I spent the evening playing around on Youtube, checking out all the men I used to love... all the black haired musicians that I desperately tried to get my teenage claws into. I really and truly thought I loved them at the time although in most cases I never knew them at all. I googled a few of them and most of the them are bald now – perhaps partly due to all that black hair dying that went on back in the gothic seventies. I can’t actually love bald men, if that makes me a bad shallow person then I am but it makes me think I probably never really loved them at all.
Sunday, 29 June 2008
By some bizarre twist of fate I am currently lecturing at a London University on the subject of Critical Thinking. How did this happen? – I ask myself every morning when I awake soaking in the sweat of my own inadequacy. In short some one offered me a job I wasn’t qualified to do on a day I was too broke to admit it. The upside of it all is that I am in fact a natural born critical thinker; I have always operated under the assumption that one should trust no one and question everything. What many have understood simply to be a disagreeable disposition is apparently a highly honed academic skill. Condensing a life time of eye rolling and eyebrow raising into 11 lectures has been a bit of a challenge but ‘ Constructing an argument ‘ was the module I was born to write.
The other day walking my Chihuahua home from her after lunch stroll around the St Martins Hotel, we spotted a large speckled bird walking along the pavement near our home. I picked up my dog since she can be somewhat xenophobic and followed the bird as he marched confidently down the alley past the book shops, print shops and antiques. Despite his cheerful demeanour I was concerned that a feathery young man like him could very soon become the victim of misfortune in ‘the heart of London’s theatre district’. I over took him and called out to a friend from Brett’s bookshop on the corner. Richard a self confessed bird fancier sprung out of the shop and observed the bird who was now surrounded by Japanese tourists blinding him with their camera flashes. “Its a baby Seagull” he observed. The bird displeased with his sudden celebrity took off hastily towards Charing Cross Road. “We had better save him” I said fixing Richard with a hard stare. Richard stubbed out his roll up and took off after the Seagull who had dashed around the corner pursued by the happy snappers. I heard an angry squawk and Richard reappeared with the large bird under his arm. He was put in a box and a few hours later collected by the RSPCA and taken to a bird sanctuary in North London where he can complete his adolescence in safety. We called him Cecil naturally; so far he has neither written nor called.
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
I woke up on Sunday morning after 4 hours sleep and remembered that I had a breakfast appointment at Claridges. Dress code ‘smart casual’ so help me god. My first thought was to quickly type out a text to the woman I was meeting ‘have to cancel, terribly ill, perhaps next week?’ but I couldn’t she’s my best friend and the subtext of the message would read so clearly ‘ I’m exhausted, can’t face it , fuck you, leave me alone, I’m staying in bed’. I really wished we were going to Starbucks like we usually do, at least they don't have a bloody dress code and I can look a fright in peace. I had to pack myself into dress and high heels before nine am, untangle my curly hair a bit so it looked er, bohemian which has always been a euphemism for ‘frankly, I can not be bothered’. My personal style has always been less Carrie Bradshaw and more Carrie the movie. I got there resentfully in the end and I do love walking up Bond Street on a Sunday morning when no one else is around. At Claridges I always order the same thing but I like to read the menu and pretend I might have something different, some of the prices make me laugh though, one item, porridge made with water £8 ! Its seems like a typo to me, such a random price and that they point out that they make the porridge with water (corporation pop as they used to call it in Lancashire )and not milk makes it even more emperors new clothes. Part of the fun of going to posh places is laughing at the absurdity of it all. As we entered the art deco ladies room my friend commented that she liked the flower arrangement ‘should have brought a bigger bag’ we laughed in unison.
Thursday, 5 June 2008
“I’m broke, I’m miserable I want to go to Claridges” so says my best friend. I love when people tell me they are broke, I earn less than a fifth of what she does and I am rarely flustered. Broke is a state of mind and so is denial - needless to say we have a table for two on Sunday morning. Breakfast at Claridges is a real treat. Served in the divine foyer underneath the Dale Chihully chandelier, that reminds me of Medusas snake hair. The chairs are huge and comfortable, the china is beautiful and the service is pleasant and not overly posh. I always have Pancakes with double cream and fruit (healthy option) and rose tea. I like looking at the other guests – divine little gilded children in Ralph Lauren outfits. Out of town, skinny bleached girlfriends with their fat bald boyfriends. I saw Marc Jacobs there once eating a sandwich studiously reading as if to deliberately ignore his boyfriend. I love that ridiculous hag Courtney Love is apparently banned after starting a small fire in her suite – money can’t buy you forgiveness at Claridges but it could get you a few weeks in the Betty Ford.
Monday, 2 June 2008
Its official now I really don’t have anything to look forward to, I have finally seen the SATC movie. I was probably the last among my friends to see this movie but I nipped over to the Odeon West End this morning for the 10 AM screening and I loved it. People told me it was a bit too long but not for me, it could have lasted another hour and I would have still been glued. I love everything about the show, the hair styles, the clothes - I mean Carries hairstyles and clothes – lets face it she got the budget. I love the city, the apartments, the life style, there is nothing on that show I do not love and desire except all the men excluding Big and the Malibu neighbour and the ugly kids. Sadly it will be at least another two years till the next one – if there is a next one – we could be heading for a Golden Girls of New York in twenty years with any luck.
I did a really bad thing – it was so bad I may well do it again. I purchased a dress to attend a wedding then I wore it extremely carefully to the event (if you can call it that) and this morning I sniffed it, pressed it, wrapped it and took it back! What a buzz! And although I feel bad – I feel much better than I did when I had an expensive dress that I didn’t want & couldn’t afford in my wardrobe and a couple of hundred quid missing from my account. I am not suggesting that we all make a habit of this; however, if you are tempted it is important to follow a few rules. Do not ‘borrow’ anything you cannot afford to buy. Don’t risk your rent to have some idiot pour red wine over a cream Chanel Jackie O suit. For best results, no smoking, drinking or eating, during your loan - wear perfume on your hair and ankles only. Give pale items a complete miss. If it helps with the guilt, know this – department stores let celebrities, photographers, stylists and magazines take items to wear for functions and shoots and then they put back the price tags and hang them out on the shop floor often with out so much as a dry clean. It’s how they treat us so why wouldn’t it be how we treat them?