was 3 times as much. Happy as larry and faith in the bloody French was restored. That being the night also that the restaurant owner in St Martin gave us all a free lift five or seven miles down the road instead of calling joe le taxi. On previous holidays we've had to walk or beg after discovering that rich local taxi drivers down tools at ten pm or so having no need to put in the extra hours for more fares.

But I digress from the main subject. Yes, I can now do red runs happily (in good visibility that is) and so next time I'll be able to avail myself of the full complement of 600km of slopes (not for nothing is Trois Valles the largest resort in the world blah blah blah). Glorious. And no falls and no fallings out with the other 11 on the trip and especially pleased that Toph took to the slopes greedily too. His previous sorties had been in the minus 20 degrees offered by north American slopes in January and as such a totally not enjoyable trip or two fending off nose frost bite. He's not good enough to appreciate that the weather may be shit ie no blue skies and freezing, but that the snow is generally better over there. But he's with me now on the 'never in deepest winter'. I made a note several years ago to refuse any trips prior to March. Sorry, life's too short to be cold and eating indoors. Vive le sun which burnt my face despite lashings of factor 25 (I was too mean to go purchase total protection, but I know when I spot new lines I will regret it).
And another good news is that despite eating like a pig (for my standards that is, I have to note that I declined the dessert on offer every afternoon and night except for the creme brulee), my ass is apparently very much tightened, so said the BF on more than one occasion as I paraded around the sauna, and I didn't compare too badly with the 29 year old Polish beauty in the jacuzzy with us (G's girlfriend).

Phew, more when I get back the full use of my limbs, which of course are still throbbing a bit and that includes the arms, am not in the flush of youth anymore and it shows in muscle fibres taking some time to reform. Darn that it's awful grey and rainy here as usual...

I should also record a James Bond little feat performed by Toph. It happened like this. I had booked a much needed and difficult to obtain as they're super busy/booked up, one to one lesson with a ski instructor. For 3.45pm on Day 4. At 2.45 pm we go down (there's 4 of us) and at a crucial meeting of pistes, Toph insists that the best way back is via Piste 2. I disagree. And as we descend it's obvious we've gone the wrong way and will end up at a ski lift that we will have to take back up to the top where we've just come from and descend the way I thought we should in the first place. Bear in mind that this is possibly the 3rd time Toph ignorres my superior sense of direction and takes us down the wrong way.

And so it is that we start the queue for the skilift wiht lots of other people. None of whom is in the same foul mood as me, thinking, great, I'll miss the lesson, it's not the money, but there are no more to be booked and even if there were I don't want one on Day 5 just before my holiday ends, I need it NOW. On the gondola Toph is still arguing that we can make it... I say no we won't as it's now 3.15 and we have to go up and come down and for me it's almost the end of the day and I know full well accidents happen mostly when you're tired and my legs are tired.

Poor D. is on the gondola with us and has to listen to couple's spat. He stays out of it, especially when Toph suggest that as D. is the fastest/black run skier, he could ski down very fast and reach instructor and salvage part of my lesson. D. ,er, stays out of it. So we get of at the top and Toph who's not a great skier, takes off at major speed. I do worry for him but, I stick to my end of the day speed. And also because I'm enjoying my strop. As I turn at the last bend before the final slope into 'town', I see Toph and instructor below waiting for me. Instructor is not bothered though he points out that it's gone 4pm and by the time we take a lift up and come down, my lesson will be reduced to 30mins as he has another client after me.

But I take it, and tell Toph he can join. It's kind of useless but I appreciate the Milk Tray effort. Friends again. Ten years ago I'd have stormed off nevertheless, but I've grown up.

17 July - Ibiza dream on

Idly looking at airfares to Ibiza in August. I know I keep promising to myself not to travel for a while but uh, the sunshine is beckoning and have been a bit too much of a goody goody recently and feel all night dancing would be a trip in itself, it just never seems to happen. So I find the dates, the price is good. So I email a friend who’s best friend with rich wife of Goldman banker and they have spent 2 years a while back building a fabulous home from scratch with the best view ever. I write so say, ‘hey do they rent it out and is it squillions?’ She replies saying it is squillions in fact but that it wouldn’t be available in August (what was I thinking??) as the lady rich wife is there from 5 July to September, with not a care in the world except for two adorable kids (there is help of course) and eating healthily, working out with personal trainer and waiting for hubby at w/ends wearing red lipstick and nails and ready to f uck you, go out at sunset for a bit of a clubby night (kids stay behind).
My friend says she’s jealous, though her friend is lovely and so you can't be envious in a bad way, she just had the right genes to attract (and keep) the Goldman banker. Which requires some effort, am not denying that she works for the perks. I can’t lament lack of genes (though a couple of inches would have gone down a treat in the leg area), I just was never this bothered about sorting out the financial side of life.

But this little bit of info, coupled with something I read recently about every single mother at school gates at some school in Chelsea sporting a Birkin bag… well today it has the effect of making me think my life sucks big time. And the BF was at dinner in NY last night with a bunch of people, one British woman airily replying to his ‘So what do you do here?’ with a vague ‘Oh, am just spending a month in the Hamptons (notice no further info about what she actually DOES for a living was offered). So I bet he feels his life sucks big time too.
Ah woe is me, since am of the firm opinion that money does buy happiness if you’re not an unlucky depressive to start with and prone to feel you’re never as good as the person who provides your fortune in the first place (parent, spouse etc). I mean, I can’t go buy art (please don’t anyone start saying that you can start by buying art that costs a mere few hundred quid, I believe the stakes in London are too high for entry and have been for years since Saatchi.

21 June - 27 vs 37

Hurrah! Call the fitness regime off! Jessica Rabbit may not be coming on holiday with us after all. She's been offered event/PA role for the Rolling Stones gigs in Rome for which she would earn €3000 in 4 days. Not bad and that's before any thank you banknotes, and worth postponing her holidays for. But her b/f’s b’day falls within our original holiday time so what to do? I suggest she takes the gig and sticks it in her CV of budding media lawyer with extra curricular skills. After all he’s always complaining she earns no money to put towards the refined dinners he takes her to (he has very expensive taste) and as he never manifests any signs of jealousy despite the fact she’s a head turner and receives plenty of offers, then he won’t worry if old Mick may take a shine to her.

This way there won’t be any holiday arguments about him sat reading Proust for hours under the umbrella and wearing a shirt (delicate northern skin) and she wanting to go and 'Have A BIT of life for god's sakes’ as she says in her best ‘I need passion and excitement’ Sicilian tone.
I could write further about the perils of going out with a ‘I need to see the world and get dirty ’ 27 year old when you’re an urbane and erudite 37 year old who appreciate fine wines and food before anything else … but I won’t. Some of it surely is self explanatory.