tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7860210154415182082024-03-14T11:11:26.081-07:00Sleep Is A Fickle WhorePomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-68125609362961516492021-10-05T06:18:00.003-07:002021-10-05T06:18:58.927-07:00The Reunion<p><br /></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Reunions
don't have the best reputation. Any film I've seen about a “Class
Of 19--!” get together of middle aged people involves a fight,
several emotional breakdowns, an unrequited crush that results in ten
minutes of toilet cubicle sex followed by both parties sharing
pictures of their families and realising they'd just imploded their
lives over a memory, and the weird competitive, 'So, what are you
doing now? Profitable is it?' kind of conversations that curdle the
will to live. The prospect of asking and answering the same
questions over and over again whilst clutching a warm glass of wine
would fill anyone with a weary dread.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">What
a cunt. It was never going to be like that with the Bretton Hall
(Arts section of Leeds University) Theatre Arts, graduating year
1996, and I should have known better.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">I
was expecting us all to have aged, but no one had. We all still
looked twenty. To each other.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">In
the three years between '93 and '96 we had all imprinted on each
other some fundamental part of ourselves that would ignite in a
strange reverse alchemical way as soon as we were within nodding
distance of each other again. And through the lens of this microcosm
we had created, we have all been waiting, set in the amber of a
chilly autumn morning with leaves on the ground, new books with
un-cracked spines on our shelves and a sense of the future being
wholly owned by us, our terrible importance, and all of the
magnificent things we'd achieve.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">The
actual future brought marriage, divorce, children, cancer, success,
failure and all the human noise and mess of lives lived outside the
bubble of a mansion house set in the grounds of the Yorkshire
Sculpture Park.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>What
did the university look like?</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>I
think I fell in love with Bretton Hall at first sight. My future
home – love a bit of Palladian grandeur. A little bit magnificent
and magical! The way the more modern buildings clashed with all that
in a wonderful wonky way. It felt like special things could happen
there. They did. That strange blend of beautiful ancient buildings
with the 1950s accommodation blocks staggering up the hill like wonky
teeth. It looked cosy, safe, ancient and fresh at the same time. It
looked like a beautiful old building in wonderful grounds with a load
of scruffy people wandering about. Crusty and Grunge were in at the
time. Unworldly. I changed instantly. I wanted to match my
surroundings! To be romantic, ethereal, wispy... I remember standing
at the top of the path by the gate and saying, 'Wow! That's a long
way down!' </i>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>(Andy
T, Roy, Jonny, Dan, Dom, Chris, Becky, Jane)</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">For
the arrival at the reunion, for the first few hours, what walked into
the shitty bargain basement bar of the Holiday Inn Express,
Wakefield, was a golden capsule of time suspended friends, whose
humour, chemistry and collective energy had been switched back on
like a light, as though twenty-five years had been nothing more than
a power nap before a big night out.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">We
belonged to the last hurrah of free education, grants and small year
groups. There were twenty-four people on our Theatre Studies course
and sixteen of us (plus four friends from other courses) managed to
rock up for a reunion that would serendipitously take place at the
beginning of term.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>If
you had to remember that time as a season, what would it be?</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Oh fuck
off, what does that mean? Ok. Spring and summer. Then it got to the
third year and it all got a bit autumnal, when we realised nothing
lasted forever. Since then it’s been a relentless bitter winter.
Ok. A little exaggeration. Autumn I think, probably because that was
when we started and the impression stuck with me as a reference
point. </i></span><i>I’d go for Spring- there was always something
on the boil, lots of life and energy and brightness. Spring, full of
hope, expectation, a sense of impending and beautiful change. Spring
rain on the concrete and the boozy smells of damp beer mats when you
hit the Kennel block. Blossoms and croci poking through and blowing
in the wind. Winter. Snowed in. Not getting out and just relying on
each other. Ooooh I loved getting snowed in. I love a bit of snow
drama! Lazy strolls around the lake and sunny evenings at KB. The
growth, the light, the hazy days. </i>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>(Dan,
Angela, Chris, Becky, Dan, Roy, Jane, Andy T, Dom)</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Some
bounded through the doors screaming with joy and some entered with
more trepidation, but all were welcomed and embraced the same. It is
a strange thing in your late forties to walk into a room and find
that everyone in it not only knows you quite well on some level but
also likes you, and cares about you being there.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">I
had been talking to my almost husband about friendship the previous
week, saying how, as a young idiot I'd always thought it daft when
people said you were lucky if you had one good friend in life. But as
I got older I'd come to see how that was true. If I had an emergency
at 3am there were family members I could call but, at forty-seven, I
didn't think there were any friends I could reach out to in an
emergency. And even if they said I could I wouldn't, because,
honestly? I wouldn't want any fucker calling me at 3am asking for
bail or some tarpaulin.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Now,
I'm not saying that after two days in the company of my old
university friends I'd feel at liberty to hit them up for a loan or
anything. But if I was stuck in any one of their home towns and
needed a bed for the night I believe I would be welcomed. What a bold
and happy thing it is to be able to say that.
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">All
bar two of us were booked into the previously mentioned, Holiday Inn
Express, and as Big Gay Roy so succinctly put it, “The place looks
like Beirut circa 1981, but it's cheaper than the fine for vomiting
in a taxi.”
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">As
people trickled in, what should have been a quick drink before
hitting the town, turned into three hours of overlapping orders and
banter until the bar woman, with a fixed smile on her face, gave me
the shit eye and said, “You lot were going to leave after the last
round.”</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">I
speak to Mike C who has been with Jane since uni and he says, 'God,
I'm feeling quite tearful now, I didn't know what to expect.' And I
talk to Jo R. She and I were friendly but not close at Bretton but I
feel an immediate connection to her and I know I want to see her
again, after this. She hasn't changed and everyone tells her so, and
that they hate her for it. Emma S who wasn't on our course shows up
with Shelley whom I only knew through Roy and we have a gleeful time
catching up, Emma's Manc twang undiminished by time as she insists we
need to get hold of Magnesium Pills from Holland and Barrett if we
ever want a great nights sleep again. That woman was always
recommending pills. It is a joy to see her huge grin again.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">We
finally pour out into the early evening streets of an unrecognisable
Wakefield to find a pub. Andy T, who had been five years older than
us at uni and forever after called 'Pops', had arrived a day before
us and found a pub that did karaoke on a Friday night and we marched
to it, five drinks in, ready to rock the locals worlds. When we
entered the Talbot And Falcon there was a firm collective agreement
that we'd just have one here and move on. I had barely put my order
in at the bar when the DJ calls out, 'Can we please have Roy to the
stage!' Before he takes his pint he nudges me, 'I've put you down for
Patsy Cline's<i> Crazy.</i><span style="font-style: normal;">' And off
he goes. We took over that pub and made it our own student union, and
after an initial period of suspicion and eye rolling the locals
embraced us and joined in the party. The two remaining friends that
would join us that evening staggered their arrivals and Will said he
was overwhelmed but also felt like he'd walked into a Covid party and
everyone was invited. Chris had the time travel experience of walking
in as the entire pub sang '</span><i>Don't Look Back In Anger' </i><span style="font-style: normal;">
and when I look at the video footage that Angela took I can see
everyone singing their hearts out with Chris moving amongst them
getting hugged and kissed. </span>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>What
kind of music were you into back then?</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%;"><i>I did very well to
hide my shit taste in music in the early days. I was into mainstream
indie and only had a very limited musical knowledge. People talked
about the Pixies, Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Nick Cave- I had no idea
who they were. Most of my music tastes were then influenced by Will.
To sum up each year in an album it would be- 1st year- Underworld
Dubnobasswithmyheadman, 2nd Year- Portishead Dummy, 3rd Year Pulp
Different Class. I loved dancing to whatever was playing but I
couldn’t tell you any of the tunes or who made them. All my
Manchester bands but I had started to open my eyes to so much more-
Lenny Kravitz, Underworld, Primal Scream, the Orb, orbital, Nirvana,
Smashing Pumpkins, Mazzy Star. One of the best things about
university was rummaging through other people's music collections and
then my musical interests broadened without a single look back. Oh,
please! It was always Prince. You fuckers tried to introduce me to
Leftfield's 'Leftism' and I put my head in the oven. Love it now –
I'm so retro. Weird and wobbly stuff. Massive Attack, Portishead,
Moby, Bjork. I was, and still am, a pop princess. Tanya loved the
Fugees...(Just had to change that cos predictive text changed it to
'refugees') so we listened to them...ALOT. </i>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%;"><i>(Chris, Dan, Roy,
Jonny, Becky, Jane)</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Angus
and I head out for a fag and he mentions that just like five hours
ago, he's still starving, so we sneak off to a restaurant and eat the
worst meal of our lives before staggering back to our hotel rooms.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">This
reunion came about, in part, because I wanted to write an essay about
our halcyon days and had sent a group message to the ten or so people
I was still friends with on social media. I asked if they'd be
willing to fill in a questionnaire about their time at Bretton and as
agreements trickled in, people added others whom I had lost contact
with until we were more or less all present, plus a few who were
honorary because we'd been good friends with them even though they
weren't marvellous actors like us. The group message took on a life
of its own as people shared memories and photo's and over the
following couple of weeks I'd receive filled out questionnaires via
email, each one a treat to be savoured with a cup of tea and a fag.
The longest one came from Jane, a Liverpudlian with a sunny nature
and an infectious laugh. Considering she and her bestie, Tanya U, had
been drunk for the best part of three years, her memory was
outstanding and, like all the answers I received, provided me with
the joy of moments I'd forgotten or not been present for. </span>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Can
you remember any first impressions?</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>I'm
sorry, I don't do impressions. But first ones like a lot of my
memories were the smells of the halls. That first night as I was
sorting my room came there a knocking on my door and Emma, who I'd
met in a club in Manchester, asked me if I wanted a smoke. We got
baked, listening to tunes and talking about Manchesterrrr music and
the Manchester music scene. Also the bird who was in charge of
looking after we freshers took us to the bar where I got a bit handy
and they all fucked off to bed early. I remember walking back through
the September night thinking this place is fucking ace. It was dark
and badly lit but I didn't care, I had arrived. I had met Andy C at
the audition interviews. I remember looking around when the whole of
the first year students were in New Theatre and waving to him, he
looked at me with his sideways glance and gave an awkward ‘who are
you' wave. In the first few weeks I spent a lot of time with other
people that I then later didn’t have any connection with. I suppose
that once we (TA's) got to know each other, my main relationships
were with people on the course. It looked grim! (Smirthwaite) But the
natural way a close little community formed there. Arriving at the
'estate' and thinking it was rough as fuck. Everyone seemed a bit
common except for Tanya. I met Jo and Becky on our first day in and
thought they were lovely and we kinda stuck together. I remember
thinking Tanya was very posh. I was sure I wanted to spend the next
three years here.</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>(Dan,
Chris, Jonny, Dom, Roy, Jane, Andy T)</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
first two people to suggest a reunion were Becky and Will. Becky just
said it would be wonderful to see everyone and Will already had plans
to take his son up there in August so maybe we could all tag along?
Plans started in March with Dan looking at hotels, August was
abandoned, and finally October was settled on. A big part of me
thought it wouldn't happen and then people started booking
accommodation and the bizarre dream of a twenty-five year reunion
became a reality.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">On
Saturday morning with various levels of hangover we all reconvened at
the main hotel to bundle into the cars and head back to the Yorkshire
Sculpture Park. Bretton Hall closed its doors in 2007, eleven years
after we left, and when we arrive the main building is surrounded by
fencing and, in places, quite derelict. It's a windy, rainy, morning
as we head off. Fairly quickly, Dom finds a gap in the fence and we
all clamber through and head down into what was our outdoor Greek
theatre. There's a huge plaster cast of a white theatrical mask, now
grey, lying abandoned in the middle of the weeds, between columns I
can remember prancing through in a production of </span><i>The
Bacchae. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">The door to
Experimental Theatre is slightly ajar to the left and so, feeling
like naughty kids, we sneak in to have a look. The room where so many
plays, rehearsals and unforgivable pretentiousness went on, isn't so
much a ghost, as a corpse of its former self. The ground is bare,
cracked concrete, rubble really. And the walls are peeling paint and
rot. Jonny heads up on to the surround balcony to take a photo of us.
We stand huddled together, staring up, some curious, some wanting to
get out, all of us having a concrete visual of what visiting the past
looks like. Jonny takes the picture, stares at us all for a moment,
and says, 'I feel a bit emotional.'</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">He
then wanders off to the library, sets off the alarm, and we leg it
back into the park where we're allowed to be.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>How
reliable do you think your memories are from that time?</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>So
so so clear and considering that booze, the drugs and the distance of
them I know they are so incredibly special and will stay with me for
ever. Those memories are undeniably rose-tinted...but still not too
far from the truth I think. What I can remember is quite clear. If I
can’t remember it, I either wasn’t there or not paying attention.
I was stoned quite often, but even then, I think that my memory
remained intact. Well, considering I blank out a lot when I'm drunk
I'm surprised I remember anything! But there's no denying the love
and the laughs. An acute sense of everything being so present that it
barely got consigned to memory. It's almost like I remember it
happening to someone else.</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>(Dan,
Jonny, Chris, Jane, Dom,Becky)</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
YSP is five hundred acres of fields, hills, woodland, lakes and
formal gardens and it's a beautiful place (despite the hideous Damien
Hirst sculptures dotted around like so much shite). We decide to walk
around part of the lake, and with the rain drizzling down we wander,
take pictures and swap people to talk to. It's peaceful and I spend
most of it with Jonny or Angela talking about then and now and some
of the stuff in between. </span>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Tell
me one anecdote that you wouldn't mind being shared.</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Just
the one of me and Angus being caught red handed by the Bretton
security guard and we had forced, folded and man handled the 12 foot
papier mache Tiger into Swithen three. We might have had a few too
many ales. Ok, so drunkenly rehoming a 10ft paper mache tiger from
its the sculpture park to outside Owen Tribes room in Swithen. On the
first night in our new rental in Painthorpe, Dan and I enjoyed a
bottle of wine and looked around at our new pad. A little girl opened
the letterbox and wanted to know if we’d pay for a blow job. </i><span style="font-size: small;"><i>At
the student union where everyone was buying everyone drinks,
unbeknown to me I’m being bought doubles and triples. After a few
hours I’m in the toilet crouched around the bowl. No idea how long
I was gone for but my housemates found me and decided to take me
home. Due to being crouched for so long (plus the alcohol!) I
couldn’t work my legs properly. Apparently I walked like John Wayne
all the way to the car, being held up by my friends. I remember the
journey home as I had my head resting on the door with the window
down and all I could see was the lines on the road rushing by.When I
had my first go at taking magic mushrooms, I think I had too much. I
didn’t know what to expect, didn’t feel anything, so had some
more. Shortly afterwards I climbed into my wardrobe. Wandering around
campus later on, Will was talking to me. I understood him, I replied.
All that came out of my mouth for some period of time was the word
‘Joop’. Pops taught me a lot but I think he was taking the piss
when we were talking about chorizo and he said “No, sorry, no idea
what you're talking about.” He worked in an Italian restaurant!
Eventually he said, “Oh! You mean 'Choritho!” My how I love
Pops!! Teabag testicles. Punching Seta in the face because she
couldn't fucking concentrate on a task and got distracted by a rogue
hair! There is no joy more profound than drinking and laughing with
people who make you happy, and my college years were the perfect
distillation of that. I miss them.</i></span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>(Dan,
Angus, Angela, Chris, Jane, Roy, Andy T)</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">There's
a gallery with a fancy canteen on the site now. Very different to the
canteen we used to have on campus where you could get a full english
for a quid and regret every moment of it. When we've had enough of
nature (one hour forty minutes, standard) we head in to meet Andy C
who has just arrived and the poor sod has to make his way around us
one by one as we all stand grinning at him and his reactions to faces
he hasn't seen in over twenty years. We get some food and spend some
time in the canteen before bundling back into cars to head back for a
nap or a wander before our early bird special dinner at an Italian
restaurant at 5.30pm.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I
head back with Roy and though we haven't seen each other in ten years
we end up laughing so much I find it hard to breathe and he considers
pulling the car over so that we don't both die in a massive pile up.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I
try to have a nap back at the hotel but being so wholly present makes
it hard to switch off so I crawl out of bed, throw some make up on
and head back into town to meet people for a drink at the Old Print
Works next to Prego where we're having dinner. Dan is wearing a shirt
with skulls and roses on it. The previous night his shirt had
butterflies on. He looks beautiful. He was always the cool kid, the
stylish Mancunian, quick to laugh, full of love.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The
meal is loud and chaotic and I pity the waiters. One young waitress
opens a bottle of Prosecco and the cork shoots out and hits her in
the face. Obviously we were all concerned for her and we expressed
that as well as we could over the sound of Roy howling with laughter.
I also pity the two women who have been cruelly sat upstairs with us
and don't have a chance in hell of holding a conversation over their
lasagna. </span>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We
swap seats between courses at Pop's suggestion and I spend the first
half with Tanya and the second with Andy C, and the chat is so easy,
so familiar. At some point I feel Roy stroke a finger down my back
and my muscle memory kicks in and I hand him the Prosecco without
breaking conversation. </span>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We
force Pops to deal with the bill and head off to find a bar which we
manage pretty swiftly. Becky has to leave after a drink because she
has a wedding to attend the following day. She runs away without a
word and sends us a voice mail on the group message;</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">“<span style="font-style: normal;">I
don't think I have ever loved a group of people the way I love you
and I'm so sorry I keep bursting into tears. And I'm even more sorry
that I've just run away like a dirty thief, but the idea of having to
say goodbye to you all is just far too traumatic, I just wanted to
go. So, please, please, please don't hate me. I've just had the best
48 hours with the most remarkable bunch of people and I love you all
dearly.”</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Would
you change anything?</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Not
a sausage. I'd maybe suggest Paul Bond consider changing the shape of
his beard but nothing else. That perfect time is scorched on my
memory forever and I am now smiling at the ridiculous good fortune
that we were we in that utterly divine moment of all of our lives.
</i><span style="font-size: small;"><i>I’d often thought about the idea of being able
to go back and do it again with the confidence and knowledge I have
about the uni experience now. I’d definitely tell myself not to be
homesick and just throw myself into it all.Comedy-Why the fuck didn’t
we create a massive comedy group and call it ‘Headlamps’ and take
it to Edinburgh and global domination. We were all so funny and
really had fun. I try to make a point of not losing a minute in
regret. That way madness lies. Not a thing. No! But perhaps on
reflection I could have found out where the library was. Not really.
I still feel blessed for having three amazing years there and for it
kindling the flame of the person I became.</i></span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>(Dan,
Angus, Chris, Andy T, Roy, Jane, Jonny)</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br />
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Becky
was the first to cry, when she saw Dan. She is the same small,
blonde, wholehearted darling that she was back then, and all of us
listen to her message at different times and absorb it without too
much chat.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">We
spend that last night in and out of a huge bar, smoking, drinking,
catching up with those we hadn't yet had a chance to. Jono decides to
drink Martinis and start smoking again and I spend a wonderful couple
of hours tucked between him and Will having proper no nonsense
conversations. As the night absorbs us, darker tales are told,
funnier ones too, and it starts dawning on people that this is nearly
over. All the planning, all that excitement and it's nearly time to
leave. But before we do, Tanya C, Gareth, Faye, Amy, Andy L, I hope
you can join us next time, you were missed and talked of well and
often. </span>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-style: normal;">No
one wants to be back in 1993. For the most part everyone is happy in
their lives now, or dealing with necessary change, but we're not
yearning to be twenty again with an illusion of a future in which we
take centre stage. We're just happy to have found each other again
and to be able to say, without expectation or qualification; I love
you, I always will.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>Did
you fall in love with anyone during those three years?</i></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>At
the time nobody. After twenty-five years I can honestly say I am in
love with everyone from the TA course. </i><span style="font-size: small;"><i>No, I fell
out of love and it oddly felt good. </i></span><i>Yes!! My first love
was Tanya! I fell in love with her and couldn't bear it when we were
apart. I felt very 'disintorionated' when she wasn't there.! (Spelt
wrong deliberately...we always said it like that) I also fell in love
with Robin...I adored him! I fancied Chris and went out with him for
about three weeks. He was gorgeous but I don't think it was meant to
be. Some unrequited obsessions. Flingettes. DANIEL SHAW STANLEY – I
fell in love – not a romantic love – although I loved the sound
and look of him! But him. This boy. This cheeky beautiful soul.
Charismatic, charming and so full of life. You tell me. I probably
said I did and, on reflection, I might nearly have done. I was too
closed off and didn’t open up enough. I wasn’t the best boyfriend
material back then. I had three -four main relationships and never
let myself get too attached. I regret that. I was told the same thing
by different people- that I didn’t open up. I did fall in love with
my friends, though, if that counts? I fell in love with so many
people in such a way that I have not experienced since. And there are
those that I would still die for. In that moment, that epoch, there
was something special in our group and ...you couldn't help but fall
in love. Stanislavski said, 'you must fall in love with something new
everyday' and it is at Bretton where I learned to put that into
practice. It was vivid, all consuming, a great adventure. </i>
</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i>(Roy,
Angela, Jane, Jonny, Becky, Chris, Dan, Angus)</i></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i> </i></p><p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVk3R9v7leO2vjsVeSR0A59UEHBxRXZSXDxFY8xn8qdndBDo1tkn9BWCFNJHxeIVpeNCHXC_NwWW_UaJ1i9awYjje-8Uf9vPo8BA46a_6AlBQk1wrmPld3bw3tJZl68eQfyf03Hjt3wUQ/s1170/GetAttachmentThumbnail-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="878" data-original-width="1170" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVk3R9v7leO2vjsVeSR0A59UEHBxRXZSXDxFY8xn8qdndBDo1tkn9BWCFNJHxeIVpeNCHXC_NwWW_UaJ1i9awYjje-8Uf9vPo8BA46a_6AlBQk1wrmPld3bw3tJZl68eQfyf03Hjt3wUQ/w491-h356/GetAttachmentThumbnail-2.jpg" width="491" /></a></i></div><i><br /> </i><p></p>
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm }</style><p class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm }</style></p>
<p><style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm }</style></p>Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-11980533422129095372020-03-24T05:18:00.001-07:002020-03-24T05:18:31.502-07:00Quarantine With The Angry French Chef<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm
lying in bed this morning when I get a message. I check my phone and
its the French downstairs sending me a picture of the ugliest dog
I've ever seen. He's called Gary and he needs a forever home. Hades
would be too good for that dog but the French is determined that we
need a friend with four legs in these 'interesting times'.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yesterday,
suspecting like everyone that we would be in lockdown by today, we
packed a picnic blanket and some icy beers and marched up St
Catherine's hill. It was wonderfully deserted and we lay in the sun
laughing hysterically and getting a little buzzed. This is the sort
of stuff I always want to do with him but he a. loathes exercise and
b. works 14 hours a day. We wander back via the river, having the
best time, and talk about how this is an opportunity to get fit, lose
some weight, learn the piano. Obviously at best we will be emerging
from this as pretty high functioning alcoholics but we're all in the
halcyon days of self delusion where we think this is going to be all
about the quality time.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That's
not entirely true. I've always hated going to work and found it got
in the way of all my hobbies (much to his constant and utter despair)
so for me this really is a time to write, knit, paint and sculpt. And
cook, obviously. But for him, well I reckon one more week and I'll be
living in The Shining. He's already talking about cooking at homeless
shelters or just getting a stacking job at Tesco for 'something to
do'.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We
decided to do this thing where each of us can choose a film and the
other has to watch it without bitching or moaning. I took my turn
last night and picked the Ang Lee version of Sense And Sensibility. I
was watching him as much as the film, waiting for him to crack. But
about forty five minutes in he suddenly shouted 'That Willoughby is a
fucking cunt!' And then a little while later 'Oh lo lo, Marianne,
calm the fuck down ah.' He enjoyed the film, thought Emma Thompson
and Alan Rickman were brilliant. I'm smugly thinking of it as a
cultural exchange but I am of course hoping he'll forget its his turn
tonight. I honestly don't think I can sit through Ralph Breaks The
Internet. Again.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Day
Drinking has already morphed in to Morning Drinking and we like to
take a Bloody Mary at 10am before any of the serious leisure begins.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
face timed with mum yesterday. She's been inside for three weeks now
and is doing remarkably well.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You
okay, mum?'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes
dahlink. You need to dye that hair.'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Do
you think that's a priority at the moment?'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Have
you seen it?'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'French
did mention it the other day.'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Well
there you go then.'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
feel guilty that I can't visit or kiss her so I'm pretty much doing
as I'm told to compensate. I've dyed my hair and I reckon by week
three I'll be sat here in a pink twin set weeping in to my gin.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
French and I have agreed to take our daily exercise outings
separately. That way we'll have something new to tell each other
every day.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Saw
a dog.'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Me
too.'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've
already cracked open a new jigsaw. It's sadly not something we can do
together though. He says I'm too bossy but what does he expect if he
doesn't separate out the edges and the corners first like any sane
person would!
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm
knitting my niece a onesie. Which seemed ambitious for a first post
scarf ability only skill, until the lockdown.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We're
lucky because we have a lovely garden that runs down to the Itchen
Abbas river. I'm sat in the garden writing this and every time
someone wanders past, which is gratifyingly rare, they wave and
smile. Which is a nice little interlude before the looting starts.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've
cracked open some old Rick Stein recipe books today and plan to make
a Tuna Empanada and an olive oil and pine nut cake. I make extra of
everything, freeze it and leave it on mum's doorstep. She's going to
have gout by the time this is over.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
French has just returned from his exercise/pharmacy/shop visit. He's
brought back what he considers to be the essentials. Five kinds of
cheese, chocolate, beer and puff pastry.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We're
going to be fine.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AA6OaMIQcenY7QgyJ-fZ8gIQsL3L6w_OwH59igR72-6-ugxxrXa6C0Igya82ciXyuun-p1x5_jL9fyADmeQZNZ3gVhsaw_R0SD4Yi33r_M8uImevUEmAgEVVzxthiYtcgvwoBKe7vPk/s1600/90664378_10158291272136468_6145407870482513920_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AA6OaMIQcenY7QgyJ-fZ8gIQsL3L6w_OwH59igR72-6-ugxxrXa6C0Igya82ciXyuun-p1x5_jL9fyADmeQZNZ3gVhsaw_R0SD4Yi33r_M8uImevUEmAgEVVzxthiYtcgvwoBKe7vPk/s320/90664378_10158291272136468_6145407870482513920_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-22121104448811284752019-01-23T21:47:00.002-08:002019-01-23T21:56:22.612-08:00Ginger Ale At Three<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's
just after three am and I'm squinting in the glare of the fridge
light looking for the diet coke I know we don't have.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
wake up at around three most days. Sometimes just for half an hour,
sometimes till five and occasionally that'll be it for sleep that
night.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
For
me it's a good time for ideas, for writing and for visiting with the
dead.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
wonder if other people get up in the night at around this time and
think about someone that loved them, that they loved, that aren't
here anymore. I like the image it conjures; people alone but
together, sat by lamp light with a cup of tea, remembering.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
only thing in the fridge is half a bottle of ginger ale which is only
ever used as a mixer.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
drink it all and put the kettle on.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lucy
would have said 'lashings of ginger ale' because there was a bit of
the St Trinians in her manner or maybe Enid Blyton. She said things
like 'jolly' instead of 'fun' and 'supper' instead of 'dinner'. She
had a very distinctive voice that even in life sounded like a memory
of happy times past.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Having
known each other since our teens she was familiar with my sleep
patterns and in recent years would sometimes text me at one or two in
the morning;</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Are
you up? Can I call? I'm in a bit of a pickle.'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A
pickle usually meant she'd drunk too much and had either done
something appalling or was just feeling afraid of the world and
wanting comfort.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When
she'd done something appalling the telling of it would begin with;</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We
were having a simply splendid evening when....' followed by a
heavily edited account of her behaviour which I would have to chip
away at until I got to the truth of it.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She
could go from soft and warm and funny to a towering rage in the blink
of an eye. When we were young we attributed it to her shocking red
hair and an Irish streak. In later years it was the wine.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She
was a year younger than me when she died last summer. Her sister
called me and asked if I wanted to speak to her as she didn't have
much time left. As it turned out she only had about an hour left. I
talked to her as I'd always done, about our happy memories and her
terrible singing. I told her that I loved her and there was nothing
to be afraid of. Her sister said;</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'She
heard you, she was listening and smiling, she raised an eyebrow.'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Morphine
though, who knows.<br />
I miss her voice, her humour, her wicked laugh.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You
never really have a choice what you write about. I prefer to be
funny, I like making people laugh. But this is what wanted to be
written today and even though some of it is sad a part of me is still
trying to figure out a way to make you laugh, put a punch line at the
end. We'll see.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's
not really Lucy I'm visiting with this morning, it's Mutti, my
grandmother, and it's because of the ginger ale.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She
always had at least half a dozen bottles of it in the fridge to mix
with southern comfort. She called it a Soft Shoulder and she
discovered this drink because of the terrible migraines she suffered
in middle age. She'd feel one coming and take to bed. She'd hear this
terrible screaming in the distance which it turned out was her. When
she came to a few days later her forehead would be covered in
blisters from the boiling compresses they'd put on her head to draw
out the pain. How efficacious this was I have no idea and who 'they'
were I can't quite remember. I hate that about my memory. I can't
just call her and say; 'Who looked after you? Where were you?'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
think it was a boy. I think she was in the Maldives, or the Bahamas.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Afterwards
they brought her a bottle of Southern Comfort and mixed it with
ginger ale and it was delicious. Thereafter it became something she
associated with feeling better, a soft shoulder to lean on.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She
lived in Spain for as long as I knew her, she didn't want to grow old
in the UK, but would drive to England every easter for three weeks
and bring us a car full of gifts that she'd been buying and wrapping
since her last visit. There would be books, poetry, fancy notebooks,
cartons of cigarettes, wine and southern comfort. One year she
brought me a big easter egg made out of cardboard and bright yellow.
When I cracked it open like a pinata it was full of mini bottles of
southern comfort and five pound notes.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She'd
wrap the cartons of cigarettes in cheerful paper and if stopped at
customs would magically transform in to a helpless old dear.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'They're
dolls for my grand daughters officer. Yes, I wrapped them all myself.
If you must open them please be kind enough to wrap them again...with
my arthritis it took ever so long to....'</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And
they'd let her through. A seventy something year old fag and booze
mule.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She'd
tell me all about it whilst sitting cross legged in the living room
smoking a fancy little cigar and drinking a long glass of whiskey
with plenty of ice and just a smidge of ginger.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She
lived to be just shy of a hundred. The only shy I think she's ever
been.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She's
been gone about two years now and I can honestly say I think about
her every day. We don't forget them, we just wear them. Every loss
adds to us in some small way and we adapt so that we can carry them
with us.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When
I'm paying for something I see her photo smiling up at me from my
wallet and I always brush my thumb over her face before putting in my
pin number.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As
we get older the people who love us unconditionally become fewer,
particularly if we don't have children, and I suppose that part of
grief is selfish but I don't feel sorry for it.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
think of Mutti as being perennially a very young seventy five. Ninety
nine is a good innings but I think she could have done without the
last couple of years which took her independence, her hearing and
most of her sight. She stuck around by choice, she was single minded
and very stubborn and determined to outlive her dog. A tiny griffon
that was devoted to her as all the previous dogs had been.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She
was never afraid of death. She told me that once you get old it
becomes less and less a thing to dread, that whatever came next would
be an awfully big adventure. I think she was paraphrasing Peter Pan.
She became a buddhist late in life and spent a fair bit of her early
morning, yes, usually around three am, meditating. She outlived two
of her three children and when I asked her how she coped with the
grief she said 'I enjoy everything three times. A good drink, a
beautiful morning, whatever it is, I enjoy it once for me, once for
Paddy and once for Trudi.'<br />
I miss her voice, her stories, her blind and fierce love of me.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Co-incidentally
Mutti and Lucy were the last two people to regularly send me hand
written letters. Another thing I miss terribly. But then I have my
old red suitcase, bursting at the seams, filled with years of
correspondence from them. From Mutti, Lucy, Dad, Uncle Dione, The
Aunt and a few other friends who didn't get to grow old. I carry them
with me wherever I go and I can visit anytime I like. I don't. But I
can.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
birds have just started their morning ritual of abuse and the odd car
can be heard outside. It will be light soon on another crisp bright
morning. He'll wake wanting coffee and we'll wrap ourselves up and
head out for a walk so I can look at the trees and the river and he
can say he's done his weekly exercise. We'll point out dogs we like
the look of and talk about the someday when we can have one too. A
dog called Atticus and a cat called Catticus. Then we'll have
breakfast at our friends restaurant and decide what to do with our
day off together. What to cook, what to watch. I'll call my mum,
maybe see her for a cuppa. Text my sister and probably my niece.
Email my brother. Confirm plans with friends. What an embarrassment
of riches.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And
I'll carry my loved ones with me, my moveable feast, and enjoy
everything at least three times. And then three am will roll around
again and I'll tell them all about it.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-21509676045590470162018-10-04T21:49:00.001-07:002018-10-04T21:49:40.243-07:00One Billboard Outside Palm Springs, California.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCrUDJH4jqXpMvJiYsXINtxZY-x65GsBxiM44Cthc28acoTFDavTFFma2A1MHkeCguV5hKGZaCYOD26U5i-7Q0sL9oD4zEHLWTeyV4WQ9wQapuSTABG4JriFcUrSS1NH2awJItBhme-c/s1600/43117180_10156778799351468_9214159516688449536_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="960" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCrUDJH4jqXpMvJiYsXINtxZY-x65GsBxiM44Cthc28acoTFDavTFFma2A1MHkeCguV5hKGZaCYOD26U5i-7Q0sL9oD4zEHLWTeyV4WQ9wQapuSTABG4JriFcUrSS1NH2awJItBhme-c/s400/43117180_10156778799351468_9214159516688449536_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We were in Palm Springs
for the wedding of my good friends David (Lips) Lipman and Stephen
(no nickname) Donegan.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I wrote a blog about it
but it just didn't do the thing justice. Largely because the whole
three day wedding was so huge I ended up just straight 'reporting'
it. Sort of like; “This happened and then THIS happened – and
then, I shit you not – THIS HAPPENED.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So I'm sat here at two
am, having woken up with a body clock telling me it's around midday,
thinking I should give this another punt.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm chewing Gaviscon
because the one thing you always take home from America is
indigestion, smoking my duty free fags and wearing slippers. I feel
like Cinderella after the ball except no one has shown up with a
glass slipper and returned me to the life I have so falsely become
accustomed to.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In fact my Prince is
happily snoring in the next room and will probably wake up at a
completely reasonable hour wanting bacon.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I told him we were
going to California for an event that would make the Royal wedding
look a bit shabby he ran around the house shouting “We're going to
Palm Springs Baby!' and continued to do so regularly for the next six
weeks. When we arrived he just dropped the “We're going to” part
and shouted at anyone who'd make eye contact with him “PALM SPRINGS
BABY!”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One of the many things
I love about him is that he still genuinely feels excitement.
Childlike glee. He lives in the moment whereas I always remain
slightly outside of it, narrating in my head.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The flip side of this
is that I can sit on an uncomfortable ten hour flight and think 'This
is fine, it'll be over soon and I must remember to get some milk on
the way home.' Whereas he will spend most of that time convinced that
the man sat adjacent to us is sniffing every thirty seconds to
deliberately ruin his life.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzrtab7ZBJt7g7Pp4rhsh-JRZAZVJ9DC5Z9U6MEmMN-KnXGnpUY8RSYaAvqX1W1y5Yg-94n_1of48aLNagoqEZC7ay19ILYNSLeKO9dVBWI5hVn1syO1y1OvyZfgSxWivXV8mifasUNM/s1600/43150081_10156778799181468_225483442282823680_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="960" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzrtab7ZBJt7g7Pp4rhsh-JRZAZVJ9DC5Z9U6MEmMN-KnXGnpUY8RSYaAvqX1W1y5Yg-94n_1of48aLNagoqEZC7ay19ILYNSLeKO9dVBWI5hVn1syO1y1OvyZfgSxWivXV8mifasUNM/s320/43150081_10156778799181468_225483442282823680_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>On the way out, about
half way through our flight, he had to grab a stewardess to stop her
accidentally killing a toddler. She was shoving her trolley down the
aisle at speed and couldn't see the kid that had escaped from its
mother running full pelt towards the metal death trap. He was
rewarded with the woman screaming at the top of her lungs. He tried
to explain what had happened but she just put her hands up and
shouted 'Enough!' which was weird in itself, as though men regularly
grabbed her and shouted 'Attencion!'
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She stormed off and he
was rightly furious and wanted to complain or at least explain what
had happened. I insisted that he say nothing and we'd deal with it
once we were off the plane. I could see our holiday starting with an
arrest on arrival, so hysterical was the woman's reaction.
Fortunately she returned ten minutes later and thanked him for, as
she put it, 'helping her not accidentally hurt a child in the line of
duty'. Okaaaaaay.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Our first priority when
we arrived in Palm Springs was to find a bar where we could drink and
smoke simultaneously. Finding places to smoke became a bit of a
comedy theme during the week and by the end of the wedding
celebrations there was a hardcore group of ten of us whispering about
bushes we'd found and blind alleys. There's something hilarious and
very British about being stood at an opulent cocktail party at the
Ritz Carlton Mirage overlooking the desert mountains (that have the
grooms initials projected on to them!) and having someone from London
sidle up to you and mutter “I hear you're the people to talk to if
you want to have a sneaky fag.”
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rom would give a subtle
nod towards some dark corner. 'Give it a minute and follow me to the
cactus on the left. Be cool man. BE COOL.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If you ask me what
Leonardo DiCaprio's house (where they had the ceremony) was like I
could confidently tell you that there's a spot just in front of the
tennis court and behind the pool house where you could smoke, in the
cool shade, without being seen. In fairness we did create a water
based ashtray with the help of Vigo (one of the other French chain
smokers) for fear of burning the place down, and we cleared up all of
our cigarette butts. We're not animals. Although I do like the image
of DiCaprio pacing around on his property, learning lines, and
spotting a Marlboro crushed out on the ground. It's not just a no
smoking house you see. No, no, no, It's a no smoking NEIGHBOURHOOD.
When, on arrival, we (me and Alex – a gorgeous tiny Croatian woman)
tried to have a smoke out the front we were swooped on by security.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvRYykcXv76lBmEiW_UrQ-zLg2EIWMOJNqHpzSuBcBOb3mEYdvVa4jdmVYSkEZcShhzMixwK_mogaipXPLD8rxcU9JT1o8ioVWIbOKmsLPaNCWu8yTKjFB4Zghiz1TCKK1kwNfaU-8ts/s1600/43137872_10156778799201468_5830879443937132544_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtvRYykcXv76lBmEiW_UrQ-zLg2EIWMOJNqHpzSuBcBOb3mEYdvVa4jdmVYSkEZcShhzMixwK_mogaipXPLD8rxcU9JT1o8ioVWIbOKmsLPaNCWu8yTKjFB4Zghiz1TCKK1kwNfaU-8ts/s320/43137872_10156778799201468_5830879443937132544_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>'Sorry ma'am this is no
smoking environment. It's a fire risk you see.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A fire risk? We're in
the fucking desert! Wearing reflective glass out here is fire risk!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Anyway. Finding places
you can smoke and drink simultaneously. Rom and I were directed to a
bar in downtown Palm Springs called The Village Pub. Think of all the
images 'Village Pub' conjures in your mind and then abandon them
utterly. This place was a dive. A dirty, loud, rock music and low cut
everything dive. And we LOVED it. It became our daily spot between
extremely glamorous events and by the end of the week we were on fist
bumping terms with the staff. It's also where I tried my first
Michelada. A Bloody Mary with a bottle of beer poured in it and a
spicy rim. Christine introduced me to it. I'll get back to Christine.
Gods I love her.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Our hotel is just
opposite the grooms hotel and the following morning we wander over to
say hello, meet at least a dozen new people and have some drinks. The
almost entirely perfect looking man at reception guides as to the
lifts and tells us to have the best day. We stare at him slack jawed.
He's so...perfect. He's gym fit, beautiful, immaculately dressed and
looks like the happiest person on earth. I continue to stare until I
find a tiny shaving nick on his neck assuring me he is human and we
move on.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
David and Stephen are
staying in the suite on the 6<sup>th</sup> floor and it is very
fancy.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhV2EupoU9ReBo-RHAWJ94V-xGQKo8SvAlUMtbqdYptGmQohulwaJUdc6odjmBmPd-OcTEm1SzwSc4ZeJ35NdfooQD3exjX6TxC_WdpC4VuxeqUgK_Wt1T_pi6nKIUDUq1KlGgRQkY9s/s1600/43190252_10156778799216468_1838022509769785344_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhV2EupoU9ReBo-RHAWJ94V-xGQKo8SvAlUMtbqdYptGmQohulwaJUdc6odjmBmPd-OcTEm1SzwSc4ZeJ35NdfooQD3exjX6TxC_WdpC4VuxeqUgK_Wt1T_pi6nKIUDUq1KlGgRQkY9s/s320/43190252_10156778799216468_1838022509769785344_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>The glass walls show a
panoramic view of the desert mountains. There's a white pool table, a
vintage record player, all the furniture looks like art. The grooms
themselves look happy and bewildered, exactly as you'd expect when
all your family and friends descend on you at once.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm so happy to see
them I keep kissing them. Rom loves them straight away, it's hard not
to, and there's a lot of hugging and wows. Stephen whispers to me:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I love Rom. You always
know in five seconds if a person has a good heart, I just loved him
right off.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Which is how I feel
about Stephen and David. Without becoming overly sentimental and
mawkish about it, those boys have a good life, the best of
everything, but what makes being around them so special is that its
never about that. They share their lives with you wholeheartedly,
they want you to enjoy every minute of your time and they go out of
their way to make sure of it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At least three people
ask me upon introduction if I saw the billboard. I have no idea what
they're talking about and David tells me they had one put up on the
highway welcoming us to their wedding. Unfortunately by the time our
driver made it through the commuter traffic it was dark and we missed
it. But there were a lot more surprises to come over the following
days. Big ones.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I ask where Christine
is. I met her on my last visit and found her to be hilarious and a
full six foot of fun. Largely booze related. She has possibly the
coolest job as a mixologist who gets to travel the world showing
people how to make a good drink.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'She's just doing a
wine run,' David tells me. I assume she'll return with a couple of
bottles of something to top up the bar but of course she returns with
two porters and several trolleys full of beer, spirits, wine and ice.
She asks them to bring up two fridges because ice is a ball ache and
everything appears like magic. She turns to one of the porters:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What's your name?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Igor.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Igor, you're killing
it.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She towers over
everyone with her short bleached hair, purple lipstick and a laugh
that sounds like gravel.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I go over and hug her
delighted I'll be spending some time with her over the next few days.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rom is wandering around
the suite making a video to torture our friend Ollie in the UK with.
He makes one a day and sends them to him.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Hey buddy, just
thought I'd share with you where we are right now...'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ollie responds
gracefully and never once tells him to just fuck off.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGJ8LY9eIVuxP07idJUPwp14c86-ke0P5x76_1kzYGn2CaSQd6Ik0FQTg5-358zW__mD0UDT4yVvT0LllOG7p0iPyl7BLk73IfMqq-88Sckef3yh3qERJ6jzEAEQ0Aoamsc5mUwGyxcPU/s1600/43035674_10156773072931468_6696394759436500992_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGJ8LY9eIVuxP07idJUPwp14c86-ke0P5x76_1kzYGn2CaSQd6Ik0FQTg5-358zW__mD0UDT4yVvT0LllOG7p0iPyl7BLk73IfMqq-88Sckef3yh3qERJ6jzEAEQ0Aoamsc5mUwGyxcPU/s320/43035674_10156773072931468_6696394759436500992_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We meet a lot of the
grooms family on both sides. Easy to tell apart because they all look
alike. Stephen's family all have cheekbones you could cut your wrists
on and David's all have his lips and eyes. There's some fantastic
Boston accents and a few Australian. Apart from the core smokers whom
we obviously spend large portions of our time with we also spend a
good amount of time chatting to Kellie and Joe from Stephen's side.
Joe and Rom talk about food and Kellie and I talk about creativity in
schools and before long we have a solid invite to visit them in
Boston.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We've also been invited
to Goa to visit Vigo. She's French and lives out there working as a
location scout. She's at the wedding with her friend Alex the
glamorous and tiny Croatian woman. They are in the next hotel room to
us and we become firm balcony friends.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I was telling Vigo,
who's a young widow, that Rom is a nightmare in restaurants. He
judges everything, questions everything, will tell the staff exactly
what he thinks at the slightest provocation. She laughs and says Matt
was the same.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We'll be sat somewhere
and he'll be rearranging the cutlery on the table, complaining about
something. I'd just say “Oh shut up!”' She takes a drag on her
cigarette. 'Of course, I miss it now.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My heart contracts and
I swear to myself I'll never complain about his nature again. Until
we're in the next restaurant and he wants to know how they justify
eight dollars for a beer.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
On Friday Christine and
I spend a few hours by the pool coming up with names for the
cocktails she's made especially for the wedding.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I suggest she calls the
non alcoholic one 'The Intervention.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yah, that's one
hundred percent hilarious and a hard no. Stephen would literally kill
me.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We come up with 'Stand
By Your Tini' for her take on an Espresso Martini and 'The Doneman'
(The grooms names blended) for the champagne cocktail.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen texts back
immediately:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No. No to all of
that.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We sigh and come up
with something a little more classy and are rewarded with a “Maybe.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My plan before the
welcome reception at the Ritz that evening is a siesta and a pre
drink. She's having her nails done and getting the grooms initials
tattooed on her hand.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It feels right,' she
drawls.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiocn7VYo8eTrgBVMnwJwa8VmsByBNiLumQ3ZoEd0qmdXPcui3FObYsZLZiyUsRgHTCpKvvEiWt8TEQPrqoPB3PNs5J-D6ozsEvzwd7pOGv_OjaD8aVMcvBoG_oihOKNdKCjjEpDMosKAY/s1600/43126670_10156778799206468_356232868227186688_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiocn7VYo8eTrgBVMnwJwa8VmsByBNiLumQ3ZoEd0qmdXPcui3FObYsZLZiyUsRgHTCpKvvEiWt8TEQPrqoPB3PNs5J-D6ozsEvzwd7pOGv_OjaD8aVMcvBoG_oihOKNdKCjjEpDMosKAY/s320/43126670_10156778799206468_356232868227186688_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Everyone around the
pool is wearing factor 70 because the sun is about two inches away.
She's wearing a bikini, no protection at all and drinking hot coffee.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's no bar at our
hotel which we agree is probably a good thing or we'd be nipple deep
in Pina Coladas by now. We grab a cold beer from the shop instead and
laze about discussing the toasts we have yet to write for the post
ceremony dinner tomorrow night and then she heads off. To get a
fucking TATTOO.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When we arrive at The
Ritz I'm as much distracted by the grandness of it all as I am by the
facelifts. Not amongst the guests but just at the entrance. Some
people staying there who are waiting for drivers. One elderly lady
looks like a bulldog clip at the back of her head is holding her face
on.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIjDr5RjEis-I09t_2ec_rBqhgYxfKjjjCFgZThjWwwgAHFB9b8JmIIFr9TL4D0ym9ygfxE48LhqqHm9WNFDp8NyE_bSrao4SlyqJVJULw-OoyKO9_3kxWKG4UzV9cPvS4iU_QZD0nW0/s1600/43114701_10156773083056468_6887024335953854464_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIjDr5RjEis-I09t_2ec_rBqhgYxfKjjjCFgZThjWwwgAHFB9b8JmIIFr9TL4D0ym9ygfxE48LhqqHm9WNFDp8NyE_bSrao4SlyqJVJULw-OoyKO9_3kxWKG4UzV9cPvS4iU_QZD0nW0/s320/43114701_10156773083056468_6887024335953854464_n.jpg" width="180" /></a>The drinks reception
has been set up by an infinity pool overlooking the mountains. There
are candles everywhere and beautiful little trays of food on various
tables.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We mingle and chat and
admire everything before settling in one of the open candle lit tents
to eat soba noodles from take out cartons, and tiny sliders and
pistachio crème brulee. Christine rocks up with four precariously
balanced plates.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It all looks so
goooood,' she says.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rom tells her the
charcuterie is great.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Wow I didn't see
that.' She wanders off and returns with two more plates.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
David and Stephen spend
the evening trying to speak to everyone and I don't see them eat a
bite. They've organised this incredible wedding and they are the most
hard working people at it. They look happy though and we're all
excited by the prospect of the wedding the following day.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Y3PAcDn_yJ5s-D18vQwMbkbRb5ATLnw0PFo7nOf5YlN2ANHKeZhYY5oy-XUnkHoVKrjd-qyODHCoPzdkPGVBP_65xr86XKVUjCB69hDGlzxH0i6qapFPN7nvTjP0lM5RvSPlP-lbuVg/s1600/42941462_10156766567946468_2125877110642835456_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Y3PAcDn_yJ5s-D18vQwMbkbRb5ATLnw0PFo7nOf5YlN2ANHKeZhYY5oy-XUnkHoVKrjd-qyODHCoPzdkPGVBP_65xr86XKVUjCB69hDGlzxH0i6qapFPN7nvTjP0lM5RvSPlP-lbuVg/s320/42941462_10156766567946468_2125877110642835456_n.jpg" width="256" /></a>By ten pm we're dead on
our feet and head back to the hotel. But not until I've gone to the
loo and discovered a tray of complimentary creams, combs, lip balm,
all emblazoned with The Ritz logo. I take one of everything. I'm
classy that way.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The wedding doesn't
start until six pm but we are up at seven too excited to sleep.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We eat a huge breakfast
at The Broken Yolk, down a couple of zantac and spend the day
swimming and preparing.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Christine and I head to
Mac to buy glittery eye shadow for me and yet another lipstick for
her. I thought my twelve Mac lipsticks were impressive. This girl
owns over sixty five. The sweet sales girl makes several suggestions
and Christine gets excited about a gold lipstick.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yah,' the girl says.
'That one is sooo cute.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Uhuh,' Christine
murmurs. 'I do not love that as much as I thought I would. Huh.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The girls smile never
slides off and in the end Christine finds something red and classy
and something blue, holographic and very her.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The afternoon is spent
doing hair, make up and climbing in to very fancy outfits. I see Rom
in a suit for the first time and nearly propose to him. I'm pretty
sure I see him wink at himself in the mirror at one point.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyq9H9rzgvSpkG6BGtC8x2MtjvoDklnq5DcrLnBwM1-PN8KrxXbHEoEQHi-KcB8ZFMjJDohvfT1gwHvyZWuuv3lDmkj_Lvrc8z55_4NOAVqCSFQkHqpoBvnqntDWB9dkURqL48AAzYqzc/s1600/43054646_10156773072756468_2404943199110955008_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyq9H9rzgvSpkG6BGtC8x2MtjvoDklnq5DcrLnBwM1-PN8KrxXbHEoEQHi-KcB8ZFMjJDohvfT1gwHvyZWuuv3lDmkj_Lvrc8z55_4NOAVqCSFQkHqpoBvnqntDWB9dkURqL48AAzYqzc/s320/43054646_10156773072756468_2404943199110955008_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>We drag Christine from
her room with its expansive floordrobe (she is walking chaos). She
looks like a felony. I get her to remove one of the gold chokers so
we can see her neck and she's perfection. We head over to The Rowan
for drinks before getting an Uber to the Leonardo DiCaprio estate.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The wedding theme is
Black and White and everyone has gone to town. We all look and feel
amazing and as we're handed champagne on arrival there is a palpable
air of excitement and anticipation.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rom makes his video of
the day for Ollie:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'So, here we are at
Leonardo's place...'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ollie texts back 'Let's
buy it.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Everything is
beautiful. I could go in to detail but just imagine the most fancy
and beautiful wedding you've ever been to and then multiply that by a
hundred.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpJLFyIo415flH55hUiWlZz0Juf-8uPRq_9IpYDWCxpaoCFnzw12_vs_gOFXooTk7eC2tMST5jz4m5zuDWaCdix2O7SkUClQowuD_RjW3mhtE8CjkYZHvXDFjbnORMjxxDvyA9pLup8Jg/s1600/43075341_10156773073226468_8881847035024637952_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpJLFyIo415flH55hUiWlZz0Juf-8uPRq_9IpYDWCxpaoCFnzw12_vs_gOFXooTk7eC2tMST5jz4m5zuDWaCdix2O7SkUClQowuD_RjW3mhtE8CjkYZHvXDFjbnORMjxxDvyA9pLup8Jg/s320/43075341_10156773073226468_8881847035024637952_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>I asked Christine
earlier in the day if she was a cryer at weddings. She gave me a firm
no on that. The moment she sees Stephen and David walk hand in hand
across the lawn she starts bawling.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The ceremony takes
place as the sun sets and it's lovely and very moving. I see Stephen
rubbing his thumbs along his fingers and remember him mentioning it
the night before:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Apparently it puts you
in the moment. I don't want to miss anything.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lovely words are
spoken, music plays, candles are lit for absent loved ones, but for
me its one tiny moment when Stephen lifts his hand and touches the
side of David's face. I squeeze Rom's hand and tell Christine to stop
fucking weeping.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We have another drink
and everyone tries to hug the grooms. Rom points out that there's
nowhere set up for the meal. We wonder if its hidden somewhere around
a corner until we're suddenly ushered out and handed an envelope with
our names on it. Inside is a table number and a penny.
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRchaMg5yt7sQeqg1TxpuOXQYaZ_W0ioktC2rUn1oRUcb6izJpGqtRQhHHPuBIF5yXXcc4r1tOK1iCVKwAyh7fgHtqatFF44V692rD5ujcLQ5aoz4_WVw8UKHWNDevQUlMoFYEzfwvU0/s1600/43000411_10156773072676468_6181836623446016_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="580" data-original-width="960" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFRchaMg5yt7sQeqg1TxpuOXQYaZ_W0ioktC2rUn1oRUcb6izJpGqtRQhHHPuBIF5yXXcc4r1tOK1iCVKwAyh7fgHtqatFF44V692rD5ujcLQ5aoz4_WVw8UKHWNDevQUlMoFYEzfwvU0/s400/43000411_10156773072676468_6181836623446016_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We're guided on to
buses and taken for a short five minute drive to the Palm Springs
Museum.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This is a huge surprise
for everyone and as we make our way up the candle lit steps to the
entrance we're invited to throw our pennies in the fountain and make
a wish.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Inside the place is
mind blowing. There's huge garlands of white flowers under
spotlights, giant silver candle holders on the tables and beautiful
crystal glasses glinting in the light. A ten piece band is playing by
the dance floor and champagne cocktails appear from every direction.
A film starts up on one of the walls with David and Stephen in voice
over. Footage of them in the dessert looking handsome and elegant.
They talk about their love for each other and at the end we see them
walking down some stairs. We turn to find them walking down some
stairs next to the band and everyone applauds. They say a few words
and finish with 'Let's Eat!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After a fabulous meal
the speeches start and Christine and I pound champagne in
anticipation of going up to the mike.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzava3H0FhiwW5fZ8B8z-1acxopbHuGwl5oHFY1bscbCllQK6JpamqraUoMaPKxdFw22PONung_YyF7-8wLodz9lwpX48jYzeNlDmV8paVrOxYgSFiXdM8lwCJ1gW221IvlZZmVSqwDc/s1600/42970415_10156773072836468_6594437084847538176_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzava3H0FhiwW5fZ8B8z-1acxopbHuGwl5oHFY1bscbCllQK6JpamqraUoMaPKxdFw22PONung_YyF7-8wLodz9lwpX48jYzeNlDmV8paVrOxYgSFiXdM8lwCJ1gW221IvlZZmVSqwDc/s320/42970415_10156773072836468_6594437084847538176_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>By the time it's my
turn, I'm last (thanks boys!) I'm not nervous at all and I have the
best time telling stories about them and watching the crowd laugh. We
all get huge rounds of applause and when it's done we decide we can
now get drunk in earnest. Christine and I do tequila shots at the bar
with some of the other girls followed by Stand By Your Tinis and lots
of wine. People keep coming up to me and saying nice things about my
speech and before long I'm jumping up and down on the spot on the
dance floor. I vaguely remember tiny Alex shimmying over to me and
saying:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You belong to me now.
I am going to stalk you. I lovvvvvvvve youuuuuuu.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It was just that kind
of night.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We eat some late night
lobster mac n cheese and enjoy ALL the wedding desserts and stagger
out around one with gift bags (A book of the museum and a donut, the
significance of which made me well up) and fell in to our beds.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The following morning
was a lot less pretty.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I find Vigo on the
balcony smoking and looking grey.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We don't remember
getting back last night. I remember nothing. Did I make a fool of
myself?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No idea,' we all
agree.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Alex hugs and kisses
me. 'You belong to me now,' she whispers.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33Oc7Vgy8zampn2-yGfq_Fgabl7LR43Y5dZcx9RKYVTphJE7QDSDZyTOuttBOegbesdFXLXG-eAuaESFmorm06LHcnESboaXuAxgXhkHKukyXhsFF4ZpvDL8zvxZX95K4XYv-NIQN6gg/s1600/43085725_10156773073101468_4051996701097984_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="915" data-original-width="915" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg33Oc7Vgy8zampn2-yGfq_Fgabl7LR43Y5dZcx9RKYVTphJE7QDSDZyTOuttBOegbesdFXLXG-eAuaESFmorm06LHcnESboaXuAxgXhkHKukyXhsFF4ZpvDL8zvxZX95K4XYv-NIQN6gg/s320/43085725_10156773073101468_4051996701097984_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>It's Sunday and the
wedding isn't over yet. Today is an all day pool party back at The
DiCaprio place with unending cocktails and tacos. The perfect
hangover cure.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I put on a shit tonne
of glitter and red lipstick and once again drag Christine from her
dungeon. Rom is feeling very perky having stuck to beer the night
before.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We arrive to another
scene of gorgeous indulgence. After a Bloody Mary and some large
mimosas my hangover vanishes and the day passes in a haze of
laughter, food, stories and swimming. With several trips to the smoke
hideout. Nothing catches fire, all butts are removed and we do not
destroy Stephen and David's lives by burning the estate to the
ground.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I spend a good hour in
the jacuzzi talking to Tracy from London, who makes animated films
and is full of great stories. Rom wrestles with an inflatable swan
and works his way through a bucket of corona.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And then its over and
we head back to our hotels replete and determined to leave the grooms
alone for five minutes so they can have some time together. They look
happy and exhausted. Well, David does. Stephen says he's still golden
and will probably collapse the minute its all over and everyone has
gone home.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5H7shBB1DgVy9z1sShzquVMHE5bTEuwTViu4W6mQUTMTOAPY2g43p1nT2occE2VxmB_tSGMDRw0ztKL27hvVdFpkh0rn_NGSWFuyBSgBr49F_E7OukhIj_ucHyTtx5bwBH7odNAQ_d40/s1600/43057938_10156773072641468_6405093485963116544_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="960" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5H7shBB1DgVy9z1sShzquVMHE5bTEuwTViu4W6mQUTMTOAPY2g43p1nT2occE2VxmB_tSGMDRw0ztKL27hvVdFpkh0rn_NGSWFuyBSgBr49F_E7OukhIj_ucHyTtx5bwBH7odNAQ_d40/s320/43057938_10156773072641468_6405093485963116544_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>I say bye to Christine
after breakfast the next day and wish I had more time with her but I
know I'll see that one again. She's like a bad penny. Lots of
goodbyes are said to new friends and promises are made to meet up
wherever, whenever we can. I think David and Stephen would love to
know that. They brought a lot of people together.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The last three days of
our holiday are spent eating pizza, watching films in bed and
strolling to our local dive for drinks and cigarettes.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We meet David and
Stephen for one last drink at their hotel and thank them for
everything. They have been incredible. I love them so much. So does
Rom.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
On the drive back to
LAX we pass the billboard. Two grooms and a heart welcoming friends
and family to their wedding in Palm Springs. A class act.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVZ0v0VGUv2yyxEOvCu4G57jJxLdKpDMuE_cp9CobBsN2U8gziPFNJiCs0eHZV-l_iVqPPyirLSHjWPQqEviT1PEMTLuaC-2p-jfdf6_ZwPMFwnPZeGDD7qf3ZMw3uRofG997wLbaH0w/s1600/43072059_10156773072746468_2525926762777411584_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="682" data-original-width="960" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfVZ0v0VGUv2yyxEOvCu4G57jJxLdKpDMuE_cp9CobBsN2U8gziPFNJiCs0eHZV-l_iVqPPyirLSHjWPQqEviT1PEMTLuaC-2p-jfdf6_ZwPMFwnPZeGDD7qf3ZMw3uRofG997wLbaH0w/s640/43072059_10156773072746468_2525926762777411584_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-83186093618748093852018-07-18T05:22:00.000-07:002018-07-18T05:22:08.928-07:00Du Pain, Du Vin, Du Allergic Reaction To The Sun.<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We
are on our annual holiday in France. I can call it our annual holiday
now because this is the third consecutive year. It is our yearly
pilgrimage to visit the mother of the Angry French Chef.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She
lives in a picturesque village in Provence called Fontaine Du
Vaucluse. There's rivers, trees, little bundles of lavender tied up
with string, young virgins on old bicycles in cotton summer dresses
with baguettes in baskets and a soon to be crushed Joie de vivre.
It's that bit of France you've seen in every film concerning coming
of age, long summer holidays and innocence lost to strange plinky
plinky music.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's
also fucking hot.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
first week was just the three of us drinking cold beer and cheap
rose, taking dips in the pool, reading throw away thrillers and
having little bbq's. For the most part a very relaxing endeavour.
Until I foolishly suggest we play some cards one night after dinner.
They both shrug casually. Deceptively casually. It's Gin Rummy, what
could possibly go wrong? Twenty minutes later I notice my hands are
shaking as I deal another hand and pray that I lose. Neither of them
have smiled since the first cards were dealt. I'm not sure either of
them have blinked. La Mamon, who is normally a warm, affectionate and
loving woman now looks like a professional card sharp and the Angry
French Chef is squinting at her, looking for any tells, any crack in
her stony facade. We play in utter silence. Years pass. I go to bed
and stare at the ceiling.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
following morning we eat fresh croissant from the local bakery and
chat about the food we're going to cook that day. It's casually
suggested that perhaps, maybe, if anyone can be bothered, we might
pick up the card game again after dinner. I keep my head down and
bargain with any passing deity that might be listening. Let them
forget. LET THEM FORGET.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By
day three I have developed an allergy to the sun. I have a lovely tan
and a bubbling blistering rash up both my arms that is hotter than
hell and itchier than a bath of ants.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
La
Mamon lets me experiment with over the counter medication for about a
week until she insists I let her take me to the doctor.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
doctors in France don't wear uniforms. They wear jeans. And converse.
And trendy t-shirts. They have cool wire rimmed glasses and their
office walls are covered in framed photographs of them on exotic
holidays. He takes a brief look at my arms, nods and prescribes very
strong antihistamines. He tells me to wear a hat, long sleeved
clothing and avoid the sun for about two weeks. It's 36 fucking
degrees in the shade. He says it's okay to swim as long as I remain
at least a foot under the water. So presumably I need to grow gills.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
decide to take the pills and mostly ignore the advice but every time
I lounge in the sun with a book La Mamon appears out of thin air and
throws a damp towel over me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In
addition to this we are both the new hot spot in town for mosquitoes
who arrive in large groups with tiny napkins wrapped around their
evil necks. Or whatever passes for a neck in the form of pure hatred.
We're sort of used to that though and pass the cortisone back and
forth with minimal griping.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNCq52f2WcSL2jLxBkq5hd0VCDvlbJbtGe9Cdw1ydARdafGoWL0J3PFh0QYmodqj3AxPKxSIzZhUfnJru5E9Y1hb7ManVIZTkwXutZGgibfokq7j9YL_LqB8bV99c-DlW7YwRCxC4m1k/s1600/37208295_10156571421186468_929708635439759360_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTNCq52f2WcSL2jLxBkq5hd0VCDvlbJbtGe9Cdw1ydARdafGoWL0J3PFh0QYmodqj3AxPKxSIzZhUfnJru5E9Y1hb7ManVIZTkwXutZGgibfokq7j9YL_LqB8bV99c-DlW7YwRCxC4m1k/s320/37208295_10156571421186468_929708635439759360_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Two
of our friends, Mr and Mrs S, join us for the second week of the
holiday and within ten minutes we're enjoying cocktails by the pool.
We're excited to have them here and I secretly hope the mosquitoes
will enjoy a new source of food and leave me and Angry alone for one
sweet minute.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mr S
is in his absolute element. Two of his favourite things in life are
fine wines and cheese and of course both are abundant here. Mrs S has
a dip in the pool and gurgles with laughter as she tries to teach Mr
S an exercise involving a noodle. She then lies in the garden as the
sun dries her un-blistered skin. I sit in the shadows smoking a
cigarette and slap away another mosquito that has settled on my neck.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Sunday
brings the World Cup Final and there is an air of nervous
anticipation from the moment we wake up. La Mamon has arranged a
party for the viewing. The first to arrive is her neighbour, Nicole,
who is around seventy and sporting a France T-Shirt, a comedy hat,
red white and blue sunglasses and the French flag. She is beyond
excited and shouting “Allez les Bleus!” before she's even through
the door. Within half an hour there's thirteen of us. Everyone is
facing the TV except me. I'm facing a bottle of prosecco and
liberally adding limoncello. When they all stood for the national
anthem I knew they had to win. The alternative was unthinkable and
terrifying.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Two
hours later a giant speaker has appeared from somewhere and people
are dancing in the garden, arms linked, heads thrown back with joy.
Raymond (a man built like a brick shit house) is naked in the pool
swinging his pants around his head. Homemade liquor appears, cherries
soaked in something toxic also and before long it's riotous. The last
thing I see as I drag myself up the stairs is La Mamon wrapped in a
yellow sarong, hands in the air shimmying across the garden, her
glass of rose spilling in to the grass.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
next day is a quiet one. Everyone moves slowly with muttered groans.
Mr S has maybe the worst of it. The last to bed and the recipient of
many whiskey top ups he stares in to space and I can hear him blink.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My
niece La Dude joins us the following morning from Toulouse where she
now lives. Knowing she likes the rougher booze I ply her with Papa
Doble's that contain large measures of a terrible white rum we've
bought called 'Old Nick'. And rightly so. Only Satan and my niece
could enjoy that immediate and unceasing burn.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
evening is spent peeling gallons of prawns cooked by The French on
the plancha in the garden. All of the women are in bed by midnight
(La Dude face down on the sofa with a mirror by her mouth) and the
boys stay up till 4am talking about whatever it is men talk about in
the early hours and drinking anything cold.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Since
then I've cooked a giant Paella in the garden with the help of La
Dude and Mrs S and afterwards we played a ridiculous mime game called
Heads Up. During one memorable round Mrs S had to guess the word we
were all frantically miming. The word was 'Tourist' and so we all
kept pointing at ourselves. She called out 'FRIENDS!' and everyone
paused and collectively sighed at the loveliness of it.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Today
we kayaked down a gorgeous river and marvelled at indigo coloured
dragonflies all around us. Afterwards we walked through a stream to
get to a bar that served icy cold Vedett.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We
are all now so relaxed we can barely acknowledge each other. Some are
lazing in the pool, some napping, some reading and I'm doing this
though I can hardly be bothered to finish this damn sente...</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-33546931642174561322017-12-04T03:17:00.003-08:002019-02-16T11:59:36.668-08:00The Round Robin<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Dear (INSERT NAME HERE)</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Well
another year has rolled around and we haven't managed to catch up
face to face. But be assured I miss you terribly (INSERT NAME HERE)!
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
talk about you often dear (INSERT NAME HERE) and have such fond
memories of our time in (INSERT PLACE/RESTAURANT/CULT/ DEPROGRAMMING
UNIT/ CULT SUPPORT GROUP HERE).</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If
we'd had kids I'm sure little (INSERT NAME HERE) would be doing
marvellously at his Montessori school and looking forward to all the
gifts Satan will be bringing him for christmas.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And
had I finished 'that' novel I've been tiredly working on for two
decades then I imagine this letter would be a lot shorter and
considerably less humble.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But
life being what it is – a long inexorable march toward death, the
terror thereof ameliorated by alcohol, shiny bargains and life
hacking TED talks that convince us we matter – 2017 was sadly not
the year that I became a success. Or in many ways, a grown up.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
tree is up! Imagine our delight when we woke in the morning to find
it potted and bedecked with baubles. We almost believed in Father
Christmas for a moment until we followed the trail of our visa
receipts and realised that we had in fact put the damn thing up
ourselves. Who knew that off licenses sold decorations? Not I. And
once we'd wiped the blood off the ornaments they certainly did
glitter with all the promise of a turd wrapped in tinsel.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
suppose a small re-cap of the year is in order so I'll do my best to
lift something from the addled fog of sleep deprivation that was the
past 11 months.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
January
brought an all inclusive trip to Mexico and the mere sight of a lime
can evoke the heartburn and indigestion that prevailed.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We
returned just in time to catch the beginning of a new sitcom in which
a narcissist with the IQ of a spoon became president of the United
States. We laughed and laughed until the tears ran down our faces.
They haven't stopped.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By
March everyone in the UK with an accent was proposing to their
English partners and quicker than you could say 'Brexit' the invites
were pouring through the door. Of course a lot of people had quite a
difficult time finding venues that could host their big day what with
all the staff being either on the guest list or getting hitched.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
have absolutely no recollection of April or May but judging from the
tattoo on my back I can only assume that this is a blessing.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
June
fluttered in with all the promise of a summer that would never come
but we removed three layers anyway huddled around the aga.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That's
a lie. I should have an aga by now but I don't. I refer you to the
unfinished novel.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We
skipped through July aided by industrial strength ibuprofen and a can
do attitude and skidded to a halt in August for a long conversation
about all the BBQ's and picnics we were going to have. And never did.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In
September I went to the gym, enjoyed their power shower and a pep
talk before leaving and never returning.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
With
October came the rustle of fallen leaves, fallen loved ones and
fallen standards.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
With
a new found determination I opened the fridge, pushed aside the
weight watchers 1 point loaf and reached for the cheese. I wrapped it
in chocolate and enjoyed it with eight pouches of Virginia Bright and
a vitamin C tablet dissolved in gin.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In
November I wrote half a book, deleted it and played scrabble online
with a woman in New Delhi who had a broader vocabulary than I. Me. I.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Which
brings us to today.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As I
sit here, a metaphorical pizza in a gluten free dairy intolerant
world, and think of you dear dear (INSERT NAME HERE). I wonder what
lessons I can take from this last year and what if any wisdom I can
impart.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The
answer at first glance appears to be 'fuck all.' But I'm going to
just keep typing and see what emerges.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If
your 2017 has been good to you then pay it forward it 2018 and make
someone else's next year one to celebrate.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If
your 2017 has been shit don't come moaning to me about it, I've got
enough on my plate.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If
you're full of fear and trepidation about what's to come, don't
panic, we all are.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If
you're confident that everything is going to be okay, you're probably
ill informed or haven't read the small print.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If I
can wish anything for you in the coming year then it's what I wish
for myself: Good health, good love and good times. Moments of real
happiness that cannot be expressed on social media because they rest
in your heart and not in your humble brags. A sense of truly moving
forward, always striving to attain the things you want without
forgetting to be present because as the cliché goes, it's the road
that counts and not the perceived Eden at the end, the chasing of
which will always be more than the attainment.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We
too often take a picture of a tree or a sunset and post it because we
want the world to think we find it beautiful and be validated as the
sort of person who appreciates the gorgeous vicissitudes of nature.
Don't take a picture. Just look at the fucking tree. It'll be boring
at first but with practise and time we might all become the people
we'd much rather be.
</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Always
tip your server, and do so in cash. Try to be kind even when you want
to rip someone's lungs out for being a complete mouth breather.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Unless
you have a genuine life threatening food intolerance, shut the fuck
up and eat what is put in front of you.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Take
dance lessons.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Learn
an instrument too late in life.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Use the words 'Omnishambles', 'Clusterfuck' and 'Brouhaha' (It's time they made a come back)</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Write
a letter.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Write
a book.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Kill
your darlings when you do.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Have
a wonderful time of it all because we're not here for all that long
and we are terribly lucky to be here at all.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Try
not to be a cunt.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And
take comfort dear, dear (INSERT NAME HERE) that you are nothing. You
are barely an idea in a huge canvas of much more important things
than you and the universe doesn't give a toss about you. There's a
freedom in really knowing that. It makes you feel special.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I
love you. Stay golden. Let's not leave it so long this time.</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Love,</div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
(INSERT NAME HERE) Xx</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-83060265188165525192017-01-18T08:48:00.000-08:002017-01-18T08:49:31.092-08:00Churros and Adios.<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm innocently floating
around the pool reading a book when I hear an American woman to my
right screech;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh my gosh! You're in
the water with, like, paper!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh my GOD!' I screech
back. 'You've brought your own drinking tankard to a free bar!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I then stare mutely at
her until she turns away and continue my paddle.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5TDW4Z22Ai6W_PqkhqITagGfK1gBSIwmsXJukUAOQG6YVSDH-L5l30CrFoLLVbBedrW3N_RM1RuRVECPJyRYn11fbTGOYNIzxNATD-y4YbEZFw5XHm95dfXUg6pX7DW5IL2RHHm2gxSU/s1600/16114526_10154952107051468_890194374432785894_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5TDW4Z22Ai6W_PqkhqITagGfK1gBSIwmsXJukUAOQG6YVSDH-L5l30CrFoLLVbBedrW3N_RM1RuRVECPJyRYn11fbTGOYNIzxNATD-y4YbEZFw5XHm95dfXUg6pX7DW5IL2RHHm2gxSU/s320/16114526_10154952107051468_890194374432785894_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>For every ten
absolutely delightful people you meet there's always a universe
balancing arsehole. The French and I made an agreement early on that
whenever we witnessed somebody being shockingly awful we wouldn't get
wound up but instead would stop what we were doing and give them a
slow applause.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The people who dictate
what they want and never say please or thank you. The people who
never tip. That's the worst offence really. The logic being that its
an all-inclusive and so tips are included in that. Surely! Am I
right?! NO you're not fucking right.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Gilberto, one of the
waiters who hasn't had a day off since we've been here and is always
100% on the ball, tells us (we ask, he doesn't offer the information
freely) that he earns 76 pesos an hour. That's just over three quid.
So when you see someone clicking their fingers or kicking up a fuss
about something so puerile it makes your eyeballs sweat its hard not
to physically attack them. For the most part its the English and the
Americans who are guilty of this. The only people that are never ever
rude and tip just because someone smiled at them are of course the
Canadians.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have never met a
Canadian I didn't like. They learn all the waiters names too.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And my obsession with
visiting Canada is just growing and growing. The fact that we flew
over Canada to get here makes me feel a bit bilious. I came so close
and yet still no cigar. I've spoken to quite a few of them in passing
here and pretty much all of them have invited me to stay at theirs.
Or recommended a great place where the trees are tall and the lakes
wide. We went out to Bucerias for dinner again the other night and
met a group of Canadians who were sat at the next table. Over the
balcony there were lots of locals dancing away to some live music
being played in the square.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lisa is there with her
husband and two other couples. She recommends a restaurant for us and
suggests we come back on Saturday afternoon for a live music party on
the beach.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's kinda the local
happy hour between 3 and 6pm, lots of dancing, its fun.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Do you live here?' I
ask.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No, we just holiday
here in the winter for 4 or 5 months.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
FOUR OR FIVE MONTHS!?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She kisses her husband,
gets up and starts shimmying toward the street.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Hey you wanna come
dance?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh that's so kind but
I'm afraid I'm British.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She sashays off to the
rhythm and I wonder once again what it must be like to be rich.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We've met a fair few
people here who are on semi permanent holidays.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
One elderly Canadian
couple at dinner last night told us they were here just for a week on
the back of a month in Fiji and before that New Zealand for two
months.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We couldn't face going
back to the weather in Canada just yet.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Uhuh.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The French and I are
very good at picking up languages and within a week of being anywhere
can pretty much communicate with anyone. Where the French excels
though is his ability to seemingly soak up the essence of a country.
He not only speaks to everyone in Spanish, he does so with his whole
body and makes everyone around him feel like he's a local and their
long lost friend. He SOUNDS Mexican. I watch men swarm around him,
changing his ashtray, making sure his drink is never empty and
somehow discussing Arsenal with him. They see him coming and his
drink is poured before he gets there. He hugs them all, asks them how
that thing went the other day that they were talking about and how
are the three kids etc. His achilles heel however is accents. He has
a complete tin ear for them and its hilarious. He comes back from the
bar and tells me he's just overheard some French Canadians and the
way they speak is bizarre. I mooch over to eavesdrop and discover
they are in fact from Birmingham.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Another prize winning
occasion:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'So where in Scotland
are you from?' He asks.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Dublin.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He's been eyeing the
jet ski's since we got here.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I went on one in
Acapulco a few years ago. It was awesome.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Go on one then.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No, no, no. I'd rather
spend the money on restaurants.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Okay.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A day later I find him
watching the jet ski's yearningly.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's really cool if
you stay on top of the waves...'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Go on one then.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No no no. It'll be
super expensive.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Yet another day later I
watch as he smokes a cigar whilst his eyes never leave the jet ski's
skimming across the ocean.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'For the love of Christ
just go book one!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He strolls
indifferently over to the hombres in charge of the jet ski's and
starts chatting. He returns 5 minutes later having made blood
brothers of them all.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I got them down to
thirty quid for half an hour. For both of us.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The following day I get
on my jet ski and think 'Yay! I'm saying YES to life!' And almost
immediately regret it. Its the turning I found problematic. Anyway,
The French satisfied his need for speed and I survived so it's
another thing ticked off a bucket list I never wrote.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Body boarding was a lot
more fun for me. I felt like I was 8 again, catching the back of a
wave and shooting towards the shore.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklS5jql7UyGFisfubpft-9y7sozthyphenhyphenpUcSSk85UTqw_z0n5ew90OEVdINNv8HdCa2Wb6fPM8Vd3l3fIkHjHuGZ8ENy2nLoeWl_IaXuZAeHnHbbNv1shEwwCMtAuKddBzY6tKzSPF39EQ/s1600/16002788_10154951613556468_4017302099644706024_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklS5jql7UyGFisfubpft-9y7sozthyphenhyphenpUcSSk85UTqw_z0n5ew90OEVdINNv8HdCa2Wb6fPM8Vd3l3fIkHjHuGZ8ENy2nLoeWl_IaXuZAeHnHbbNv1shEwwCMtAuKddBzY6tKzSPF39EQ/s320/16002788_10154951613556468_4017302099644706024_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There have been lots of
highlights but the local fiesta two nights ago was one of the best
moments, not least for the fresh churros that were so delicious I
gave the woman a rose to thank her (I also paid for the
churros...obviously). The reason I had roses in the first place was
because a couple sat at the next table to us in a bar bought them for
us. Just because. They were, of course, Canadian. And yes, they have
invited us to British Columbia for a vacation and some fishing on the
lake.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've promised myself a
trip to Canada if I ever get published. The French says 'when' not
'if'.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I find a booze stand offering a cocktail called 'Adios Mother Fucker' and ask the woman what's in it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Is Tequila, gin, ron, vodka and just tiny bit pineapple.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I settle for a margarita.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We eat at a stand and pay less than you would for a pint in the UK. We watch huge fireworks which are set off in the middle of the square by a bloke with a fag dangling out of his mouth. There's no barrier, no health and safety. If you're stupid enough to stand too close you're probably asking for it. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The holiday is over and
we have to vacate the room in about thirty minutes. We haven't even
packed yet. But we're ready to go home. We've had a ball, enjoyed it
all. We now know we're not all-inclusive kind of people and won't do
it again. But it was just what we needed this time round. The French is getting wound up by other holiday makers having the audacity to breathe near him. We're both done. We'll
endure the 11 hour flight back, find a train and collapse in to the
flat for a few hours kip before dinner at my mum's. I love
travelling. I'd love someone to pay me to go places and write this
stupid blog. The only thing better than travelling is probably coming
home. See you soon Xx</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhemE1stXTDZlOCPLT5hPkfKa3sn1FLqwZ5pFg7oAiKzpUet-ZmtrRjp7w6veK13_c1dfqZLtzVcyNR1khJOZuZ4mPjk4PMce40WUaUh9FqjS313aKz0DIjtaGLsWbkUskZEzasgt22jCc/s1600/16142593_10154951614876468_7497466218228505727_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhemE1stXTDZlOCPLT5hPkfKa3sn1FLqwZ5pFg7oAiKzpUet-ZmtrRjp7w6veK13_c1dfqZLtzVcyNR1khJOZuZ4mPjk4PMce40WUaUh9FqjS313aKz0DIjtaGLsWbkUskZEzasgt22jCc/s320/16142593_10154951614876468_7497466218228505727_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-41342906267356211832017-01-11T09:39:00.002-08:002017-01-11T09:39:30.956-08:00Pepto-Abysmal And Gyrating Raoul<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ji5L7EqKYnunF6GjzY29Ei02znqPPWkJMWI0EKPBJMBiHjOu48ocU03-wgNcZflbwtibLtIiplhCnkvSHVrNSKOaOqq6c5T6024PeVilpfTc2c3RQ9F75FChUufOuD6GAIAwcTZmxFw/s1600/pan.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ji5L7EqKYnunF6GjzY29Ei02znqPPWkJMWI0EKPBJMBiHjOu48ocU03-wgNcZflbwtibLtIiplhCnkvSHVrNSKOaOqq6c5T6024PeVilpfTc2c3RQ9F75FChUufOuD6GAIAwcTZmxFw/s640/pan.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Every day around noon
Raoul, one of the swarthier members of the 'entertainment' staff can
be found strutting around the sun loungers charming the ladies in to
an aerobics session with him in the pool.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Come on Signoritas!
You's gotta work off the alcohol si!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Gold rimmed shades,
ponytail and snake hipped he sexually insinuates himself through a
wall of liver spotted cleavages and plastic sun visors.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Sure enough ten minutes
later the pool is a blanket of giggling American housewives staring
adoringly at Raoul who stands on the side thrusting his groin in a
slow circular motion and telling the ladies to follow suit.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The French looks up
from his reading and mutters; 'Fucking Raoul.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the evening we're
having some cocktails before dinner and discussing the much
anticipated performance of the “Mexican Michael Jackson.” I never
really understood the appeal of the actual Michael Jackson but I do
find the world of imitators weirdly intriguing. The French however is
uncharacteristically keen and is practising his moon walk in the
middle of the plaza with a drink in one hand and his hat tilted
Jackson style. I wave my glass at one of the staff and beg for
another drink.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The build up is
impressive. There's a big light show and a massive projection of
Jackson's (Liz Taylor phase) eyes. Six dancers appear and start
throwing shapes and even the table of drunken Scots (same table every
day from 10am till 11pm) briefly look up from their drinks and make a
collective noise which could be a heckle or some kind of approval.
Finally Mexican Michael arrives in Thriller mode. He gyrates wildly,
makes that squeaky noise and grabs his groin. The French grins, then
frowns and finally squints.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's fucking Raoul.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Surely not.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm telling you –
That. Is. Fucking. Raoul!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I take a closer look at
the groin rotation. It could definitely be Raoul.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He does all the big
numbers, 11 costume changes and finishes with a dramatic 'It's your
fault I'm dead' kind of blackout. The crowd goes wild.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A couple of hours later
there's a conga line working its way around the fountain and yes,
Raoul is leading it. The man's an animal.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When we arrived The
French was pretty ill with a bad cold. He has since recovered and
passed the baton to me. Our room is littered with half bottles of
Vicks 44 expectorant, Tylenol, Ibruprofen and now Pepto-Bismal which
I picked up yesterday at a Farmacia in Puerto Vallarta. The constant
diet of chilli, lime and Amaretto Sours/Margaritas means heartburn is
unavoidable. The woman in the shop gives me a quick appraisal and
discreetly hands me a list of under the counter drugs available.
Tramadol, Vicodin, HGH...the list is impressive. I start to enquire
about the cost of the diet pills but The French grabs me and pushes
me firmly out of the door.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I catch my reflection
as I walk past the mirror. Cocktail in one hand, Pepto-Abysmal in the
other. I pop an ibroprufon and a tylonel and wash them down with swig
of pepto.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Admittedly I look like
shit and I have a pretty bad cold but I'm on holiday and no one can
take that away from me.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's 30 degrees and the
French can't take a step without breaking a sweat. My hair has
reacted to the humidity and is eight times its original size. The
French occasionally pretends its become sentient and says he can see
a pulse. The novelty of constant alcohol has worn off but we're still
very much working on the premise that if you're not sure what you
fancy there really is no bad time for a Bloody Mary. We have located
the one man in the hotel who knows how to make a decent coffee. He
works in the 24 hour sports bar and every morning we shuffle in there
with the other 6 people who have discovered him, request a hit, and
give the obligatory half laugh when he suggests a shot of tequila in
it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Being constantly looked
after and having to do absolutely nothing for yourself except wash is
very seductive but also creates an inertia that makes you feel like
having a nap every twenty minutes. To counteract this we've been
making little trips outside of our cottonwool wrapped world, the
first of which was to Bucerias.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The taxi dropped us off
at the edge of a flea market. It looks like a shanty town and from
the moment you step out of the car you're assaulted by dozens of
people holding up bits of jewellery, rugs, skull mugs. One stand has
gimp style superhero masks. The French points at the Dead Pool one
and says he needs it.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Take it mi amigo,' the
man says. 'Make all your fantasies come true.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Another big guy nods at
us, 'Come see my cheap shit.' I don't think his heart is in it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's a bit
overwhelming. You want to be polite and say “no thanks” to
everyone but in the end we just push our way through the crowd and
stop responding. We find a restaurant that's been recommended to us.
Miguel Angel is a cool little Mexican place with parrots hopping
around everywhere and palm leaves for a roof. Miguel himself is charm
personified. He looks like Charles Bronson and The French calls him
that for the rest of our visit.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You like football?'
Miguel asks.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Of course.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Who's your team?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Arsenal.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I got a sports bar
upstairs, they playing right now.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's a small cloud
of dust where the French once stood. Born lucky. I follow up the
stairs and there it is, a hug sports bar with the game playing and
various men staring fixedly at the screen whilst some disenchanted
women shovel tortilla.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A smiling man brings a
bucket full of ice within which are nestled five bottles of corona
and a dish of lime.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'400 pesos amigo.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The French is about to
distractedly hand over the money and then does the math.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'400?! That's more than
20 pounds. For five beers??'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The man smiles
nervously.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Five buckets, amigo.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What the fuck do I
want with 25 beers?!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Okay, 100 pesos for
one bucket.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He's tried it on, not
succeeded and there's a slightly tense feeling in the air. Luckily
the outraged French is an affable sort and merely gives him a
friendly slap on the back which nearly floors the tiny chap.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That's more like it!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He watches the game and
I watch the room. Everything is so colourful here.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
His team wins and we
head downstairs to eat. It's shady and lovely and the waiter brings
me a bucket of passionfruit Margaritas. We eat fish tacos and giant
fried prawns with the obligatory nachos and dip. There's an old boy
playing a keyboard and singing in the corner. He starts 'What a
wonderful world' and its just perfection. A small boy comes in and
tries to sell us handmade bracelets with little dream catchers on
them. He wants 100 pesos (about five quid). They're hideous but he's
a pro and whilst the French tries to haggle him down to 50 pesos the
kid refuses to make eye contact and insists on at least 70. We buy
the damn thing and I'm forced to wear it. He's the first of about 60
people trying to sell us stuff. I wonder if there's a kind soul
somewhere with a room full of sombrero's, rugs, dolphin wind chimes,
marble face ornaments, skull head mugs, grains of rice with their
name on it, cuban cigars...actually we did buy a box of cuban cigars
but turned down the weed that was offered with it.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Vto4kG6r0tTAR9YbJFnt21ry9HRxDbzWtJKWF3FSxCfQKkKNX2ElJkEYfPG1ypr6couaS7twulAtLlI0HKcafZ5WzVsM6ER5OqT4ggLs_J-jd_ZFvlVV3wfZ87a56yMsFNp4WsMkGb4/s1600/15894402_10154930512376468_2561511876368043600_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Vto4kG6r0tTAR9YbJFnt21ry9HRxDbzWtJKWF3FSxCfQKkKNX2ElJkEYfPG1ypr6couaS7twulAtLlI0HKcafZ5WzVsM6ER5OqT4ggLs_J-jd_ZFvlVV3wfZ87a56yMsFNp4WsMkGb4/s320/15894402_10154930512376468_2561511876368043600_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>The second trip is to
Puerto Vallarta where we find a colonial style shack on the beach
called The Red Lobster. The food is fantastic and we just sit there
for hours eating, drinking, laughing and politely refusing to buy a
million things.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The third trip we've
been looking forward to all week. We are headed to the 'Rhythms of
the night' event at a little cove some miles away. We travel there by
boat which takes about an hour and a half and involves a glorious
sunset and a lot of rum punch. The team on the boat led by Julio are
hilarious. They throw alcohol at you, play music and do little skits
to keep you amused. There are about 40 of us and everyone is in high
spirits. A man called Tom and his friend recreate the Titanic pose at
the front of the boat, people are dancing and laughing. A hush
descends as the sun sets and before long we are approaching the Las
Caletas cove which is entirely lit by candles and flaming torches.
It's a jungle and as we get nearer we spot a mermaid waving from the
rocks. A girl dressed as an eagle perched in one of the trees. The
water around the boat is clear and thousands of fish are shimmying in
the light. We dock and start making our way up a candle lit path.
Part of a tree unfolds and smiles at us, something that looks like a
cross between a goat and a god plays a lute and a half naked man
painted to look like a deer struts around on the rocks and watches us
suspiciously. It's completely immersive theatre and not what I'd
expected at all. We'd been told the show was influenced by Cirque du
Soleil which I liked and not dissimilar to The Lion King which I
fucking hate. When we reached the clearing the layout was much like
an Ampitheatre with steep wooden stairs at one end leading up to a
large skull surrounded by fire.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It looks like a
sacrificial alter,' I whisper.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCivVPkQoLjZVJJdq41NDUVZHKt-wv1Bhs-0u_fqmdzsZvGbHtz1XZMcuIZOMla8hxDSqT_EogFG_55ZTji9P7WHJ1PJtiAQeM4j4PrnuWvypxkg6aTqVWq1vJyG6_HkYNH0DxaQSdrTY/s1600/15895150_10154930512231468_8604803823299519208_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCivVPkQoLjZVJJdq41NDUVZHKt-wv1Bhs-0u_fqmdzsZvGbHtz1XZMcuIZOMla8hxDSqT_EogFG_55ZTji9P7WHJ1PJtiAQeM4j4PrnuWvypxkg6aTqVWq1vJyG6_HkYNH0DxaQSdrTY/s320/15895150_10154930512231468_8604803823299519208_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>'I hope it is,' The
French says, looking pointedly at a woman just behind us who hasn't
stopped narrating every moment since she got off the boat.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The show starts with a
very entertaining Master Of Ceremonies who walks through the audience
making guttural tribal noises before saying terribly politely “That
means, excuse me please, I need to get through”. The performance
lasts the perfect amount of time (40 minutes) and there's a giant
butterfly in a tree playing a violin, a colourful bird woman on a
wire zooming around overhead, giant stilt walking tree men, monkeys
doing insane balancing acts using only one arm, fire juggling and
dancing. The French keeps staring at the Deer man suspiciously.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“It's fucking Raoul.
I'm certain of it.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have absolutely no
idea what the plot is or why the deer gets killed and comes back as a
dancing man but The French assures me its all about the connectedness
of everything in nature and everything serving a purpose. I'm fine
with that.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXC9iXFn-9pXY5zZGTethVxRlwtPodAf2Xf__iFJyihdF2APGAaOWCCGZAOcSyc7ExnQrHKvP6qLLVgR9YgWv6h7hG4mdqPsx1fadAM4QyM9Or6Q2ukk_3Bf3IR8GYqyzIlYTTV_2zJR4/s1600/15941276_10154930512226468_4967806658524758224_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXC9iXFn-9pXY5zZGTethVxRlwtPodAf2Xf__iFJyihdF2APGAaOWCCGZAOcSyc7ExnQrHKvP6qLLVgR9YgWv6h7hG4mdqPsx1fadAM4QyM9Or6Q2ukk_3Bf3IR8GYqyzIlYTTV_2zJR4/s320/15941276_10154930512226468_4967806658524758224_n.jpg" width="240" /></a>Afterwards we are taken
to our table for two by the edge of the sea and served booze and food
by candlelight whilst a man plays a harp for us. It's all
ridiculously romantic and I can't help but think about the level of
organisation it takes to make this many people feel so personally
cared for. The beach to our left has been hung with dozens of cream
hammocks and its an absolute scream watching couples trying to climb
in to them gracefully for a kodak moment under the stars. One big
chap looks utterly defeated before he's even begun but his girlfriend
is bloody determined and so he folds himself on to an edge and braces
himself with one foot in the sea for what looks to be ten minutes of
absolute terror.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A bell rings and its
time to head back. The journey is broken up by the crew dressing up
as Kiss and performing for us. No, really. A Liverpudlian chap comes
up to me and nods towards The French.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Is that big lad with
the hat your fella?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Why?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'He had me and my
girlfriend in bits all the way out on the boat. He was having a dance
and rolling a fag at the same time whilst everyone else was holding
on to the rails for dear life.'</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yup. That's my one.'</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-pmrrXMszInHb3Bjoonory8xmYjzSCbx9mz4NJ-2c70C0H4I7MJLv3GVLommEvvStpAFPsMI9z6jRDEU70dKlaRp7ybNLnB15N7WAZpEodcusBEyiC-GTMX1wwx7SSfzaZlMxNMtFjs/s1600/15977615_10154930512306468_3814434286238343614_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-pmrrXMszInHb3Bjoonory8xmYjzSCbx9mz4NJ-2c70C0H4I7MJLv3GVLommEvvStpAFPsMI9z6jRDEU70dKlaRp7ybNLnB15N7WAZpEodcusBEyiC-GTMX1wwx7SSfzaZlMxNMtFjs/s640/15977615_10154930512306468_3814434286238343614_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-28606950280354581752017-01-07T09:05:00.001-08:002019-03-30T03:04:57.894-07:00Mexico And The Scooby Snacks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiId91PokarRO4s99OmueIFZIEoeWhlp3_wprq9QI9CgBto0EVBJhWYZl96ZZ6wEiSybRqdXBONars7IwNmS5fjwdT1wmab7_q8Sazo08YEvhNPMzKWmkFajwq6nFSGPyj7VJjtQetBnYY/s1600/15825989_10154911497541468_6044453542660385104_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiId91PokarRO4s99OmueIFZIEoeWhlp3_wprq9QI9CgBto0EVBJhWYZl96ZZ6wEiSybRqdXBONars7IwNmS5fjwdT1wmab7_q8Sazo08YEvhNPMzKWmkFajwq6nFSGPyj7VJjtQetBnYY/s320/15825989_10154911497541468_6044453542660385104_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">A
tiny Mexican woman hands me a pair of paper knickers the size of a
tea bag and tells me to pop them on and 'jump' on to the massage
table.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">There
seems to be a recurring theme of holidays and humiliating massage
experiences for me.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Um,
I don't think these will fit me. I'm carrying a little extra
weight...'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">She
grins.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Ah,
yes, Navidad – Christmas, si?'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Yes,
exactly. Approximately 42 years worth.'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Is
okay. Put them on. Stretchy.'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">They
are not stretchy enough. I contort myself in to part of them and
hobble towards the table. I try to pull the sheet modestly over
myself and roll on to my stomach. She whips it off.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'No,
no. Sitting up please on edge.'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
surrender to the horror and haul myself up all the time thinking of
that episode of Jerry Springer when they telecast a hugely obese man
(basically a blanket of skin with eyes) in to the studio from his
trailer - “Help me Jerry, I don't wanna die.” They cut him out of
that trailer. My problems are comparatively small. I just need to
stop drinking 14 cocktails a day and get back to my running regime
and all will be well. As I'm thinking this the tiny Mexican woman
rubs my entire body with exfoliating stuff and points at a shower.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'With
the pants?'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Yes.'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Okay.'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">All
of this takes place with one lit candle and an acoustic arrangement
of 'I will always love you' serenading us.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">After
this everything gets a lot better. She's small but she is fierce and
the one hour deep tissue massage is painful and relaxing at the same
time. Throughout the whole thing I have a towel over my eyes. She
whispers 'terminado' and I hear her leave. A few moments later
another woman comes in and starts trying to scrape the despair from
my face. I assume its another woman, I still can't see a thing, so
unless the first one has popped out for a costume change and is now
posing next to me in a wetsuit taking selfies with me beached next to
her with a fin stuck on my head...I try not to dwell.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
facial is really good. I know this because I am woken several times
by my own snoring.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
pay cash, put my sun glasses on and leave with my head bowed.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">We've
been in Mexico for three days and once I'd managed to unfold the
furious French from his economy sized chair after an 11 hour flight
we both started having a lot of fun. He's a giant in the UK so over
here, where the average hight is about 5 foot 2 he looks like a
building.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's
hard to get your head around an all inclusive resort. I keep wanting
to say 'I can have this too? For free??' I was worried it would be
like some awful package thing with mandatory games and English
breakfasts. But as The French pointed out, 'It's a five star resort,
shut up.' As someone with absolutely no self control, accompanied by
someone with very little self control, the notion of free alcohol
24/7 was a curious one. I found I have been able to avoid a hangover
by drinking fairly steadily from breakfast onwards. There are four
optics in the bedroom, Champagne and Bloody Mary's with breakfast,
cocktails are delivered to your sun lounger, there's a bar in the
pool and every time you think 'Steady on there, probably time for a
coffee' a nice smiling person appears at your elbow and refills your
glass. Horrific.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Some
jolly young Canadian girls introduced us to 'Scooby Snacks' last
night. A 50ml shot of vodka, melon liquor and something else I can't
put my finger on. They are radiation green and it isn't until your
sixth that you start to feel </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;">a burning in your chest. And as the
young Canadians pointed out 'They don't even taste like alcohol! It's
awesome.' I spotted them a couple of hours later cavorting maniacally
around two waiters who stood there grinning and trying not to recoil
as they gyrated and screeched in some tribal mating ritual. I saw
them again at breakfast this morning. The French told them they were
evil and they grinned.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Y'all
have a good day! Try the Banana Bamba today, it doesn't even taste
like alc-'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">'Fuck
right off!'</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">There
are very few kids here which is nice as we are the sort of awful
people who don't enjoy the sound of children's laughter. But there's
this one little person. Very small. Almost staggering around on
wobbly legs age. What is that age? Anyway, she's beautiful.
Mesmerising. She has eyes like black marbles and thick shiny black
hair that curls around her cheeks and wherever the music is playing
she is struggling towards it on tiny drunken legs like a little dark
angel. I don't know if its the last gasp of an unused womb or just
that she is the most precious little thing but every time I see her I
just stop and stare. Her dad is now on nervous nodding terms with me.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
French has found the hat. The hat that completes him as a person.
It's one of those 'man from Del Monte' hats. Makes him look some
colonial fellow in an Agatha Christie. The staff call him Papi and
he's really just missing the cigar to complete the look. Luckily
there is a vast armoury of cuban cigars on offer so its really only a
matter of time. I beat him at pool yesterday. He's still raging about
it.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's
luxurious here, lots of marble and palms and a golden beach that
we've only visited at night when it was empty and we could float on
our backs and look at all the stars in the sky. The whole place is in
the Art Deco style and amongst the frondy plants there are Tamara de
Lempicka copies and walls full of Klimt. It's all very nice and very
seductive and apart from the staff and the tacos you'd never know
what country you were in. We quite like knowing what country we're in
so this afternoon we're breaking out of the compound and visiting
Bucerias, a town nearby with a flea market and a highly recommended
seafood restaurant on the beach and on Tuesday we're taking a
speedboat to a little island for the 'Rhythm of the night' party. The
tiny beach lit by 3000 candles and there's fire juggling and music
and a meal. I'm really excited about that. Despite the fact that I
will unquestionably get eaten alive by mosquitoes. I managed to go
two days without getting bitten and the moment I bought the “OFF!”
repellant and sprayed it on they found me.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our
rep is from The Wirrall and her name is Julia Roberts. I shit you
not. I've started calling her Erin Brokovich which she finds
hilarious in a professional can't punch me in the face sort of way.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "american typewriter" , monospace;">Everything
is lovely and wonderful. Except the coffee. The coffee is fucking
awful.</span></span></div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-20351743096560900742016-11-13T04:49:00.000-08:002016-11-13T05:00:13.206-08:00Day 318 Of My Captivity.<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The restaurant world
keeps its own time. I've been the GM for nearly eleven months now but
it feels like I turned around and a few seasons passed. I worked for
Mr Morrisons when I was student up north doing night shifts at his
slaughterhouse near Wakefield. I was a dinner lady serving breakfast
at 11pm to men who'd previously worked on oil rigs. Lunch was around
3am. The other dinner ladies were usually married to the men, or
would be, and the sons often came to work there too. We were all
locked in together and the shifts would pass in a dreamlike state, as
though non of it were real and we only existed at night. I once
bumped in to one of the other women in the town centre mid morning
and we exchanged shy hellos, feeling exposed outside of our parallel
time zone.<br />
<br />
Comparatively this job is a breeze. I mean, at no point
during a busy night has anyone dragged me in to a staff room, handed
me half a pint of cheap wine and a Lambert and Butler and said 'Get
that down ye luv, it'll carry you through till finish.' Not that I'd
complain. When I started at the slaughterhouse I asked one of the
less terrifying women how many sausages, bacon etc I should put for
each serving and she said: 'Put it this way, if they can see t'plate
there'll be hell to pay.' Oh, okay. So, yeah, comparatively, this job
is a breeze. Not easy though. I'm still learning. Every time I think
I'm beginning to get my head around it all there's something new to
learn, another element of the job that I've been shielded from until
deemed ready.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIaObWsCfy37kvCHKXlfXo21FgFxn2gW7w7z3RUKhcMfcFuKAZotkvbSqpgMNksxDt-MeZ5o3yeciHeCvd16t-jNi1x81hPkDYSRCkPwbKkr_Iz-auBpNlkhrhIVjR_uTetDR7fJZS7Y/s1600/14956558_10154723026971468_4488034525675236071_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIaObWsCfy37kvCHKXlfXo21FgFxn2gW7w7z3RUKhcMfcFuKAZotkvbSqpgMNksxDt-MeZ5o3yeciHeCvd16t-jNi1x81hPkDYSRCkPwbKkr_Iz-auBpNlkhrhIVjR_uTetDR7fJZS7Y/s320/14956558_10154723026971468_4488034525675236071_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I need Lara, the previous Manager, less, but lord knows
I still need her. She's my 'Restaurant Management for Idiots' guide.
We're about to head in to our first christmas together and she is
bright eyed and bushy tailed whilst I stare at the already heavily
booked calendar with a sense of mounting bewilderment. Of the staff
who were here when I arrived only Lara and Simon remain. Everyone
else I either employed or brought with me from previous jobs. So my
safety nets have been slowly disappearing and more often now I find
myself turning back to ask an adult what I should do and finding only
myself there. My wonderful, utterly capable and profoundly chaotic
Ali has moved to our new pub, The King Alfred, and is now quite
rightly an assistant manager. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed
taking that darling for granted. Apart from her multi tasking genius
on the floor, she did a lot of background stuff that I consequently
never had to think about. Until now. And Karon. Off she went and gave
birth to a Henry. She'll be back though. Mark my words. Every time I
get the place ready for an evening shift I think of Karon moving a
table one inch to the right, adjusting a candle, all the little
things that seem so inconsequential but strangely make such a
difference. And then all the bright young things who come back for a
month or two before heading off on their next adventure. So,
obviously, I have some new staff.<br />
<br />
There's Hannah, who in real life is
one third of The Spitfire Sisters musical arrangement. She works for
us around her gigs and much to all of our delights she'll be
performing here during our Prohibition night for Winchester Cocktail
week in February. All of the venues taking part will create two
cocktails that wristband wearers can purchase for £4 each. I decided
to serve ours in tea pots and keep to a prohibition style drink. Our
cocktails will be The Mermaid's Tub and Moonshine Honey. It's all
very exciting. We're using The Isle Of Wight Distillery and Fabian
Chase (real name) is a mixologist who's helping me with my
concoctions. Hannah is also a trained barista and makes the best
coffees.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThw9FHF0Q6Sxq-gt2AUmcrXL5rmLzbtAHCG6vLSrhkVgGMA2JM_c4nalODeon9gvXY2NBbNyVwolM6SqgDTN0VzT3ygKfmXh9BRDj-yTXfHvYrX4NMY4mnxsgpbnKqJcDS0hcmLKHwWY/s1600/DSC06747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThw9FHF0Q6Sxq-gt2AUmcrXL5rmLzbtAHCG6vLSrhkVgGMA2JM_c4nalODeon9gvXY2NBbNyVwolM6SqgDTN0VzT3ygKfmXh9BRDj-yTXfHvYrX4NMY4mnxsgpbnKqJcDS0hcmLKHwWY/s320/DSC06747.jpg" width="320" /></a>There's Dominic, Craig
and Joshua who do a couple of shifts a week. Dom and Craig are
students and very charming. Dominic in particular has been a hit with
women of a certain age. I've had at least four come up to me after a
meal and tell me he's 'just excellent'. Joshua does Viking
re-enactments at the weekend and has promised I can come along one
day. He turned up to work a few weeks ago with his hair carefully
covering a fairly impressive battle wound.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I like your hair like
that.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I look like Justin
Bieber.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No, no, no...yes.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My old timers of the
new wave are Sam and Janna, who joined me from my last job shortly
after I started and I don't know what I'd do without them. Sam's main
response to anything I or a customer says is 'No problem'. Janna
comes in and quietly does everything that needs to be done without
fuss or difficulty. And then of course there is Benjamin. I worked
with him a few years ago at Loch Fyne. He was my supervisor when I
was a waitress and now he's my supervisor again. Oh how the tables
turn! Well, not really. We don't much do hierarchy here. I write him
long rambling lists of things that need doing and he does them and
ticks them off as he goes. His girlfriend Rachel has come to work
here too. She's a student also and has a good dry sense of humour and
like all of them, just cracks on.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDwAPSdaIovy0l9Nu3IVmwpx-Sf_TDlujlwk845YmZdMTZk_tE1FJBIkrHkxZorXokGK36O2cbFJQo5KxbP8XrkS9zJVzKh2g2R363VN2Fk0kNwIfEJxcpH9ennb3s_PyFvoqt7bzkXE/s1600/DSC06744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfDwAPSdaIovy0l9Nu3IVmwpx-Sf_TDlujlwk845YmZdMTZk_tE1FJBIkrHkxZorXokGK36O2cbFJQo5KxbP8XrkS9zJVzKh2g2R363VN2Fk0kNwIfEJxcpH9ennb3s_PyFvoqt7bzkXE/s320/DSC06744.jpg" width="320" /></a>So, our first christmas
booking is on the 24<sup>th</sup> of November and then its just a
roller coaster ride to New Year's Eve. We're having a Day of The Dead
themed party and Lara and I are having a ball sourcing decorations,
drinks, Mexican style tapas. Quite a few of our conversations
feature Pinata's and skulls. We've hired a close up magician who
didn't balk at all when I asked him to dress in top hat and skull
face. It's going to be a splendid night and when it finishes I'll
crawl in to bed, wake up on New Years day and remember that I will
officially have worked here a whole year.
</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIMv8XzgJV_wsKBsZ_K4AZRAoI_vhX0TJ4cgWxYWknLbFu05yEdKuHI1mXO4upkAuAz6fBWZAw6N6TjKZaFGRqhvtMcRd-8sYMivT1Rjo-d2VDItO7xvpxhYw3CA0PAfVhlwB8eTn3aU/s1600/DSC05911+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwIMv8XzgJV_wsKBsZ_K4AZRAoI_vhX0TJ4cgWxYWknLbFu05yEdKuHI1mXO4upkAuAz6fBWZAw6N6TjKZaFGRqhvtMcRd-8sYMivT1Rjo-d2VDItO7xvpxhYw3CA0PAfVhlwB8eTn3aU/s320/DSC05911+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The restaurant world
keeps its own time. It passes quickly though the days can be long.
Our weekends are often on Mondays and Tuesdays. We stay up late and
drink at each others businesses. We see more of each other than we do
our non industry friends and family. It's often fun, it can be very
satisfying. Sometimes you can get too knotted up about little things
you can't control and then you step back and remember its all just a
ride. The job ultimately is to feed and water people and make them
happy. Hope they come back. Since extending our wine list to
impressive proportions, adding cocktails and sourcing even more local
beers we've started to see people just popping in for a drink which
is hugely pleasing. I light the candles for breakfast, keep the
lights low, turn the sign to 'Come in we're open!' and the day rolls
on to night, and then again, and again. Each one different, each with
its own challenges and rewards.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIlDjeqeLNw9ke4ONBe0wZ4skZMDt48nRdghR6FtuR7YmHNoyehkibS8wLUuzgrwvqIIQqZtQY3QxbvbZ3Dfgb_o5CupuTO7DYWW4kzcNwsjx0gBpVeREihULlCPRIPrChr8Yot2dVD7Y/s1600/14915679_10154708608341468_7476018189787963574_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIlDjeqeLNw9ke4ONBe0wZ4skZMDt48nRdghR6FtuR7YmHNoyehkibS8wLUuzgrwvqIIQqZtQY3QxbvbZ3Dfgb_o5CupuTO7DYWW4kzcNwsjx0gBpVeREihULlCPRIPrChr8Yot2dVD7Y/s320/14915679_10154708608341468_7476018189787963574_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-29582616138160785942016-07-28T03:48:00.004-07:002016-07-28T03:49:58.680-07:00Ceramic Ducks.<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's 10.15am on Friday
and Ali is pacing between table 12 and the window.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'John isn't here yet.'
She frowns.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
John is a lovely old
boy who comes in every Tuesday and Friday for breakfast. He likes to
do the Guardian crossword whilst he eats his salmon (half portion)
and scrambled eggs (runny please).</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ali always reserves his
table and puts the paper open on the right page by his cutlery. He's
never late, 10am on the dot. Except today he is late and Ali is
fretting.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'He'll be here in a
minute,' I say and find myself straightening his chair.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'He's never late,' she
counters.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We pace a bit.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I always help him
finish the crossword which he keeps his arm wrapped around whilst
telling me to bugger off until he needs me.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We have quite a few
regulars. There's Malcolm who literally <i>runs</i> in for a flat
white on his way to or from one of his endless spin classes. He's
somewhere in his early fifties and I've never seen him out of sports
wear. Rose who works for the hat fair comes in for coffee and
breakfast early before it gets busy. The woman who is impossibly
glamorous, has hot milk with her coffee and is very good at napkin
origami. The tall elderly man who always has an espresso with hot
water on the side, pays at the counter and never stays more than ten
minutes but is terribly nice.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Okay so I don't know
ALL of their names. But I'm pretty sure Ali does. And Karon. Karon
probably knows their National Insurance numbers. She's off on
maternity now and kicking it up in the South of France. It was
getting to the point where the tiny woman was having to tie her apron
higher and higher over her belly. If she'd stayed any longer she'd
have been wearing it as a scarf.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
John eventually
saunters in at twenty past ten with no kind of excuse or apology for
the hand wringing he's caused. Instead he says:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Your man cooking
Thursday night?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
(My man is the head
chef at The Green Man)</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yup.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Good. Can you ask him
to do me a chateaubriand. I'm taking an old mate and he likes his
meat ruined so can you ask if he'll cut it in half and do my bit
medium rare and his bit leather?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Okay.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'7 for drinks, eat for
7.30?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Fine. Are you OKAY?
You're late.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes I'm alright. Can I
have a coffee?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Damn him.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
You know that
expression about how it takes a village to raise a child? Well it
takes a small pub group to keep a John up and running.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Working in a little
local place is a curse and a blessing. The curse is how many people's
lives you become tangentially involved in. That's also the blessing.
We have a lot of regulars and most of our suppliers are local and
independent so we get to know them too. And the little pub group has
three other pub/restaurants in Winchester so you get to know all that
lot too and before you know it, seven months down the line of
pretending to be a general manager, you can't walk down the street
without stopping five times to say hello to someone and ask about
their day. I can't remember the last time I felt part of a community.
It was sometime in the 70's when summers lasted forever and you still
went tad poling.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I think independent
businesses might be the last bastion of community. It's depressing to
see so many places shutting their doors as another chain invades the
High Street.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's a bit more
expensive to eat at a place that can't afford to offer you two
courses for a tenner. When we started using Fran's coffee we had to
put our prices up by about 5p a cup. I asked John what he thought of
the new Moonroast and he quipped 'Can't afford NOT to like it.' Then
winked at me roguishly. But 5p isn't the end of the world because
what you get in return is people who know your name, your favourite
table, that you like your eggs a certain way. We see you come in for
a first date, you have your wedding here and the following autumn you
rock up with a baby in tow.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A community witnesses
your life, let's you know that you matter, and that if you are
usually always here at ten am on a Tuesday there is someone who will
worry when you're not.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Everyone who has worked
at The Corner House for any length of time loves it and owns it. This
too is a curse and a blessing. The curse is quite funny. Every new
manager wants to put their stamp on the place, make it their own a
bit. My stamp has been a desire to shift its image a little. A really
tiny amount. We are well known for our breakfast, lunch and afternoon
cake but not so well known as a bar. With that in mind I put together
a little cocktail list. That went relatively well once everyone was
up to speed on how to make an espresso martini and we remembered to
order some kahlua. I then thought we should perhaps de-chinz a
little. As you know I'm not a fan of the expression 'shabby chic.'
With that in mind I started quietly removing some of the more quaint
decorations. The odd ceramic duck here, a tea pot there. I placed
them in a box and returned a day later to find them quietly removed
from said box and placed neatly back in their original locations. I
less quietly removed them again and this time sealed the box and hid
it. One of the tea pots still found its way back in to the
restaurant. When I moved some of the furniture around, to let some
light in, I came in the following morning to find Ali standing in the
middle of the floor rubbing her wrist and staring like a rabbit at
the new layout.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Ali?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Mhmm.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Everything okay?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes. It's fine. It's
just different. Fine. This is fine.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh-kay.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
On the whole its a well
functioning democracy. I change things and if they aren't met with
universal approval they are swiftly returned to their original way
and we say no more about it. If one out of five changes are kept I
suppose I'm winning in some way.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's a bit like the
make over scene in a romantic comedy. The previously perhaps slightly
set in her ways, comfortable and cluttered beauty, is plucked,
primped and bejewelled and reveals herself to be a Goddess like
vision. Except half way through the transformation the beautician
turns away to grab a pair of tweezers only to discover that a ceramic
duck has been placed on the head of the subject whilst her back was
turned.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We've just had some
more shelves put in. It's all very exciting. We are expanding our
wine range don'tchaknow and we need somewhere to put it all. We
usually have six white, six red, one rose and four sparkling. We are
in the process of adding twelve white, twelve red, two more rose and
another sparkling. The actual getting of and having the new wines is
jolly fun and was really as far as I'd bothered to think about it. I
hadn't really taken in to account all of the business bit around it
like reducing the old stock and staggering the ordering of the new
stock and – anyway, Lara, made me a graph. She always makes me a
graph when I stop blinking. We've got a lovely new Sancerre if you fancy a tipple.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We do a monthly pop up Vegetarian and Vegan night too now. That's proving very popular. I want to call it Nothing With A Face Night but have been forbidden. Anyone know of a good Vegan wine that doesn't make your teeth disintegrate? We've found a shockingly good vegan stout but you can't please everyone. The next one is on August 24th if you fancy it. </div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiySlyF-6iYs8VQ705e-PNBwjbBWWtAQnan4f2p0DZRnx6atjxFiO1dIbilHMHE4YUYMJCGOfIwVWrQzJqgKVIipxXVspDL_BMYXWnHXdED-bcS3JjPQEx1YhJfIynuvd_aTzYogAL5uY/s1600/13873236_10154395303466468_8600684534584504146_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiySlyF-6iYs8VQ705e-PNBwjbBWWtAQnan4f2p0DZRnx6atjxFiO1dIbilHMHE4YUYMJCGOfIwVWrQzJqgKVIipxXVspDL_BMYXWnHXdED-bcS3JjPQEx1YhJfIynuvd_aTzYogAL5uY/s320/13873236_10154395303466468_8600684534584504146_n.jpg" width="180" /></a>The more I learn about
this job the less I know. There's nothing fundamental I'd
change though. I wouldn't want to work with anyone but the people I do and
when things get overwhelming I have a nap and everything look much
more manageable. It never ends, its a constant rolling ball of
madness and incomplete lists and cake and orders and people, a
breakages and christmas bookings (yes really) and ceramic ducks and locals and days and weeks and
sun and rain (both equally bemoaned). It's life. It's a community. And as my mum says: You
just take it in your stride darling.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
PS Do you like our little ad? Ali was FYYYURIOUS that I used the picture of her with all the cake and wine. Oh how we laughed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-80737278278300965222016-05-10T05:42:00.002-07:002016-05-10T05:42:58.121-07:00The Corner House Bell Curve<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I first started as
manager at The Corner House I asked the owner what the difference
between gross and net profit was.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No, really, I did.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Everything froze for a
moment, the birds stopped singing in the trees, the coffee machine
ground to a halt. To her credit she merely stared unblinkingly at me
for a fraction of time (whilst she wildly calculated the risk she'd
taken) before launching in to a 'Finance for Idiots' explanation:
“Imagine you have a hundred pounds...”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Larabelle, my
predecessor and educator, has fielded so many mind numbingly stupid
questions from me its a wonder I haven't found her rocking in a
corner. She sometimes draws pictures to explain things to me. And she
does this on whatsapp whilst dandling a baby on her knee. The Corner
House was her baby until she had an actual baby and she has bit by
bit handed me the reins with great grace and kindness.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Everyone I work with in
one way or another has had to teach me something they probably didn't
think they'd have to teach me.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Ali. ALI! How do I
get someone to come and look at this beer thingy that doesn't work?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“You see that number
on the wall right next to the beer barrel?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Uhuh.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdZmXPoEGvUynzZCmsOrXUGLxgVlGKtgb_PgMu4lZe_Mcz7r20sGk3DLyZGsYV2Tuwjqzr971w-LC7u0shyphenhyphen96jc514zi174ykIcdjQnrmSa1dW-svrDdSKbJreJHd3u8SO4zpxQLqz3k/s1600/13087326_10154166576921468_1287241606246520025_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmdZmXPoEGvUynzZCmsOrXUGLxgVlGKtgb_PgMu4lZe_Mcz7r20sGk3DLyZGsYV2Tuwjqzr971w-LC7u0shyphenhyphen96jc514zi174ykIcdjQnrmSa1dW-svrDdSKbJreJHd3u8SO4zpxQLqz3k/s320/13087326_10154166576921468_1287241606246520025_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>“Call that number and
ask them to send someone.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Okay. And will they
know what I'm talking about?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Yes. Just say you're
calling from the – I'll do it.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Okay great! Thanks.
Busy busy!”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I shuffle some papers.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Ali. ALI! We need
bin liners and -”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I do that order on
Fridays.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Right. Well there's
hardly any Twisted Nose Gin left -”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I've ordered some
already.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Okay, good, great.
Good job everyone, keep it up.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
During one of my early
meetings with the owner she gave me some golden advice:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“The secret to good
management is surrounding yourself with people who are better at
something than you and then letting them crack on with it.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Never let it be said
that I don't listen.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But I am learning
things. And I'm better at my job now than I was three months ago. The
first time I had to arrange for a man from Dyno-rod to come I was so
amazed that he actually showed up and fixed things I embraced him
like a long lost friend and kissed him on both cheeks. I'm told this
is unnecessary. But then on the two subsequent visits he's made he's
always greeted me with a bear hug and a 'two sugars just a dash of
milk sweetheart.' I feel like we're old friends now. His name's Rob
and he and his wife are in Majorca at the moment so I'm not allowed
to call him.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the words of Blanche
Dubois: 'I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers.'
Though I think she was largely talking about sex. And that's really
frowned upon in a managerial capacity. <i>Never </i>let it be said
that I don't listen.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKJ2hU4MUT32h421apweKq43TZF8I1mrGG7xV5dLU5zA-idQq5yDmPaXt4O2RvIjsQQPP3V4iW0H_eDuJNogKE72pP3-xlgiawceZDnUGKAJAap9zLa-XmW3pM2tmxaIHQTFHWxpgVMU0/s1600/13165968_10154192892306468_3360027241862579712_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKJ2hU4MUT32h421apweKq43TZF8I1mrGG7xV5dLU5zA-idQq5yDmPaXt4O2RvIjsQQPP3V4iW0H_eDuJNogKE72pP3-xlgiawceZDnUGKAJAap9zLa-XmW3pM2tmxaIHQTFHWxpgVMU0/s320/13165968_10154192892306468_3360027241862579712_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>The place is starting
to feel like mine. As do the staff. They are mine. And if one of them
leaves me for any reason at all (Damn you Karon and your glowing baby
growing betrayal!) I will take it in much the same vein as I would
being dumped. Three of my girls used to work with me at my last job
and I brought them with me as a sort of security blanket. There's
Janna who handles all my ailments with the stock phrase “Here,
drink some water.” There's Sam who can answer most questions with
“Yup, did it already.” Sophie who does one shift a week is
basically a mum from the 1980's trapped in a 20 year old body
“Everything looks better with a bit of parsley on top.” And now
Ben has joined us. Ben and I worked together for a few years a while
back and we compliment each other in that </div>
everything I hate doing he
quite likes and vice versa. He is also growing a magnificent red
beard which you should really come and see. Laura is with us for a
while before going travelling and Hannah is back for a bit before
heading off to Canada. They are young and free to come and go but
Ali, Karon, Simon and Ben are not allowed to do that. I'm trying to
find a way of putting that in a blood signed contract.<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It would be remiss of
me not to mention the chefs at this point.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's this joke about
how all chefs are basically pyromaniacs with a knife fetish who work
in kitchens because its the only place their tourette's is considered
par for the course.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Our chefs are NOTHING
like that. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtsYJNxwild4KtUge6nwk-9kTSY7cTtvhLB_yI89LLFl25SrDr6sCvzigYbs9XHVvSoFRYq_mpy5CZszsXDQ4_-emVcSQi3pHOxfmjZ2psSfIHqHAtKn6Je6kS043nAkr2x8EvpGFaMM/s1600/12794482_10153985868246468_1284403203144279749_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMtsYJNxwild4KtUge6nwk-9kTSY7cTtvhLB_yI89LLFl25SrDr6sCvzigYbs9XHVvSoFRYq_mpy5CZszsXDQ4_-emVcSQi3pHOxfmjZ2psSfIHqHAtKn6Je6kS043nAkr2x8EvpGFaMM/s320/12794482_10153985868246468_1284403203144279749_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They skip in to work
every morning fresh as a daisy and rearing to go. They often wear
flowers in their hair and listen to Joni Mitchell whilst prepping.
They all drink nothing stronger than camomile and can be found
weeping in butchers shops. Show them a 14 hour day and they will show
you a heart giddy with anticipation.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've enjoyed writing
fiction from an early age.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Something you won't
know unless you've worked in a kitchen or its vicinity is that chefs
suffer the most physical ailments of anyone you'll ever meet. One
chef sleeps with breathing apparatus stuck to his face because for
the brief few hours he gets to be unconscious his body decides to try
and kill him. It thinks its doing him a favour. Don't get me started
on the varicose veins from constant standing, the burns, the scars,
the high blood pressure. They can move seamlessly from humour to a
towering rage and back again before you've had time to whisper
'Aneurism'. And no, being a chef does not mean that you eat
wonderful food all the time. They all eat like 14 year old boys.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That said, if you show
them a little appreciation, make them a coffee or take them a cold
beer at the end of a long shift they will always have your back. They
wear their hearts on their sleeves and care enormously about what
they produce and how. The Corner House uses local produce wherever
possible. They're passionate about cooking, all of them. If you ever
meet an indifferent chef he won't be a chef for long. The positive
feedback from a table means a lot. You know how it is when you're
throwing a dinner party for say eight people and you're fretting
that your soufflé won't rise? Now imagine there are between forty
and eighty coming for dinner and a few people you weren't expecting
might rock up too. And some of them have deathly allergies. It's
important to love your chef. There's no magic in that room at the
back. Just a lot of hard work, heat, and a stunning amount of
preparation.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Over two decades of
working in this environment on and off I've watched gangly
monosyllabic kitchen porters become confident talented chefs. You
have to learn to be disciplined, take criticism and praise (both can
be equally hard) and be part of a team.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They always play tricks
on the new kitchen porters. Always. You will have heard about those.
Doe eyed kids being sent off to find glass hammers, tartan paint,
salmon feet, or walking down to the hardware shop to ask for a 'long
wait'.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They're a bit tribal
really. The nature of the job means they often spend more time with
each other than they do their families.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Corner House is
small by restaurant standards but it produces a vast array of
different dishes and all of our menus; breakfast, lunch and dinner
cater generously for the gluten intolerant and those that prefer not
to eat anything that once had a face.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
On the 18<sup>th</sup>
we're having our first pop up vegan and vegetarian night and the
bookings are flowing in.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhFqUbEfczAMIfF_X5_V-D_LBEXxCTXIV-ClgH4PwYWrqEir29g-qVEmSnNNYwic4d9QXr9JXrgGA4Lo5oiw2VnfFE-pBRNdIcr6I296t8yn0ppjWSeZ48wDOjihlLgqg5rcVtUSRACs/s1600/13220819_10154192893621468_4836875889970810574_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhFqUbEfczAMIfF_X5_V-D_LBEXxCTXIV-ClgH4PwYWrqEir29g-qVEmSnNNYwic4d9QXr9JXrgGA4Lo5oiw2VnfFE-pBRNdIcr6I296t8yn0ppjWSeZ48wDOjihlLgqg5rcVtUSRACs/s320/13220819_10154192893621468_4836875889970810574_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Tuesday's Acoustic
night is slowly finding its feet too. Charlotte was magnificent with her sax and Alex continues to make us swoon a bit with his pirate good looks and covers of Jolene.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've been sticking posters up
around town and handing out flyers but I find asking a guest face to
face if they'll pop in one night works best. Usually whilst holding
their plate a food just out of reach and staring at them balefully.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
People think of us in
terms of food and I want them to know we're a bar too. We have an
array of bottles that would give the most hardened of drinkers pause.
I've been cataloguing our spirits. There's stuff I've never heard of.
One chocolate liqueur called 'Mozart' baffles me. I tried it and its
really nice. Trying everything is a very very important part of my
job. At the moment I'm suggesting it as a shot or something to pour
over ice cream as a boozy dessert. Unless you have any better ideas?
Simon and I are compiling a list of cocktails. He's already done a
few and he's laminated them so he means business. He has been quietly
biding his time by the coffee machine waiting for someone to let him
off the leash and have at it. He <i>loves</i> the cocktails and he's
really good at them. They'll be on the menu next week so you should
really pop in and try one. Because y'know, we're a bar too.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A few weeks ago the
owner printed off a ten foot X reading from the till and told me to
study it as it would really help me understand what we we sell, how
much, what that means etc.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After a particularly
long day I took some scissors to it and made one of those banners of
paper men holding hands. I then strung it up and took a picture of it
which I sent to her saying “I really feel like I'm getting my head
around these figures.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She texted back: “We
need to talk.”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Probably about how
hilarious I am and that humour is a perfectly good substitute for
business acumen.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Everything is going to
be just fine. Every new job comes with a learning curve and so what
if that curve is more of a bell curve? I now know the difference
between gross and net profit. It's 20%. Right? I'm fine. This is
fine.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fine.</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-8385435260346602542016-04-21T03:15:00.003-07:002016-04-21T03:15:45.827-07:00Hi I'm the Manager...no, really.<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've
been the Manager at The Corner House for almost four months now and
no one has asked me to leave yet.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">When
friends come to see where I work they comment on how very 'me' the
place is and I know what they mean. If I had the doors taken up I
could probably wear it as a coat.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's
often described as 'shabby chic' an expression I don't much like.
It's like telling an overweight woman she has a really pretty face.
I'm allowed to say that because I was on the receiving end of it for
twenty years. I don't think its shabby at all. Nor do I think its
chic. It would be more accurate to describe it as; 'Pleasantly
eccentric with a tongue in cheek approach to décor and a steely eyed
determination to make every singe visitor feel as though they've
stepped through the front door of a much loved but rarely seen
friends house. Who has a lot of booze. And some nice cakes.' It just
doesn't trip off the tongue like 'shabby chic' does it.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">When
I first got the job I imagined myself plumping the cushions and
throwing the curtains wide. I'd always have on red lipstick and exist
in a Darling Buds Of May halcyon dream of gin and cake and charming
sun dappled afternoons.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">The
scales continue to throw themselves lemming like from my eyes.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes,
the building has charm. It's a crooked house with beer mats keeping
the tables from wobbling and unusual artefacts dotted around, the
usage of which in some cases is still an arcane mystery. (There are
these wooden roundish blocks that a customer recently informed us
were the bit milliners used to shape the hats they made. Live and
learn live and learn)</span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6GGEPB_ujvFrMfI2MW2fVeJ1RlYTrtmT3LN7Wz0q1vR_I3pBvDa1DvxTjTAgXemQLsZmvUk4PI7loS97y21VkdbVod6LIKO2LUiZs87M7gkeB938q6djilsndpuxLyvNghn6yn96RYI/s1600/DSC05911+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6GGEPB_ujvFrMfI2MW2fVeJ1RlYTrtmT3LN7Wz0q1vR_I3pBvDa1DvxTjTAgXemQLsZmvUk4PI7loS97y21VkdbVod6LIKO2LUiZs87M7gkeB938q6djilsndpuxLyvNghn6yn96RYI/s320/DSC05911+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">But
what holds it together, what makes it inexplicably magical, is its
staff. Sone of whom have been here for decades as far as I can make
out. I suspect Alison may have laid the first brick. And she would
have done so with great but stretched patience (this is a metaphor
for how she deals with me). Without them I would be a wild eyed Miss
Havisham staggering around the place pouring ribena from a tea pot
and begging people not to disturb the dust.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Please
don't tell them this as I'm trying to create an illusion of utter
capability whilst keeping them on a knife edge of terror. With mixed
results. The mission is occasionally knocked off course when I throw
my arms around one of them and beg them never ever not never to leave
me. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Karon
(no that's not a spelling error) has of course gone and ruined
everything. She has very inconveniently decided to grow a baby. I
can't be certain of the ins and outs of it but knowing Karon it'll
probably arrive in a three piece suit with not a hair out of place.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Karon
makes everything look right. That's her job. No one that works here
is just a waitress or a bar person. I can spend hours lighting
candles, polishing tables and rearranging cushions only to have Karon
stroll in, cast her eye across the devastation, move one table a
quarter of an inch and transform the place in to a cosy paradise.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's
INFURIATING.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinYoYn2zBOmMUYh5Gn_e2-PmzuvjIL-oSPKcgxCodYkeC_jDbBcvUcIfcyZz7bcoMNaHsO9H6X_HvdGCESi8ICqDaQ-2plXcqtaTqr4JAZFs5SXxc5Qoy9hJ4x6dCYryhT-bM8pWIqzXU/s1600/GetAttachment.aspx.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinYoYn2zBOmMUYh5Gn_e2-PmzuvjIL-oSPKcgxCodYkeC_jDbBcvUcIfcyZz7bcoMNaHsO9H6X_HvdGCESi8ICqDaQ-2plXcqtaTqr4JAZFs5SXxc5Qoy9hJ4x6dCYryhT-bM8pWIqzXU/s400/GetAttachment.aspx.jpeg" /></a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">She's
tiny. The size of a rice crispy with bright blue eyes and a cheeky
little bob. When I ask her what's going on with her tables during a
busy service I expect her to say: Table 2 is on mains, 7 on desserts
etc. What she actually says is: Table 2 just met their first
grandson, his name's Henry and he's 6 pounds. They really like
daffodils and he's got a gippy leg as a result of cycling incident in
1976.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">INFURIATING.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">And
then there's Ali. Ali can carry 27 plates whilst chatting about her
puppy and operating the coffee machine with her left foot. She makes
the inventor of multi tasking look like a rank amateur. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Interestingly
I knew ALL about her puppy and its proclivities for several months
before she even mentioned she had kids. In the words of the great
late Victoria Wood:</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Did
you ever love us Mummy?</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">-I
didn't know what love was until I bred my first Afghan.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIo7c74P0qKRO8X0nN10wX-eBiOpDFRt3_L7GB-O7fGZkfFUj39t1W5iJJGNbGSr2L2ZqVppgpaIv1e92kgqO2veszBTQvIBc5xo4MiN-2aGpGLxS3axHbH70jWPwrEmERrMSEk3jySsc/s1600/12729208_10153970162461468_9014846960858991135_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIo7c74P0qKRO8X0nN10wX-eBiOpDFRt3_L7GB-O7fGZkfFUj39t1W5iJJGNbGSr2L2ZqVppgpaIv1e92kgqO2veszBTQvIBc5xo4MiN-2aGpGLxS3axHbH70jWPwrEmERrMSEk3jySsc/s320/12729208_10153970162461468_9014846960858991135_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I
jest. She's really fond of her kids. </span></span></span></span><span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Really</i></span></span></span><span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">
fond. I just suspect she'd prefer them with a shiny coat and a wet
nose.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ali
orders everything. To maintain an illusion of control I text her
weekly on her days off and check very officiously that she has
remembered to order toilet roll or cake or coffee beans. She rarely
responds.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">She
has the look of chaotic capability about her until you take pause and
really examine her features. She has the kind of classically high
cheekbones you can eventually cut your wrists on when she hands her
notice in.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Simon.
Ah, Simon. It's pronounced Simmon by the way. It's because he's from
Chile. I sometimes speak Spanish to him with a heavily accented
Mexican inflection which really makes us laugh. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeDq4gCIAom0AtsKtY7AvNVIhuYlcXieBXi3_aamFPCBopnydMj1xgXQuq3qn41hnKUAtaHdPiUhyphenhyphenVYxIEkr-ag1hpSoLVTtmrRspMbJoApg98GQ15EAdBQbQjikrQH1QZZQETVpzQc64/s1600/DSC05889.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeDq4gCIAom0AtsKtY7AvNVIhuYlcXieBXi3_aamFPCBopnydMj1xgXQuq3qn41hnKUAtaHdPiUhyphenhyphenVYxIEkr-ag1hpSoLVTtmrRspMbJoApg98GQ15EAdBQbQjikrQH1QZZQETVpzQc64/s320/DSC05889.jpg" width="212" /></a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">He
laughs on the inside. It's a Chilean thing.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: 'Plantagenet Cherokee'; font-size: 13pt;">Simon
works the bar diligently and when anyone thanks him for anything he
always says 'you're welcome' in a way that leaves a lot of room for
flirting.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">These
are the longest serving staff at The Corner House. There's a fair few
more that I'll tell you about next time. And the regulars of course.
And then there's the chefs, some of whom haven't seen daylight for 27
years. That's a blog all it's own. </span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyx15wqWLJy5xFXJTju4NGJSdupVRKBRsju5OIh7zPb6teRl9rqb7XzvR_WLI4LF50nVXd6tM84YmQ1eSp7684ES0Ho2lZHyBpj_3KsuNDJnTqC0UamhoQ1ONU04q5b6goxyYy6gFOj4/s1600/12654312_10153928201496468_6509913938208020135_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyx15wqWLJy5xFXJTju4NGJSdupVRKBRsju5OIh7zPb6teRl9rqb7XzvR_WLI4LF50nVXd6tM84YmQ1eSp7684ES0Ho2lZHyBpj_3KsuNDJnTqC0UamhoQ1ONU04q5b6goxyYy6gFOj4/s320/12654312_10153928201496468_6509913938208020135_n.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">But
in the mean time you should probably come and have a look for
yourself. And if you're not a cake sort of person we do have a really
substantial arsenal of hard liquor that you just don't seem to be
taking advantage of as much as you should.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Why
don't you come Tuesday next week? I just picked that day randomly. If
you can't THAT'S FINE. I'm really busy actually.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh,
hang on. How silly of me. We have a live music night on Tuesdays.
There's this really beautiful young woman called Charlotte who'll be
playing the saxophone for a bit whilst we serve lovely wines and
cheese boards. It's a very casual affair at the Corner House that
could at a push be described as 'Pleasantly eccentric with a tongue
in cheek approach to décor and a steely eyed determination to make
every singe visitor feel as though they've stepped through the front
door of a much loved but rarely seen friends house. Who has a lot of
booze. And some nice cakes.'</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><span style="font-family: Plantagenet Cherokee;"><span style="font-size: small;">Or
shabby chic. Whatever.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-41952252817569106172016-03-22T02:06:00.002-07:002016-04-24T02:02:16.890-07:00The Coven<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Every Monday and
Thursday I listen for the phone long after I know it won't ring. And
even if it did I would not hear it. But those were the days you
called me, before my hearing went. I think of you every day.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A German man called
Meinhart sends me this message in a whatsapp. These are not
Meinhart's feelings, they are my Grandmother's; Mutti.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We've been pen pals
since I was four. She always lived abroad, adventurous and clever
like a witch. When I was very small her letters would rhyme and she
would decorate them with stickers. Over the years they changed shape
and form but always came with a small gold sticker on the back with
her address printed on it, a tiny palm tree etched on the side.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A few years ago her
sight started to go and the font on my letters became bigger and
bigger until every page had about seven words on it and was as thick
as a phone book. Her writing which had always been so distinctive
became scratchy and hard to decipher.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We'd always spoken on
the phone from time to time. Usually when I was drunk late at night
and decided that whatever friend I was with simply HAD to speak to my
Mutti. And she'd always laugh, sit up in bed and be terribly witty in
her beautifully modulated (think Judi Dench) voice.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And then more recently
her hearing started to go.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'How are you Mutti
darling?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'SO fucking old!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'But you're immortal,
yes? We agreed.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Ha! Maybe. I think
you're a premature reincarnation of me.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My calls became louder
and louder until I would be screaming down the phone and she still
couldn't hear. She would become distressed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And so now a German man
called Meinhart, a physiotherapist who goes round twice a month and
gives her a massage (because frankly when you get to 99 years of age
a massage is a divine right), sits next to her on the sofa and
bellows my emails in to her left ear. She then dictates a response
which he sends to me. It always amuses me to think of polite reserved
Meinhart typing “Dearest Darling” to me on his phone.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Because of the timing
the messages often come when I'm in the middle of a busy service at
work. I'll see his name come up always assume it's him writing to me
with news of her health and then I'll see the first sentence;
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“My darling. I doubt
I'll see you in the flesh again but I have so many happy memories...”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I stroll in to the
toilets, sit in a cubicle and cry. I send a rushed message back
“Don't say that. I'm always with you. I love you.” I blow my
nose, put on my glasses which are a great disguise, walk in to the
restaurant and pretend that I am a grown up and everything is within
my control.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The women in my family
are all without exception fabulous. And each one as different and
unique as a snowflake.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My mum is small and
foreign and if you cut her down the centre you'd see the rings of an
oak with the word 'mother' written over and over again in ever
decreasing circles. She is strong and stubborn and will feed anyone
that gets within a twenty yard radius of her. My cousin Hester has
memories of being a child and coming round to our house.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It would always smell
of something delicious cooking and your mum would be in the kitchen,
impossibly glamorous and sexy, like a tiny Sophia Loren, in very high
heels.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My mum is cups of tea
and the smell of Chanel. Cigarette smoke and a raised eyebrow that
could instil terror in child and adult alike. She's an accent that
won't go despite sixty years in this country. We all imitate her
badly. She says 'Darlink' instead of 'Darling'. She has stared down
cancer twice and never took as much as a paracetamol after the
mastectomy. She can move fridge freezers twice her size and she heals
like its some kind of mild super power. She has green fingers and
everything within her purview flourishes, including her children and
grandchildren.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She is kind but without
sentimentality and I have never known her to suffer with depression
though there were times she had good cause. She is my mother.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My sister has mum's
fierceness, her protective instincts. I sometimes fear that she'll
happen to someone who has unwittingly upset one of her kids, or me,
or mum, or anyone she has unexpectedly taken a liking to. She can be
prickly on the outside but she is soft hearted and though she has
literally the least patience of anyone I've ever known, she is wildly
empathic. Her sense of humour borders on the vicious and when she
really laughs she stops breathing. If you try to hug her you might
get punched but she'd almost certainly buy you a piece of cake
afterwards. She is not a people person though she hides it very well.
I have seen her sarcasm silence the boldest of opponents and I have
seen her inconsolable at the death of a hamster. She is my sister.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And she gave me two
incredible nieces (two glorious nephews too but this blog is called
The Coven for a reason).
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's the first born
who at twenty five is by far the more emotionally mature of the two
of us. She watches Buffy with me when the real world becomes a bit
overwhelming, she has me saved in her phone as The Dude and whenever
I'm feeling insubstantial she tells me I'm the prize.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You're the prize dude.
Prize comma The.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She is the shyest in
the family and quietly the funniest. I remember things she's said
weeks later and burst out laughing. We have in jokes that no one else
in the world would understand but can leave us helpless. She is solid
and rational in a way that I have never been and she keeps me sane.
She has endless patience, she's practical, she's kind, generous,
loyal and she can plot a revenge with the dead eyed calm of a
psychopath. She is the least selfish person I know. She's strikingly
beautiful. She is my niece.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The second born is more
like me. More like me than I am actually. Her heart seems to be on
the outside of her body. She'll cry because she's tired or a bit cold
or because, well, she doesn't know why, she's just a bit emotional
right now. She's romantic and utterly lead by her heart. She loves to
be in love and she is happiest at home, curled up with a book or in
the arms of the person she has chosen to love. Like first born she is
strikingly beautiful, though they don't look anything alike. She
likes a nap and will happily take to her bed at any time for a few
hours. She's really good for relationship advice because at twenty
three she has had <b>significantly</b> more long term relationships
than me. Beneath that soft slightly ethereal appearance she
understands some things about life. She is my niece.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have them all on a
group text on my phone entitled 'The Coven.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Since I lost weight I
find it hard to buy clothes. I still pick up stuff that's two or
three sizes too big. Or I'll get something that fits but have no idea
what I look like in it. I stand in the cubicle and take a picture of
myself in some concoction and send it with “Coven Assemble”.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Within minutes they are
all giving their opinion;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I like it.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Do they have another
colour?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What size is that?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And twenty minutes
later when my mum has finally single digit replied;</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes darlink very nice
xx'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I recently bought my
first proper handbag which caused about 60 texts of mirth.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Finally!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Nice teal colour.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'How much was it?'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Sixty quid!'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Haha! Oh Thea, you
rank amateur.'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'whatzzhe oh
bloody,,,stupid ting'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'HAHAHAHAHA'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Aw leave nan alone
she's trying'</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
These women are the
fabric of my life. My lighthouse, the thing that keeps me tethered
and makes me loved and loveable. They fit around me perfectly,
sometimes an audience to my performance and sometimes the fortress
that keeps out the world.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She is my grandmother.
She is my mother. She is my sister. She is my niece. She is my niece.
They are my coven.</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-25535859199165456242015-08-16T06:43:00.000-07:002015-08-17T04:30:23.487-07:00Actual Size <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNjreVyxbO_uKeEGRkMrAKaihVCSvLzEIBetnTPpu5qUiCcUobJdbopKQ642ho3PZul_SAZne991iwVNfqrpqWenjFKwHB7JSTtMFaugHPF48TVGnkGJjgxarV089x1QWso92CdRDB1U/s1600/11846787_10153568200356468_5063950995477780084_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfNjreVyxbO_uKeEGRkMrAKaihVCSvLzEIBetnTPpu5qUiCcUobJdbopKQ642ho3PZul_SAZne991iwVNfqrpqWenjFKwHB7JSTtMFaugHPF48TVGnkGJjgxarV089x1QWso92CdRDB1U/s640/11846787_10153568200356468_5063950995477780084_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mackay, Me, Jay, David, Sally, Sally's tit, Dillie, Hatchet faced mermaids</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.21c</style>I have just arrived
in Edinburgh and am sat in the vast kitchen of the house on Albany
street that </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
David, Mackay, Jay and Spud the dog have taken residence
of for the month of August.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
David is telling me
about a show they'd been to see the previous night.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'There's this man
moving about mid air and he has the most perfect body – and no
tattoos which we thought made it even better really. The woman next
to us is screaming her appreciation and we're all very impressed -
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You were screaming
too,' Mackay interjects.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I was just joining
in,' David mutters. 'He really is quite godlike. And then the other
performers join him on stage and we collectively pause. He's about
four foot tall. I hear the woman next to me say 'Oh.''</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They show me the
flyer and point out the tiny perfect specimen. Over the course of the
next couple of days a note is stuck under the image with the words
'Actual Size'.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's hot and sunny
in Edinburgh and everyone's suspicious. Based on last years
experience I'd packed a winter wardrobe. No one really trusts that
this weather will last and so we broadly ignore it and continue to
wear our coats certain that it will rain at any moment.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzR2EIvoSicj2cu-nrjR7OWqIQ_fc6miF4xDzu1GBjFZ3CGsVvvMpwxtN5GjAfKgzdb-erKQ-nK5C4rjDDR88Vz9Y52LKYC5hF8Vul6CzglrQjqlEyL8U0csxwPdLwpKDg-ilqdBUoBD0/s1600/11229898_10153571609871468_3892492721251450001_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzR2EIvoSicj2cu-nrjR7OWqIQ_fc6miF4xDzu1GBjFZ3CGsVvvMpwxtN5GjAfKgzdb-erKQ-nK5C4rjDDR88Vz9Y52LKYC5hF8Vul6CzglrQjqlEyL8U0csxwPdLwpKDg-ilqdBUoBD0/s320/11229898_10153571609871468_3892492721251450001_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mackay and Jay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
They have a number
of guests who pop up for a few days here and there over the festival
and in addition to me they currently have Jane Beese staying. I've
met her a few times in passing over the years but this is really the
first time we've ever spoken properly. She is a constant vision
entirely clad in black (I don't know why but the black she wears is
somehow blacker than usual blacks. Raven like.) Her lips are red and
a vogue cocktail cigarette is elegantly draped in her fingers. Whilst
clearly a very successful woman with an impressive career Jane's sole
responsibility whilst visiting is to make a full cooked breakfast for
everyone, every morning. She does so gracefully whilst sipping tea
and frying individual eggs in a tiny one egg frying pan which she so
loves that Jay actually makes a trip to Peter Jones to buy her one of
her very own. Jay isn't as loud and dramatic as the rest of us. He
quietly observes the madness and </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
is a sort of behind the scenes angel
who keeps everything in the house running smoothly with constant
trips to the shop for more tobacco, bacon and anything else anyone
mentions even in passing. I spend a bit of time alone with him
chatting and discover he's very funny and has a sort of light in him
that makes you feel good just to be around. <br />
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The only chink in
the house is the wifi which is running at dial up speed and
intermittently sends David in to a giddy fit of rage. He holds court
in the kitchen anchored behind his computer with an overflowing
ashtray and a cup of tea or a screw driver that we have renamed The
Jab - Johnson's All day Breakfast. He works, plays us music, chats
and smokes whilst Mackay leans against the counter sipping coffee and
making arid comments. We're a happy little group.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKgu_bHLGgOLhFEVnjV4XCUwrrdAKLsGMZxmQeUx08ZQS8xh5A8k9x5FlyZqK0iztcQQVyqu3GKbe43DdJ9CTiDNGcgjN0lh1Z327_RItj95W7zK2hKq5LHLvYTs1F711Be6As9QLo1c/s1600/11855758_10153580948401468_1714724419184337208_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKgu_bHLGgOLhFEVnjV4XCUwrrdAKLsGMZxmQeUx08ZQS8xh5A8k9x5FlyZqK0iztcQQVyqu3GKbe43DdJ9CTiDNGcgjN0lh1Z327_RItj95W7zK2hKq5LHLvYTs1F711Be6As9QLo1c/s320/11855758_10153580948401468_1714724419184337208_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jay and a dog that isn't Spud</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After a couple of
hours of catch up Mackay whisks me off to see Dillie Keane perform in
The Cow. I hear her before I see her, she has the most recognisable
voice. We go over to say hello and there's a quick hug and a 'drink
later?' before I find a seat and watch the audience file in. I like
that bit between pre show final checks and curtain up. Everything
transforms in an instant and you're cocooned in the world that's been
created for you for an hour or so. That's where the magic is. Dillie
moves seamlessly from funny to tragic and back again. She sings a
song towards the end about people of a certain age attempting
adventurous sex and I see couples nudging each other in the audience
“You do that.” She is performing without the rest of Fascinating
Aida this year but she mentions them frequently and it feels as
though Adele is with her watching the proceedings. Her accompanist,
Gulliver, compliments her. He's posh and sweet and sings wistfully
about the benefits of being a lesbian.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As soon as it
finishes David is there telling me to hurry up if I need the loo
because the next show is starting in minutes. We go in to The Box, a
tiny space, to watch Alfie Brown do stand up. It's an intimate space
and I spend the first five minutes sat rigidly with my bag clutched
in front of me like a barrier but he's funny and charming and I soon
forget how close he is and just enjoy his clever set.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We all head to The
Abattoir for drinks afterwards. I've been given a pass to get in to
these places. Well, actually it's the dogs pass as evidenced by the
rather smart photo of him on it. I wave it at the man on the door and
he stops me.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That's Spud.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We're here
together.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I see.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I say we're here
together but he has been completely ignoring me since I arrived.
Until the third day when he starts licking my neck which I take as
affection but turns out to be the most cursory foreplay before he
tries to violently stick his penis in my ear. You get what you can.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm aware that I
have a very blinkered view of the Fringe. People pore over the
program, queue for tickets, look for a free space anywhere to sit and
eat their wraps and drink their pints. I only go to see the shows
David and Mackay are producing. I see them free of charge. I'm driven
from place to place. I don't queue and I get to drink in the cordoned
off little enclave set aside for artists and professionals. And that
is absolutely fine by me. David and Mackay are so good at spoiling
you that you quickly forget how privileged the position is and become
vaguely shocked that your bed hasn't been made by some invisible
force whilst you were out having fun. This is why I'm not allowed to
have nice things all the time. I'm fairly certain I'd become a despot
within weeks. I text my mother:</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Everything is
splendid. I have my own room and a very comfy bed.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She texts back:</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“That's good. Pity
no men to share it. Ha. Ha. Ha.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I tell the others
and they talk (a little too earnestly) about the possibility of
getting mum up next year to do a show.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Have you and your
mum watched Grey Gardens together yet?' Mackay asks.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Fuck off.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's my birthday the
day after I arrive and despite my phone being broken I somehow
receive an email from 'Weight loss surgery support' wishing me a
Happy Birthday! This is followed quickly by another from 'Pre
arranged Funeral Insurance.' I'm not feeling too celebratory by the
time I roll down for breakfast (Pot of tea, 15 fags).
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No one up here knows
it's my birthday which I don't mind at all because, let's face it,
they flew me up here and treat me like a queen. I'm already having
the best birthday by virtue of location and company and I don't want
for anything. Except possibly a martini at some point during the day.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But David finds out
via Facebook pretty quickly, tells me I'm naughty and after a brief
discussion with Mackay books us all a table at Ondine for supper.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I tell Mackay I feel
a bit guilty about all this expense on my account to which he
responds:</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Don't be a cunt.
David loves any excuse for a celebration.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Dinner is perfect.
We have a private dining room and are joined by Jane, Dillie and
Sally who is Stewart Lee's PR. I get my martini and am levitating
with happiness. Dessert arrives and there are candles and Happy
Birthday is sung.
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEV5ldMkTrAmIW7FP-LlBirpb8aybPQgUssYw6OIbkTue05whp25cv1btU6TiVIHDxcSWu6Xzz8vqdcmTdHRi8udWZu3RSf4Nr5yCK8QLgYvKCN58-R-19P1WnZPW410EkNDSXILGQ78/s1600/11822848_10153568171896468_3426101519817354794_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEV5ldMkTrAmIW7FP-LlBirpb8aybPQgUssYw6OIbkTue05whp25cv1btU6TiVIHDxcSWu6Xzz8vqdcmTdHRi8udWZu3RSf4Nr5yCK8QLgYvKCN58-R-19P1WnZPW410EkNDSXILGQ78/s320/11822848_10153568171896468_3426101519817354794_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday dinner</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have a strange
little moment when I remember finding a Fascinating Aida CD in the
library aged about 14. I took it home and learned all the lyrics to
Dillie and Adele's songs which I can still recall instantly. And here
I am at 41 being sung Happy Birthday to by a group of lovely people
including Dillie. 14. 41. Ha. I think I actually grab Dillie's arm
and sing part of 'Saturday Night' which she tolerates graciously.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As we leave we
notice a criminal piece of art on the wall. A huge and terrible
painting of some very skinny mermaids thrusting their breasts out
whilst staring at us with hatchet faces. We pose beneath it for a
photo and it isn't until later when I upload it on to Facebook that I
notice Sally has whipped out a tit in protest. It quickly spreads
like wildfire on Facebook. Sally calls the following morning and
speaks to Mackay.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'She says she took
her tit out on the understanding that this was a private joke to be
shared amongst intimate friends,' Mackay conveys.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Tell her Graham
Norton 'liked' it,' David says.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Mackay tells her and
there's a seconds pause before he confirms:</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'She says it's fine.
Leave it up.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXf62rPBAMoTg5OrC269M3q03SdyalvWVFeuc7fKUUnkDjuORzyFcwZg_uGaYFSNVDqnZcOA6zrX3G5eJY-t5DSMiMKF0erUykb18HiBptVqyYCa8SRbS71ItgDT0jYtdROhJ5eYWKrQw/s1600/11143234_10153570121946468_1764498751401359731_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXf62rPBAMoTg5OrC269M3q03SdyalvWVFeuc7fKUUnkDjuORzyFcwZg_uGaYFSNVDqnZcOA6zrX3G5eJY-t5DSMiMKF0erUykb18HiBptVqyYCa8SRbS71ItgDT0jYtdROhJ5eYWKrQw/s320/11143234_10153570121946468_1764498751401359731_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Mackay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The following day is
David's party celebrating 25 years at Edinburgh. His friend Fiona
hosts it at her house and we all dress up and make our way over to be
greeted by young men brandishing cold champagne. A rumour quickly
circulates that the hired chef is gorgeous and so in small groups we
make excursions to 'admire the garden' which is only accessible
through the kitchen. He is quite gorgeous but in a slightly 'actual
size' sort of way.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Jay and I are hiding
in the corner with an ashtray chatting when David sees us from across
the room and subtly screams: 'Get up and Mingle!'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We both shoot up
like Jack in the boxes and frantically throw ourselves at some
guests. I take lots of photos and chat to people and it's a fab
evening. About halfway through I notice most of the single women are
'admiring the garden' in a very blousy way.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
David makes a speech
in which he forgets to thank anyone he'd intended to thank but it's
good and fun and everyone whoops and claps and raises a glass to the joy
of it all.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The time, as always,
flies by too quickly and now Richard and James have announced they'll
be arriving the following day for a visit.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Change your
flight,' Mackay says.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You have to stay,'
David says. 'Jane is leaving and who the hell is going to make us
breakfast?'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The flight is
changed for the following day at great expense and I hear David say
drily to Mackay:</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Perhaps it's time
we got Thea her own Amex card...'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYu0hs6LSid_-JD3avEX0KeVdkmvnnddIenzud4HqQSPSesavZ4xTUSztoEFSQeEHovZQBwc4yFtJL92Cx11j8MPxPDbgENwunS8EeFdI5AHtrVEWNtprQ0X-Ce9Lk6GrcEds8foRUgdE/s1600/11902460_10153577773816468_5324403263156620784_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYu0hs6LSid_-JD3avEX0KeVdkmvnnddIenzud4HqQSPSesavZ4xTUSztoEFSQeEHovZQBwc4yFtJL92Cx11j8MPxPDbgENwunS8EeFdI5AHtrVEWNtprQ0X-Ce9Lk6GrcEds8foRUgdE/s320/11902460_10153577773816468_5324403263156620784_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard and David</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwY1-ETI5NgJ9tZ8cajarl0vo6gJU7QXHNtd0uCwwXYQRRXLB4MXQfp1Z3nWbId9hTLj97ohh6n41DVusuuXHTl8GbV7vTTswyfFQtZr7Mr7BeTm1ko1036VEat4CQManw80uDfgFoFlU/s1600/11216792_10153580947051468_8367071052042250748_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwY1-ETI5NgJ9tZ8cajarl0vo6gJU7QXHNtd0uCwwXYQRRXLB4MXQfp1Z3nWbId9hTLj97ohh6n41DVusuuXHTl8GbV7vTTswyfFQtZr7Mr7BeTm1ko1036VEat4CQManw80uDfgFoFlU/s320/11216792_10153580947051468_8367071052042250748_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mackay, Jay and Spud</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Richard and James
will arrive to a big lunch cooked by Jane. Whilst everyone is out
doing other things I run the hoover around and over David who spends
the entire time screaming 'Turn it off! Infernal noise! Bloody hell!'
The boys arrive and James immediately sets about fixing the wifi
whilst Jane cooks and we drink and exchange stories. Chicken is
eaten, champagne drunk and the afternoon glides by in a hazy
alcoholic blur of laughter. Mackay observes that I seem to have gay
men secreted everywhere who host and indulge me. In fact he and David
have been referring to me as: 'Around the world in 80 gays.'
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The day before I
leave Jay and Mackay take me and Spud for a walk up a lovely hill
with views of all of Edinburgh and Arthur's Seat. It's hot and sunny
and I'm so happy to still be there with them. Mackay knows a shocking
amount about the history of Edinburgh and points out castles and
streets and tells me about them.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJe3U3luAd12-QVDh1BcoAULkhdxO99gUUm0AYGQcY93UeBxOYlAcxWfQn7hC0awOEyT5HdNJA8BsPiOdS3wPLd0RqrbscyLxGELbeS65tSHTs19g2VPeQdlkceiA0LTYTDOPFgp_o9o/s1600/11050636_10153573130106468_6110276976497257643_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnJe3U3luAd12-QVDh1BcoAULkhdxO99gUUm0AYGQcY93UeBxOYlAcxWfQn7hC0awOEyT5HdNJA8BsPiOdS3wPLd0RqrbscyLxGELbeS65tSHTs19g2VPeQdlkceiA0LTYTDOPFgp_o9o/s320/11050636_10153573130106468_6110276976497257643_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard and James</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We head back and I
make breakfast for everyone. Richard who has been welcomed back in to
the arms of inebriation after two years dry had gotten phenomenally
drunk the previous evening and adopted an angry scotsman persona that
was luckily caught on film and played back to him as he morosely
tried to shovel bacon in to his mouth.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
All too soon it's
time to go home and I crawl to bed at 3am with an alarm on either
side of my head to wake me for the taxi 2 hours later. I haven't gone
to bed before 4am for the entire visit. Most people head off to bed
by two and then there's just David and me in the kitchen talking for
hours, listening to music, dancing with arms only, smoking endless
cigarettes and having one more Jab before bed as the sun rises.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'This is my
favourite bit,' I tell David.
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguB8VZVl501lymCf0GNeEg7_WI_h9azd0-nkzG2_opqRjCfsObl5F0CaH_vhxlTrYo1Vu9qp1HZ94Xaa7KdtuVcoy3hvcoR_FVjmifqN1uGI8yR2T43LHR8ciAXq0mytx5k2g1L2ZFuKE/s1600/11885291_10153569915571468_8130017190230991237_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguB8VZVl501lymCf0GNeEg7_WI_h9azd0-nkzG2_opqRjCfsObl5F0CaH_vhxlTrYo1Vu9qp1HZ94Xaa7KdtuVcoy3hvcoR_FVjmifqN1uGI8yR2T43LHR8ciAXq0mytx5k2g1L2ZFuKE/s400/11885291_10153569915571468_8130017190230991237_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Me too,' he smiles.
'Now listen to this...'</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-73058308598594647212015-05-05T06:32:00.003-07:002015-05-05T23:04:54.096-07:00Bast and Bertie's <style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; }</style>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I like your name. Love Sx'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That was the first of many emails I
would receive from Bast over the following two years.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I only met him a
handful of times but he was quite the gentleman of letters.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I had been helping
Richard on an opera he was writing about the life of Anna Nicole
Smith when my cousin called and invited me to an exhibition of Bast's
paintings in Soho.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'There'll be
lashings of Absinthe!' I'd never heard of him but she had me at
'lashings.'
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I enjoyed the
exhibition and I really enjoyed the steam punk contraption dribbling
green liquor through strategically placed sugar cubes in to small
glasses. But the real piece of art was Bast himself who arrived to
much fanfare wearing a red sequinned suit, black hair spiked up, tall
and very handsome. A crowd of people cocooned him and I watched at a
distance as he made his way through the room acknowledging everyone
individually with kindness and charm.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'He's a Dandy,' my
cousin said.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I didn't think they
existed anymore.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I never approached
and after we left my cousin told me he had written an autobiography
which had been recently published.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I think you two
would get along,' she said.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I bought a copy the
following day and saw that it had been signed by the author:</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm good between
the pages of this book but I'm even better between the sheets.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Apparently if you
can find a copy he hasn't signed it'll be worth an absolute fortune.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I devoured it in one
sitting. It was hilarious and disturbing in equal parts. His world
compared to mine was fearless and nihilistic. He painted, wrote, wore
only the finest bespoke clothing, spent an absolute fortune on
prostitutes, had an on off love affair with drugs and lived his life
philosophically as a Dandy.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I wrote to my
cousin: 'His life is fit for an opera.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She forwarded him
the email without my knowing and an hour or so later I received the
first of many brilliant letters from him. He was excited about the
idea of being an opera.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“T<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span lang="en-US">he
opera,” he wrote, “is when someone gets stabbed in the back and
instead of bleeding, he sings.” </span></span>
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And he liked my
name. I learned over time that he held a lot of stock in names. He
was very fond of his own and always addressed me without
abbreviation.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After a week or so
he invited me to his home in Soho for tea. Ostensibly to talk about
the opera.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I live on Meard
Street. Yes, Shit Street. Black bell. There's a sign on the door but
don't believe everything you read.”</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgtspiRnOgtQEG3NHZJw7nRJiR_SMDcW0UpvPEK1FAtdhs_3LTs-XJRWym6Iqj215XbHiZdnY2blpY399goFdrIdAiHRs70igNHaT1ME03OTMbHDx-zi5aD7629dGMf3n7DSLhJWwJVk/s1600/GetInline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLgtspiRnOgtQEG3NHZJw7nRJiR_SMDcW0UpvPEK1FAtdhs_3LTs-XJRWym6Iqj215XbHiZdnY2blpY399goFdrIdAiHRs70igNHaT1ME03OTMbHDx-zi5aD7629dGMf3n7DSLhJWwJVk/s1600/GetInline.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I knew from the book
that he loved sunflowers and Quentin Crisp. I owned a first edition
of Crisp's How To Become A Virgin and wrapped it in brown paper,
bought a bunch of sunflowers and made my way over at the appointed
time. <br />
Once I was actually stood on his doorstep I was suddenly
gripped with unease. His emails had never been less than utterly
charming but the contents of his life made him appear like a wolf,
someone dangerous to be alone with. I rang the bell. A moment later a
head appeared through an upstairs window wearing a gigantic black top
hat.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Do come up!' The
buzzer rang.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I walked in to find
him resplendent in a three piece suit. Behind him a wall of shelves
lined with human skulls, the floor beneath him covered neatly with
newspaper reviews of his book and other sundries.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What lovely
flowers!'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'They're for you.'
He had the grace to look pleasantly surprised, as though it wasn't
screamingly obvious. I handed him the book.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I thought you'd
like this.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He unwrapped it and
looked suddenly very moved.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'How absolutely
wonderful of you! You must sign it for me.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That was the thing
about Bast. He was clearly and always the brightest thing in the room
and yet he made you feel as though it was you that provided the
colour. You could judge him by the contents of his book but he did
himself a disservice really. I think it was impossible to meet him in
person and not love him. There are a million people I'm sure who were
closer to him, knew him far better than I but we all knew what it was
like to bask in his kindness. He was one of the few people I've met
who really listened to you.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The flat was tiny
but exquisitely decorated.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Would you like a
tour?'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I nodded toward the
skulls.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What's going on
there then?'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I collect them.
Only ones with holes in – gun shot, trepanning, that sort of
thing.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He took the flowers
in to his tiny kitchenette which looked as though it had never once
been used. The idea of him stirring a pan was ridiculous.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
His bedroom
contained a tiny antique looking double bed that was too short for
his tall figure.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I sleep at an
angle.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
On the bedside there
was a small revolver.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Is that loaded?'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes. I keep it
there because I'm a firm believer in safe sex.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He goes on to tell
me an hilarious anecdote in which he accidentally got shot with the
damn thing.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Pop it in a drawer
would you, its making me nervous.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He smiles and hides
it.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Shall we go out?'
He asks.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We step out in to
the sunny streets of soho and walk along to Madam Bertie's, a tea
shop he frequents. Tourists stare but everyone else seems to know him
and greet him affectionately. It's wonderful walking down the street
with Bast and I'm relieved I had the presence of mind to wear my
reddest lipstick.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As we sit ourselves
down outside Bertie's to wait for our tea I notice two American
tourists (fanny bags and sports caps) staring at him open mouthed
from across the street. He seems oblivious but they're irritating me.
Eventually they approach.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Hey, why you
dressed like that?'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Another thing about
Bast. The moment you meet him you feel oddly protective of him. I
want to tell them to fuck off but Bast, much lovelier than me, smiles
and says 'Well, why ever not?'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They wander off
looking confused and our tea arrives.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We talk about the
opera. In August of 2000 he was preparing to do a series of
paintings about the crucifixion. He traveled to the Philippines where
an annual religious event took place in which you could be crucified
yourself. You can watch Bast being crucified on youtube. I can't. As
soon as I see them hammer the first nail through his hand I have to
switch it off. I tell him that I have this image of the opera
starting with him on the cross saying to the audience: 'You may well
ask.' This makes him roar with laughter. We're getting on so well he
suggests we pop to his favourite haunt, The Colony Rooms. It's one of
those old parts of soho that now sadly no longer exists. Tiny,
hedonistic and deeply eccentric. I drink red wine and he drinks
nothing. He tells me that Tim Fountain is writing a play of his book,
Stephen Fry wants the film rights and I can have the rights to the
opera. Just like that. No business savvy at all. He once wrote to me saying:</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Kindness is the
only thing you can give without having.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After about three
glasses of red in which we talk about everything under the sun I
state, in that tipsy declaratory way, that I believe he is the kind of man that separates
women in to two categories: Sex and Mother Figures.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I say this because
he asks me lots of questions. He looks uncertain and wants to know if I think he's right or wrong. I feel like a
mother around him and I'm drunk. He lets my statement sit between us
for a moment and then he leans over very slowly, sticks his nose in
my neck and smells me. </div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You're wearing
Chanel,' he breathes. 'Delicious.' He leans back stares at me
intently and says 'And what kind of man am I now, Alethea?'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A wolfish one, I think. And
then it's gone. And the gentle, sweet, vulnerable Bast is back.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We part ways and I
head home full of ideas for the opera. Richard asks to borrow my copy
of his book. I say no.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Don't be ridiculous
I'll return it!'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You'll lose it. You
know what you're like.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I won't! Lend me
the fucking book.'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I lend him the book.
He loses it. At an airport.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The next time I
speak to Bast I tell him and when we meet again he gives me another
copy, this time inscribed personally.
<br />
He called me one evening whilst I was in a supermarket.<br />
'Where are you, Alethea? I'm having a crisis of confidence.'<br />
'I'm in Asda.'<br />
'Oh my god, are you okay?'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Another few weeks pass and the three of us meet
to discuss the opera at Bertie's and he and Richard hit it off
fabulously. He wrote to me that night:</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">It
didn’t surprise me that Richard and I got on. There are chains of
beauty aren’t there? Me, You, Tim, Richard, David Johnson, Mr Fry …
we are linked together like mountaineers heading for the summit of
beauty. If you like someone I will like them and if I like someone
you will like them. Aren’t we clever! I wish we could sleep with
ourselves.”</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Over the next two
years we wrote frequently, saw each other rarely and he occasionally
signed his letters off with:</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Where's my fucking
opera you cunt? Lots of useless love, S x'</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
His book was being
published in America and he flew out there with painted nails only to
be held in customs for several hours before being put back on a plane
to England on grounds of 'Moral Terpitude'. They'd googled him.
“There is nothing worse, Alethea, than being rejected by a country
you wouldn't be caught dead in.”</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The play was opening
in Soho and life became a whirl of activity but he always found the
time to write and offer advice, kind words, hilarious anecdotes and
great ideas.</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
On the night before
the opening of the play he sent me a missive:</div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-family: Baskerville Old Face, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Darling.
Bad news. I have got you a ticket for the show tomorrow. Will you
come? Definitely. Sx”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville Old Face, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
wrote back that I couldn't wait but that I was sure the actor
wouldn't have an ounce of his beauty.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville Old Face, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He
responded: “That was the right thing to say. Flattery has to be
pretty thick before I object.”</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville Old Face, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
saw him after the show and he put his hand on the small of my back,
he always did that, and led me to Stephen Fry and made introductions
because he remembered me saying how much I liked him. So thoughtful
always.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Baskerville Old Face, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Twenty
four hours later he was dead and a horrible gaping wound was ripped
into the fabric of life. Two weeks after that I sat and listened to
Stephen Fry's eulogy. His funeral was packed. He had so many friends
and he was so loved. I knew almost none of them, I was by no means a
big part of his life. Soho felt abandoned and all those whose lives
he'd poured colour and light into knew that it couldn't be replaced.
Sometimes lovely things are just lost and there's nothing to be done.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2v8gUdNi2OOWFFHsghNjF9mGwEr4mIx7LhsEjFAvUHkc2gXqQuDx_R-Yax8xqE_aXvF7DHnMWnJZra_DbzwOffL2XaKxzTAXlvuU7pSwHlZqhWa4ZptRwQ46ilAoUVyYPkNjhqCrK7Q/s1600/sebastian_horsley_1276866597_crop_550x457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2v8gUdNi2OOWFFHsghNjF9mGwEr4mIx7LhsEjFAvUHkc2gXqQuDx_R-Yax8xqE_aXvF7DHnMWnJZra_DbzwOffL2XaKxzTAXlvuU7pSwHlZqhWa4ZptRwQ46ilAoUVyYPkNjhqCrK7Q/s1600/sebastian_horsley_1276866597_crop_550x457.jpg" height="265" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-47927869259064320622015-04-29T19:42:00.000-07:002015-04-29T19:57:57.142-07:00A Star Is Born <style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; }</style>
<br />
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
Only yesterday I discovered Judy Garland, and more importantly, Judy
Garland in A Star Is Born.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
I had been having dinner with three friends who are all very
successful in their fields. I have a lot of friends who are
successful in their chosen fields and I'm very happy for them. And
somewhat bewildered and ashamed of my own failure. There is the risk
or fear perhaps of eventually becoming a person who is around success
but that no one any longer expects anything from.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
To get to the knot of the thing; I missed my last train and stayed at
the house of one of my friends. A wonderful man in his early fifties.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
I woke in the morning and my host put on some Dusty Springfield. He
starts telling me an anecdote about when Dusty came out.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
'She was gay?' I mutter.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
'Are you FUCKING kidding me?' He screams. 'You are the worst fag hag
EVER. I'm telling everyone on Facebook immediately.'</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
Which he does.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
It's only a short skip from there to him remembering my admission, a
year previously, of having never seen A Star Is Born.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
'You're watching it right now,' he insists.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
'But I -'</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
'Immediately.'</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
It's the original three hour plus version where all the lost scenes
are replaced by stills photographs and what remains of the sound
clips. Take my eyes.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
At first I'm just humouring him. To me Judy Garland was the girl I
watched every christmas day afternoon skipping up a yellow brick road
with a bunch of hangers on and a can do attitude. I've always kind of
loathed Technicolor. When I was very little I loved watching black
and white films. I believed, for far longer than I'm willing to
admit, that the world was monochrome until about 1950. And all the
more glamorous for it.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
As soon as the film starts I'm struck by how ahead of its time it is.
There's a fly on wall quality to the filming that makes it feel more
real than I'd anticipated. And then Garland's voice sounds a few
moments before we see her. And there's no big entrance. Same for
James Mason, he just kind of sidles in mid action and becomes a part
of the scene.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
As we're watching my friend gives me little snippets of Garland's
biography. By the time this film was made she had already suffered a
great deal. Divorces, breakdowns, problems with addiction. She was
constantly haunted by the notion that she wasn't beautiful enough, a
notion that had been firmly planted by the big cheeses who shaped her
career. Did you know that the blue gingham dress she wears as
Dorothy was specifically to 'blur' her figure? No, me either.<br />
Mason,
from the very beginning, touches her in a very moving way. He strokes
her face, moves her around by her tiny shoulders with a distinct
familiarity.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
'He looks like he owns her,' I say. 'Or rather that she belongs to
him.'</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
'Spot on,' my friend says.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
There's a scene in the film where she's given a make over by three
exasperated men who have no idea what to do about her problematic
nose. She comes out to meet Mason looking like a Geisha in a terrible
wig. He takes all the make up off and pulls a strip of rubber from
her nose. She looks fine just the way she is as far as he's
concerned. Whilst reading about her life later on in the day I
discovered that she had been treated in the exact same way in real
life; forced to wear rubber on her nose, something or other over her
teeth. I remember her face in the film as she tells Mason that she's
ugly, she doesn't look right, just before he scrapes all the make up
off and disabuses her of the idea. She looks in the mirror
desperately. She doesn't look in character. She looks real and so
sad. This happens several times in the film. You see her experience
the immediacy of love, its desperation, her unwillingness to give up
on it despite the damage it wreaks on her life. She's a sponge,
porous and vulnerable and utterly compelling. My friend says that she
was one of those who could never fully be a person, she only existed
within her art. Or something to that effect. Well, I thought, child
stars, it so rarely ends well. A director once told me those moments
of truth in acting are called 'leaking' and casting agents love them.
Garland was one big leak. How can you not love someone who stares out
at you from a screen and begs for you to really see her?
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
And then of course there's her singing voice. There's so much power
coming from such a tiny vessel and beneath it the constant catch of a
sob.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
She produced this film and starred in it in 1954. She was dead by
June 1969 at the age of 47.<br />
Seven years older than me. I feel like
my life is barely beginning and she was already on the decline, worn
out by a world she had no clue how to live in.<br />
Three hours plus
later I get it. I finally understand why she is the icon she is. Why
Rufus Wainwright re-created her Judy At Carnegie Hall show, why
Somewhere Over The Rainbow is so tragic, why she is still so loved.
<br />
For me she had always been just another talented mess brought
down by alcohol, or Liza's mum, or a gay icon because well, she was
so camp! She wasn't camp. She was utterly sincere.<br />
Obviously I was
weeping like a sore by the end. For the sadness of the film, for the
briefness of her life.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
'See,' my friend says. 'I told you so.'</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
I'm thankful that no one made me live my life so fast, youth rushing
past in a blur. No time to figure out who you are, what you want, who
to love or be loved by. I was a terrible writer at twenty. I'm a
better writer now. I'll be even better in twenty years time I
suspect.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
I wanted to be a success at twenty but I was a child. I couldn't
understand why my peers seemed so much more able to navigate their
worlds. I could never get going, move past a
certain point. My twenties were spent moving from job to job treading
water. My thirties were much the same. It's only in the last couple of years that things have started to make sense. I still have no idea what I'm doing most of the time but I am much clearer on what I want.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-decoration: none;">
My friend Kate told me a theory the
other day, though I may be recalling it inaccurately; We have four rings on the cooker. One is family, one
friends, one career and one love. To be successful you have to
disregard one ring. To be really successful you have to disregard
two. If you become a success when you're still a child then those
rings are decided for you aren't they? And then how would you ever
get them back? I'm not successful. Not yet. But I know better now
what is worth and not worth having.<br />
Thirty five years ago I
watched a pretty young girl click her heels together and intone that
there was no place like home. And at forty I know what she means.</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-60760413140611366942015-04-21T02:37:00.001-07:002015-04-21T02:59:08.473-07:00Young Men and Ladies Groups <style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; }</style>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I stumbled across an advertisement on
Facebook for a 'Ladies Group' in my town. The only necessary
qualification for joining is that you're aged between 18 and 45. So,
not quite the Women's Institute, and apparently un church related.
Perhaps it's a precursor to the WI? What can it possibly involve? It
claims to be a way of making friends and trying new things. I suspect
'trying new things' means reading the bible from front to back. I
posit another twenty or so possibilities before actually clicking on
the link and taking a look.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The cover image is of ten or so women,
none of them under thirty, sitting around a dining table smiling
stiffly. I try to visualise myself amongst their number. I can't see
it. They all have colourful ladylike clothing on and shiny neat bobs.
And I can't help but notice that whilst their plates are full there
is a bottle shaped hole in their midst. What kind of hellish cult is
this?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
18 to 45. 18 to 45? What happens when
you turn 46? A final dry meal, a nervous pat on the back and then
you're thrust back in to the lonely chaos of Cath Kidston and day
drinking?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I notice they have a calendar of events
and click on it with feverish finger.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They meet on two tuesdays a month for
'fun and informative' dates.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I check the next one and blanche. In
May they are having a special presentation by Katie from 'My Hymen
Has Entirely Regrown'. She will be teaching the ladies how to pack
for a two week holiday.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's 8.45am and the gin bottle is
blinking at me peripherally.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I skip through the events over the
coming months, they are booked up and busy as bees until APRIL OF
NEXT YEAR. Though some of the later dates have a 'tbc' on venue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's a historical walk of
Winchester. Take my eyes. I've actually done this walk. Kate came to
visit from Australia and as I know next to nothing about my home town
it seemed like a good idea. To her. All I remember from that hot
afternoon is that the red bricks in the old walls may look modern but
are in fact Roman. And the river Itchen is the fastest river in
Hampshire...or the UK....or the world. I also remember walking past
six pubs and staring at them longingly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's nothing you can't learn about
Winchester if you're willing to pay for the drinks and sit in front
of the mumbling nutter with the beard. Every pub here has one. A sort
of unofficial hallucinating guide if you like.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's also Croquet, Archery, a games
night, clay pigeon shooting, cocktail making and – good gods tell
me it isn't so – Cooking for the Round Table. Yes. We have a round
table here. It's because of the round table in the museum and that
stuff about King Arthur.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have an uncomfortable sensation that
I know what this is but I click for details anyway:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Preparing breakfast for those hungry
men building the bonfire.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Oh fuck off.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No, really.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I want to build the bonfire!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I don't want to stand in a dank kitchen
perfecting my poached eggs in a 1950's housecoat hoping against hope
that one of these knuckle dragging arsonists deems me worthy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That's not fair. They might be very
nice men who never asked for anyone to make them breakfast. But
still.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I toy with the idea of joining.
Somehow. Maybe employing a disguise that makes me look like one of
them. I try to picture myself looking sunny in a flowing maxi dress
with a basket of flowers over one arm. The reality comes crashing
through: Psoariasis on the elbows flaking gently in the breeze.
Tattoos ruining the effect of my empire line frock. My hair. All of
it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
But if I could join their ranks I'd
show up for breakfast making duties with a litre of hard liquor, some
ice, NO FUCKING MIXERS and a copy of The Female Eunuch.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Sit down ladies, we need to talk about
Emmeline Pankhurst. Sit the fuck down.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Don't get me wrong, I love women. But
the women I love don't have girlie nights in, worry about cake or
take tips from magazines on how to keep their men.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The women I love are sometimes shy and
quiet, sometimes bold and aggressive, young, old, big, small, but
always, I'm certain, unwilling to band together and make breakfast
for a load of men whilst they take care of the men's work.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They might provide a drink but only if
they were already fixing one for themselves whilst suggesting that
the fire will take better if we place all the bras around the top
tier.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've noticed lately that a lot of
younger women I know don't identify themselves as feminists. They
cite all kinds of reasons, most pertaining to image. They think of
feminists as butch, aggressive, angry.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'But surely', I weep in to my beer.
'These are ideas perpetuated by men?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's only one question you need to
ask any women who's unsure about feminism:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Do you think women and men should earn
the same amount? Of course you do. You are, therefore, a feminist.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Don't get me wrong, I love men. There
are some fine feminists amongst them. Bill Bailey and Joss Whedon to
name but two.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I spend a lot of time with men. More
recently, young men. The reasons for this are blatantly obvious. When
you get to my age and are neither married not have children you're
left on a kind of social shelf. The young are still available to do
what you want to do. And the gays obviously. If it weren't for my gay
friends life would be very dull indeed.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Young men are free to sit in the pub
until 2am talking nonsense. They also look really pretty. Yeah, I can
be sexist too. It's also really good fun to go out with a beautiful
young man and wait for the hordes of young girls to circle. This
happened with Jack once (And by once I mean always). He was having a
shitty time of things and we'd gone to the pub to talk things
through. Jack is particularly lovely looking and charming and very
clever. He's also a little shit. We had our heads bent in discussion
and he was entirely unaware of the circling beauties until they were
sat at our table inching closer with every boldly taken sip of wine.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Hey,' one of the girls smiled. 'You
two are such a cute couple!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She knows we're not a couple. It's
blatantly obvious we're not a couple but she's looking for an
opening. She has either assumed I'm draining his blood to remain
youthful, or there's an outside chance I was a young mum. Not that
young though.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Normally we'd have a bit of fun with
this but tonight neither of us are in the mood.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We're not together,' I say. 'He's 22,
I'm 40.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She fake gasps.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Never! You look SO young.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I know. I'm blessed that way.' I sip
my drink and silently congratulate her on her tactics. Get me on side
first – direct path to the bait.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We try to continue our talk but the
girl and her friend shuffle up the bench until one is pressed up
against Jack and the other....me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Well this is a new turn of events.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I look down to find her hand on my
thigh.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She's about 20, maybe 19. I look at her
pretty unfinished features and want to take a cloth to her face.
Remove the drawn in eyebrows, the hot pink lipstick the overly rouged
cheeks. She's so fresh and lovely and she's ruining it with paste.
When she gets to my age she'll be trying to do the reverse, wearing
nude make up to try and look the way she does naturally now. Not me
though. I'm in Coco Chanel's camp. I read somewhere that she felt red
lipstick only looked good on women of 30 and over. I actually just
tried to find the quote on Google and ended up with a list on 'How to
convince your parents to let you wear make up!' Which was a pleasant
trip down memory lane. My mum didn't let me wear make up when I was a
teenager and lived in Malta where other kids had their ears pierced
and wore make up by the age of four. My aunt used to hide me an eye
liner and some mascara in the post box downstairs, she even included
a tiny mirror. <br />
I own every red Mac lipstick available. And some
other brands too. The ones that you paint on and they do not come
off. Not for days as it turns out. What is elegant and stylish on day
one is invariably ghoulish and terrifying on day four.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Anyway, I digress.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We eventually get rid of the girls by
simply refusing to engage. Jack is at that age where he still
separates women in two camps: The ones he wants to talk to and the
ones he wants to sleep with. He's still looking for one that he wants
to do both with, and fair play to him. At least he's looking. On this
night he wants to talk and so he can barely even acknowledge these
young girls and I have his undivided attention. We end up getting
very drunk and find ourselves sitting in the park at 3.30 am trying
to roll that last cigarette under a tree. He wakes me and I spit
grass out.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We have to go home, Thea.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm comfy.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Noooo, we're in the park. We HAVE to
go home.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'll sleep here.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We can't sleep in the park. Grow up!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Bloody hell. A 22 year old is telling
me to grow up. Maybe I don't have it all figured out just yet.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
In the last week he has decided that
we're going to LA together on holiday, we're going to see Book Of
Mormon for his 23<sup>rd</sup> birthday (poor old thing), we're
having dinner at at least three of his favourite restaurants in
London:<br />
'Yeah it's called Lobster and Burger...or Burger and
Lobster.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What do they serve?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Lobster. Or Burgers.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'One or the other?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Both if you want. Fuck it.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Okay!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He made me download Whatsapp. Yet
another means of communicating directly. He likes to record little
insulting voice messages and send them to me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Jack, enjoy your looks whilst you have
them. I suspect it's a small window. You're not going to age well. I
just seem to get better with age.'<br />
'You say that....you've looked
better. You have that aspect of someone about to have a breakdown and
get a dog.'<br />
'NEVER say that to a forty year old woman!'<br />
'Hahaha.
Coffee tomorrow? 11?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm taking him to a friend's gig next
week. It's like a cultural exchange. I don't really know where I fit
in anymore. It's definitely not the Ladies Group. I'm not one of the
gays (I've been told I'm the shittest fag hag ever). I'm not young. I
don't know how to be forty. I sometimes think everyone is faking it.
But friendship and a shared sense of humour does seem to be blind to
the details. And like my Mutti says: A handful of good friends is far
better than one adequate lover.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEoun2WKkrgYT_oAgu3NmaQZWRdRyxayxgTZ2CqhDII861ZvdDx2iiBuVO9jzaRCggGcxFtzEv2blteVruUre-bDQz0sEyyb92OWbzaYxTH6KHHrNB5Gk5uslEXIu6gpvZ5wOy71Kehk/s1600/11137118_10153268489761468_6739078158519324753_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyEoun2WKkrgYT_oAgu3NmaQZWRdRyxayxgTZ2CqhDII861ZvdDx2iiBuVO9jzaRCggGcxFtzEv2blteVruUre-bDQz0sEyyb92OWbzaYxTH6KHHrNB5Gk5uslEXIu6gpvZ5wOy71Kehk/s1600/11137118_10153268489761468_6739078158519324753_n.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-63029051979009018732015-02-09T01:17:00.001-08:002015-02-09T01:37:11.116-08:00In Case I Forget To Tell You<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhJqShTzus3bHz01H6aMmTGdZdPqqEZ61VNvh-X0KGuNO6nX5z0MZ2qOyzOpz9BrQcOLlcKQF6y_gDgLM8Jo4lztKS_9zycWmwj2AAdC-MxwzDzAVNmBW1blipcGDsDWOB2WqW28bX0k/s1600/10923198_10153107542676468_7736162309305478453_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhJqShTzus3bHz01H6aMmTGdZdPqqEZ61VNvh-X0KGuNO6nX5z0MZ2qOyzOpz9BrQcOLlcKQF6y_gDgLM8Jo4lztKS_9zycWmwj2AAdC-MxwzDzAVNmBW1blipcGDsDWOB2WqW28bX0k/s1600/10923198_10153107542676468_7736162309305478453_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ghostly trio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lips is squinting at his mac screen
whilst Stephen changes the water in the vase that he has somehow
managed to cram a tree in to. I stand at the counter working my way
through a box of pastries I bought at the La Brea Bakery.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I had to wait a while to get served
because – Remember Scrooged? The Bill Murray film? Well, there was
that homeless man in it who was very childlike and had a button nose.
He freezes to death and comes back at the end as an angel. You
remember. Well HE pushed in front of me at the bakery. He wasn't
acting in that film, that's exactly how he is, childlike and a bit
lispy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I'll take a muffin and cwoffee
pleathezzz.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He's not my first celebrity sighting
but he's definitely the sweetest.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We went to see Dame Edna's Farewell
Tour the previous night and I'm still giggling about one bit where
Edna goes to an Ashram to find herself;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“It was during a morning yoga class
whilst I was doing the downward dog that I had an epiphany. I
realised I <i>just</i> needed to <i>love </i>myself more.” She makes
a sad face and then breaks in to a huge grin. “And possums, I
couldn't have been MORE successful! I can now see myself through your
eyes! Aren't I wonderful!!!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She constantly refers to the people in
the cheap seats as 'The Missers' as in 'Les Miserables' and tells
them to hold on tight to the wall and not clap lest they should
plummet to their deaths. Funny fucker. At the end of the show Barry
Humphries comes on as himself and chats to the audience. He'd been
sat at the table behind us at dinner before the show and we were all
weirdly a bit star struck by him. As we leave Lips and Stephen decide
I need a pair of Dame Edna glasses despite my protestations. I'm then
made to wear the glasses and pose in front of a life size poster of
Edna whilst they amuse themselves taking pictures.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Okay, that's booked,' Lips says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Whath bookthed?' I mumble through
donut.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Las Vegas.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm so excited I don't react at all.
Just stare unblinkingly until Stephen nods at me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We're really going to Vegas?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lips nods casually.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We're booked in to The Cosmopolitan,
you have a smoking room and we have tickets for Cirque Du Soleil's
LOVE.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I kiss Lips and do what passes for an
excited dance – I basically nod and shimmy my shoulders a bit. My
knees have been KILLING me for the last week and I'm hobbling about
like an old crone.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm overexcited,' I say. 'I need to go
and lie down for ten minutes.'</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7b14hjHkDsOTfLkVdn8vLSTx7HBCwKrJmz4cUnhqwj9rDPpobw6p-PcvENYMYE6uV8wBoDz8XVLelOtgYneQ-gAw2S2E25L3O2-d5tMskvNUAEHciDg6k6BooMii-GzrdBgqVcH0x6I/s1600/1508205_10153107531561468_4303676250509999476_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7b14hjHkDsOTfLkVdn8vLSTx7HBCwKrJmz4cUnhqwj9rDPpobw6p-PcvENYMYE6uV8wBoDz8XVLelOtgYneQ-gAw2S2E25L3O2-d5tMskvNUAEHciDg6k6BooMii-GzrdBgqVcH0x6I/s1600/1508205_10153107531561468_4303676250509999476_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Backup Mimosa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They've ruined me those two. Completely. Stephen popped out the other day and left me by the pool writing. But before he went he made me a mimosa. And a back up mimosa on ice. It's alarming how quickly I can adapt to that kind of thing...</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We go for a bite to eat before meeting
Barbara, an old work colleague and friend of Lips, at Chateau
Marmont. I've been really wanting to go for a drink at the hotel
because it's iconic and I've read a lot of biographies in which
people have overdosed there. I associate it with John Belushi whom I
love. When we arrive there are paparazzi stationed across the road.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's the Grammy's this week,' Lips
explains. 'Lots of celebs staying here before the ceremony.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Security establish regretfully that
we're not on the list and they're 'at capacity'.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lips phones Barbara who comes out and
waves at us. Security see her and immediately let us in. As she's not
staying at the hotel we're curious to know why she has such sway.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh, I've been drinking here for
years.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I watch as famous people I couldn't
recognise in a line up strut past me. They all look about twelve.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We head up to the bar and settle in to
big armchairs. The place is exactly what I thought it would be; Dark,
elegant, cosy and slightly 70's in its attitude.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A woman with white curly hair walks
past and Barbara tells us she's a brilliant photographer. I've never
heard of her so she googles some of her work which is easily
recogniseable.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's a garden area through the doors
to our left under a high stone archway. A long table has been set up
and people are sat with white flowers on the table and bottles of
wine, smoking and chatting. The party is in honour of a tiny elegant
blonde sat at one end whom I'm later told is Michelle Williams when
she glides past us on her way out.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I order a cocktail called Big Trouble.
It's bitter and awful, like a negroni, but I drink it anyway. I let
Stephen choose my next one and he picks a Daisy Buchanan which is
basically gin and elderflower and suits me perfectly.<br />
Barbara is a
sweetheart, funny and clever. She works at HBO (I think) and tells us
stories about Sarah Jessica Parker's frequent presence at work.
Apparently she's very nice and very tiny. She tells me about her son
Atticus whom I will be meeting at brunch on saturday. She shows me a
video of him. He's five and adorable.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I head downstairs, slightly tipsy, for
a cigarette. There's one other man there smoking and he waits a beat
before saying hello. We have an animated natter for about ten minutes
and part ways. I recognise his face, I know he's famous for something
but I couldn't for the life of me tell you who he was. He was oddly
fascinated by my trip to Australia and asked a lot of questions about
crocodiles.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The following day Lips is finally
finishing jury service (he was guilty) and the three of us are
spending the day in Malibu.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Whilst Stephen attends an acting lesson
in the morning I wander down the promenade in Santa Monica window
shopping and smoking. A man approaches me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm sorry Ma'am but you can't smoke
here.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I look up to see if there's a ceiling
I've missed but can see only blue sky.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'But I'm outside...aren't I?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes ma'am but you can't smoke on this
street.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Just this street?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That's right. You can smoke on the
next street or along one of the alleyways here but not on this actual
street.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Okay...' I scurry in to an alley and find the rest of my people dragging on fags and looking a bit gimlet of eye.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At a loss for any proper way to thank
Lips and Stephen for all the spoiling of me I decide to buy them a
book each. Yeah, that'll cover it. I pick two Raymond Carver short
story books.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lips arrives and I give him his. He
immediately dashes in to Barnes And Noble and buys me a copy of one
of <i>his</i> favourite books.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I text my niece in Malta: “I've
bought champagne, I've bought books. Short of making them something
out of antacid pills I'm sunk.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She writes back: “Make a matt out of
your pubic hair. That way they'll know you really put something of
yourself in to the gift.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She says I made her this way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As we drive along the coast Lips tells
me that Malibu is where all the beautiful people are. And all the
plastic surgery too.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We arrive and have a Bloody Mary at a
place called Hank's so I can see the view of the ocean and all the
surfers. We then head to a Cuban place for lunch. I don't see any
beautiful people. I see a lot of scary thin miserable looking women
in expensive clothes that hang off their scrawny arses. One woman
completely freaks me out. She's got to be about sixty judging by her
neck and hands. From behind she looks twenty. She's wearing low slung
tight jeans just above her pubic bone and has huge fake breasts. Her
hair is long and blonde and her face is smooth and line free but
slightly puffy looking. Her lips are full and sensual and her eyes
are old and sunken. She's such an optical illusion I can't stop
watching her. She's weirdly coquettish, almost shy which just adds to
my deep sense of unease. I see her several times as we wander around
the shopping area. She's alone, wandering too, with a skimmed
something or other with a straw which she takes frequent sips from.
She looks lonely, like she needs a bear hug. I watch her flutter
about nervously before climbing in to her red sports car and driving
off to god knows what.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Yq-7J2qV9f5qNDf4-zN0mHzbMaqS53nEuWoUKCopzTuFYblveI0fF430DpvxF9P7nB3bah-VjK6RrS3yHQuUReeLCQX7qe2vYs_JbfUuf8CQQaPzb6lpKoROkhIb_SuhNedZWRAJKUQ/s1600/10928984_10153107531476468_4873075942177010634_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Yq-7J2qV9f5qNDf4-zN0mHzbMaqS53nEuWoUKCopzTuFYblveI0fF430DpvxF9P7nB3bah-VjK6RrS3yHQuUReeLCQX7qe2vYs_JbfUuf8CQQaPzb6lpKoROkhIb_SuhNedZWRAJKUQ/s1600/10928984_10153107531476468_4873075942177010634_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset at Nobu</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They take me to Nobu on the beach where
we drink champagne and watch the sun set. It's so lovely we stay for
hours and end up eating at the bar. I have a Lychee Martini and offer
a taste to Stephen who sips it and nods;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yup, hate it. Couldn't hate it more.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He doesn't mince his words that one.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The following morning we're up at 7am,
Lips immaculate as always, me staring in to space with a coffee and a
fag. We're having an early brunch with Barbara at Cecone's. We drop
Bradley and Andersen off at the “Posh Pets Hotel” where they
don't give us so much as a backward glance.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When we get to Cecone's Barbara is
there with her husband Darin, their son Atticus (who's smile makes
even my atrophied ovaries wheeze briefly in to life) and a friend
called Amy. Amy and her wife live between New York and Venice Beach.
She's dry and funny and we discover we're on the same flight to
london on monday.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I go to the toilet and when I get back
Barbara is grinning at me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'So I hear you're planning to meet a
cowboy in Vegas and get married by Elvis.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes, that's correct.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Not going to happen,' Lips assures me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'But - '</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Thea, no.' Stephen says in the same
tone he uses when Andersen Cooper pisses inside the house.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Darin hugs me and says bye with the
following wisdom:<br />
'Have a great time. Be bad.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We leave and head over to Rodeo Drive.
I'm on the phone to my mum as they hand the car over to the valet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Mum, I'm going to Vegas!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That's nice dear. Give Lips and
Stephen my love.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'MUM. I'm going to VEGAS.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I know. I can see the headlines now:
“I lost my child to Vegas.” Don't marry anyone.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'But - '</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'And don't drink too much. And don't
gamble away everything you own.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Harrumph.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I get off the phone Lips says;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Do you know where we are?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I look up. It's a posh hotel.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'This is the Beverly Wiltshire.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's nice.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's where Pretty Woman was filmed. I
thought we could have a mimosa here so you can see it.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Honestly, I couldn't love him more.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz33hDQwsVJBVabKQ0isQt-5szioYD1hHo7tazGo1gt42KaYPijz0hrLwl6cnjELo8S3nrYbBAKp697ynI5ep9IFBZIL41m4b8zg2vUL-MFinN_lMdTa5gkSM1OEvGBxfh4GJmdnGl5ck/s1600/10426129_10153107531646468_8637883181407809959_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz33hDQwsVJBVabKQ0isQt-5szioYD1hHo7tazGo1gt42KaYPijz0hrLwl6cnjELo8S3nrYbBAKp697ynI5ep9IFBZIL41m4b8zg2vUL-MFinN_lMdTa5gkSM1OEvGBxfh4GJmdnGl5ck/s1600/10426129_10153107531646468_8637883181407809959_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I dash inside and look for Richard
Gere.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We sit at the bar and watch people come
and go. There are monuments of champagne everywhere.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Again, because of the Grammy's it's heaving with people in
huge sunglasses looking like they really don't want you to know that
they are very famous and therefore wearing sunglasses in the complete
lack of sun glare to make sure you don't recognise them...and their
entourage.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I turn to Lips and quote Pretty Woman:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“In case I forget to tell you later, I had
a really good time tonight.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He rolls his eyes and gives me a kiss.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'C'mon, Doll. We better head to the
airport.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen suddenly looks panicked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Where's you luggage?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Here,' I say pointing to my satchel.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That's it!?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Change of knickers and a toothbrush.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Wow,' he says conservatively.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's time to go to Vegas.</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-6177388993930986862015-02-04T12:04:00.001-08:002015-02-06T11:05:48.051-08:00A Stroll Down Sunset Strip<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I wake to a text message from Lips:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“There are baked goods down here.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I scurry downstairs to find banana
muffins and warm quiche which I eat standing at the counter without a
plate. It's 9am and Lips has already dealt with a hundred work
emails, walked the dogs, done two loads of washing, met a friend for
coffee and brought home breakfast.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This is why he has a pool and I don't.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He heads out to jury duty and I take
the Cooper Brothers for another stroll.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSL-MXWWfX_natAPCATixqGTiyWGxkn6ggp9WypbT3f8-bc7Gum7DP48xjfkv7KqyWrYrCKwvi6KVwjlHgPD2P6O3t4x52nx-rLZgt0i8V7GyyGhwF4-bwtYUtwy0KX61IEi-klS379w/s1600/1546140_10153097732551468_8702098095537153605_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSL-MXWWfX_natAPCATixqGTiyWGxkn6ggp9WypbT3f8-bc7Gum7DP48xjfkv7KqyWrYrCKwvi6KVwjlHgPD2P6O3t4x52nx-rLZgt0i8V7GyyGhwF4-bwtYUtwy0KX61IEi-klS379w/s1600/1546140_10153097732551468_8702098095537153605_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>I get back to find a gift bag on the
side. There's a picture of a beastie on it and the slogan “Party
MONSTER!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That's for you,' Stephen says. 'It's
nothing. Really.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I pull out all the tissue paper and
find some bubble bath, some 'reverse the damage' bath pearls and
three different kinds of antacid pills.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Ah reckon if you mix the Pepacids with
the chewy ones and throw in a Zantac you'll be all good.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh Stephen, you had me at “Pepacids.”'
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He sits next to me on the sofa cuddling
the dogs. Bradley Cooper was the first and he's calm and passive.
Anderson is the younger brother and he's fucking mental. Stephen is
cuddling them both simultaneously with varying degrees of success.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I love you both equally but
differently,' he says. 'Is that a kiss Bradley Cooper? Well thank you
so much. That's very nice. Okay. Okay. Anderson. Anders – Okay that
was a bite. We're gonna have to work on that....'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-y8k5YT9DaI-6-dpIMuz4-uNBObxzvPRfLjwHDOxGj9oyKRQKSZ3hZg2RBDugqg7syKlSXO1_UgVlUgHuu7bwvzl53qY_etBtJVYXvf6OM7kTOz2YDD6Hvx3PH3zrkjlqU42khql8no/s1600/10959556_10153097736466468_4949227808276136941_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-y8k5YT9DaI-6-dpIMuz4-uNBObxzvPRfLjwHDOxGj9oyKRQKSZ3hZg2RBDugqg7syKlSXO1_UgVlUgHuu7bwvzl53qY_etBtJVYXvf6OM7kTOz2YDD6Hvx3PH3zrkjlqU42khql8no/s1600/10959556_10153097736466468_4949227808276136941_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a>I spend a lot of my time laughing at
Stephen. He's actually really quiet and self contained but once you
tune in to his frequency he's completely hilarious. He keeps up a
constant patter of quiet comic observations that floor me several
times a day. They are frequently at my expense which I consider a
huge compliment.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Whenever he thinks something is shit or
terrible or a really bad idea he calls it 'interesting'. It took me a
full three days to realise he was insulting me on a number of levels
every few hours.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Poor Lips is now definitely on the Jury
and has to be in court five days a week from 11.30 till 4.30 which
scuppers some of the plans we've made.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He's gracious about it and offers what
I'm sure is a symbolic gesture:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Perhaps you guys should go to Vegas
without me...'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen doesn't even blink. 'Okay.
We'll miss you.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Seriously,' Lips says. 'You should
go.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I heard you. And we will miss you.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When we were walking up Runyon Canyon
Stephen noted how many people had their dogs off leash.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's so dangerous. I mean it's a
pretty steep incline down the side there. A friend of mine walked his
dog up here and it just hurled itself off the side. He had to climb
down there and carry it back up because it wouldn't move. It took
hours. I don't know what I'd do if one of ours did that. I'd be like:
“I love you Anderson! Good luck. I'll miss you. Thanks for all the
good times.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've been in the garden writing with
dogs keeping guard of my feet all morning when Stephen returns from
the gym.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Feel like a stroll down Sunset
Boulevard?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Sure.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We could stop for a coffee...'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Okay...'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'...or a cocktail...'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We race to the car.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We amble along in the afternoon sun and
he points out famous places.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That's Chateau Marmont right
there...we'll have to go for a drink there before you leave. That's
The Viper Rooms where River Phoenix...well you know. Oh and that
there is The Saddle Ranch Chop House, that's real famous. You will
have seen that in a lot of films.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Are there cowboys in there?' I LOVE
cowboys.<br />
'Sure, but mostly it's the bucking bronco that draws
people in.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We stick our heads in the door. The
place is kind of fabulous. And sure enough there's a mechanical bull
right in the middle.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We stop at The Standard Hotel to have a
drink by the pool. It's a fancy place with hanging chairs and
beanbags but the prosecco arrives in unbreakable plastic flutes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Interesting...' Stephen says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We sit and talk about our families.
We've both lost our fathers, him much more recently.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'...I flew back and was sat on the
floor by his hospital bed. I was exhausted as I had been for the past
(he laughs) 14 years. He wakes up sees me and says: “Son you look
tired, why don't you get in the bed.” He was...'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'He sounds wonderful.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yeah, he was.'<br />
<br />
On the way back we see a girl in a short tight skirt and high heels staggering around on the sidewalk. She leans heavily against a wall opens her purse, pulls out a baby bottle of vodka, downs it and staggers on.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh shit. Should we...'<br />
She disappears around a corner. It's like something out of a dark movie.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When we get back Lips is home and we
head out for Pizza locally. The food is always so good and usually
features brussell sprouts in at least one dish. It's the new kale
apparently.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They tell me about a great one man show
they saw called 'Buyer and Cellar.' It revolves around the idea that
Barbara Streisand has a Mall in her cellar purely for her own use.
She pops down regularly to browse and 'buy' things. In the monologue
the man who works in the mall says that she comes down and picks
something up and asks how much it costs.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“I'm thinking, this lady is nuts! So
I say 400 dollars. Streisand blanches. I'd never pay 400 for this!
I'll give you 300. She's crazy. She already owns everything in here.
I say: Well I'd never sell it for that. She leaves. Crazy lady. She
comes back a few minutes later victorious. “I found a coupon!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lips gets advance copies of all the
Oscar possibles on DVD. We go back and sift through them looking for
something to watch and settle on The Imitation Game. <br />
As we wait
for Lips to send some emails Stephen sips coffee and stares and the
blank TV screen.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I have got to get him to teach me how
to use the remote for this thing. Or when he's on his next trip I'll
just be sat here like this...I may have to start reading....or
perhaps I could write a blog...<i>I've</i> got things to say...'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Benedict Cumberbatch is good in this
and I've almost forgiven him for season two of Sherlock.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Keira Knightley gurns her way through
yet another performance that could have been done better by almost
anyone else.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's a great quote that's repeated
three times: “<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sometimes
it is the people who no one imagines anything of who do the things
that no one can imagine.”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">By
the time Benedict has invented the first computer, shortened the war
by two years and been chemically castrated for being homosexual we're
all ready for bed.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'I
can't believe what lightweights we've become,' I say.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'I
was just thinking that!' Stephen laughs. 'We're either balls to the
wall or in bed by ten. What is up with that.'</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXjcOLQ20de2jl95N16jUbdvN0jQQpMfbalc5LA2Fj2voRVucGwEfLbk99UOlerdMSrmbzAveUSyOz0qoAGze4LmuXuHrwDKqNN-PkkpCnWnoEChXEW2PAfmHJiwS0h10lkwIQ4SZqu8/s1600/10292552_10153097736541468_534835767727417716_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXjcOLQ20de2jl95N16jUbdvN0jQQpMfbalc5LA2Fj2voRVucGwEfLbk99UOlerdMSrmbzAveUSyOz0qoAGze4LmuXuHrwDKqNN-PkkpCnWnoEChXEW2PAfmHJiwS0h10lkwIQ4SZqu8/s1600/10292552_10153097736541468_534835767727417716_n.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We
have The Dame Edna Farewell Tour tomorrow night and that will not be
an early one. We're all excited about that.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'And
we need to check flights for Vegas on saturday,' Lips drops in
casually.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Could
Vegas actually happen? If it does I'm going to marry a stranger just
so I can have my picture taken with Reverend Elvis.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'That
is not going to happen,' Stephen states.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'It
could happen.'</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'It
will not.'</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'I
could slip away whilst you're gambling.'</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'We'd
find you. I would rugby tackle you to the ground, ahm tellin' ya.'</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #262626;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">'We'll
see.'</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-79290593843412989622015-02-03T13:32:00.002-08:002015-02-03T13:40:45.631-08:00Clench Your Hoo Hoo<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Calvin is a large man with a big voice.
When we arrive he is still moving himself from his wheelchair to the
piano seat and we stand outside looking at the suburban streets of
Van Nuys whilst he gets himself settled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnj_yLN6tfl7t7xjjaWJhpFxpM6ZEfb24CE0y7maZ4Ej-cz9s3qZnxVdoecI_A0otGiuqXzt3pTarFYvtB_ejvjCi-bTzDkqZcRzaGCwRJCfV8nSWXRwrOTDSRPJu-mfVRV6pWh8Y6Cg/s1600/1381172_10153095677596468_5662791641788233304_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWnj_yLN6tfl7t7xjjaWJhpFxpM6ZEfb24CE0y7maZ4Ej-cz9s3qZnxVdoecI_A0otGiuqXzt3pTarFYvtB_ejvjCi-bTzDkqZcRzaGCwRJCfV8nSWXRwrOTDSRPJu-mfVRV6pWh8Y6Cg/s1600/1381172_10153095677596468_5662791641788233304_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>'Come in y'all,' he calls through the
window.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He has a shock of white hair and a
slightly curly beard. His eyes are bright blue and mischievous.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'And what brings you here today?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Stephen thought I'd enjoy a lesson
with you.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Have you had any other training?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Does karaoke count?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Ha, no. But how lovely.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He tells me his story from humble
beginnings at William And Mary to his good friend Glenn Close
convincing him to head to NYC and be in a play. He's worked with a
lot of people. He drops a lot of names. He sings for me and he is
magnificent.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Okay let's do some scales and see what
your range is.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We start low and stop when I am
screaming like an angry cat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Wow you have a really low voice,
you're in Elaine Stritch territory there.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'So what am I?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'An Alto. You can sing in the soprano
range but it's not your happy place.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He wants to push me up a little higher
and I just panic and squawk.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You can't worry about sounding
terrible, you have to open your head and throw the sound forward.
When you're approaching the highest note clench your Hoo Hoo.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Clench my what now?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Your Hoo Hoo.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh my God.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He has a deep rumbling laugh.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He's talking about technique and cites
Alison Jiear as an example. But he pronounces her name 'Jeeer'.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's Jy -Ahhhh,' I say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh you've heard of her?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Heard of her? I've been goosed by her.
Richard always uses her to try out new material.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Richard?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Richard Thomas the composer.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's a seconds silence before he
explodes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'OH MY GOODNESS I LOVE HIM! I
LOVVVVEEEE JERRY SPRINGER THE OPERA!!!!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I've just name dropped one of my best
friends. I feel no remorse what so ever.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After a ten minute interlude in which
he tells me how many times he's tried to get the rights to put on
Jerry in LA we get back to the lesson.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I think Bette Midler will suit you
real well and I have a particularly beautiful song you're going to
learn right now. It's called “Hello in there”, do you know it?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I don't.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By the time Stephen comes to fetch me
we are bellowing the song out together and I can't help but grab hold
of his head and kiss him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That was SO much fun. Thank you!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh my pleasure. You have a nice voice,
darlin'. If you're ever back in LA do come by again.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He gives me his card.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen has brought me a bottle of
water - 'I drank half of it though' and a brownie.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I clamber in to the car.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I can't help but notice you didn't
open the car door for me. You're dropping the ball.' I sniff.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's the least you can do. You are
destroying me.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Fine.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lips has to entertain clients in the
evening so Stephen and I make plans to see a movie at The Grove, grab
a burger and go and support Gasparin at the showing of the second
episode of Ellen's Design Challenge.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We are getting over the hedonistic
weekend, actively not drinking and trying to hold our shit together.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Stephen can I just suggest that
whatever film we see tonight, it should be light and fluffy. Nothing
too dark.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No shit Sherlock. That's the most
profound thing you've said all week.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A couple of hours later I'm sat by the
pool pretending to be a writer when Stephen pops his head out with
the cinema listings.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Paddington is on.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Absolutely not.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Or there's some Jennifer Lopez thing
that fits with our time frame.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That'll do.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We drive to the The Grove and park
right by the door.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That never happens,' Stephen beams.
'Good job!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Armed with popcorn we head in to the
cinema screen. It's practically empty. We find our seats which are
right next to a man sat on his own. As there are only six other
people in there it would be creepy to sit right next to a stranger,
for all concerned.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Those are our seats,' Stephen says.
'But we'll just use the row behind.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The big tightly wound looking man pulls
out his ticket.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No this is my seat.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No, it's fine,' Stephen says. 'We'll
just sit behind you cos...'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The lights are dimming and the man has
misunderstood us but it's empty, who cares.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We sit. The man gets up walks to the
end of the line, checks the row letter and comes back.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What's your seat number?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It doesn't matter,' I say. 'It's just
we would have been sat right - '</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Cos this is my seat. I'm in the right
seat.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yeah, it's fine. The place is empty,'
I say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm in the right seat. Maybe YOU got
it wrong.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He sits and continues to mutter.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
My rational mind tells me to ignore
him. The still slightly fragile from the weekend part of me thinks
there's a good chance we're going to get stabbed. I glance at Stephen
who is blissfully ignorant of the imminent danger, munching on his
popcorn.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'So what's this film about?' I whisper.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No idea,' Stephen mumbles happily
through a mouthful.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What's it called?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'The boy next door.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh, sounds sweet.' Maybe it's a rom
com.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A woman sat on her own in the row in
front of scary dude is talking quietly on her phone.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He stands walks over and tells her to
get off the phone of get out of the god damn cinema.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen is engrossed in a trailer and
misses it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Well, as long as I can outrun him I'll
be okay. There is no way I can outrun Stephen but I have the
advantage of knowing there's a chance I will have to so I'm in with a
fighting chance.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The film is not a rom com.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's a violent graphic thriller about a
19 year old boy who stalks Lopez and kills everyone she loves.
<br />
<b>spoiler alert</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She kills him in the end by stabbing
him in the eye with an epi pen then gouging his eye out, dropping a
ton of concrete on him and leaving him in a burning barn.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
These stalkers never go down easy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Poor Glenn, all she wanted was to be
loved. Poor rabbit, all he wanted was not to be boiled alive.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
No one wins in these situations.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The credits roll and I remove my bag
from my head and turn to Stephen.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What part of “light and fluffy”
did you not fucking understand?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen giggles.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That was crap. Let's get our burger
on.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As we leave we see the scary dude
standing aggressively in front of one of the staff shouting:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It is NOT OKAY to use a phone in the
cinema!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The woman on the receiving end of his
wrath is also there.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You're a fucking psycho!' She says and
stomps off. Bold move.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We go for burgers at the Short Order
and mine is messy and falls apart and I'm covered in sauce.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Good job this isn't a first date,' I
say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yeah, it would have been a last date
too. You missed a bit.' He indicates my entire face.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLjmMowrMkO4gHD1BjJEgKXhAGUWWepH-5G-hrIRc66K-OgjANSHDCOhvutXcG4plyXDcK80_Dpq_TLwap3BnVfw6kAg-BGpHfDc9MB_TweVYPg2H3Jbn9PFKAVKJKDrWSMIYr2VX2Nk/s1600/1904097_10153095660766468_1487382062469503283_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLjmMowrMkO4gHD1BjJEgKXhAGUWWepH-5G-hrIRc66K-OgjANSHDCOhvutXcG4plyXDcK80_Dpq_TLwap3BnVfw6kAg-BGpHfDc9MB_TweVYPg2H3Jbn9PFKAVKJKDrWSMIYr2VX2Nk/s1600/1904097_10153095660766468_1487382062469503283_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vegas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We're pissing around in a tourist shop
when a text from Lips comes through:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Tom Ford is sat in the next booth.
He looks immaculate.”<br />
I'm trying on a variety of comedy roadkill
hats. Stephen takes a picture of me with a skunk on my head and texts
back:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“You're with Tom Ford. I'm with
this.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We stand and stare at a water fountain for a leeetle bit too long.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Wow, it's just like Vegas,' Stephen says with absolutely no inflection.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He tells me a fabulous story about his
“crazy” cousin.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'The whole family were heading to his
wedding. We're all dressed up, hats an' ev-ery-thang and as we're
walking up the path to the church we see him on the roof, absolutely
hammered in his morning suit with a bottle in one hand. He hollers
down to us: Good news an' bad news! Bad news, the wedding is OFF!
Good news, the Partaaaaaay is ONNNNNN!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We go and meet Gasparin and his friends
and watch the second instalment. Gasparin made a lovely side table
and we all clap.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFCAO-Okdw_UaTPJv3ZF_ER3-9jVTYaHZ7PCBY0LS9JwFP07awp6wfO-ga3ZFqdkrhANvgH6FBIzKjF6M2cBOIRGJ3qxFU_Y_IkdU2Suv_THrGulp0YDmp9m2VUTOtnBNUrBmnj6Z21E/s1600/10421226_10153095660701468_7667844376179538300_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGFCAO-Okdw_UaTPJv3ZF_ER3-9jVTYaHZ7PCBY0LS9JwFP07awp6wfO-ga3ZFqdkrhANvgH6FBIzKjF6M2cBOIRGJ3qxFU_Y_IkdU2Suv_THrGulp0YDmp9m2VUTOtnBNUrBmnj6Z21E/s1600/10421226_10153095660701468_7667844376179538300_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Your game face is slipping,' Stephen
points out.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's time to head home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I climb in to bed with a copy of Valley
Of The Dolls. The cover is a close up photo of a bubblegum pink
glittery mouth, the teeth biting down gently on a pill.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This is going to be good, I think. And
promptly pass out.</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-18474399382684795472015-02-02T17:00:00.001-08:002015-02-03T11:20:27.041-08:00Super Bowl And The Bottomless Mimosas<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's sunday morning, I still have last
night's make up on and I look ten years older than I did yesterday.
Even the dogs, who normally greet me with manic enthusiasm, are
giving me a wide berth. I skype with my niece in Malta.</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'The whites of my eyes are slightly
yellow, the antacid pills aren't working anymore and my piss looks
like tango. I half expect it to come out with a lime wedge attached.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She laughs at me which always makes me
feel immediately better and asks what my plans are for the day.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I slump. We're having brunch. This
means more booze and before lunchtime.There was some sinister talk
about a 'Bottomless Mimosas' deal.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'And of course it's the Super Bowl
today,' she informs me perkily.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She squints at me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You do know what a Super Bowl is don't
you?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'….sport thing...?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFuVYBPOtiJMI-nflaE4Pnr9Z3wGCG-rig9IjvZ_fHsSIBvYJkHA4DpXlQHvu1KrD8tz78SjxtIepocOx5IE8HzAd3Rg5WIDrb6Ta3kfrSd85Ot32BHT4pkFt7gYTAcXeGSWgOI4x2Akw/s1600/10945054_10153090893841468_5037762001302619423_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFuVYBPOtiJMI-nflaE4Pnr9Z3wGCG-rig9IjvZ_fHsSIBvYJkHA4DpXlQHvu1KrD8tz78SjxtIepocOx5IE8HzAd3Rg5WIDrb6Ta3kfrSd85Ot32BHT4pkFt7gYTAcXeGSWgOI4x2Akw/s1600/10945054_10153090893841468_5037762001302619423_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>'Good luck.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Christine comes to fetch us. I don't
even bother with make up. I just cover what I can of my face with my
Elvis shades and put on my 'Los Fucking Angeles' T – Shirt which
sort of sums it all up really.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Where are we going?' I ask as we
clamber in to the taxi. (It's not actually a taxi, it's something
called an – I Think – Uber. You find someone in a car nearby on
an app and pay them to drive you somewhere by credit card. They're
just people. Not taxi drivers.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We're going to church,' Lips says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
At this point I'd welcome it to be
honest.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We get to our destination. A restaurant
called 'The Church Key' – very funny Lips.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We go in and find Gasparin waiting for
us. Gasparin is a lovely man from Venezuela who lives here and has
just participated in a new TV show called “Ellen's Design
Challenge”. It's a reality TV show in which six interior designers
battle it out with each other making fabulous things with the end
goal being a cash prize and a spread in a design magazine.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The show has just started airing and we
attended the first showing. Gasparin is riding the wave of excitement
about it all and I let him chat to his friends for a full 45 seconds
before draping my arm around his shoulder and saying:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTtFCpG8BVGt1FCIHgSrNVSi95GK7qciAmT-8egABHxXSSwqdGC1hFRae0Z0yUyrLzcanBfTQ9xII91anou4AweCwQ1QwK77ZYBb3UKNc71e0G1o7sk-k-hbrOI4wNOjhFr3IGdrkaTA/s1600/10888514_10153091160276468_4536286630346053975_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsTtFCpG8BVGt1FCIHgSrNVSi95GK7qciAmT-8egABHxXSSwqdGC1hFRae0Z0yUyrLzcanBfTQ9xII91anou4AweCwQ1QwK77ZYBb3UKNc71e0G1o7sk-k-hbrOI4wNOjhFr3IGdrkaTA/s1600/10888514_10153091160276468_4536286630346053975_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>'So, Ellen. As fabulous as I think she
is? Or a monster?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He tells me all about the show and her
(she's even lovelier in person) and a nice young woman with a trolley
approaches us and makes a round of Mimosas for the table. (Yeah, 17
dollars for as much as you can drink. It would have been rude not to.
Which reminds me of something Keir once said: Well, at least Thea
died doing what she loved – being polite.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have my first ever biscuits and gravy
breakfast with sunny side up eggs and turkey sausages. S'goooood. We
then have these ludicrous brioche donuts for dessert. I now know what
sin tastes like. I finish my (insert quantity of choice here: __)
mimosa and we say bye to Gasparin and Lips who has another meeting
with clients. Stephen, Christine and I get another car and go to a
restaurant called something mexican where we are greeted by a woman
who used to be Miss Nevada and is now a tequila rep. Christine knows
EVERYONE in the booze related world. And she is hilarious. We've been
in each others company for a couple of hours and have spent most of
it laughing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Miss Nevada/Tequila Rep greets us
warmly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm so glad you could drop by! I hear
you have a bit a day planned so I'm real happy to be able to pour
some tequila on you before you head off.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We are given margaritas which are the
best I've had. Christine turns to me super casual:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Shot?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Sure.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh lord,' Stephen mutters.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She's like an evil twin and I just know
if I spent a significant amount of time with her she would ruin me.
And I wouldn't complain.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'The bar we're watching the game at
is....dark. There are like NO windows. It'll be great.'</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Wfx7ctuOyfbNGxcigemfYMQ6NmPAvKmjy0nClaa71lfWGbotLoL9W6x1DsO5wk0BuUe_hsZzuKQn8KiSykYmkZSeTIkMrLDXB1ZP-mn7TK7DZgfGzNtVlyTykHh7zbqp3vi7-HdXWbE/s1600/10942661_10153091347986468_8765800300729740035_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Wfx7ctuOyfbNGxcigemfYMQ6NmPAvKmjy0nClaa71lfWGbotLoL9W6x1DsO5wk0BuUe_hsZzuKQn8KiSykYmkZSeTIkMrLDXB1ZP-mn7TK7DZgfGzNtVlyTykHh7zbqp3vi7-HdXWbE/s1600/10942661_10153091347986468_8765800300729740035_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We get in another randomly driven car
and this time we have a man from New York with us. He's promoting a
brazilian drink and I can't for the life of me remember his name.
I'll call him 'Fun Bob.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The bar – Three Clubs – is indeed
dark and reminds me more of an Irish Pub. There's food everywhere.
Popcorn, pizza, burgers, big bowls full of M&M's, Haribo and
peanuts.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The barman, Jo, is another good friend
of Christine. I take one look at him and turn to Stephen who now
seems to have the ability to read my mind:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yep, he would have been perfect for
you. He's just your type. You're too late though. I checked and he is
wearing a wedding band.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Jo tells us about his baby Henry who
has croup and then tells us, at Christine's insistence, a great joke
he made up.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'How many mixologists does it take to
screw in a lightbulb? -
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Well, that all depends on what level of
light you want and what kind of voltage you're working with. I mean
how many power sockets do you have and what kind of room are you
lighting? Will you be having a dimmer switch or a regular.......'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He just keeps going with variables.
He's funny. Dammit.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtDpk-DUHNub97qWU63bbcPZ53dcjeDV1q4g0HjRZHJhwiWzhJDHBZzPB0Ff156re8CLISCDYUGaEa_gh06PDGsup_JfkwuhjUjYNuHunfAMwtVodq2VSKn4-GmvXzKdE9KZjwfzFjTk/s1600/10407579_10153091282021468_6128186179714637053_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtDpk-DUHNub97qWU63bbcPZ53dcjeDV1q4g0HjRZHJhwiWzhJDHBZzPB0Ff156re8CLISCDYUGaEa_gh06PDGsup_JfkwuhjUjYNuHunfAMwtVodq2VSKn4-GmvXzKdE9KZjwfzFjTk/s1600/10407579_10153091282021468_6128186179714637053_n.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a>I obviously know absolutely nothing
about sports so Stephen gives me two stock phrases to repeat at
anyone who steps in to my path:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Go Patriots!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'How about that Tom Brady huh....'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I try it out a few times and people
slap me on the back and say things like 'Hell yeah!' And 'I know
right!'
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Christine spots some stickers with beer
bottles on them and her face lights up.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Are those transfer tattoos?!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Jo shakes his head.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Stickers. I know right, almost cool.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Got <i>anything</i> for me?' She asks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He hands her a novelty double straw.
She rips the packaging open and thrusts it into her cocktail.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Don't you threaten ME with a good
time!' She downs the drink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I haven't bought her a drink at all
since meeting her and feel that now is the time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Fancy a shot of tequila?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Sure! Tequila or...MESCAL!?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I think Mescal might be the answer
she's looking for. We get one for Jo too. Shot glasses aren't even
shot sized here. It's just a glass of pure spirits. Stephen point
blank refuses to partake in this madness.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We switch to beers for a while. And
then back to cocktails. There's some mixologist joke going on between
her and Jo to do with Apple-tinis which I'm gathering are a pain to
make. Now ALL I want is an Apple-tini. Jo is a good sport and makes
us a round. Then there's some more shots. Another Apple-tini. At some
point Fun Bob disappears and comes back with a whole bunch of tacos
and mexican food which we eat like savages. (Stephen insists he saved
us from a much worse fate by bringing that well timed snack).</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The game goes on in the background and
at some point Katy Perry arrives on the back of a mythical beast.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By the time Lips gets out of his
meeting and joins us we're talking largely in clicks and hoots.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'We missed you! We love youuuuuuuu!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh Gawd,' he mutters and gets a beer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Christine has been talking all day
periodically about 'When you move to LA.' She would literally kill
me. In about a week. She says she can get me a job. Zoe has also
offered the possibility of some writing work for her company. Lips
does that Jewish shrug of his. 'I can see you here.' Stephen too is
onboard. 'You have talents. You could achieve something great here.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Truth is I couldn't live so far from my
family. I'd miss them so much. But I might return for a few months if
there was some work for me. I could see that happening. LA has a way
of seducing you in to believing anything is possible.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I wake the next morning I know for
a fact that I will not be drinking today.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I go downstairs and find Stephen
leaning heavily against the kitchen counter. For the first time since
I arrived he doesn't look like he stepped out of a catalogue.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Ha Ha! You look like shit!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
His head slides down in to his hands
and his shoulders shake gently.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You are killin' me girl.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I feel a little smug. I've broken
Stephen.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Ahm just gonna take the dogs for a
walk and then we'll take you over to Calvin for your singing lesson
okay.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He smiles at me with pure evil.</div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-20013061365692279912015-02-02T11:32:00.002-08:002015-02-02T11:32:35.124-08:00Burlesque, Cigars And A Near Death Experience.
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I sometimes make notes on my phone to
remind me to put something particular in the blog. After a fortifying
cup of coffee, two Advil (my constant companions on this trip) and a
little blue pill that stops you getting acid reflux for 24 hours
(margaritas) I check my notes. The only note from the weekend is:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen: “Put THAT in the blog
beyatch!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Curious. I'm going to have to retrace
our steps.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's saturday morning and Lips and
Stephen return from the flower market with something that is the
shape and size of a small tree. Lips heads off for a meeting with
some clients from China and Stephen begins what I can only assume is
topiary so that he can fit the small tree in a big vase.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I thought we could take the dogs for a
hike up Runyon Canyon when I'm finished here?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Sounds good,' I say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He looks down at my converse.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You're the same size as me right? An
8? You wanna borrow some trainers, proper ones?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'These converse got me across the
northern territories in Australia. I think they'll survive a walk up
a canyon in Hollywood.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Alrighty then.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We park somewhere in the Hollywood
Hills and congratulate Anderson Cooper on not vomiting in the car. He
gets terribly carsick and spends every journey with his face out of
the window salivating and dribbling like a tap trying to keep his
lunch down whilst Bradley Cooper looks on mournfully.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There are A LOT of people here doing
the same hike, also with dogs, but in contrast to us most of them are
wearing lycra and sprinting up what I now notice nervously is quite a
steep incline.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It's really beautiful though, hard to
believe you're in LA, so close to the city. I look up to a hazy peak
somewhere in the distance high high up. There are people stood there
looking down at us ants. Well there's no way I'll be going that far
so I'm not too worried.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As good fortune would have it Anderson
is so happy to be out of the car and in nature that all I have to do
is hold on to the lead and let him pull me up the hilly paths.
There's really very little energy expended on my part. Until about
half way up an hour or so later when he looks at me with what can
only be described as disappointment and starts trotting slowly by my
side. The walk gets harder. People heading the other way stop
frequently to admire the dogs and I take the opportunity to bend over
with hands on knees and drag in a few much needed lungfuls of air.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We see a famous rapper stood chatting
to his acolytes. A man that looks like a greek god cut out of marble
jogs past us and my head does a 360 turn.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Don't worry,' Stephen says. 'You'll
see him again.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Sure enough twenty minutes later he
runs past us again. HOW?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'He's doing a circuit of the canyon.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
HOW?!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A bit further up we see the rapper
again. At some point he must have run past us but I missed it through
the curtain of sweat that is now my face.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I look down to the side and have a wave
of vertigo. We're really high up and there are no railings.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Adonis runs past us again and he's
perilously close to the edge. I almost want to grab his legs but I
don't have the energy to expend.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
About a week later we reach the top.
That tiny point in the distance I saw when we started. I can't
believe I made it and am still alive.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0n7nTDx4P9nhZ6AzRS-c6xAlIwMctsB5xX8aQyWOVdJy4RMBcl_eAXnJg6LK6Pwljr0X9gZiMNLeHhIyEVG8tkecYxaNtEBGT3phbVw8n6-c-seNBdnHfoZQqWLCsxMswg6QfUOnMr7I/s1600/10245291_10153093173926468_1134416326257048174_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0n7nTDx4P9nhZ6AzRS-c6xAlIwMctsB5xX8aQyWOVdJy4RMBcl_eAXnJg6LK6Pwljr0X9gZiMNLeHhIyEVG8tkecYxaNtEBGT3phbVw8n6-c-seNBdnHfoZQqWLCsxMswg6QfUOnMr7I/s1600/10245291_10153093173926468_1134416326257048174_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Rocky Moment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Good job,' Stephen says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I feel it warrants more but merely nod.
It's all I've got left.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's a little tricky on the way down,'
Stephen offers tentatively.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I don't see how down can be anything
like as hard as up.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We begin the descent. I quickly realise
that a combination of 'down' being basically a sheer drop and my now
acute vertigo might make this a bit challenging.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen gives me Bradley Cooper's lead
because he's less boisterous than Anderson and I stand a small chance
of not being dragged face first down a mountain.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm sliding on the grit and there's
nothing to grab hold of.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Is this what you were thinking when
you offered me some proper trainers?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen nods. I think he's trying not
to laugh at me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I slide again and start screaming.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's fine! It's fine! I'll just inch
down slowly on my arse.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen bursts out laughing and grabs
my hand as I try to lower myself in to a sitting position.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No you don't! You stand missy! You are
not sitting in the dirt on your ass. Not on my watch.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fuckery fuckety fuck.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I should point out that throughout this
debacle thin athletic people are sprinting down the hill past me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I take it one step at a time. As does
Bradley who gently moves forward an inch and then sits and waits for
me to catch up.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We get home and I have the best shower
of my life.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lips is back and we're heading out for
a light bite before meeting Christine the bartender who is going to
take us to a club she's working at.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We have some delicious bits to eat at a
place called Odyn And Penelope and Christine drives us to some lot in
a back alley. We walk down a darkened alley until we reach a big
1950's fridge. The man outside greets Christine affectionately and
opens the fridge door which turns out be the entrance to an achingly
cool 1970's club called 'Good Times'. Inside is just as fabulous and
it's heaving. The bartender knows Christine (they all know each other
here) and refuses to take our money. We have a drink in the garden
where there's a small caravan set up as a bar serving 'Boozy Cones'
– slush puppies in a cone with tequila poured over them. We only
stay for one and then head off again. Another dark alley with a seedy
looking entrance and over the top a gaudy neon sign that says La
Descarga. But there's a queue of at least sixty people. We don't have
to queue because of Christine who I'm rapidly coming to love. A nice
man asks me for my ID.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I don't carry ID with me,' I say. 'I'm
forty.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He doesn't assure me that I look much
younger. He just smiles.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'If you don't have ID you can't get
served at the bar or start a tab.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I nod to Lips.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Can he be my responsible adult?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Sure,' he smiles. 'Be good.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We go through a dodgy metal door and up
some rickety stairs. The walls are yellowing and it has the feel of a
crack den. When we get to the top we find ourselves in a tawdry
living room. Low lamps cast an orange glow. There's worn sofa, an old
wardrobe and a picture of Che on the wall. There's even a half drunk
cup of something and some unopened mail. <br />A girl appears in a
tight red dress and greets us.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You been here before?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I shake my head.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Welcome. Please don't take any
photographs and feel free to smoke. There's a great selection of
cigars.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5f4VwIdDM07LPiedkXNp_JmOKQnGHURwaceHf8L9WZJyy5cgct7PsrI0jM35XDCYmybByEGIhF9b1szwlKEMT9QxcacP-Anrq2WOS_mBxLk14DY82mRz_X5d1q0ISJTwwkvKY-cngcs/s1600/10959467_10153090777826468_8618454305640158300_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5f4VwIdDM07LPiedkXNp_JmOKQnGHURwaceHf8L9WZJyy5cgct7PsrI0jM35XDCYmybByEGIhF9b1szwlKEMT9QxcacP-Anrq2WOS_mBxLk14DY82mRz_X5d1q0ISJTwwkvKY-cngcs/s1600/10959467_10153090777826468_8618454305640158300_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>She opens the wardrobe which is full of
shirts and pulls them to one side. There's a drape of sorts which she
pulls back. We walk through and find ourselves on a balcony looking
down over a bar rammed full of people. There's a cuban jazz band in
one corner and the place is already heaving.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'This is the best Narnia ever,' I say.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We head down the spiral staircase and
go to the bar. Christine has already racked us up three mojito's,
pint sized. She waves away Stephen's Amex. We'll not be paying
tonight.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I walk around the corner to find the
ladies and walk in to the cigar bar. I've been to Cuba and this is as
authentic as anything I've seen there. There's ceiling fans turning
slowly. Old leather chairs and low tables with ashtrays on them. A
man is sat in the corner with his arm loosely draped over a girls
shoulder. She's clinging to him like salvation and he's chewing a
toothpick. He gives me a slow wink. People are selecting cigars from
a glass cabinet and a few girls in cocktail dresses are moving their
hips lazily to the music.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have a cigarette and pinch myself.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I head back to find the boys waiting.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvOLMuYms-rUpuf2zHrWbu8r01ph9u4p72I9nBi6UZiyoLj2oFqUC58Kx4aNw7sdMlR0fqcctwPdHrDWoEP7N3fTwbcTxAyW7fW3ozhWXTOwuGyFHihcpHmLhu3Y-cqQ-NyyTi-w0gdQ/s1600/10959431_10153093172596468_1273714050649354410_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsvOLMuYms-rUpuf2zHrWbu8r01ph9u4p72I9nBi6UZiyoLj2oFqUC58Kx4aNw7sdMlR0fqcctwPdHrDWoEP7N3fTwbcTxAyW7fW3ozhWXTOwuGyFHihcpHmLhu3Y-cqQ-NyyTi-w0gdQ/s1600/10959431_10153093172596468_1273714050649354410_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>A man is making his way through the
dense crowd playing a trumpet and he's incredible. Everyone is
cheering and screaming, me included. He finishes and points up to the
balcony. A girl in a sequinned bra and knickers begins dancing and
the music starts up with the rest of the band playing too. Strangely
there's nothing seedy about it. She's an incredible dancer and at one
point is shaking her bum so fast you can no longer see it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The mojito's come on tap and we dance
and laugh for hours.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's a moment where we're all
dancing, the burlesque girl is spinning at the speed of light, the
band seems to be everywhere around us and Christine has her head back
laughing at the moon. The world is a perfect bubble of hedonism and everything is bathed in gold. Stephen catches my eye and roars:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Put THAT in the blog beyatch!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-CRxtLrmPHnz5SRV7cUgzQjPjUVEC19qAq-cZNV2aTx9Nf6GOaDIXcYp8J-3yh34cm9ugChs_Ral-Q9Yoks6zmVrmSj8aBnRTMdQg4QWKQx5S7jPmO0oJPAkBaco7uY4oFqY2SvstbHo/s1600/10959476_10153093172036468_5085595214897554915_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-CRxtLrmPHnz5SRV7cUgzQjPjUVEC19qAq-cZNV2aTx9Nf6GOaDIXcYp8J-3yh34cm9ugChs_Ral-Q9Yoks6zmVrmSj8aBnRTMdQg4QWKQx5S7jPmO0oJPAkBaco7uY4oFqY2SvstbHo/s1600/10959476_10153093172036468_5085595214897554915_n.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-65261509464479816522015-01-31T10:26:00.001-08:002015-01-31T10:43:17.452-08:00Marilyn's Booth. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcazud5Lgf4e4a5YtVXqW1t97GZg1Ie1PhfnwUnZRE6A5FuUXUuYBu2vDBh-9SCIQCjnsGvLLETD2CDflKGCffVyfGMVKYIF3pUbq6a47Kh4gAIh4mBTnPJjzZKFvpTX7eYQ379sXksg/s1600/10942517_10153088543736468_8505565611343991177_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcazud5Lgf4e4a5YtVXqW1t97GZg1Ie1PhfnwUnZRE6A5FuUXUuYBu2vDBh-9SCIQCjnsGvLLETD2CDflKGCffVyfGMVKYIF3pUbq6a47Kh4gAIh4mBTnPJjzZKFvpTX7eYQ379sXksg/s1600/10942517_10153088543736468_8505565611343991177_n.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We're sat in Antonio's, Lips and
Stephen's favourite 'mexican dive', with Karina a puerto rican
actress whom Stephen knows from one of his many classes.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We're about three margaritas in. They
are strong and served in buckets.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They're talking about some actress but
I'm hazy on the details because I'm staring at the walls which are
covered with literally hundreds of photo's of Antonio with different
celebrities spanning about fifty years. There's him with Sinatra, and
there with Johnny Depp. Antonia young and dashing with a pencil
moustache...Antonio older, still handsome, still with the 'tache. He
found his look in 1930 and he stuck with it. I stagger out for a
smoke and pass an elderly man sat just inside the door greeting
guests. It's Antonio! He's about 142. And he still has a pencil
moustache.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When I get back Karina is still talking
about the actress.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'If I could swap bodies I'd take hers
in a heartbeat.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'She has legs up to her earlobes,' Lips
informs me, though I still have no idea who they're talking about.
Stephen chips in;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'If I could change anything I'd be a
little taller. And I'd change - '</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I slug back my drink and slam it down.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I wouldn't change anything about
myself,' I declare.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
This gives them pause.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Really?' Karina says. I <i>think</i> she
means it kindly</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Absolutely' I say warming to my theme.
'I look in the mirror and I see that I'm big and yeah sure I have
psoriasis and okay I've got these laughter lines now around my eyes
and my hair is going silver at the sides...' I'm losing focus.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You don't have any lines around your
eyes at all actually,' Stephen says. 'And there isn't a white hair on
your head.' He adds accusingly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'There is...are...trust me. And I see
the lines that weren't there a year ago but...BUT...they are MINE. I
spent forty years laughing and crying for these lines and I'm not
giving them up. I may not be beautiful but I've never wanted to be
anyone else but me.' I smile like a self satisfied cat.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Seriously, there are no laughter lines
around your eyes,' Stephen says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No, Lips adds. 'The laughter lines are
around her vagina.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen looks outraged. Lips and I fall
about laughing like drains because EVERYTHING is funny after three
buckets of margarita.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Karina goes on to tell us about her
obsession with Les Miserables.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have vague memories of demanding to
know why anyone would want to go and see a show called The Miserable.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Fade to grey.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I wake up and immediately regret the
forth margarita.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I stand under the shower and try to
wash the tequila from my pores.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I eat two Advil for breakfast and head
downstairs.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The Cooper brothers are so over excited
to see me (as is the inexplicable way of dogs) that they both run at
me full pelt realising too late that they are on slate flooring and
cannot stop in time. They slam in to me with the force of a wall made
entirely of fluff and I stagger backwards and slide to the ground.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen is waiting for me, looking
sinisterly perfect.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Ready for your acting lesson, dear?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He has this southern drawl that's
addictive to listen to. And he is the most polite man I have ever met
but I'm beginning to detect some dry humour there. A touch of
sarcasm.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He drops me off outside a door
somewhere in Venice.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Just sit there till he comes to fetch
you. Have fun.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The flat apartment buildings and their
balcony's remind me of the setting for Dirty Dancing.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I'm sat there muttering: 'I carried a
watermelon' when Craig appears with perfect white hair and luminous
teeth.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You must be Thea,' he says extending a
hand and giving me the once over. He pauses at the tattoos on my
arms. 'Come on in.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The room is cosy and there's a camera
set up at one end which makes me shudder.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There are posters on the wall with him
smiling and a banner telling me he's an award winning acting coach.
He has a 'method' apparently. He used to be a an agent and also
worked as a casting executive for one of the big big agencies.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Stephen tells me you trained as an
actress some years ago?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Twenty years ago.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'And what happened? Why didn't you
pursue it?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I start talking and realise I'm in a
therapy session. Oh he's good.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'...so basically...I think I'm a bit of
a late bloomer. In everything.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He nods sagely and smiles.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'In my experience the best performers,
writers, artists in general are all late bloomers.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Good to know.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We chit chat for ten minutes and then
he asks me if I prepared my scene.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I nod and produce the script that I
have glanced at once since Stephen left it for me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We go through it once with him playing
the other character and when I'm finished he nods and smiles again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What do you think of LA?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I think it's mad in a brilliant sort
of way. Everyone here wants to be someone. Everyone is willing a
suspension of disbelief. They work as waiters for twenty years but
they never give up hope that they might be the next big thing.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's true,' he says. 'It's completely
insane here, a bubble. And I forget that sometimes because I'm in it.
I'm enabling. When I get a new student and ask them why they're doing
this they too often say “Because acting is my passion”. That
always worries me. It's such a stock phrase and behind it there's
usually another reason, and that reason is that something is missing
from their life, or something has been neglected. They just want
someone to listen to them.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We do the scene again after a brief
discussion about 'intent' and 'purpose'.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
It feels different and I'm starting to
get in to it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When we finish he nods
enthusiastically.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You leaked a couple of times. I love
it when that happens.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I check the floor for tequila.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'And by that I mean that I could see
you react emotionally. You, really you, to the situation. You looked
at me for a second like you wanted to stab me in the throat. It's
those moments that get you the job.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I stare at him blankly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'When someone leaves an audition and
the casting panel say 'Hey didn't she read well' you know they didn't
get the role. It's not about the words, it's about what happens
between them. I could see in the pauses that Jenny (my character I
beg your fucking pardon) had dignity masking her fear and anger
hidden by aloofness.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I enjoy the class far more than I
anticipated and we spend an extra half an hour talking about
Stanislavsky, bad acting and his great friendship with Julia Roberts
(who can access every part of her psyche apparently).
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
By the by, everyone, and I do mean
everyone here has a Julia Roberts story. It seems everyone has met
and had a moment with her. If this is true then I have no idea how
she ever has the time to do any work and I can only assume she is one
of about six prototypes stalking the streets of LA. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen is waiting outside for me and
Craig thanks him for bringing me along.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh my lord she's a joy! I just wish
all my students were like her.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I puff up like a peacock and glide down
the stairs. I'm going to be a star!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen and I spend the rest of the day
on Venice beach together. Lips is still in jury service and we get
the odd text in which he prays for his imminent death. He is not
having fun.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Stephen wants to pop in to the Converse
store to get some more...converse.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I look down at our feet. We're wearing
matching black and white ones but mine are hanging together by a
thread and his are shiny and clean.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You want some in a different colour?'
I ask.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No I need to replace these, they're
getting grubby.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He then clocks mine.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You want some?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'No I'm good.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He pauses.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Y'sure?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What are you saying?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He smiles in that southern polite way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Don't get me wrong, I like them, I do.
They're very...you. But if y'all want a new pair...that would be fine
too. On me.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm fine.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Alrighty then.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We go to a rooftop bar and drink
prosecco and the heavens open. The rain is warm and lovely and it all
feels very pleasant though Stephen isn't convinced.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm GONNA enjoy this because I'm with
you but no Thea, it is not lovely to get wet. It is not lovely at
all.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We take a walk along the Venice strip
where some men wearing green scrubs offer me 'medicinal marijuana.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There are shops entirely devoted to
bongs and t-shirts that say things like 'Mike's Bitch.' So this is
the seedy side of LA.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I could see you living in Venice,'
Stephen says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yeah, me too.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He grabs us some coffees and returns
with a t-shirt for me that says:
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
VENICE – Where Crime Meets Art.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lhH2sk1kUpM0f-GRIXarh_qlTPvvK6VwGJgokF_PpJgC_SXom8_Qroizk-JH3EH6eVV58iIRCgaX9_iP9GG5S68_UsER6tDc-viCjr4mg3FMqzCJsFoQH4mDsxI1WX7iExG14Jw_UxE/s1600/10420022_10153088543666468_3349275832393031144_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lhH2sk1kUpM0f-GRIXarh_qlTPvvK6VwGJgokF_PpJgC_SXom8_Qroizk-JH3EH6eVV58iIRCgaX9_iP9GG5S68_UsER6tDc-viCjr4mg3FMqzCJsFoQH4mDsxI1WX7iExG14Jw_UxE/s1600/10420022_10153088543666468_3349275832393031144_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When we get back it's dark and Lips is
waiting for us with an imaginary gun pushed in to the underside of
his chin.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Jury Duty going well?' I ask.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I need a fucking drink.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He has booked us a table at Musso and
Frank, the oldest restaurant in Hollywood (1919) and it is fabulous.
All red leather booths and waiters with a minimum age of 45 in porter
suits with sharp collars.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I bet the martinis here are
brilliant,' Lips says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
They arrive in tiny cocktail glasses
with an additional little glass beaker of more martini each sat in a
tiny ice bucket. We order three more.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The maitre de, who looks like a film
star, leans over and whispers to me;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You're sat in Marilyn's booth.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I almost jump up thinking I'm sat ON
her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'She loved to sit here because she
could see everyone coming in. But also, so they could see her.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He winks at me. I'm in FUCKING HEAVEN.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lips and I agree we should order old
school and both have the shrimp salad followed by a steak.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The huge prawns come hooked over a bowl
of glass. It's all so....Hollywood.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
After dinner a man approaches me. He
looks like Cary Grant would today.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You visiting ma'am?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkazbrdIOG7UC6uY7DmuhyuUxlhgmFzKmsDcl_EyWok1OYhlyQz50b4gMBE6QUOSu1N5FOb2uwiGzna4QPmmtggtKQt4e40Sn6EQrCZtAYujTnIWzyXBdzEzgIfnvzQCtX9B4DwXDPmy8/s1600/10377088_10153088543611468_5814109564670288284_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkazbrdIOG7UC6uY7DmuhyuUxlhgmFzKmsDcl_EyWok1OYhlyQz50b4gMBE6QUOSu1N5FOb2uwiGzna4QPmmtggtKQt4e40Sn6EQrCZtAYujTnIWzyXBdzEzgIfnvzQCtX9B4DwXDPmy8/s1600/10377088_10153088543611468_5814109564670288284_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>'I am.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'From the UK?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Know the Cooper family?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Um, sorry, no.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He disappears and comes back with a
calendar.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'For you. Pictures I took myself.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'That's so kind.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
And he's off again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I think he liked you,' Lips says
flicking through the images. 'Oh that's a nice one of the Griffin
Observatory.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We go to The Piano Bar (Live music
seven nights a week!) A huge bouncer at the door tells us we'll have
to wait a short time because they're at capacity. I look through the
door, it's half full at best, no queue at the bar.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I know,' he says. 'But we don't like
it to get too crowded.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We wait twenty minutes and the bouncer
lights every one of my cigarettes. I love this kind of thing. I'm a
sucker for it. Lips is really classic in that way. If I stand up to
go for a cigarette or use the restroom, he stands too. I haven't
opened a car door since I arrived and he always has his hand on the
small of my back guiding me gently toward a table or a door. It makes
you feel...precious. I wish I was in 1952.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As we enter the bouncer leans over;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'There's a courtyard out back where you
can drink AND smoke at the same time.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He squeezes my arm.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Ahhhhhh.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We get seats right by the band and sit
for an hour watching them play the most complicated jazz. There's a
man on a trumpet who is mesmerising.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Lips nods to the drummer who seems to
be completely lost in the music.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Someone's watched Whiplash.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyBm2iwFky5TnhAzt_HnlQkqSAIU_Uf_sTsSZX7bwdohfim5v2-2Akni-R3d_qQaWWFwuh4eGx2hZbwSsJJXKvdG3Y1B1Mf5IHWfBpU73m_XyjfyItYNhJ0VcKcBGs0QykLa8G6vmmCo/s1600/1528580_10153088543556468_5626330467861991802_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyBm2iwFky5TnhAzt_HnlQkqSAIU_Uf_sTsSZX7bwdohfim5v2-2Akni-R3d_qQaWWFwuh4eGx2hZbwSsJJXKvdG3Y1B1Mf5IHWfBpU73m_XyjfyItYNhJ0VcKcBGs0QykLa8G6vmmCo/s1600/1528580_10153088543556468_5626330467861991802_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a>We head home around 2 am.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Another dream like day has passed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'By the way,' Lips says as I head up to
bed. 'I got us tickets for Dame Edna's Farewell tour on wednesday.
It'll be a scream.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I dance the last three feet to bed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
Pomegranatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09371416097039048345noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-786021015441518208.post-7379520218945043912015-01-29T12:00:00.004-08:002015-01-29T12:01:39.993-08:00Zoe's Legion Of Lovers.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFhxwEObaetSjzmMhGWqSC-vq72g5w0odapeJHxrLmMGAHCAxrqpmDQMNK5XWItwSmS1QGgewKjqUVwfKiRxl_xIudvvFY5tpnAAWCyi4FZHVlhL9wbEmeKILpR997Zw8djVELhKNl3w/s1600/10437606_10153082513201468_9007827921052863770_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFhxwEObaetSjzmMhGWqSC-vq72g5w0odapeJHxrLmMGAHCAxrqpmDQMNK5XWItwSmS1QGgewKjqUVwfKiRxl_xIudvvFY5tpnAAWCyi4FZHVlhL9wbEmeKILpR997Zw8djVELhKNl3w/s1600/10437606_10153082513201468_9007827921052863770_n.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A text comes through from Lips of a
crying emoticon face with a gun held to its head and the words 'Oy
Vey.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He's been called up for Jury Duty and
has been sat downtown at the courtrooms for about three hours now
waiting to be interviewed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Just tell them you're an Atheist gay
jew producer and you think the case would make a great movie. Surely
they'll ask you to leave.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Maybe. Wish me luck.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He meets us at a bar a couple of hours
later.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I'm there all day and they only
interviewed three people! I have to go back tomorrow. It's a cluster
fuck. What the hell are you drinking?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'A Margarita.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'This place only has a wine and beer
license.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
He turns to the barman.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What's in this instead of tequila?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It's rice wine, sir. It's delicious.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh no no no.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'It tastes nice, Lips.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Thea, there is no tequila in the
drink!'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Rice wine is rather nice...'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Oh my God! Get me a beer. Where are we
going to after here? For a real drink?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'How did the meeting go, Stephen?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I choked.'<br />
'Okaaaaay, let's start
drinking people.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We're spending the evening with an old
friend of Lips's called Zoe. She's from the UK but has been out here
19 years working as a Producer. <br />
We head back to the house to meet
her and walk in to find that the labradoodles have staged a dirty
protest (no not that kind), they've removed the soil from every plant
in the house and distributed it across the slate floors.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Bradley Cooper! Anderson Cooper! Come
here right now. You have been very bad boys.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The dogs know something is up and hide
under a table.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I start giggling. I'd pay good money to
tell Bradley Cooper he's been a bad boy. But this is not the time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's no point in telling a dog off
after the event, they don't know what they've done and so Lips and
Stephen merely kiss them whilst quietly telling them that this
behaviour will not stand.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
As we clean up Zoe arrives.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'What happened here?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Maybe we just shouldn't have plants,'
Lips says. 'We can use the pots for their ashes.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Zoe is furnished with some wine and
fixes her eye on me. She wants to know who I am, why I'm here, how I
know Lips and how long I'm staying. She tells me she's originally
from Brighton. I tell her I used to live there and we compare
information.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I feel like I've met her before. We
fall in to a comedy banter that remains on tap for the entire
evening.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We head up to a Japanese restaurant,
not to eat, just for a pre dinner cocktail because it's in the hills
and has a magnificent view of LA at night. I'm touched by how Lips
and Stephen take every opportunity to show me something new or
beautiful. The best views, the most iconic places.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We order Pineapple-tinis but Zoe sticks
to white wine. She smokes which just makes me like her more. We head
out ostensibly to admire the view, but really to just smoke. Lips
comes out and takes a picture of us. It looks like we've known each
other forever. I tell her I love it here and would happily spend a
few months a year in LA if I had work.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I get the feeling you will be out here
again,' she says.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I couldn't waitress out here, I'd go
mad.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'My company is looking for writers.
Would you be interested in that?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Yes. I would.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'You could do it from anywhere and it
would give you a reason to come back too.'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Anything can happen. Anything happens
all the time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We go to an Italian for pizza. I try my
first white pizza which just has cheese and an egg in the middle.
Also a kale and spinach pizza and something with aubergine and
rocket. I eat four slices more than I need to.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We all fall in to food comas and head
home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We're having LA themed movie nights
whilst I'm here. LA Story and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang are on the list but
the first one we watch is a new one: “Nightcrawler” set in the
seedy sub culture of night time LA and starring a severely
underweight Jake Gyllenhaal. We cosy up and watch on the ridiculously
large TV screen. So this is a home cinema. I could get used to it.
Gyllenhaal is terrifying and brilliant. It's rare you watch a film
where you aren't rooting for the protagonist, just hoping and praying
he doesn't kill anyone. I recognise a lot of the places which makes
it all the more exciting.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I have my acting lesson tomorrow with
Calvin. I don't want to talk about it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Today Lips is dropping me off downtown
to see the Disney building ('It is a beautiful thing') and the Museum
of Modern Art whilst he sits in the courtrooms going quietly insane.
I woke up to find he'd printed me off a little map and highlighted
all the places worth seeing. Love him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I don't know what we're doing tonight.
I don't much care. I'm happy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Disclaimer: Zoe was curious to know if she'd be mentioned in the blog. And if so how personal that information would be. Hence the title. I'm just fucking with her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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