i interviewed a chef earlier. 'OK, can I ask how old you are?' '37'
'And are you a Thomas or a Tom?' 'Erm, I'm a Nicholas!'
how i laughed.
not quite as much, though as when my friend Tim sent me an email yesterday. he had sent a disc of high-res images of some glitzy jewellery to a repro house to be retouched. 'I've been to our repro house,' he says. 'It makes Prison Break look like a Women's Institute meeting.'
The reason Tim told me this was because he hadn't actually sent a disc of jewellery images to the repro house but a disc of images from his civil partnership, which we celebrated with his lovely partner Alan a few weeks ago.
One of the pictures involved the happy couple crouching down, poking their arxes out as if waiting for a very 'oh vicar' wedding present to be administered – it was actually a preparatory shot for an airborne 'jump' photo. another showed Tim's stubby fingers gently easing a ring onto Alan's middle finger.
i felt a wave of 'oh no' butterflies on his behalf.
and talking of embarrassing, my trainer once took some topless photos of me for a before and after story for his testimonials, which involved me flexing my muscles a la body builder contest.
i put these photos in with a dvd that he had lent me and left it at reception at the gym. and guess what! someone stole the dvd! someone who goes to the same gym as me and who must pxss themself every time they see me!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
i'll call you....
i've had a recent cinema binge.
lots of afternoon screenings - i love going to the cinema when it's light outside, it always feels like a guilty pleasure (AKA something only losers do, according to the other half), and i love coming out and it's still light.
My sister asked me what i thought of one of the films i'd seen recently. 'Boring,' I told her.
'You always say that,' she replied. 'Or fantastic. Those are the only words you eve use to describe a film you've seen.'
which is true, though i have been known to say 'it got brilliant reviews'. this is usually my justification for putting something dire on our Lovefilm list. (that's the same sister who kept me awake all night the other night as she kept turning the hall light on and off and crashing around because there was apparently a mouse under her wardrobe!)
anyway, i've started turning my phone off during screenings, i never used to (but, before you get all uppity I HAD IT ON VIBRATE) as it's started to annoy me when it buzzes during a film and i spend the next 10 minutes wondering if that call was the one life-changing call i really should have taken or not. (the buzzing doesn't annoy me as much as people with big hair sitting in front of me even when the cinema is empty, or people chatting as if they were sitting in their living room, though).
and it is about that phone that i wish to blog today (which almost turns that intro into an homage to AA Gill, though i won't refer to my Nokia as the blonde).
it's stopped working properly. actually, it's one of my old phones, which i have had to revert to using given that my new, lovely, super slim Nokia does weird things like go straight to voicemail rather than ring before waiting 1/2 hour to tell me i've got a voicemail EVEN THOUGH I HAVE BEEN HOLDING IT MY HAND WAITING FOR THAT BLOODY PHONE CALL. and tell me that 'the number you have called has not been recognised' even though it is my number one speed dial and i call it at least twice a day! the new Nokia is currently being reprogrammed.
the old phone, meanwhile, does ring when it should (if only we could say the same of our lovers, eh?) but it's buttons have got a big 'sticky' meaning that i merrily key in a text message only to greeted by a blank screen. i feel like i'm writing in telephonic invisible ink, which would actually be great!
it also means that while i try and set myself a reminder (i live my life by mobile 'to do' lists: get up; breath; go to cinema and sit behind person with big hair to avoid irritation later) i actually end up looking for the week view of sometime round about 1912. i didn't know they even had mobiles back then!
lots of afternoon screenings - i love going to the cinema when it's light outside, it always feels like a guilty pleasure (AKA something only losers do, according to the other half), and i love coming out and it's still light.
My sister asked me what i thought of one of the films i'd seen recently. 'Boring,' I told her.
'You always say that,' she replied. 'Or fantastic. Those are the only words you eve use to describe a film you've seen.'
which is true, though i have been known to say 'it got brilliant reviews'. this is usually my justification for putting something dire on our Lovefilm list. (that's the same sister who kept me awake all night the other night as she kept turning the hall light on and off and crashing around because there was apparently a mouse under her wardrobe!)
anyway, i've started turning my phone off during screenings, i never used to (but, before you get all uppity I HAD IT ON VIBRATE) as it's started to annoy me when it buzzes during a film and i spend the next 10 minutes wondering if that call was the one life-changing call i really should have taken or not. (the buzzing doesn't annoy me as much as people with big hair sitting in front of me even when the cinema is empty, or people chatting as if they were sitting in their living room, though).
and it is about that phone that i wish to blog today (which almost turns that intro into an homage to AA Gill, though i won't refer to my Nokia as the blonde).
it's stopped working properly. actually, it's one of my old phones, which i have had to revert to using given that my new, lovely, super slim Nokia does weird things like go straight to voicemail rather than ring before waiting 1/2 hour to tell me i've got a voicemail EVEN THOUGH I HAVE BEEN HOLDING IT MY HAND WAITING FOR THAT BLOODY PHONE CALL. and tell me that 'the number you have called has not been recognised' even though it is my number one speed dial and i call it at least twice a day! the new Nokia is currently being reprogrammed.
the old phone, meanwhile, does ring when it should (if only we could say the same of our lovers, eh?) but it's buttons have got a big 'sticky' meaning that i merrily key in a text message only to greeted by a blank screen. i feel like i'm writing in telephonic invisible ink, which would actually be great!
it also means that while i try and set myself a reminder (i live my life by mobile 'to do' lists: get up; breath; go to cinema and sit behind person with big hair to avoid irritation later) i actually end up looking for the week view of sometime round about 1912. i didn't know they even had mobiles back then!
Friday, February 15, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
open your windows
i've just done my first bit of yoga for months. my god, it's a jungle in there! i'd forgotten what a mental chatterbox i am: 'do this, don't forget that, why did you do that, ouch that's stiff, ouch, that's really stiff, how much longer, where's my phone…'
it's scary how quickly emotional cobwebs gather. when i used to go to classes regularly it felt like i was giving myself a gentle mental dusting - judging from the last 20 minutes spent on my mat it seems my whole mental mansion needs a makeover and a bloody good clean.
which is pretty much what my bricks and mortar abode got this weekend - paintwork was washed down, balls of fluff were removed, oh and i nearly chopped a finger off retrieving a picture from behind the radiator.
the house looks so much better and brighter today.
now, if i can get my spiritual house looking the same way.
it's scary how quickly emotional cobwebs gather. when i used to go to classes regularly it felt like i was giving myself a gentle mental dusting - judging from the last 20 minutes spent on my mat it seems my whole mental mansion needs a makeover and a bloody good clean.
which is pretty much what my bricks and mortar abode got this weekend - paintwork was washed down, balls of fluff were removed, oh and i nearly chopped a finger off retrieving a picture from behind the radiator.
the house looks so much better and brighter today.
now, if i can get my spiritual house looking the same way.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
go go before you wake me up
just come back from trying to buy the sunday papers. trying, as in not succeeding.
i really must be turning into a grandad because i think it's weird that not one newsagent or supermarket is open at 7.45am.
the only people i encountered when i was out was the road sweeper - it struck me as harsh that he had to be out sweeping the streets on a sunday but then i figure that serial litterers don't really think to themselves 'oh i won't drop that fag packet here today, it is sunday, after all', and a group of three lads who patently had not yet been to bed.
this trio reminded me of the now long gone days when i too would still be up when day arrived. i had a sudden flash of that feeling i used to get upon leaving a night club only to find that it was already daytime outside and that people were already going about their lives. it was a cross between 'oh no!' and 'ye-hah! pardeeeeeeee'.
needless to say, i don't miss those mornings in the slightest.
i really must be turning into a grandad because i think it's weird that not one newsagent or supermarket is open at 7.45am.
the only people i encountered when i was out was the road sweeper - it struck me as harsh that he had to be out sweeping the streets on a sunday but then i figure that serial litterers don't really think to themselves 'oh i won't drop that fag packet here today, it is sunday, after all', and a group of three lads who patently had not yet been to bed.
this trio reminded me of the now long gone days when i too would still be up when day arrived. i had a sudden flash of that feeling i used to get upon leaving a night club only to find that it was already daytime outside and that people were already going about their lives. it was a cross between 'oh no!' and 'ye-hah! pardeeeeeeee'.
needless to say, i don't miss those mornings in the slightest.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
drowning in Berlin
the boyfriend just reached the big three oh. oh as in 'oh my god, i feel so old!' which of course is quite the wrong thing to say to me, who has 10 years on him.
anyway him indoors had always wanted to go to Berlin, so did my usual 'business / pleasure' thing and arranged to go and check out a swanky hotel there, and treated him to his flight as part of his pressie (a word i loathe, by the way, and which i have banned from any publication i am involved with).
so, off we trotted. Air Berlin - lovely. they even gave us a free drink and a sandwich. imagine!
arrived to a sunnyish capital, checked our bags into swankarama hotel (rocco forte's new gaff, very nice too) and off we went to check out our neighbourhood.
anyway. you know sometimes you visit a new city and you feel 'there's something going on here if only i knew to look'? well, as friends of him indoors used to live there we did actually know where to look but we both spent the weekend feeling a bit 'is this it?'
don't get me wrong, we had a lovely break but we were both underwhelmed. i was expecting crisp blue skies, frost and BowieIggy lookalikes in every smoke filled bar but all i got was drizzle and sausages.
our Saturday morning was exciting. Mr D was all in a guidebook tizzy when i arrived back from my organic facial (well, i was WORKING, I'd earned it!). 'I've found a shop that sells Bernard Wilhem, Anne Demelmeister, Ute Pelier, it sounds great' (ok, i know i've spelt those wrong, so shoot me).
unfortunately, it was a cab drive away. if you ever find yourself out of a job can i suggest becoming a Berlin cabbie? you don't need to have a clue about where anything is, an inability to read maps is also fine, as are terrible driving skills, but that's a whole other blog (based, btw on 5 shocking cab experiences).
so, we get a cab. 20 minutes later we arrive at the shop. in the pouring rain.
and Mr was right, it stocks all of those labels and more and is indeed great IF YOU ARE A WOMAN!
'Do you speak English' 'yes'
'Do you sell menswear' 'no'
'Do you know anywhere round here that sells designer mens clothes? 'no'
back into another cab.
how we laughed.
anyway him indoors had always wanted to go to Berlin, so did my usual 'business / pleasure' thing and arranged to go and check out a swanky hotel there, and treated him to his flight as part of his pressie (a word i loathe, by the way, and which i have banned from any publication i am involved with).
so, off we trotted. Air Berlin - lovely. they even gave us a free drink and a sandwich. imagine!
arrived to a sunnyish capital, checked our bags into swankarama hotel (rocco forte's new gaff, very nice too) and off we went to check out our neighbourhood.
anyway. you know sometimes you visit a new city and you feel 'there's something going on here if only i knew to look'? well, as friends of him indoors used to live there we did actually know where to look but we both spent the weekend feeling a bit 'is this it?'
don't get me wrong, we had a lovely break but we were both underwhelmed. i was expecting crisp blue skies, frost and BowieIggy lookalikes in every smoke filled bar but all i got was drizzle and sausages.
our Saturday morning was exciting. Mr D was all in a guidebook tizzy when i arrived back from my organic facial (well, i was WORKING, I'd earned it!). 'I've found a shop that sells Bernard Wilhem, Anne Demelmeister, Ute Pelier, it sounds great' (ok, i know i've spelt those wrong, so shoot me).
unfortunately, it was a cab drive away. if you ever find yourself out of a job can i suggest becoming a Berlin cabbie? you don't need to have a clue about where anything is, an inability to read maps is also fine, as are terrible driving skills, but that's a whole other blog (based, btw on 5 shocking cab experiences).
so, we get a cab. 20 minutes later we arrive at the shop. in the pouring rain.
and Mr was right, it stocks all of those labels and more and is indeed great IF YOU ARE A WOMAN!
'Do you speak English' 'yes'
'Do you sell menswear' 'no'
'Do you know anywhere round here that sells designer mens clothes? 'no'
back into another cab.
how we laughed.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
tempted...
from what i can gather my grandparents had a tricky sexual relationship. grandad was an ever-ready, eager beaver, hot blooded male while my grandma would have given queen victoria a run for her money in the prudy stakes. he couldn't get enough, for her once a year was a bit too often.
for gran, 'the deed' was something you did with the lights out, under the sheets and duress (which i do believe is an example of a zeugma, if you don't mind) and commited as infrequently as is humanly possible – in the case of my grandparents i know this to be at least three, as that's the number of offspring they produced.
whenever sex was mentioned in public or an innuendo dolled out over Sunday lunch - as they frequently were: our home life was one long carry on movie, Nan would roll her eyes and mutter something about it being 'dirty' or the person making the crude remark being a 'dirty bugger'.
which makes her choice of perfume all the more bizarre. for years and years whenever i asked my gran what she would like for christmas she would always request the same thing: a bottle of Just Musk (which is so 70s sounding it has just reminded me of that Pat Coombes advert for Tweed which concluded with her declaring 'shouldn't be allowed!'). So, a bottle of Just Musk would be bought, and for the next year Nan would wear it as her daily smell. she would run around the house with a hoover (i've never known anyone do so much house work) leaving a musky trail behind her, while my grandad would sit ogling page 3 of a certain newspapers for hours, steam of frustration almost coming out of his ears.
I am laying in bed (Saturday morning, no work, no gym, cup of coffee, radio 4, heaven) reading Men's Health and I have just discovered that musk, (even synthetic – it no longer uses secretions from antlers or wherever it used to come from) is a 'heady aphrodisiac, sure to signal sexual interest and stimulate the same in others'.
if only someone had told my gran this years ago she could have saved herself so many headaches!
if only she'd asked for Charlie instead our Sunday lunches might actually have been pleasant affairs!
for gran, 'the deed' was something you did with the lights out, under the sheets and duress (which i do believe is an example of a zeugma, if you don't mind) and commited as infrequently as is humanly possible – in the case of my grandparents i know this to be at least three, as that's the number of offspring they produced.
whenever sex was mentioned in public or an innuendo dolled out over Sunday lunch - as they frequently were: our home life was one long carry on movie, Nan would roll her eyes and mutter something about it being 'dirty' or the person making the crude remark being a 'dirty bugger'.
which makes her choice of perfume all the more bizarre. for years and years whenever i asked my gran what she would like for christmas she would always request the same thing: a bottle of Just Musk (which is so 70s sounding it has just reminded me of that Pat Coombes advert for Tweed which concluded with her declaring 'shouldn't be allowed!'). So, a bottle of Just Musk would be bought, and for the next year Nan would wear it as her daily smell. she would run around the house with a hoover (i've never known anyone do so much house work) leaving a musky trail behind her, while my grandad would sit ogling page 3 of a certain newspapers for hours, steam of frustration almost coming out of his ears.
I am laying in bed (Saturday morning, no work, no gym, cup of coffee, radio 4, heaven) reading Men's Health and I have just discovered that musk, (even synthetic – it no longer uses secretions from antlers or wherever it used to come from) is a 'heady aphrodisiac, sure to signal sexual interest and stimulate the same in others'.
if only someone had told my gran this years ago she could have saved herself so many headaches!
if only she'd asked for Charlie instead our Sunday lunches might actually have been pleasant affairs!
Friday, February 1, 2008
if you ask me...
'what's wrong with your eyes?' enquired my mate loudly yesterday, seconds after we met. at the time we were standing in a queue for a cashpoint so the five people in front of us were also soon wondering what was wrong with my eyes.
'nothing,' i replied.
'they are really red and bloodshot,' blurted my friend, possibly louder than before (he'd been in the pub for a couple of hours before meeting me and had lost control of his volume button!).
my eyes, i pointed out, are always this bloodshot. i'd also spent the whole day in front of my computer and i wear contact lenses, neither of which are conducive to baby-white eyes (have you ever noticed how white the whites of babies' eyes are? spooky).
the exchange reminded me of the time when i was walking down The Strand when i was pounced upon by a blousy market researcher. 'sorry, i'm in a real rush, i can't… ' i explained with a smile. a smile that soon evaporated as the market researcher said 'oh no, i didn't want to ask you anything, i just wanted to see if you were alright! you're very pale!'
you couldn't make it up!
'nothing,' i replied.
'they are really red and bloodshot,' blurted my friend, possibly louder than before (he'd been in the pub for a couple of hours before meeting me and had lost control of his volume button!).
my eyes, i pointed out, are always this bloodshot. i'd also spent the whole day in front of my computer and i wear contact lenses, neither of which are conducive to baby-white eyes (have you ever noticed how white the whites of babies' eyes are? spooky).
the exchange reminded me of the time when i was walking down The Strand when i was pounced upon by a blousy market researcher. 'sorry, i'm in a real rush, i can't… ' i explained with a smile. a smile that soon evaporated as the market researcher said 'oh no, i didn't want to ask you anything, i just wanted to see if you were alright! you're very pale!'
you couldn't make it up!
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