This is my first. My first time.
There are a lot of firsts in ones life. Some more pleasant than others. The first time we spoke, crawled, walked, got an A in a test or on an assignment. The first time you played a computer game, jumped off the 10 meter at the local pool, wore pink, had sex, mixed wine and strong liquor, saw Paris Hiltons coochie, watched Gilmore Girls, saw Kylie live in concert and read that one book that came to mean so much to you.
It's a very long list.
I had another first on Thursday. It was very day. You see, Friday last week, I got an email from a delivery service that confirmed they would deliver my Apple kit Thursday. So, Thursday I was home around 3.30pm because the delivery boys would be by any time between 5 to 10pm. Naive as I am, I thought they'd be by pretty early because I live in the centre of town but by 8pm I was very impatient and pretty much giving up due to the snow. At least they could have called or emailed that they wouldn't deliver, I thought.
Then at 9pm they came. I must say what the delivery boy lacked in beauty, my Apple kit most certainly made up for. Everything was there, except the Time Capsule which will be delivered at some point I assume. Although there's still no news on that. Anyway, everything is so gorgeous - even the boxes everything came in was gorgeous. There's no excess styrofoam or other junk, everything is precise and luxoriously made just like my MacBook and Apple Cinema.
After unwrapping the gorgeous equipment, I started corrupting it. Most Mac enthusiasts (fantatics?) would call it the abomination, OUTRAGEOUS! even. However, I'm not one to be playing with a Snow Leopard, you could lose a finger or worse. Being an MS Windows gay, and having been for about 15 years it's not easy to change, and you know what they say. A leopard can't change its spots, or something to that effect. Anyway, it proved pretty easy to violate the sanctity of the Snow Leopard, and my MacBook is now dancing with the devil.
Now, I just need to learn how to use it properly. You see, obviously there are no Windows keys, that's a given. However, there is no Del, End, Home or Insert keys either, and it took me a while to figure out how to work out how to correct the whole issue with the ONE button mouse/mousepad.
I promise I'll take a photo of the setup when I'm all done. I was supposed to clean my flat today, but somehow I can't find the energy and inspiration for it.
This is my first blog post I've done on this fabulous MacBook, and I'm obviously doing it from my sofa while watching the show White Collar (first time watching that!). There's just nothing bad I can say about this laptop. It's divine.
I find that I must stroke it every day, the MacBook (you filthy people!). On that note..
THE FILTH!
Now that we know the O faces of the JLS boys, how do you look at that magic moment? Please feel free, to share your photos.
Showing posts with label Rambling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rambling. Show all posts
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
This used to be my playground
I don't go about referencing Madge much. Why would anyone? I'm certainly not going to embed the deadfully boring video on here. Anyway it seems like a fitting title, because this will be the end of an era for me. Some things end, only to have beautiful new beginnings somewhere else.
Personally I feel at home pretty much anywhere I hang my hat - or am. Moving somewhere new is not a problem for me. On the bus to work the other day, I counted and I've lived 8 (9 if you count a little move to London that didn't last long, where I stayed in a dreadful hostel) places in my life.
My family moved into my childhood home in 1975, years before I was born, so I've never experienced moving with my parents. This also means they've lived in the same house for 35 years. As my parents aren't getting any younger, they've decided to move to a gorgeous designer appartment in the center of town with a view of the (tiny) harbour, the lakes and forest. Only a stone throw from the town square, as the realtor states. This means they put their house on the market. Less than two weeks later it was sold. They've since closed the deal on the designer appartment and they are now waiting to take it over on December 1st.
Personally I couldn't care less if they sold the house. I have no feelings towards it. It is, afterall, just a house. My memories from there are also primarily bad, because it wasn't a fun time for me. Evil bro on the other hand, is miserable. He lives about 200 meters from there in his own house, and his evil spawn are often spending time at my parents house playing etc. So it'll be impractical for him, when they move.
Anyway, I was looking at the realtor website and it doesn't look like the house I grew up in. Partly because they've upgraded the house a lot since I moved out, and then of course because they've tidied up a lot and partly because realtors are magical. They can make even the crappiest shack into a fabulous mansion. Both in words and pictures.
Now, this is where the pictures are coming in. I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane with you. Remembering my childhood home. This is the overview of the house
We start by looking in the multiroom where evil bro lived for one summer before getting a flat of his own.
The only thing in this room that has changed is the content. The two boxes behind the chairs are mine. There's old books and other junk in there. The wooden chairs are going into my storage room because I'm getting the table that goes with them. Let's go to the hall.
Back when I lived at home the walls were yellow bricks, the floor had brown carpet tiles and the door was wooden. My room was up there to the left, across from my/guestbathroom and straight forward is the master bedroom.
There is no photo of my old room, I don't know why, but this is the view from my room.
My bathroom.
Notice the characteristic blue 70s tiles are still there. The bathtub is divine, and it's the only thing from there that I miss. The best thing ever was to be lounging in the bath with loads of foam, something to drink and a fashion magazine or five. I'd spend hours there. There is also a shower cabin behind the door. Somehow that's less divine.
This is the master bedroom. In the old days it had a fuzzy carpet and a weird purple type colour on the walls. Maybe it was a forest berry.
On to the master bath, which curiously enough does not have a bathtub which is ia little underwhelming if you ask me. Anyway, it does have a bidet. I grew up there, and never found out what one actually uses a bidet for. We used it to wash our feet in because it took less water to fill that than the bathtub.
This used to be my evil bros room. My parents call it the office now, but I only know it as the peach room. The curtains are hideous. Notice the door to the sun room. We (well, I only did it to piss off evil bro) used to use that door to the sun room more than the one from the living room. I guess my parents did it to try and guilt evil bro to tidy up his room. It didn't work.
From evil bros room to the living room which is quite large (but not as large as it looks on the photos). In the old days the dining table was over to the left by the black chairs.
This is where the black chairs and TV was in the old days, and we had these hideous brown curtains. I used to be scared if I was home alone and the curtains weren't drawn when it was dark outside.
In the old days the fireplace was brown bricks, and the furniture antique furniture that was inherited from my mothers mother and her family. We never sat here. Now, we find that it's the only place we sit when we are not at the dining table.
This is the sun room. It was built in 1993 I think, and it's not a place one would want to sit in winter time. It's a nice place for Sangria on a late summer evening. Not that we ever did that when I lived at home.
The kitchen. The colour of the room is awful, and before this green colour, it was orange and yellow.
The floor used to be multicoloured orange, yellow, green linolium.
The utility room which looks much larger (like all the other rooms) than it is. Notice the authentic 70s green tiles. It used to be dark.
This is the back garden.
This all used to be my playground.
On top of all this selling and buying of real estate, my dear (and odd) aunt passed away in her sleep about four weeks ago. May she rest in peace.
Personally I feel at home pretty much anywhere I hang my hat - or am. Moving somewhere new is not a problem for me. On the bus to work the other day, I counted and I've lived 8 (9 if you count a little move to London that didn't last long, where I stayed in a dreadful hostel) places in my life.
My family moved into my childhood home in 1975, years before I was born, so I've never experienced moving with my parents. This also means they've lived in the same house for 35 years. As my parents aren't getting any younger, they've decided to move to a gorgeous designer appartment in the center of town with a view of the (tiny) harbour, the lakes and forest. Only a stone throw from the town square, as the realtor states. This means they put their house on the market. Less than two weeks later it was sold. They've since closed the deal on the designer appartment and they are now waiting to take it over on December 1st.
Personally I couldn't care less if they sold the house. I have no feelings towards it. It is, afterall, just a house. My memories from there are also primarily bad, because it wasn't a fun time for me. Evil bro on the other hand, is miserable. He lives about 200 meters from there in his own house, and his evil spawn are often spending time at my parents house playing etc. So it'll be impractical for him, when they move.
Anyway, I was looking at the realtor website and it doesn't look like the house I grew up in. Partly because they've upgraded the house a lot since I moved out, and then of course because they've tidied up a lot and partly because realtors are magical. They can make even the crappiest shack into a fabulous mansion. Both in words and pictures.
Now, this is where the pictures are coming in. I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane with you. Remembering my childhood home. This is the overview of the house
We start by looking in the multiroom where evil bro lived for one summer before getting a flat of his own.
The only thing in this room that has changed is the content. The two boxes behind the chairs are mine. There's old books and other junk in there. The wooden chairs are going into my storage room because I'm getting the table that goes with them. Let's go to the hall.
Back when I lived at home the walls were yellow bricks, the floor had brown carpet tiles and the door was wooden. My room was up there to the left, across from my/guestbathroom and straight forward is the master bedroom.
There is no photo of my old room, I don't know why, but this is the view from my room.
My bathroom.
Notice the characteristic blue 70s tiles are still there. The bathtub is divine, and it's the only thing from there that I miss. The best thing ever was to be lounging in the bath with loads of foam, something to drink and a fashion magazine or five. I'd spend hours there. There is also a shower cabin behind the door. Somehow that's less divine.
This is the master bedroom. In the old days it had a fuzzy carpet and a weird purple type colour on the walls. Maybe it was a forest berry.
On to the master bath, which curiously enough does not have a bathtub which is ia little underwhelming if you ask me. Anyway, it does have a bidet. I grew up there, and never found out what one actually uses a bidet for. We used it to wash our feet in because it took less water to fill that than the bathtub.
This used to be my evil bros room. My parents call it the office now, but I only know it as the peach room. The curtains are hideous. Notice the door to the sun room. We (well, I only did it to piss off evil bro) used to use that door to the sun room more than the one from the living room. I guess my parents did it to try and guilt evil bro to tidy up his room. It didn't work.
From evil bros room to the living room which is quite large (but not as large as it looks on the photos). In the old days the dining table was over to the left by the black chairs.
This is where the black chairs and TV was in the old days, and we had these hideous brown curtains. I used to be scared if I was home alone and the curtains weren't drawn when it was dark outside.
In the old days the fireplace was brown bricks, and the furniture antique furniture that was inherited from my mothers mother and her family. We never sat here. Now, we find that it's the only place we sit when we are not at the dining table.
This is the sun room. It was built in 1993 I think, and it's not a place one would want to sit in winter time. It's a nice place for Sangria on a late summer evening. Not that we ever did that when I lived at home.
The kitchen. The colour of the room is awful, and before this green colour, it was orange and yellow.
The floor used to be multicoloured orange, yellow, green linolium.
The utility room which looks much larger (like all the other rooms) than it is. Notice the authentic 70s green tiles. It used to be dark.
This is the back garden.
This all used to be my playground.
On top of all this selling and buying of real estate, my dear (and odd) aunt passed away in her sleep about four weeks ago. May she rest in peace.
Saturday, July 03, 2010
Very fruity
I grew up in a house with a nice garden by a lake. When I say by a lake, it's mean in that real estate agent kind of way. Because the lake was 3 rows of houses down, and past a fairly busy road. Yet we had a nice view of the lake as the house was on a (very) small hill. I didn't really appreciate the view back then, as I was either in my room colouring, playing Civilization (or Giana Sisters or Oil Imperium) or perhaps sitting outside on the balcony steps playing with our dog.
My parents did all they could, but I did find the entire collection of Abba on vinyl that they had hidden away along with Cliff Richard. Cliff wasn't really my thing though (except for that one Christmas song..)
We didn't just have fruity things in the house. Our garden was filled with black currant, redcurrant, strawberries, raspberries, apples, pears and gooseberries.
There were also melons, although they weren't for eating.
We haven't scaled down on the fruit since, as you can well imagine. I like fruit, I eat way too little of it, and I believe it's way too expensive. That is, if you want fresh fruit. You know, proper fresh fruit. The kind that looks great and doesn't taste waxy and artificial.
So today, as I was all out of ice cream and it was too hot to go anywhere or do anything, I pondered if I should go for ice cream. It was quite the debate in my head really. Yet, I ended up getting dressed properly, and ventured out into the sweltering heat. Sun baking us all, and it was quite a journey. The shop was nice and cool, and of course they'd been practically sold out on ice cream. I also managed to look in the fruit section if they had anything worth buying.
The raspberries looked great, so I stood there inspecting every pack of them. Obviously. As I did so, a woman and her daughter (I can only assume (I know, some stupid American phrase, something about a donkey)) came up to me looking at mangos. The daughter stood there staring, rather rudely I daresay, at me and then turns to her mother asking why I was inspecting the raspberries. Of course, I could have just answered myself, but the mother told her rather flat out "so the gentleman can get the packet with the least worms and rotting berries". Right. She was correct of course, but it almost put me off buying them if it wasn't because the packet I was holding hadn't looked so perfect.
When I got home I checked the packet again and the raspberries were perfect. They also tasted like every bit of summery goodness that I remember. Still, you don't get much eh? Why must the good fruits and berries cost so much?
Now, how about a raspberry margarita?
My parents did all they could, but I did find the entire collection of Abba on vinyl that they had hidden away along with Cliff Richard. Cliff wasn't really my thing though (except for that one Christmas song..)
We didn't just have fruity things in the house. Our garden was filled with black currant, redcurrant, strawberries, raspberries, apples, pears and gooseberries.
There were also melons, although they weren't for eating.
We haven't scaled down on the fruit since, as you can well imagine. I like fruit, I eat way too little of it, and I believe it's way too expensive. That is, if you want fresh fruit. You know, proper fresh fruit. The kind that looks great and doesn't taste waxy and artificial.
So today, as I was all out of ice cream and it was too hot to go anywhere or do anything, I pondered if I should go for ice cream. It was quite the debate in my head really. Yet, I ended up getting dressed properly, and ventured out into the sweltering heat. Sun baking us all, and it was quite a journey. The shop was nice and cool, and of course they'd been practically sold out on ice cream. I also managed to look in the fruit section if they had anything worth buying.
The raspberries looked great, so I stood there inspecting every pack of them. Obviously. As I did so, a woman and her daughter (I can only assume (I know, some stupid American phrase, something about a donkey)) came up to me looking at mangos. The daughter stood there staring, rather rudely I daresay, at me and then turns to her mother asking why I was inspecting the raspberries. Of course, I could have just answered myself, but the mother told her rather flat out "so the gentleman can get the packet with the least worms and rotting berries". Right. She was correct of course, but it almost put me off buying them if it wasn't because the packet I was holding hadn't looked so perfect.
When I got home I checked the packet again and the raspberries were perfect. They also tasted like every bit of summery goodness that I remember. Still, you don't get much eh? Why must the good fruits and berries cost so much?
Now, how about a raspberry margarita?
Sunday, May 09, 2010
The Adventures of Tim: Too big to fit in here
Tim of Sparky Malarkey asked us to give him a little action. So naturally I went to work on him. Taking my time, working my way up his sides, taking my time going on the pecks and then finally making my way slowly up his inner thighs.
Of his cut out Actionless paper doll of course.
Just to clarify, I love the song, not Tim, and now I'm digging a big hole and I should just delete the youtube song but it's too good for that. So deal with it.
Naturally I upgraded Tiny Actionless Tim and now he was ready for all sorts of action. So, naturally I took Tiny Tim along when I went out to find and buy my new TV. I'd already gone to two shops after work on my own because Tim was home tidying up his own mess, but on Friday I took him along to The Sony Center for a final glance. The salesman, a man in his late fourties who first showed us a 50 inch TV which was too big. It made me think of this
and couldn't concentrate on whatever the man was saying until the song had played out in full. Then he went on to talk about other TVs until he finally made it to my future TV. It was just there, black, sleek and fabulous. I actually had to stop myself from doing the Auto- and Boatshow glamourwhore demonstrations of sort of leaning on it and stroking it gently for no one in particular. It's just that pretty!
Yesterday I went there with more reinforcements to collect the TV and transport it back to my flat. This is when I really needed Tims help. Let me just say, once he'd finished fooling around with my DVDs
and that took some time indeed
I set him to work on the TV table I bought last weekend. Because really, Tim wanted action so action was what he was getting.
Tim seemed a little outraged at the large package, but I thought he might as well get used to that sort of thing - living with me and all.
It didn't look like Tim seemed confident with the manual but I told him to get to it.
I helped Tim with some of the hard work but this was his project.
Tim was very surprised to be almost done with now. All it needed was metal things it was supposed to stand on - and fitting the glass plate on top.
With the metal things securely fastened, I helped turning it around and tried to fit on the glass plate. It didn't fit of course, so we had to take the thing apart again and unscrewing bits to loosen one of the side blocks. With the glass plate fitting, again we put the DVD player etc. on it.
It was hard work, but someone had to do it, and so I was thrilled to give Tim a bit of action. Finally it was time to unpack the TV and set it up. This bit was a little less work for Tim, and more for me.
Quite frankly I could have used a little more help doing the last bits but Tim was satisfied being the TV show whore and posing for you all. Bless him!
Thank you Tim, and I'm sure we'll have more fun in the future.
For all those of you, interested in what TV I actually got: Sony KDL40HX700AEP and I'm loving it.
Of his cut out Actionless paper doll of course.
Just to clarify, I love the song, not Tim, and now I'm digging a big hole and I should just delete the youtube song but it's too good for that. So deal with it.
Naturally I upgraded
and couldn't concentrate on whatever the man was saying until the song had played out in full. Then he went on to talk about other TVs until he finally made it to my future TV. It was just there, black, sleek and fabulous. I actually had to stop myself from doing the Auto- and Boatshow glamourwhore demonstrations of sort of leaning on it and stroking it gently for no one in particular. It's just that pretty!
Yesterday I went there with more reinforcements to collect the TV and transport it back to my flat. This is when I really needed Tims help. Let me just say, once he'd finished fooling around with my DVDs
and that took some time indeed
I set him to work on the TV table I bought last weekend. Because really, Tim wanted action so action was what he was getting.
Tim seemed a little outraged at the large package, but I thought he might as well get used to that sort of thing - living with me and all.
It didn't look like Tim seemed confident with the manual but I told him to get to it.
I helped Tim with some of the hard work but this was his project.
Tim was very surprised to be almost done with now. All it needed was metal things it was supposed to stand on - and fitting the glass plate on top.
With the metal things securely fastened, I helped turning it around and tried to fit on the glass plate. It didn't fit of course, so we had to take the thing apart again and unscrewing bits to loosen one of the side blocks. With the glass plate fitting, again we put the DVD player etc. on it.
It was hard work, but someone had to do it, and so I was thrilled to give Tim a bit of action. Finally it was time to unpack the TV and set it up. This bit was a little less work for Tim, and more for me.
Quite frankly I could have used a little more help doing the last bits but Tim was satisfied being the TV show whore and posing for you all. Bless him!
Thank you Tim, and I'm sure we'll have more fun in the future.
For all those of you, interested in what TV I actually got: Sony KDL40HX700AEP and I'm loving it.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Ka-ching!
Last weekend I went on a fairly intense shopping spree. I got up at 7am to as I couldn't possibly do any clothes shopping where I live. Which subsequently meant that I was yawning all day long. First off I went shopping for clothes as I needed new trousers, shirts and T's.
I went into the shop, headed for the racks of trousers and started pulling down stuff in my size, and then moved onto the T's and shirts. Then I headed for the changing room where I managed to go from 8 pairs of trousers to 3 and eliminated 3 shirts and 2 T's. It was a shopping frenzy and people were *THIS* close to getting hurt. At one point an assistant tried to reach in and hand me a shirt a size smaller (not a bad thing) and he nearly lost his arm. Although I always identify more with Tweety Bird, I may have acted more like Taz the Tazmanian Devil.
When I was done I lugged all my stuff up to the counter and awaited them to ring it up. Although I had expected it to be fairly pricey I was a little surprised (mortified) when they said it would be £350 and he actually had to rip my VISA from my ever whitening fingers. I must have blacked out a bit because when I came back to reality he was spelling it out S-I-R Y-O-U R-E-A-L-L-Y M-U-S-T S-I-G-N H-E-R-E as he pointed to the slip of paper on the counter. I shook my head and managed an of course nod and signed. Then I proceeded to stagger out to the car.
Later that day I bought a new black high gloss TV table which was on sale, and once I got home I ordered a limited edition bottle of Moët with Swarovsky Crystals and a gorgeous silk label. Why? Because I just HAD to.
Then, I managed to not shop much this week, except for my trip to Copenhagen yesterday which I will revisit at a later date, of course. So today I couldn't wait any longer. It was time to start looking at TVs.
I don't ask for much. All that is needed is at least a 40", full HD TV with DVB T and C, mpeg 4 and 200 hz.
You know, I'm really just listing things I've been told right? Nah, I have actually done a bit of research although of course I'm not exactly a techie gay. I don't even know how to type crossed out text here on Blogger (how do you do that Tim?).
Anyway, today I decided to go have an actual look at TVs. In the first shop I was met by a lovely man who was very pleasant to talk to. He seemed like he knew what he talked about but was able to use layman's terms that even I understood. Which was a huge plus. I was pleasantly surprised that he went straight for the Samsung TVs which I kind of favour, half because I have very positive experiences with Samsung products and half because they are very pretty. He steered me to a 46 incher which had what I required and it looked great. It was £800 which was a steal, but as I know that you don't buy the first thing you see, I had him reserve it for tomorrow afternoon where I have to decide if I want it or not. At the time I saw it, I was ready to buy it though. I could feel my credit card become red hot in my wallet.
Then I went to another shop. When I got into the shop I started looking around. It looked positively deserted. Then a voice bellowed from a distant corner "can I help you?". Maybe, I yelled back. The voice came closer and then a slightly chubby, tall, pale man with a pair of slightly greasy glasses stood before me. He was maybe in his late thirties. That instant, I had labeled him as a geek.
The slighly rude and confrontational tone in his voice was a bit off putting.
Geek: What are you looking for?
Pete: A TV
Geek: What kind?
Pete: 40" TV..
Geek: Brand?
Pete: Um, maybe Samsung..?
Geek: Why?
Pete: Um. I've been very happy with Samsung products in the past..
Geek: What else?
Pete: Excuse me?
Geek: Specifications?
Pete: At least 200 hz
Geek: Why?
Pete: Um, because it's better than 100 hz and because sometimes you get ghostly shadows and almost stop motion if you get too few hz.
Geek: It's not all about the hz though, you have to see the TVs in action, you know.
Pete: I do know, that's why I'm here
Geek: I have a really good 42" Panasonic over here..
..and that's when he started showing me a brand new Panasonic TV that he started raving on about like a mental person. He did say himself during his 15 minute monologue that he was geek, and continued raving on, showing me what it could do and how perfect it was.
When I asked him about other TVs, he got a bit huffy and started talking about Samsung TVs and showed a few of them. He made a point out of comparing them to the Panasonic TV he'd already showed. To be honest I don't know what to think of it all. The geek and I got off on the wrong foot and I must admit that I still don't like him, however there is something trustworthy about buying something from someone geeky who seems to know everything about TVs.
I'm no closer to deciding so tomorrow I'm off to the Sony Center to see what they have to offer, and then I might make up my decision. However, for someone who can't even decide what to have for dinner. I do hope I'll get something of a better quality than this though
I went into the shop, headed for the racks of trousers and started pulling down stuff in my size, and then moved onto the T's and shirts. Then I headed for the changing room where I managed to go from 8 pairs of trousers to 3 and eliminated 3 shirts and 2 T's. It was a shopping frenzy and people were *THIS* close to getting hurt. At one point an assistant tried to reach in and hand me a shirt a size smaller (not a bad thing) and he nearly lost his arm. Although I always identify more with Tweety Bird, I may have acted more like Taz the Tazmanian Devil.
When I was done I lugged all my stuff up to the counter and awaited them to ring it up. Although I had expected it to be fairly pricey I was a little surprised (mortified) when they said it would be £350 and he actually had to rip my VISA from my ever whitening fingers. I must have blacked out a bit because when I came back to reality he was spelling it out S-I-R Y-O-U R-E-A-L-L-Y M-U-S-T S-I-G-N H-E-R-E as he pointed to the slip of paper on the counter. I shook my head and managed an of course nod and signed. Then I proceeded to stagger out to the car.
Later that day I bought a new black high gloss TV table which was on sale, and once I got home I ordered a limited edition bottle of Moët with Swarovsky Crystals and a gorgeous silk label. Why? Because I just HAD to.
Then, I managed to not shop much this week, except for my trip to Copenhagen yesterday which I will revisit at a later date, of course. So today I couldn't wait any longer. It was time to start looking at TVs.
I don't ask for much. All that is needed is at least a 40", full HD TV with DVB T and C, mpeg 4 and 200 hz.
You know, I'm really just listing things I've been told right? Nah, I have actually done a bit of research although of course I'm not exactly a techie gay. I don't even know how to type crossed out text here on Blogger (how do you do that Tim?).
Anyway, today I decided to go have an actual look at TVs. In the first shop I was met by a lovely man who was very pleasant to talk to. He seemed like he knew what he talked about but was able to use layman's terms that even I understood. Which was a huge plus. I was pleasantly surprised that he went straight for the Samsung TVs which I kind of favour, half because I have very positive experiences with Samsung products and half because they are very pretty. He steered me to a 46 incher which had what I required and it looked great. It was £800 which was a steal, but as I know that you don't buy the first thing you see, I had him reserve it for tomorrow afternoon where I have to decide if I want it or not. At the time I saw it, I was ready to buy it though. I could feel my credit card become red hot in my wallet.
Then I went to another shop. When I got into the shop I started looking around. It looked positively deserted. Then a voice bellowed from a distant corner "can I help you?". Maybe, I yelled back. The voice came closer and then a slightly chubby, tall, pale man with a pair of slightly greasy glasses stood before me. He was maybe in his late thirties. That instant, I had labeled him as a geek.
The slighly rude and confrontational tone in his voice was a bit off putting.
Geek: What are you looking for?
Pete: A TV
Geek: What kind?
Pete: 40" TV..
Geek: Brand?
Pete: Um, maybe Samsung..?
Geek: Why?
Pete: Um. I've been very happy with Samsung products in the past..
Geek: What else?
Pete: Excuse me?
Geek: Specifications?
Pete: At least 200 hz
Geek: Why?
Pete: Um, because it's better than 100 hz and because sometimes you get ghostly shadows and almost stop motion if you get too few hz.
Geek: It's not all about the hz though, you have to see the TVs in action, you know.
Pete: I do know, that's why I'm here
Geek: I have a really good 42" Panasonic over here..
..and that's when he started showing me a brand new Panasonic TV that he started raving on about like a mental person. He did say himself during his 15 minute monologue that he was geek, and continued raving on, showing me what it could do and how perfect it was.
When I asked him about other TVs, he got a bit huffy and started talking about Samsung TVs and showed a few of them. He made a point out of comparing them to the Panasonic TV he'd already showed. To be honest I don't know what to think of it all. The geek and I got off on the wrong foot and I must admit that I still don't like him, however there is something trustworthy about buying something from someone geeky who seems to know everything about TVs.
I'm no closer to deciding so tomorrow I'm off to the Sony Center to see what they have to offer, and then I might make up my decision. However, for someone who can't even decide what to have for dinner. I do hope I'll get something of a better quality than this though
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The case of the mysterious post-it - VAT what?
I love Amazon a lot. That's where I do most of my shopping when it comes to books. I know I'm supposed to be supporting my local shops. However Amazon is just more convienient and cheaper.
In the shops I have maybe two shelves of English languaged books, and will need to bring titles and authors when I got. Plus the dreaded; Last time you bought ... so you might like this? It's a small town and people talk. So what if I bought A Passion for Stiletto? That's nobodys business but mine, and no I don't want the Stiletto Birthday Book, thank you very much.
On Amazon I can troll around and read about the books on my chaise with a glass of Champagne in hand, and ignore the rude suggestions that I might want to buy Twillight New Moon on DVD because I previously mentioned to the dastard thing, that I owned Practical Magic on DVD. Or that I should buy Lauren Conrads L.A. Candy... Wait, I might actually like that hmmmm. Anyway, the suggestions should be private and not something to be yelled out into the store and Amazon does that for me.
So, last week I logged onto Amazon for a quick trip though their shop. A hop to the DVD department with a little a skip through music and a brief stop looking at watches. It was lovely, and I hadn't even found something I wanted to buy. Perfect. So I finally stopped by the books. You see, although I am boycotting the evil witch that is IDV for slandering remarks etc. in his post about TFGES I did find a few books on his blog that I wanted to read.
I found them, added them and then I went on a little vampire crazed shopping spree. In the shopping basket it said how much they were, and I thought that was a bit much but oh well - besides it said something about qualifying for free supersave delivery or something. Lovely! Imagine my surprise that when I'd put in my credit card information and was ready to confirm the transaction. Not only had the prices changed, but they'd also been lovely enough to add shipping costs. Because apparently they changed their minds, Denmark is not included in their free shipping. The higher prices are due to the fact that Denmark has a 25% VAT added to all products sold in Denmark. If I'd bought something on Play.com or other Internet shops, they wouldn't add the extra VAT because they don't have to. They are not Danish companies, and neither is Amazon. Which is why I'm slightly peeved. I can forgive them for the added shipping because they aren't Danish, but the added VAT really puzzles me. If they were Danish, they would have to charge the 25% but then they should have a free shipping supersaver thing for us. But I digress.
Then yesterday the package arrived. Imagine my surprise when I opened it and I spotted this.
The strange Q34 post-it. I didn't put it there. So who did? Why? And is the book in fact used (although it shouldn't be)? There are no post-its on the other books, it's just that one.
Why? What? When? Where?
I'll end this with a little public service announcement
In the shops I have maybe two shelves of English languaged books, and will need to bring titles and authors when I got. Plus the dreaded; Last time you bought ... so you might like this? It's a small town and people talk. So what if I bought A Passion for Stiletto? That's nobodys business but mine, and no I don't want the Stiletto Birthday Book, thank you very much.
On Amazon I can troll around and read about the books on my chaise with a glass of Champagne in hand, and ignore the rude suggestions that I might want to buy Twillight New Moon on DVD because I previously mentioned to the dastard thing, that I owned Practical Magic on DVD. Or that I should buy Lauren Conrads L.A. Candy... Wait, I might actually like that hmmmm. Anyway, the suggestions should be private and not something to be yelled out into the store and Amazon does that for me.
So, last week I logged onto Amazon for a quick trip though their shop. A hop to the DVD department with a little a skip through music and a brief stop looking at watches. It was lovely, and I hadn't even found something I wanted to buy. Perfect. So I finally stopped by the books. You see, although I am boycotting the evil witch that is IDV for slandering remarks etc. in his post about TFGES I did find a few books on his blog that I wanted to read.
I found them, added them and then I went on a little vampire crazed shopping spree. In the shopping basket it said how much they were, and I thought that was a bit much but oh well - besides it said something about qualifying for free supersave delivery or something. Lovely! Imagine my surprise that when I'd put in my credit card information and was ready to confirm the transaction. Not only had the prices changed, but they'd also been lovely enough to add shipping costs. Because apparently they changed their minds, Denmark is not included in their free shipping. The higher prices are due to the fact that Denmark has a 25% VAT added to all products sold in Denmark. If I'd bought something on Play.com or other Internet shops, they wouldn't add the extra VAT because they don't have to. They are not Danish companies, and neither is Amazon. Which is why I'm slightly peeved. I can forgive them for the added shipping because they aren't Danish, but the added VAT really puzzles me. If they were Danish, they would have to charge the 25% but then they should have a free shipping supersaver thing for us. But I digress.
Then yesterday the package arrived. Imagine my surprise when I opened it and I spotted this.
The strange Q34 post-it. I didn't put it there. So who did? Why? And is the book in fact used (although it shouldn't be)? There are no post-its on the other books, it's just that one.
Why? What? When? Where?
I'll end this with a little public service announcement
Thursday, January 07, 2010
I don't know what it is - Part II
Miss K and I had a lovely brunch. She was only slightly miffed that I was late. Turns out, she was late herself, so she only waited 5 minutes. We ended up going shopping after brunch, and then off to Christopher Kanes studio to look at some creations she had on hold. They didn't work for the event she had in mind, but we ended up taking a bunch of them back to her place anyway. Just to be on the safe side.
The topic of Aiden showing up with the skank came up. I said he was a friend of ours, and that I was feeling a little under the weather. Obviously Miss K couldn't believe I'd associate myself with a two bit Asda model like that, but after I told her that Aiden was doing photos for this post modern exhibition on supermarket trash, she let up. So I didn't tell her. I know, I should have as we are dear friends. Still, she had a whole to do to get to later so I didn't want to ruin her day. I figured I'd just go home, get the locks changed and crack open a bottle of bubbly to toast my new singleness. At least I can whore around now. Anyone interested in a fit, 42 year old ex underwear model?
Maybe I should do porn. I could move to the US and do porn. Afterall I know how to look good naked, so how hard (ahem) could it be. Although, I've got a nice and cushy life here and with my investments I could probably live comfortable for the rest of my life without lifting a finger. Oh, yes I am not as stupid as I look. I've made quite a bit of money like that. Thanks to Cal, my bank person. Wait, I must get a lawyer. Shit! Aiden probably already has one.
So instead of calling a lawyer, I show up at the most prestigious law firm in town. They know me, as I did some work for them after I just got my law degree. There is this woman you see, Jen Davis who is a total shark. I want her.
We have coffee for 10 minutes in her office, and I explain the situation, and she takes on my case on the spot. Of course I'm thrilled and we make arrangements to meet again with all the papers and such. It's going to get messy, I'm sure. Aiden never took anything laying down (ahem, at least not with me). By now I'm in complete damage control mode, and so I get all these things done. Even sending out my CV just for the hell of it.
When I get home, Aidens there looking for a camera. I meet him in the walk in closet where the skank is trying on one of my shirts. I'm like, oh no you didn't just do that! Aiden tells me to let it go, besides I'm wearing his shoes and jacket. Oh, right. It's different though, because it's not Aiden wearing my shirt, it's his skanky fuckbuddy. It's.. Gross. (I later end up ritually burning the shirt in Aidens office because like EW!) I strip down to my underwear and change into nothing but tracksuit bottoms. Just to see if I've still got it. They are both checking me out. It feels good, or actually, ew! skanky pants is checking me out. Just up and die already. Still, I try to come off as civil when I ask him for his name. He blinks, like he doesn't understand the question. Um, er, Scott? he says. Like it's a question. I raise an eyebrow and ask him if he's sure. Aiden glares at me. Well, it sounded like he wasn't sure, I say. Scott looks at me confused, and I smile at him in my most condescending way. Bless him.
I still love Aiden though. Sure, I'm bitter and pissed and confused. Why would he trade me in for that skanky Asda model. He could have almost anyone and he picks some two bit trash. It's so beneath him. Not to mention very insulting for me. Hey, skanky pants could you give us a minute alone please, I hear myself say. Neither Aiden, nor skanky pants seem impressed by this. I suspect it's for different reasons entirely. When he passes me by the door I trip him. Granted, that wasn't a stellar move, but it worked in Showgirls. Aiden doesn't see this, and apparently skanky thinks he just tripped over the threshold. Hah.
First Aiden starts mumbling something, but I interrupt him and tell him that I've got a lawyer. He looks hurt. Why would he look hurt, he put this in motion and where's his wedding ring? I tell him that it's the natural thing to do when someone decides to end a marriage. So he just looks at me, gets up and grabs his camera. Without saying another word. What's that about. I follow him, and I keep talking all the way to the elevator. Maybe that's why he is leaving. I talk too much? That skanky Scott guy doesn't seem to be able to put together a complete sentence.
I do talk a lot, and I tend to talk about myself a lot. Of course, since I either sit at home, or end up going out to glitzy affairs or famous brunches it's only natural. Isn't it. Suddenly I'm very aware of how much I talk. Especially about myself. Then I get to thinking that all my friends are the same way. Although I'm sort of this model has-been, I still get interviewed and end up on VH-1 and those hideous "wealthiest models in the world" shows. You know, the ones with that man voice over thing that always sounds sooooo obnoxious and yet offended that P. Diddy has a 500 ft. yacht or something. I'm not offended by that, I just wish I did. I'm not that rich, sadly.
Then my mind goes to fashion. Maybe I should get into designing. I love fashion, and I have the connections. You'd think that the only thing I need is the talent, but I've actually got some old sketches somewhere and while I may not be perfect at sewing I am fairly good. My mother called me domestic, because I repaired and altered my clothes. At the very least I might be able to squeeze myself onto the creative team behind Miss Ks next lingerie collection. What are friends for, right?
I go to the bar and mix a batch of gin martinis and sit down. Alicia hasn't been here today. There's still glass and other crap on the floor from the other night. Why didn't she come in today? Maybe Aiden sacked her. I wouldn't be surprised if he did. He always thought that since I didn't work, I might as well do a bit of housework. Yeah, right. Like I'm going to clean up your shit mate. That was pretty much my response to that, when he suggested it oh so many years ago. So we interviewed a couple, and it came down to two. Alicia and Randy, but there was simply way too many double entendres and Aiden wasn't comfortable hiring a man. No matter how much, he so wasn't my type. Bless her, Alicia won out and while she's a very poor maid she was the least inoffensive one we could find.
My phone rings, and it's my assistant Cat. I realise I make a lot of obnoxious nicknames, but Cathrine actually prefers Cat. Plus she's a total minx, there is no way anyone could resist calling her Cat. Hey Cat darrrrrling, how are you doing today my love? I say. She giggles and I could almost hear her batting her eyelashes as she responds. Nate, my dear! I'm fabulous, and I was just making sure you guys remember attending the new museum exhibition at the V&A tomorrow. She senses something's wrong from the silence. My brain goes into overdrive as I think. Cat thoughtfully reminds me of the 1950s fashion photography exhibit. Oh..That.. Well, I'm not really up for it, I say. I tell her how Aiden and I have broken up, and that he's probably bringing his trashy boytoy with him. Cat doesn't care. She's paid to make me feel better, and force me to attend even the most tacky of events (approved by my manager, because everyone has a manager right?)
Images of me, standing alone near a WW2 canon at the Imperial War Museum with a plastic cup of white wine out of a cardboard box, waiting for an ancient man in a ragged uniform to finish putting people to sleep with his tiresome and very elaborate speech. It almost made you wish the Nazis had killed him, that or they would come and kill you (or better, him) now. The evening was a complete waste. Nobody of interest showed up, and for years to come I was invited to everything that had the faintest bit to do with history and war. I tell you, I nearly fell over reading my first invitation after that. It started with "Dear fellow history buff". At first I thought it was a friend of mine playing a joke on me, but I called and they meant it. The lady on the other end of the line seemed a little insulted when I couldn't stop my, you are shitting me right?. Bless her though.
Cat asks if I'm still there. Oh, yes I'm still here, I say. So you are attending, she asks. I suppose I should get out there. So, she says she'll make sure to get me on the VIP list. We say our goodbyes, and I go fetch a bottle of Bollinger and settle on the chaise.
The topic of Aiden showing up with the skank came up. I said he was a friend of ours, and that I was feeling a little under the weather. Obviously Miss K couldn't believe I'd associate myself with a two bit Asda model like that, but after I told her that Aiden was doing photos for this post modern exhibition on supermarket trash, she let up. So I didn't tell her. I know, I should have as we are dear friends. Still, she had a whole to do to get to later so I didn't want to ruin her day. I figured I'd just go home, get the locks changed and crack open a bottle of bubbly to toast my new singleness. At least I can whore around now. Anyone interested in a fit, 42 year old ex underwear model?
Maybe I should do porn. I could move to the US and do porn. Afterall I know how to look good naked, so how hard (ahem) could it be. Although, I've got a nice and cushy life here and with my investments I could probably live comfortable for the rest of my life without lifting a finger. Oh, yes I am not as stupid as I look. I've made quite a bit of money like that. Thanks to Cal, my bank person. Wait, I must get a lawyer. Shit! Aiden probably already has one.
So instead of calling a lawyer, I show up at the most prestigious law firm in town. They know me, as I did some work for them after I just got my law degree. There is this woman you see, Jen Davis who is a total shark. I want her.
We have coffee for 10 minutes in her office, and I explain the situation, and she takes on my case on the spot. Of course I'm thrilled and we make arrangements to meet again with all the papers and such. It's going to get messy, I'm sure. Aiden never took anything laying down (ahem, at least not with me). By now I'm in complete damage control mode, and so I get all these things done. Even sending out my CV just for the hell of it.
When I get home, Aidens there looking for a camera. I meet him in the walk in closet where the skank is trying on one of my shirts. I'm like, oh no you didn't just do that! Aiden tells me to let it go, besides I'm wearing his shoes and jacket. Oh, right. It's different though, because it's not Aiden wearing my shirt, it's his skanky fuckbuddy. It's.. Gross. (I later end up ritually burning the shirt in Aidens office because like EW!) I strip down to my underwear and change into nothing but tracksuit bottoms. Just to see if I've still got it. They are both checking me out. It feels good, or actually, ew! skanky pants is checking me out. Just up and die already. Still, I try to come off as civil when I ask him for his name. He blinks, like he doesn't understand the question. Um, er, Scott? he says. Like it's a question. I raise an eyebrow and ask him if he's sure. Aiden glares at me. Well, it sounded like he wasn't sure, I say. Scott looks at me confused, and I smile at him in my most condescending way. Bless him.
I still love Aiden though. Sure, I'm bitter and pissed and confused. Why would he trade me in for that skanky Asda model. He could have almost anyone and he picks some two bit trash. It's so beneath him. Not to mention very insulting for me. Hey, skanky pants could you give us a minute alone please, I hear myself say. Neither Aiden, nor skanky pants seem impressed by this. I suspect it's for different reasons entirely. When he passes me by the door I trip him. Granted, that wasn't a stellar move, but it worked in Showgirls. Aiden doesn't see this, and apparently skanky thinks he just tripped over the threshold. Hah.
First Aiden starts mumbling something, but I interrupt him and tell him that I've got a lawyer. He looks hurt. Why would he look hurt, he put this in motion and where's his wedding ring? I tell him that it's the natural thing to do when someone decides to end a marriage. So he just looks at me, gets up and grabs his camera. Without saying another word. What's that about. I follow him, and I keep talking all the way to the elevator. Maybe that's why he is leaving. I talk too much? That skanky Scott guy doesn't seem to be able to put together a complete sentence.
I do talk a lot, and I tend to talk about myself a lot. Of course, since I either sit at home, or end up going out to glitzy affairs or famous brunches it's only natural. Isn't it. Suddenly I'm very aware of how much I talk. Especially about myself. Then I get to thinking that all my friends are the same way. Although I'm sort of this model has-been, I still get interviewed and end up on VH-1 and those hideous "wealthiest models in the world" shows. You know, the ones with that man voice over thing that always sounds sooooo obnoxious and yet offended that P. Diddy has a 500 ft. yacht or something. I'm not offended by that, I just wish I did. I'm not that rich, sadly.
Then my mind goes to fashion. Maybe I should get into designing. I love fashion, and I have the connections. You'd think that the only thing I need is the talent, but I've actually got some old sketches somewhere and while I may not be perfect at sewing I am fairly good. My mother called me domestic, because I repaired and altered my clothes. At the very least I might be able to squeeze myself onto the creative team behind Miss Ks next lingerie collection. What are friends for, right?
I go to the bar and mix a batch of gin martinis and sit down. Alicia hasn't been here today. There's still glass and other crap on the floor from the other night. Why didn't she come in today? Maybe Aiden sacked her. I wouldn't be surprised if he did. He always thought that since I didn't work, I might as well do a bit of housework. Yeah, right. Like I'm going to clean up your shit mate. That was pretty much my response to that, when he suggested it oh so many years ago. So we interviewed a couple, and it came down to two. Alicia and Randy, but there was simply way too many double entendres and Aiden wasn't comfortable hiring a man. No matter how much, he so wasn't my type. Bless her, Alicia won out and while she's a very poor maid she was the least inoffensive one we could find.
My phone rings, and it's my assistant Cat. I realise I make a lot of obnoxious nicknames, but Cathrine actually prefers Cat. Plus she's a total minx, there is no way anyone could resist calling her Cat. Hey Cat darrrrrling, how are you doing today my love? I say. She giggles and I could almost hear her batting her eyelashes as she responds. Nate, my dear! I'm fabulous, and I was just making sure you guys remember attending the new museum exhibition at the V&A tomorrow. She senses something's wrong from the silence. My brain goes into overdrive as I think. Cat thoughtfully reminds me of the 1950s fashion photography exhibit. Oh..That.. Well, I'm not really up for it, I say. I tell her how Aiden and I have broken up, and that he's probably bringing his trashy boytoy with him. Cat doesn't care. She's paid to make me feel better, and force me to attend even the most tacky of events (approved by my manager, because everyone has a manager right?)
Images of me, standing alone near a WW2 canon at the Imperial War Museum with a plastic cup of white wine out of a cardboard box, waiting for an ancient man in a ragged uniform to finish putting people to sleep with his tiresome and very elaborate speech. It almost made you wish the Nazis had killed him, that or they would come and kill you (or better, him) now. The evening was a complete waste. Nobody of interest showed up, and for years to come I was invited to everything that had the faintest bit to do with history and war. I tell you, I nearly fell over reading my first invitation after that. It started with "Dear fellow history buff". At first I thought it was a friend of mine playing a joke on me, but I called and they meant it. The lady on the other end of the line seemed a little insulted when I couldn't stop my, you are shitting me right?. Bless her though.
Cat asks if I'm still there. Oh, yes I'm still here, I say. So you are attending, she asks. I suppose I should get out there. So, she says she'll make sure to get me on the VIP list. We say our goodbyes, and I go fetch a bottle of Bollinger and settle on the chaise.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
I don't know what it is - Part I
Ok, so I'm sitting here on a chaise in our living room with a glass of Champagne. No, scratch that, I may as well be honest, that was at 9pm last night. By now it's 7am and now it's an almost empty bottle of gin. Isn't it strange how suddenly your life just changes?
The plan was for Aiden (that's my husband) and I to attend the opening of the Tous store here in London. I had put on my new silver suit (ok, maybe it does sound a bit naff but it reminds me of my modelling days) from Dolce & Gabbana and I was waiting for him to come home from work so we could go. Then of course Aiden's late. He finally comes home, it was about 8pm by then, and sits me down and says he wants a divorce. I'm outraged - obviously! - and start yelling and crying and making a complete fool of myself. Of course I knew about his affair with that Asda model Scott but I assumed it would die out. Like it did with Miles, Sambad, Thomas and who can remember the rest. It didn't mean anything, it was just sex. Right?
So I just kind of alternated between throwing stuff at him, yelling, and fumbling my way towards the Champagne cooler. Aiden ducked and covered with the best of them, and said he was moving out. For the time being, he said. Like he's ever getting in here again, hah! Good one. His affairs must have started about the time we got married, about 10 years ago and we've been together 15 years. Today is our anniversary, funny that.
I really love Aiden, and I ignored the cheating because I figured that he always ended up back with me. He didn't love those two bit skanks who, quite frankly, only participated because they thought it would boost their modelling career. This is when you think, hah, who are you to talk. Aiden's a 51 year old world renowned fashion photographer and you are a 39 year old (OK, honesty is the best policy I suppose, 42) ex underwear model and you do the math. Well, it does look bad, but really it isn't. You just think all models are skanks who screw whatever to get on the cover of Elle, Vogue or whatever is the premier fashion magazine at the time. You'd be quite right, been there and done that. Yet, I never whored around after I met Aiden and I never used him to get ahead (ahem!). I didn't.
The thing is, everyone thinks models are whoring around and using everyone to get ahead. They will be quite right, but as I mentioned before, I stopped doing that when I met Aiden. I loved him. Well, I love him. I'm bitter, surly, angry, hateful and I still love him.
I look down at my platinum wedding ring with diamonds all around the band. Apparently I've taken it off earlier and been holding it in my hand. Suddenly, I throw the ring at the 62 inch flatscreen TV. As I watch it fly towards the TV, I regret throwing it and get up to go pick it up. The room is now spinning, like that time some cow spiked my drink at a Jean Paul Gaultier after party at Paris fashion week in 1997. I fall to my knees and crawl to my destination. It looks like there are two rings. How could there be two, it's like friggin Alice in Wonderland. Will the wrong one make me small? How could I feel smaller than I feel now, lying on the living room floor in a naff silver suit from Dolce Gabbana staring at two rings - and is that dust behind the sofa over there, or is the Mad Hatter coming to get me? Must mention it to Alice, no Alicia. Our cleaning lady is Alicia, isn't it?
The phone wakes me up three hours later. Apparently Miss K wants to know why only Aiden and 'some guy' showed up last night at Tous. Oh, and do you want to do brunch? Um, OK...? When, what time is it now? It's 10am. Well Ok then, in an hour at the usual place. Right. Miss K is rarely in town these days, and I fear that I need the company. I put on the wedding ring and wonder for a second if I'll get any smaller. No, and the other ring is gone. Must call Alicia about the dust then.
I take a quick shower, and think of how I do love my bathroom. It's positively divine. The shower and bath tub are the best parts though, but then I picked those out.
You still can't get over the whole, he's an ex model who didn't whore around on his partner, am I right? I know, even I'm baffled. It just never occurred to me because I loved him. Also you are thinking money, Nathaniel (that's my name, but my friends call me Nate) probably didn't have any and his famous photographer boyfriend turned husband probably had loads. You are wrong, I thought we were fairly equal in that sense. Aiden had a great career etc., and I was just an underwear model.
I could have been like that, had I done all that stuff (read. drugs, parties, vacations) my colleages did. When they were all partying in Acapulco, I was off working. Photoshoots, fashion runways, commercials etc. My parents were right about money, put it away and once you're done modelling you can go to law school or something. Of course, I ended up retiring earlier because of Aiden fairly rich. Aiden wanted me to stop working so he'd be the only one seeing me in my underwear, and I did. Partly because I loved Aiden, and partly because I thought I'd be able to do something else. Yet, in those last 15 years I never got around to finding out what that something would be.
On some level I probably thought the only thing I was good at was modelling. That's not completely true, because I did pass all the exams to become a lawyer. At some point I got sick and tired of only being this accessory only to be worn out at parties. I suddenly had deep sympathy for my old Hermés ascot that I hadn't worn in ages. Eventually I took it to a nice little vintage fashion shop down the corner, and bought a pair of 1972 Manolo Blahnik shoes. I know, how gay is that. And yet, I'm a collector. By now I must have over 300 pairs of Manolo Blahniks. They don't get worn, but they get adored at any chance I get. Aiden found that extremely funny, but he has this weird pen fetish, so he's one to talk. It's not like I go about mocking his Mont Blanc collection.
Here I am, telling you about Aidens Mont Blanc collection and my ridiculously large Manolo collection but I never told you how we met. Sorry. This is where everyone says, it's really kind of funny, or, it's really kind of romantic the way we met. With kind of, being the emphasis. Because it really isn't, is it, unless of course you were there perhaps but then again. Maybe not.
It was love at first sight, on my part anyway. We met at a gallery opening in New York that had an exhibit on fashion photography. He had taken a few of the photos and everyone was gushing over him.
Sorry, I just have to put on my black Jean Paul Gaultier trousers and that striped Paul Smith shirt, and grab some orange juice before I pass out.
Well, I caught his eye while I was looking at this black and white four foot blow up of a halfnaked man in the shower. It wasn't his work, and he came over. I pretended to be a student of fashion photography, and he bought it. I gushed over the photo, knowing full well he hadn't taken it, and he was pointing out all the flaws. He ended up giving me a tour of the exhibit and asked me on a date. At the time I was a total workaholic and had a shoot the next morning at 5.30am so I declined. He insisted and we made arrangements the night before I was set to fly back to London. I was immediately attracted to him, although I'd heard he had a thing for these Italian dancer types named Gianluca and Paulo. They usually didn't last long, and I thought maybe I would last, at least a bit longer. I was right about that, turns out, but not as I'd hoped forever.
In the end I ended up back in New York and went on 2 more dates with Aiden. He still had no idea, I was a model, and I didn't really want him to know. The photography student thing was working so well. Turns out, I had been booked to do an underwear shoot for Calvin Klein, and there had been a change of photographer. Who walked into that shoot, but Aiden Donovan. I nearly died. He pretended not to notice but after the shoot he used this cheesy line on me and asked me out again, and that's it. We dated for a while and ended up moving in together. Which is easy to do, when he was based in New York, and I had a studio flat in a scummy part of London and shared a flat with 10 other models in Paris and Milano.
Now I'm off to meet Miss K for brunch, and I'm late. She's usually 10 minutes late, but if the Tube doesn't have delays I'll be 20 minutes late. I'll never hear the end of it. Last thing before leaving is the key, phone, wallet and bags under eyes check. God, I look old. Wait, shoes! Must wear shoes. Black Prada loafers, yes. Wait, they are Aiden's, oh who gives a shit. He might though, hah! I put on his black Boss jacket and leave.
The plan was for Aiden (that's my husband) and I to attend the opening of the Tous store here in London. I had put on my new silver suit (ok, maybe it does sound a bit naff but it reminds me of my modelling days) from Dolce & Gabbana and I was waiting for him to come home from work so we could go. Then of course Aiden's late. He finally comes home, it was about 8pm by then, and sits me down and says he wants a divorce. I'm outraged - obviously! - and start yelling and crying and making a complete fool of myself. Of course I knew about his affair with that Asda model Scott but I assumed it would die out. Like it did with Miles, Sambad, Thomas and who can remember the rest. It didn't mean anything, it was just sex. Right?
So I just kind of alternated between throwing stuff at him, yelling, and fumbling my way towards the Champagne cooler. Aiden ducked and covered with the best of them, and said he was moving out. For the time being, he said. Like he's ever getting in here again, hah! Good one. His affairs must have started about the time we got married, about 10 years ago and we've been together 15 years. Today is our anniversary, funny that.
I really love Aiden, and I ignored the cheating because I figured that he always ended up back with me. He didn't love those two bit skanks who, quite frankly, only participated because they thought it would boost their modelling career. This is when you think, hah, who are you to talk. Aiden's a 51 year old world renowned fashion photographer and you are a 39 year old (OK, honesty is the best policy I suppose, 42) ex underwear model and you do the math. Well, it does look bad, but really it isn't. You just think all models are skanks who screw whatever to get on the cover of Elle, Vogue or whatever is the premier fashion magazine at the time. You'd be quite right, been there and done that. Yet, I never whored around after I met Aiden and I never used him to get ahead (ahem!). I didn't.
The thing is, everyone thinks models are whoring around and using everyone to get ahead. They will be quite right, but as I mentioned before, I stopped doing that when I met Aiden. I loved him. Well, I love him. I'm bitter, surly, angry, hateful and I still love him.
I look down at my platinum wedding ring with diamonds all around the band. Apparently I've taken it off earlier and been holding it in my hand. Suddenly, I throw the ring at the 62 inch flatscreen TV. As I watch it fly towards the TV, I regret throwing it and get up to go pick it up. The room is now spinning, like that time some cow spiked my drink at a Jean Paul Gaultier after party at Paris fashion week in 1997. I fall to my knees and crawl to my destination. It looks like there are two rings. How could there be two, it's like friggin Alice in Wonderland. Will the wrong one make me small? How could I feel smaller than I feel now, lying on the living room floor in a naff silver suit from Dolce Gabbana staring at two rings - and is that dust behind the sofa over there, or is the Mad Hatter coming to get me? Must mention it to Alice, no Alicia. Our cleaning lady is Alicia, isn't it?
The phone wakes me up three hours later. Apparently Miss K wants to know why only Aiden and 'some guy' showed up last night at Tous. Oh, and do you want to do brunch? Um, OK...? When, what time is it now? It's 10am. Well Ok then, in an hour at the usual place. Right. Miss K is rarely in town these days, and I fear that I need the company. I put on the wedding ring and wonder for a second if I'll get any smaller. No, and the other ring is gone. Must call Alicia about the dust then.
I take a quick shower, and think of how I do love my bathroom. It's positively divine. The shower and bath tub are the best parts though, but then I picked those out.
You still can't get over the whole, he's an ex model who didn't whore around on his partner, am I right? I know, even I'm baffled. It just never occurred to me because I loved him. Also you are thinking money, Nathaniel (that's my name, but my friends call me Nate) probably didn't have any and his famous photographer boyfriend turned husband probably had loads. You are wrong, I thought we were fairly equal in that sense. Aiden had a great career etc., and I was just an underwear model.
I could have been like that, had I done all that stuff (read. drugs, parties, vacations) my colleages did. When they were all partying in Acapulco, I was off working. Photoshoots, fashion runways, commercials etc. My parents were right about money, put it away and once you're done modelling you can go to law school or something. Of course, I ended up retiring earlier because of Aiden fairly rich. Aiden wanted me to stop working so he'd be the only one seeing me in my underwear, and I did. Partly because I loved Aiden, and partly because I thought I'd be able to do something else. Yet, in those last 15 years I never got around to finding out what that something would be.
On some level I probably thought the only thing I was good at was modelling. That's not completely true, because I did pass all the exams to become a lawyer. At some point I got sick and tired of only being this accessory only to be worn out at parties. I suddenly had deep sympathy for my old Hermés ascot that I hadn't worn in ages. Eventually I took it to a nice little vintage fashion shop down the corner, and bought a pair of 1972 Manolo Blahnik shoes. I know, how gay is that. And yet, I'm a collector. By now I must have over 300 pairs of Manolo Blahniks. They don't get worn, but they get adored at any chance I get. Aiden found that extremely funny, but he has this weird pen fetish, so he's one to talk. It's not like I go about mocking his Mont Blanc collection.
Here I am, telling you about Aidens Mont Blanc collection and my ridiculously large Manolo collection but I never told you how we met. Sorry. This is where everyone says, it's really kind of funny, or, it's really kind of romantic the way we met. With kind of, being the emphasis. Because it really isn't, is it, unless of course you were there perhaps but then again. Maybe not.
It was love at first sight, on my part anyway. We met at a gallery opening in New York that had an exhibit on fashion photography. He had taken a few of the photos and everyone was gushing over him.
Sorry, I just have to put on my black Jean Paul Gaultier trousers and that striped Paul Smith shirt, and grab some orange juice before I pass out.
Well, I caught his eye while I was looking at this black and white four foot blow up of a halfnaked man in the shower. It wasn't his work, and he came over. I pretended to be a student of fashion photography, and he bought it. I gushed over the photo, knowing full well he hadn't taken it, and he was pointing out all the flaws. He ended up giving me a tour of the exhibit and asked me on a date. At the time I was a total workaholic and had a shoot the next morning at 5.30am so I declined. He insisted and we made arrangements the night before I was set to fly back to London. I was immediately attracted to him, although I'd heard he had a thing for these Italian dancer types named Gianluca and Paulo. They usually didn't last long, and I thought maybe I would last, at least a bit longer. I was right about that, turns out, but not as I'd hoped forever.
In the end I ended up back in New York and went on 2 more dates with Aiden. He still had no idea, I was a model, and I didn't really want him to know. The photography student thing was working so well. Turns out, I had been booked to do an underwear shoot for Calvin Klein, and there had been a change of photographer. Who walked into that shoot, but Aiden Donovan. I nearly died. He pretended not to notice but after the shoot he used this cheesy line on me and asked me out again, and that's it. We dated for a while and ended up moving in together. Which is easy to do, when he was based in New York, and I had a studio flat in a scummy part of London and shared a flat with 10 other models in Paris and Milano.
Now I'm off to meet Miss K for brunch, and I'm late. She's usually 10 minutes late, but if the Tube doesn't have delays I'll be 20 minutes late. I'll never hear the end of it. Last thing before leaving is the key, phone, wallet and bags under eyes check. God, I look old. Wait, shoes! Must wear shoes. Black Prada loafers, yes. Wait, they are Aiden's, oh who gives a shit. He might though, hah! I put on his black Boss jacket and leave.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Liar liar pants on fire
Yikes! Everyone knows? It's all they talk about? It appears that at least the Italian swim team knows. Oh, what the hell I might as well tell the whole story.
I made it out of my original plans for New Years Eve. I'm so happy! I'm elated! Wow, that was a lot of exclamation points. Still, that's how I feel. So, it took a big fat lie. Who cares, right? No big deal, right?
I had a very good reason to do it, mind. The original, original plan was that I was going to spend New Years Eve alone. Just hanging out with myself, maybe an undisclosed special gentleman friend would pop by for a glass of bubbly and a few treats. He couldn't make it. So, I was talking to a colleague who didn't think she had anywhere to go on Thursday. I felt sorry for her and said that we could always plan something. We agreed that it was a plan but she might have a slim chance to catch up with a dear old friend. It was fine, a win-win situation for me. Either she'd be coming and we'd have a blast, or she wouldn't and I'd still have a blast alone.
This is when things went to shite.
You remember Dullface, yeah? The guy who came along on my US tour. The one who didn't like gorgonzola pasta sauce. The dull guy. Well, he asked me if I was doing anything for New Years Eve. I said that my friend (Dullface knows her too) IM would be coming, but if she was OK with him coming, he could come. I figured that if she was there, it wouldn't be a big deal and he didn't sound like he had anywhere to be. Plus he doesn't like being by himself. Odd, very odd kreacher he is. Well, she was OK with it and I told him he could come. This was alright I suppose.
This is when things became even worse.
IM told me a couple of days later, that she wouldn't be able to make it. Her friend had cleared her schedule and would be visiting IM. Now I was stuck with Dullface. The last night of 2009 stuck with Dullface. No, I was not having it.
[The Hulk as seen at Universal Studios in Los Angeles photographed by moi]
No, no! I left subtle hints but Dullface was chatting on about shopping for groceries etc. So finally, after asking a few other friends and even my parents, how to get out of it. They all agreed, there was but ONE choice.
Lie through your teeth!
So, yesterday I told him that my parents had pressured me into spending New Years Eve with them and my brother because we hadn't spent Christmas together. Of course I don't know if he bought it, and quite frankly I don't give a damn.
I'm now spending New Years Eve at home. Alone, and still hoping that a mysterious gentleman caller may call upon me for a glass of bubbly. He would be most welcome, that's for sure.
It wasn't a nice thing to do, and now Dullface has nowhere to go but it's not like he was worse off than before. Plus he might actually have an OK evening, compared to the miserable night we'd both have in each others company.
On a lighter note, I found these and thought I'd share. You know, as I'm such a huge fan of Dolce & Gabbana.
Friday, August 07, 2009
PeteUSA2009
I can't believe it's been that long since I last posted anything. July 26? Time flies. It's not that I've just been twiddling my thumbs all that time. I've been busy, honest. Strangely enough it's been one drama after another, so here goes..
First my wonderful Nintendo Wii broke. It didn't want to boot and I couldn't get the disc out so I had to turn it in. I can pick it up again on Monday. Before I got that text today, it hadn't been a super kool experience because the shop was totally without interest and compassion in my time of need.
Another major drama which has been going on for quite a while is that I'm travelling to the mighty US of A tomorrow with a Dullface (you know, my dull friend). Apparently we had and still have very different ideas about travelling and what comes with being away for so long (we arrive back home on August 31).
He genuinely thought I'd want to share room with him for all those days to save a bit of money. He then thought I'd think it was OK to not live at the same hotel, and he doesn't want to do anything that costs money. His idea of going to a restaurant is McDonalds. I find this out after we had booked the plane tickets because he actually thought that it was understood that everything was like that. Oh, and since he's already been to Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam he doesn't want to go there again so I can just do that on my own if I want to go. Like I said major drama.
That wasn't the end of the drama about project PeteUSA2009. We had planned to go see a baseball match - not that I have any interest in baseball whatsoever, but he thought it was part of the culture and that I had to see that. We'd made a deal, I'd go see a baseball match of his choice and he'd go with me to see the Fabutastic Bette Midler in Las Vegas. It's not that he doesn't have the money, but now he thinks it's too expensive so he has bailed on that. At least I still get to see Bette (alone yes, but nevertheless) and don't have to sit through a baseball match. The drama just kept going, and I've resigned to just say "oh well... it won't ruin my trip".
There was the matter of where we are going, which for the most part had been settled upon from day one. First stop, Las Vegas, then Los Angeles we are just landing there and renting a car before we are off to San Diego, then Los Angeles before driving up Highway 1 to San Francisco where I'll more than likely be partying in Castro. Then we had decided we'd want another stop before heading back home. He wanted Cincinatti because he has family there. I didn't want to go there because I would get nothing out of spending 3 days with his family. My choice would be New York where we could stroll up Broadway, look around Times Sq. and sail around the Ellis Island and visit the Statue of Liberty. A compromise was finally reached and I still feel like I lost big time. We are going to Chicago. All I know about Chicago is Oprah, it's windy and there is the Sears Tower. Oh, and Dullfaces family might make the trip to see him.
Anyway, the hotel decisions were the worst bit, and I almost ended up cutting my losses and saying I didn't want to go with him. Eventually we reached common ground - or as close as one can get while still feeling like one lost big time. We are staying at hotels with no less than 3 stars, and my hotel room in San Francisco has a bay view. Dullface's doesn't as he didn't want to spend the extra £30 per night.
Now I'm all packed because I am, afterall, leaving in the morning but I'm still missing a major thing. You see, I used my Visa card to pay for the hotels and I didn't know there is a limit to how much money you can use on a Visa over a 3o day period. My limit is spent, but I thought I'd be OK. Or so I was lead to believe by my bankperson. I had applied for a MasterCard and "it should arrive before you leave" I was told. No worries then, but the only problem is that it hasn't and I'm leaving before the post arrives tomorrow. Of course Dullface has received his, and he applied AFTER I did. It's so unfair. Anyway, for a while I was really losing all enthusiasm for the project but now I'm slowly regaining it. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I was out buying new - smaller sized trousers and shirts and new shoes to bring. I also bought a fabulous Bjorn Borg bag 20% off.
I also had my parents up for a dinner that involved Greek inspired potatoes with meatballs - also Greek and Tzatziki. Followed by a lovely homemade rich chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream and raspberry coulis. To go with coffee I had made a cherry cheesecake.
It all went off without any problems but since it was my first time making cheesecake I was mighty worried about how it would turn out.
Finally, last night I went to 'smukfest' aka. Skanderborg Festival close to where I live. I only went because Kylie was going and I could hook up with her as we are dear friends. We rarely get to see each other, so naturally I had to go and have a glass of Champagne with her. A good time was had with her and her show was great. She was engaging and managed to get the audience who to their shame didn't know many of her songs, into it. It was great, complete arms in the air moment. The stage was tiny so she could hardly even fit her band on there, let alone her 6 dancers. Apparently she couldn't even bring any of her lights and lamps with her. She managed great without them and the show was a very scaled down show compared to her X2008 tour. If you have a chance to go see her live, you should definately go. She's taking her For You, For Me tour to the US of A after I've come back home. We couldn't get our schedules to fit because we are both very busy and important people.
First my wonderful Nintendo Wii broke. It didn't want to boot and I couldn't get the disc out so I had to turn it in. I can pick it up again on Monday. Before I got that text today, it hadn't been a super kool experience because the shop was totally without interest and compassion in my time of need.
Another major drama which has been going on for quite a while is that I'm travelling to the mighty US of A tomorrow with a Dullface (you know, my dull friend). Apparently we had and still have very different ideas about travelling and what comes with being away for so long (we arrive back home on August 31).
He genuinely thought I'd want to share room with him for all those days to save a bit of money. He then thought I'd think it was OK to not live at the same hotel, and he doesn't want to do anything that costs money. His idea of going to a restaurant is McDonalds. I find this out after we had booked the plane tickets because he actually thought that it was understood that everything was like that. Oh, and since he's already been to Grand Canyon and Hoover Dam he doesn't want to go there again so I can just do that on my own if I want to go. Like I said major drama.
That wasn't the end of the drama about project PeteUSA2009. We had planned to go see a baseball match - not that I have any interest in baseball whatsoever, but he thought it was part of the culture and that I had to see that. We'd made a deal, I'd go see a baseball match of his choice and he'd go with me to see the Fabutastic Bette Midler in Las Vegas. It's not that he doesn't have the money, but now he thinks it's too expensive so he has bailed on that. At least I still get to see Bette (alone yes, but nevertheless) and don't have to sit through a baseball match. The drama just kept going, and I've resigned to just say "oh well... it won't ruin my trip".
There was the matter of where we are going, which for the most part had been settled upon from day one. First stop, Las Vegas, then Los Angeles we are just landing there and renting a car before we are off to San Diego, then Los Angeles before driving up Highway 1 to San Francisco where I'll more than likely be partying in Castro. Then we had decided we'd want another stop before heading back home. He wanted Cincinatti because he has family there. I didn't want to go there because I would get nothing out of spending 3 days with his family. My choice would be New York where we could stroll up Broadway, look around Times Sq. and sail around the Ellis Island and visit the Statue of Liberty. A compromise was finally reached and I still feel like I lost big time. We are going to Chicago. All I know about Chicago is Oprah, it's windy and there is the Sears Tower. Oh, and Dullfaces family might make the trip to see him.
Anyway, the hotel decisions were the worst bit, and I almost ended up cutting my losses and saying I didn't want to go with him. Eventually we reached common ground - or as close as one can get while still feeling like one lost big time. We are staying at hotels with no less than 3 stars, and my hotel room in San Francisco has a bay view. Dullface's doesn't as he didn't want to spend the extra £30 per night.
Now I'm all packed because I am, afterall, leaving in the morning but I'm still missing a major thing. You see, I used my Visa card to pay for the hotels and I didn't know there is a limit to how much money you can use on a Visa over a 3o day period. My limit is spent, but I thought I'd be OK. Or so I was lead to believe by my bankperson. I had applied for a MasterCard and "it should arrive before you leave" I was told. No worries then, but the only problem is that it hasn't and I'm leaving before the post arrives tomorrow. Of course Dullface has received his, and he applied AFTER I did. It's so unfair. Anyway, for a while I was really losing all enthusiasm for the project but now I'm slowly regaining it. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I was out buying new - smaller sized trousers and shirts and new shoes to bring. I also bought a fabulous Bjorn Borg bag 20% off.
I also had my parents up for a dinner that involved Greek inspired potatoes with meatballs - also Greek and Tzatziki. Followed by a lovely homemade rich chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream and raspberry coulis. To go with coffee I had made a cherry cheesecake.
It all went off without any problems but since it was my first time making cheesecake I was mighty worried about how it would turn out.
Finally, last night I went to 'smukfest' aka. Skanderborg Festival close to where I live. I only went because Kylie was going and I could hook up with her as we are dear friends. We rarely get to see each other, so naturally I had to go and have a glass of Champagne with her. A good time was had with her and her show was great. She was engaging and managed to get the audience who to their shame didn't know many of her songs, into it. It was great, complete arms in the air moment. The stage was tiny so she could hardly even fit her band on there, let alone her 6 dancers. Apparently she couldn't even bring any of her lights and lamps with her. She managed great without them and the show was a very scaled down show compared to her X2008 tour. If you have a chance to go see her live, you should definately go. She's taking her For You, For Me tour to the US of A after I've come back home. We couldn't get our schedules to fit because we are both very busy and important people.
¨
Anyway, I'm terribly sorry my darlings! I'll miss you all, lots.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Swinging London town
The time has come for me to tell you all about my fabulous trip to London. It was every bit as fabulous as I had imagined it would be. There were a few surprises along the way and sights that we didn't get to see. Actually we didn't get to do much sightseeing, and to my horror we forgot to go touch the lions feet on Trafalgar Square. You can see it here though.
We arrived late on Friday evening. Like always, there was something wrong with the Stansted Express (why they call it express, I'll never know) which meant we arrived by Tube at the Russell Sq. station (I love Russell Square) too late to shop at the Brunswick.
Remember, at that time I still had my FABULOUS and much missed iPhone so the photos are blurry and rather poor but you get the idea.
Just across the street from the Tube station is a Tesco. It wasn't always a Tesco, but once the wonderful Hart's Grocer or something like that. It was a wonderful place and I have bought many a sandwich in there over the years. It has been closed for many years though. Anyway, I was waiting outside the station while my friend (after this only referred to as Madgetastic for his love of Madge) was in Tesco to get something to drink and possibly chocolate eclairs (he loves chocolate eclairs and is completely obsessed with them). While I was waiting I saw a young man standing outside, much like I was standing outside the Tube station and I thought he may have been a hustler. Or maybe it was just laundry day as our dear friend Bingowings had experienced once. Anyway, this older man came up to me and started chatting but Madgetastic came to my rescue.
After checking in, we hung out in Madgetastics room for a while talking. I say that, but I'm a little fuzzy on the details although I know for a fact that we didn't have any alcohol and the hotel bill didn't include any roomservice ordered that night. Now that I think about it, I am a little shocked at how poor my memory is, but I think we just talked for a while and I went to my room and took a lovely long bath and read for a while. The book is called The World of Normal Boys by K.M. Soehnlein.
On Saturday we went shopping. This was fantastic. We went to Carnaby Street and Oxford Street, Regent Street and Covent Garden to name a few places. Madgetastic was on a mission to find a Storm shop. He had his mind set on getting a watch and maybe some rings and a bag. After visiting the second Storm shop he'd gotten what he wanted. A quick stop at Marks & Spencers where I got a bottle of nice Italian red wine (but no cork screw) and a visit to the Holy Land we discovered it was actually London Pride day.
We also managed to find a Doc Martens shop on Neal Street (I think it was) and they had some pretty kinky high heeled leather boots for an otherwise pretty so 90s phenomenon. I wonder if those were the ones Madge wore at her Old and Bitter concert. By the way, I put a POX on Crocs!
Anyway, Pride. To be quite honest, I've never actually done the whole Pride thing. It's just a bunch of screaming, cunty, skinny, skanky queens in leopard print trousers isn't it? That, and those leather daddies that MJ is so fond of. However Madgetastic who isn't actually gay (although he weekly claims either being bi, straight or gay - I think he kissed a guy once) was too obsessed with it and wanted to go to "that gay part of town". I kept telling him he might be thinking about Soho where we once shopped at Prowler. He wasn't sure. Anyway, we started on Leicester Square home of the famous handprints of Dame Maggie Smith and made our way towards Soho.
Of course the square and the streets were packed with people. It seemed harmless and fun, except for one poor bloke with a bloody nose who was surrounded by the police. Had the parade been in Denmark he'd probably been dead.
Faggots, faggots everywhere and not a drop to drink.
Oh look! Skanky queen. I'm being a bitch, I know. Sorry.
Oh look! Nando's! Oh how I waved. Like a spechul.
After cruising the parties, listening to some dodgy singer belt out a few tunes, checking out the shopping booths and the advertising whores in their tiny pants (not that I'm complaining because sweet jebus they were hot!) we walked homo. Ooops! I meant to say home. Stopping at a lovely square on the way.
It was near the British Museum.
That night we went out to eat. My treat. There was no plan about where to eat so we just walked around aimlessly in the area around Russell Square where our hotel was. At one point we considered eating at the hotel but that's a little too touristy so we found this lovely restaurant called Denise's. We had drinks and dinner before stumbling back home.
That was where I learned what a Manhattan is. A Manhattan is....Something you should NEVER order. I can't remember when I've had a more disgusting drink. Ever. Of course my Manhattan didn't have a cherry.
We went back to the hotel. The Hotel Russell by the way. My favorite London hotel. Where we called roomservice and asked them to bring up a bucket of ice. We had bought a bottle of sequin Absolute Vodka and some soda and at 3 am I stumbled back down the hall to my room.
That day we'd been shopping at Lush (I've never had better service evah! Even at the Apple Store and Tous which had lovely staff too) so I decided I needed to take a bath with my rubber ducky.
Bringing along my book, wine and a pink cupcake.
The next morning the phone rang at 9am and I looked around.
How on earth did it get to look like that?!? I did make it down to breakfast and we also made it to Debenhams and House of Fraser (where I bought some Kylie - Couture) before heading off to the Old and Bitter concert.
The Old and Bitter concert was at the London O2 (the old Millenium Dome) and to get there, as the Jubilee line was closed, we sailed from the Millenium Pier by the London Eye (old Millenium Wheel?).
From the base of the London Eye overlooking the River Thames, Big Ben and Palace of Westminster
London is gorgeous isn't it. Same place, almost just the other direction. We sailed under Tower Bridge, past Tower of London and went to the concert. More on the concert in an upcoming post. Then we sailed back.
Since it was so late on a Sunday night the Tube had closed and I put my foot down and said. We're walking! I needed the fresh air, the stillness of London and let's face it. I needed the exercise.
The London Eye from the other side of the bank, at 1am. London is so beautiful isn't it just.
A few drinks in Madgetastics room, and it was time for another Lush bath.
A bath, a book and a bottle of wine. That's heaven! Scary morning after, and off we were. It was time to leave London again. So sad, I almost cried. I wished the Ryan Air flight would be cancelled. We took the Tube to Liverpool Street Station and caught the Stansted Express to the airport.
Random escalator at a random Tube station.
At the airport we went to Starbucks to get something to eat. I love Starbucks. The pink thing is some kind of raspberry frappuccino thing and the nutty thing is a rocky roads I think. My memory is a little fuzzy.
After that, we just sat and waited for our flight number to be called.
Such a sad day it was.
This was my trip to Swinging London Town.
We arrived late on Friday evening. Like always, there was something wrong with the Stansted Express (why they call it express, I'll never know) which meant we arrived by Tube at the Russell Sq. station (I love Russell Square) too late to shop at the Brunswick.
Remember, at that time I still had my FABULOUS and much missed iPhone so the photos are blurry and rather poor but you get the idea.
Just across the street from the Tube station is a Tesco. It wasn't always a Tesco, but once the wonderful Hart's Grocer or something like that. It was a wonderful place and I have bought many a sandwich in there over the years. It has been closed for many years though. Anyway, I was waiting outside the station while my friend (after this only referred to as Madgetastic for his love of Madge) was in Tesco to get something to drink and possibly chocolate eclairs (he loves chocolate eclairs and is completely obsessed with them). While I was waiting I saw a young man standing outside, much like I was standing outside the Tube station and I thought he may have been a hustler. Or maybe it was just laundry day as our dear friend Bingowings had experienced once. Anyway, this older man came up to me and started chatting but Madgetastic came to my rescue.
After checking in, we hung out in Madgetastics room for a while talking. I say that, but I'm a little fuzzy on the details although I know for a fact that we didn't have any alcohol and the hotel bill didn't include any roomservice ordered that night. Now that I think about it, I am a little shocked at how poor my memory is, but I think we just talked for a while and I went to my room and took a lovely long bath and read for a while. The book is called The World of Normal Boys by K.M. Soehnlein.
On Saturday we went shopping. This was fantastic. We went to Carnaby Street and Oxford Street, Regent Street and Covent Garden to name a few places. Madgetastic was on a mission to find a Storm shop. He had his mind set on getting a watch and maybe some rings and a bag. After visiting the second Storm shop he'd gotten what he wanted. A quick stop at Marks & Spencers where I got a bottle of nice Italian red wine (but no cork screw) and a visit to the Holy Land we discovered it was actually London Pride day.
We also managed to find a Doc Martens shop on Neal Street (I think it was) and they had some pretty kinky high heeled leather boots for an otherwise pretty so 90s phenomenon. I wonder if those were the ones Madge wore at her Old and Bitter concert. By the way, I put a POX on Crocs!
Anyway, Pride. To be quite honest, I've never actually done the whole Pride thing. It's just a bunch of screaming, cunty, skinny, skanky queens in leopard print trousers isn't it? That, and those leather daddies that MJ is so fond of. However Madgetastic who isn't actually gay (although he weekly claims either being bi, straight or gay - I think he kissed a guy once) was too obsessed with it and wanted to go to "that gay part of town". I kept telling him he might be thinking about Soho where we once shopped at Prowler. He wasn't sure. Anyway, we started on Leicester Square home of the famous handprints of Dame Maggie Smith and made our way towards Soho.
Of course the square and the streets were packed with people. It seemed harmless and fun, except for one poor bloke with a bloody nose who was surrounded by the police. Had the parade been in Denmark he'd probably been dead.
Faggots, faggots everywhere and not a drop to drink.
Oh look! Skanky queen. I'm being a bitch, I know. Sorry.
Oh look! Nando's! Oh how I waved. Like a spechul.
After cruising the parties, listening to some dodgy singer belt out a few tunes, checking out the shopping booths and the advertising whores in their tiny pants (not that I'm complaining because sweet jebus they were hot!) we walked homo. Ooops! I meant to say home. Stopping at a lovely square on the way.
It was near the British Museum.
That night we went out to eat. My treat. There was no plan about where to eat so we just walked around aimlessly in the area around Russell Square where our hotel was. At one point we considered eating at the hotel but that's a little too touristy so we found this lovely restaurant called Denise's. We had drinks and dinner before stumbling back home.
That was where I learned what a Manhattan is. A Manhattan is....Something you should NEVER order. I can't remember when I've had a more disgusting drink. Ever. Of course my Manhattan didn't have a cherry.
We went back to the hotel. The Hotel Russell by the way. My favorite London hotel. Where we called roomservice and asked them to bring up a bucket of ice. We had bought a bottle of sequin Absolute Vodka and some soda and at 3 am I stumbled back down the hall to my room.
That day we'd been shopping at Lush (I've never had better service evah! Even at the Apple Store and Tous which had lovely staff too) so I decided I needed to take a bath with my rubber ducky.
Bringing along my book, wine and a pink cupcake.
The next morning the phone rang at 9am and I looked around.
How on earth did it get to look like that?!? I did make it down to breakfast and we also made it to Debenhams and House of Fraser (where I bought some Kylie - Couture) before heading off to the Old and Bitter concert.
The Old and Bitter concert was at the London O2 (the old Millenium Dome) and to get there, as the Jubilee line was closed, we sailed from the Millenium Pier by the London Eye (old Millenium Wheel?).
From the base of the London Eye overlooking the River Thames, Big Ben and Palace of Westminster
London is gorgeous isn't it. Same place, almost just the other direction. We sailed under Tower Bridge, past Tower of London and went to the concert. More on the concert in an upcoming post. Then we sailed back.
Since it was so late on a Sunday night the Tube had closed and I put my foot down and said. We're walking! I needed the fresh air, the stillness of London and let's face it. I needed the exercise.
The London Eye from the other side of the bank, at 1am. London is so beautiful isn't it just.
A few drinks in Madgetastics room, and it was time for another Lush bath.
A bath, a book and a bottle of wine. That's heaven! Scary morning after, and off we were. It was time to leave London again. So sad, I almost cried. I wished the Ryan Air flight would be cancelled. We took the Tube to Liverpool Street Station and caught the Stansted Express to the airport.
Random escalator at a random Tube station.
At the airport we went to Starbucks to get something to eat. I love Starbucks. The pink thing is some kind of raspberry frappuccino thing and the nutty thing is a rocky roads I think. My memory is a little fuzzy.
After that, we just sat and waited for our flight number to be called.
Such a sad day it was.
This was my trip to Swinging London Town.
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