Sunday Morning ©

I am lying on the couch, flat, toes pressing up against the arm
The air is cold and I know I should put warmer clothes on
But I don’t
The waste removal van is outside
Bottles are clanking their way noisily into the
yawning back
My mind is distracted, I have slept but am exhausted
The news is on and I occasionally turn my head towards it
“Man cured of HIV”
I wonder what that means for the world, if it’s real
It’s Sunday morning
I'm lonely

Park Life

British summer days are brilliant. Packing my bag with suntan cream, my book, my mat and my iPod. Lying in the park with dozens of strangers, feeling the sun on my face, hearing the useless conversations around me. Being social without having to socialise. The best kind of social. Three chapters and 50 songs later, slightly reddened and blissfully smug, I walk home and lie on the couch...but I don't feel bad about doing nothing, because I've done nothing outside. It's different: it's summer, it's park life.

The man for the job (part 2)

When I first postulated my theory of the indescribable attractiveness of a man who is good at what he does, (see The man for the job) I had only ever experienced this effect in a professional office-bound setting. However, for the past 8 weeks I have observed another type of profession which has caused me to revise my theory to include manual labour. Our office refurbishment is being managed by such a man. Nondescript to start with, the way he goes about doing his job has transformed him in my eyes. Competent, knowledgeable and thorough, he carries himself like a man whose life is exactly as he wants it to be. I totally fancy him.

Something about the beach

Perhaps it's the air, perhaps it's the proximity of ice-cream. There's something about the beach that makes me feel hopeful. This is Cape May, NJ.

Get lost

"Lost" seems to a theme this weekend. This time I'm not talking about TV, I'm talking about me. Sometimes I just want to pack up and go. Anywhere, as long as I'm not found unless I want to be. I am so tired of being responsible for everyone else. For our relationship, for the domestic errands, for keeping things tidy, for having to give up my spare room - and my personal time - for family members who feel entitled. Remember Obligated? A studio flat is looking more and more appealing.

Lost the Plot

The first season of Lost had me on the edge of my seat, every Wednesday night. Loved talking about it, loved trying to figure out what the hell was going on...Season 2 leaves me in a quandary. If you'd have asked me 4 episodes ago what my current favourite show was, I'd have said Lost, hands down no debate. Now I feel like they're taking the mickey. How much longer do we have to take three steps back (flashbacks) but only move two steps forward (jungle chases and whispers). They're having a laugh. Nowadays if you ask me, I'd probably say give me Prison Break any night of the week. Yes, it's decided, my allegiance has shifted quite firmly to Monday nights.

Blue Man Group

We went to the New London Theatre last night to see the Blue Man Group. While we were having a drink at the bar, I casually asked how long the show was. The bar person said, "It's 1 hour 40 minutes - and you better get in there before it starts!" I didn't think anything of it except that she was a very diligent employee... but it soon became clear that there was more to it than that!


Go see it! Wear your white rambo headband (don't worry they give you one), don't sit on the aisle or at the back...and whatever you do, DON'T BE LATE!

The Sultan's Elephant

We spent Saturday afternoon being delighted by the Jules Verne inspired street theatre show, The Sultan's Elephant.


The Sultan’s Elephant is a spectacle you’ve only imagined... Created by theatrical magicians Royal de Luxe, it tells the story of a sultan from far-off lands and his magical, time-travelling mechanical elephant. Forty feet high and 42 tonnes in weight, this beautiful creature will capture the hearts and minds of everyone who sees it.

Royal de Luxe are an extraordinary European street theatre company, renowned on three continents but hardly known in Britain. The director Jean Luc Courcoult founded the company in 1979, and they have performed all over the world ever since.

Cannes-Cannes

Cannes, France.

Everything is different when you're on holiday. Even the trees become something exotic and deliciously foreign.

Things that make you go "hmm..."

I love that things happen every day that amaze me, tickle me, or just make me feel something. The corny version of this statement is: things that remind me that I am alive.

It can be something as simple as the sight of a yellow blossom resting on a green hedge, a vision that makes me feel joyful, and I smile all the way home. Or the cartoon in the newspaper that makes me nod in recognition...or the article that makes my blood boil and I feel despair at the future of normalcy and common sense.

But, every once in a while something catches hold of me...my interest is piqued, and I go off for hours, maybe days thinking about it or reading more about it or, usually, Googling it.

Movies do that sometimes. I Heart Huckabees did that and the movie I just watched did that: Donnie Darko. What an insane journey! I felt the same kind of befuddlement when reading Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder.

So after watching Donnie Darko, I've spent the afternoon looking for more information to answer all my questions, mainly "What the hell was that about?" I don't consider myself to be a scientist, philosopher or existentialist, yet I feel so excited whenever I am introduced to all of these concepts. I want to know!

The Mighty Boosh

Saturday night we ended up at the Hammersmith Apollo to watch a show that neither of us had heard of. You know how it goes...Friday afternoon the all-office email goes out..."Theatre tickets, friends ditched us last minute...anyone?" We had nothing else to do, so off we went.

It was studentville deluxe. We arrived too late for a beer so, thirsty, we sat looking at a bright red curtain with a face on it, waiting for the show to start. People were taking photographs of it. Photographs of the curtain. Hmm, what were we in for?

All-in it was a blast. Loved every minute of it. Whacky crazy brilliant. If you haven't had a taste of Vince and Howard: see it or throw your eyes in the bin.

Yellow-bellied decoy

When I started this blog, I intended it to be magnanimous in its purpose, noble. I thoroughly romanticised the idea of it. It would be my throw-away comment at parties, and I would coyly divulge the throbbing www dotcom loveliness of My Blog- a nonchalant, yet oh so subtle intimation that this was me. You lucky, lucky thing.

As it turns out, that's not what's happening here. I have not told many people about this here place. I'm not a pretender, what you read is real, but there is so much that I'm not saying, and therein lies the hypocrisy. I think.

You get the sanitised me, and frankly it's constrained. Maybe it's a consequence of the job I do...most likely it's because I'm a coward. I'm much angrier, more pissed off, a whole lot sadder, and much much more acidic of tongue and filthy of mind than I like people to think. Big deal?

Obligated

There must be one word that describes this:

• The feeling of frustration experienced when a family member outstays their welcome in your home, and;
• is ignorant of, or deliberately blind to the effect this has on 1) you 2) him 3) your routine 4) your patience 5) all of the above, and;
• expects a level of hospitality that you would not normally provide in your own household, and finally;
• keeps coming back, because, and this is the kicker, how the hell can you say no? She's your mother!

Any suggestions as to what this word may be are welcome. In honour of your creativity, I shall rename this posting accordingly.

The works

Online shopping has to be at the top of the list of things entirely necessary for a working person. The last thing I want to do on the weekend, is go grocery shopping.

I recently switched delivery services, tired and annoyed of waiting around for two hours, only for the groceries to be not only late but also wrong. Always. I'm now with one who delivers in one hour windows, who is always on time, and never gets an order wrong.

Until today.

Now before you nod knowingly and say, 'had to happen one day', allow me to explain. Was my delivery late? No. Was it wrong? Well, yes and no. Yes, it was wrong. No, it's not a problem. Why? Because I got everything I ordered (except for one tiny thing which I will get to in a minute) and in addition to that, I also got a whole chicken and two packets of organic spaghetti.

What I didn't get was my cotton buds. Now, if called upon - in, I don't know, a predicament that required quick-thinking bartering in a world where money was useless and toiletries were a rare commodity - I would again exchange cotton buds for a whole chicken and a kilogram of spaghetti - organic or not.

Dirty/Fruity?

We all know James Bond's preference - a mix of vodka and gin, shaken, not stirred...but recently I found someone else who is particular about their martinis: me.

About a year ago on a visit to glorious New York I was introduced to an Apple Martini, and not long after, in New Jersey of all places, a Dirty Martini. A joyous experience on the first occasion, an unforgettable one on the second (and not in a good way). Not being a cocktail connoisseur, I have since gambled and ordered martinis in various different places, and not been quite as satisfied as I was at Métrazur's in Grand Central.

Out to dinner recently, a colleague visiting from the US asked the waiter - in an Indian restaurant - what kind of vodka they used in their martinis.

He looked at her strangely and said, "Normal vodka".
"What's normal?" she asked curiously.
"Smirnoff", he replied with certainty.

She opted not to order her martini and after he left the table, turned to me and said, with feeling, "The only normal vodka is Grey Goose...anything else can be considered not normal, got it?!"

And so it dawned on me, it's not if it's dirty or fruity, it's got to be vodka, and it's Grey Goose or bust.

Getting by with little help

Friends. I spend a great deal of time wondering how much effort should be put into rejuvenating flagging friendships. It is true that friends are around for a reason, drifting away when the reason is fulfilled, whatever that reason may be? When you lose touch with a friend, how much time do you spend chasing before it's time to resign yourself to the fact that they may not need you...or want you in their lives? Do we accept that friends come and go...or do we remember why we were friends to begin with and focus on that as a reason to keeping trying to reach out? I wish I knew.

Turn back time

Last weekend we went to the Tate Modern to see what was new. He wanted to see the Embankment installation by Rachel Whiteread. It didn't really move me. I scampered through it dying to go up to my favourite piece by Giuseppe Penone.

Tree of 12 metres. I can't do it justice by describing it, and this picture doesn't do the job very well either. Penone took a man-made timber beam and used a chain-saw to chisel it to reveal 'the tree inside'. The form of the tree is visible, showing the knots of the young branches. He leaves the base of the beam to contrast. It's lovely.

Things to look forward to

It's been pretty busy around here lately. Next week brings another series of hard work and late nights. I have:

• my boss visiting the office for a week (from the US)
• two confirmed office dinners, and probably 3 unconfirmed evenings in the pub
• a company presentation at which I will actually be presenting
• a series of difficult conversations
• an assignment due (I passed my exams by the way)
• ...any other essential tasks as assigned

What, you may ask, is there to look forward to? Cake Friday, is my answer. Double chocolate muffin, you can't beat it. A perfect double chocolately end to the week.

GI Jane

I've been dabbling in the world of red, yellow and green. The GI Diet. After following a 7-day plan from a Sunday-paper supplement ('following' is a very loose description) I've decided to give it a proper go. Went out a bought a book and everything, so now I have to do it. Starting tomorrow.

For an indeterminable period - apparently between 3 and 6 months - I have to live my life in the Green column. My favourite fruit - the underestimated banana - falls into the Yellow column, so there lies an immediate problem. My philosophy has always been: as long as its food from the earth, I can eat as much as I wanted...hmm. I hereby appoint the banana an honorary Green column food. I have to, otherwise there's not much chance of this thing lasting.

My so-called life

I'm a disgrace. For the first time in my life I bought not one, but two tabloid magazines (at the same time) just because they blared my two favourite words on the cover: Chantelle & Preston.

Live the dream. No pressure.