Yesterday I bought a dress that cost more than my entire wardrobe. I finally chose my wedding dress. They really are incredible contraptions. I was corsetted to within an inch of my life and even my boobs had their own little bits of scaffolding to give them 'lift' (dress fitter speak for 'honey, you're starting to sag'). But the result was simply astonishing.
I could have done with all of the above on Wednesday when I had a bit of a showbiz treat - a night at the Brit awards with a rather fabulous friend. I was bemoaning the fact that my entire team was going on a work trip that I couldn't attend because I can't do my job without Internet access. I was feeling very left out and depressed and bitched to Fab Friend about it over several large glasses of pinot noir. 'why don't you come to the Brits with me instead then?' he offered gallantly... And suddenly the work trip was a lot less bothersome.
What a party. FF and I gossiped through the awards themselves, obviously, but the performances were spectacular. I guess there's nothing like performing in front of your peers and paymasters to encourage you to pull out all the stops.
We laughed heartily at all the z list hangers on lurking near our table (former atomic kittens, the obligatory forgotten soap actresses et al) but by far my favourite was Lee Ryan, once of Blue fame (eh?) mincing around in a wet-look suit jacket and Cuban heels that I swear were bigger than my own killer stilletos. Quality. I spent far too long trying to get a discreet picture of them but I'm ashamed to report that I failed miserably. So much for all that multimedia training that work inflicts on me on an almost daily basis (or so it seems).
The aftershow was fairground themed, complete with dodgems, wrestling ring, fortune tellers and a rather pointless maze which we rather pointlessly wandered around at 3am before deciding that it really was time to make a move. I persuaded Fab Friend to crash at mine, only for the cab driver to get completely lost and admit it was only his second week in the job. Somehow, through my champagne haze, I managed to get him back on course but the fare by this time was huge so he asked me to pay whatever it usually costs.
Thus for the first and only time in my life I got a black London taxi in the wee hours of Thursday morning for the princely sum of £10. How I got away with that I'll never know.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Arabian Nights (and days)
Dubai is a city rich with smells - from the good, like the spice souks with row upon row of vanilla, frankencense (how DO you spell that?), saffron to the downright vile - like the taxis by the end of the day. Find myself sitting in the backseat discreetly wafting perfume around like some High Priestess of Prada simply in order to breathe.
It's luxury hotel living all the way simply because there isn't anywhere else you can get a glass of wine - even at an eyewatering 20GBP each for standard blanc de blanc. (Oh, needless to say the Airport Lady was wrong about Dubai's cheap Duty Free! Bah) Definitely a proverbial playground for the rich - I am dreading my credit card bill this month and I don't even have a thing to show for it.
The sound of construction work fills the air and roads change daily as more and more building sites spring up seemingly overnight. My friend no longer has a front door because the road in front of her apartment disappeared in a pile of orange traffic cones and 'men at work' signage. The apartments though are stunning. All beautifully laid out with swimming pools and gyms as standard - while the UK seemingly freezes and then floods I am curled up on a sunlounger by a heated pool (not that it needs it) smothered in Factor 25.
I've prepared a few blog posts about my experiences here but as I'm not even sure whether I'll be able to publish this, the others will have to wait until I'm back in the UK. Anything deemed 'inappropriate' online is banned. And that just about sums me up most of the time so I think this will have to do for now... sorry folks.
It's luxury hotel living all the way simply because there isn't anywhere else you can get a glass of wine - even at an eyewatering 20GBP each for standard blanc de blanc. (Oh, needless to say the Airport Lady was wrong about Dubai's cheap Duty Free! Bah) Definitely a proverbial playground for the rich - I am dreading my credit card bill this month and I don't even have a thing to show for it.
The sound of construction work fills the air and roads change daily as more and more building sites spring up seemingly overnight. My friend no longer has a front door because the road in front of her apartment disappeared in a pile of orange traffic cones and 'men at work' signage. The apartments though are stunning. All beautifully laid out with swimming pools and gyms as standard - while the UK seemingly freezes and then floods I am curled up on a sunlounger by a heated pool (not that it needs it) smothered in Factor 25.
I've prepared a few blog posts about my experiences here but as I'm not even sure whether I'll be able to publish this, the others will have to wait until I'm back in the UK. Anything deemed 'inappropriate' online is banned. And that just about sums me up most of the time so I think this will have to do for now... sorry folks.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
limbo
Aren't airports weird? I'm sitting here in shiny new Heathrow terminal 5 at 7pm feeling like it's about 4am. The half lights, the drone of the aircon... I haven't felt this disorientated and timeless since I stalked the hotel casinos of las vegas, all of which sounds far more glamorous than it actually was.
I'm sure I should be doing something important like buying toothpaste or throwing myself at the nearest prada handbag store but instead I'm tucked away in a little corner typing furiously on my iPhone. It is perhaps no coincidence that I watched The Terminal the other night.
Anyway I'm resisting the duty free because, according to the check-in lady, t5 is one of the most expensive in the world in that department. I'll spare you her story about the global airport costs of 200 b&h (no need to thank me) but suffice it to say where I'm headed things cost one third of what they do here. Be still, my quaking credit card.
The other thing worth mentioning is that I'm flying solo. Dear MC has some very time consuming work commitments in London (and a stinking cold to boot, poor love) so all in all it's the perfect moment for a spot of sunny, girlie r&r with my oldest friend. In aforementioned lavish apartment. Something tells me I won't be seeing am awful lot of the city of Dubai itself...
I'm sure I should be doing something important like buying toothpaste or throwing myself at the nearest prada handbag store but instead I'm tucked away in a little corner typing furiously on my iPhone. It is perhaps no coincidence that I watched The Terminal the other night.
Anyway I'm resisting the duty free because, according to the check-in lady, t5 is one of the most expensive in the world in that department. I'll spare you her story about the global airport costs of 200 b&h (no need to thank me) but suffice it to say where I'm headed things cost one third of what they do here. Be still, my quaking credit card.
The other thing worth mentioning is that I'm flying solo. Dear MC has some very time consuming work commitments in London (and a stinking cold to boot, poor love) so all in all it's the perfect moment for a spot of sunny, girlie r&r with my oldest friend. In aforementioned lavish apartment. Something tells me I won't be seeing am awful lot of the city of Dubai itself...
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
hello, siberia
yes, I'm yet another Brit blogger going on about the weather. But it is extraordinary to emerge from a very lazy Sunday afternoon in a cosy pub only to find one's urban gritty abode transformed into Narnia. Admittedly after my third snowball attack in as many minutes I was considerably less enamoured with the whole scene but all in all it's been quite beautiful, if treacherous, in London town of late.
Anyway weather permitting I'm off to Dubai tomorrow to visit an old friend. Apparently her boyfriend is away, leaving us to housesit his sumptuous penthouse apartment. It's a hard life. Not sure what blog access is like in UAE but i'll do my best to log in. Are you on twitter yet?I am utterly addicted!
Anyway weather permitting I'm off to Dubai tomorrow to visit an old friend. Apparently her boyfriend is away, leaving us to housesit his sumptuous penthouse apartment. It's a hard life. Not sure what blog access is like in UAE but i'll do my best to log in. Are you on twitter yet?I am utterly addicted!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Pool rage
This morning I had breakfast with a blogger! The Divine Ms M is, I'm pleased to report, every bit as divine as her name suggests and we have agreed that our next meeting will involve wine rather than sausages and eggs.
Unfortunately I was a lot less divine - I woke up feeling fairly crap and sadly as our breakfast continued so did the nasty feeling that something had gone distinctly awry inside my body.
A stressful yet boozy week is inevitably to blame and the result was a sordid little moment on the way home when I had to pull over in the middle of a very posh part of west London and dispel said breakfast. I have never done that before and I don't intend to repeat the experience. All most unpleasant and embarrassing, and a complete waste of a meal in one of my favourite weekend breakfast haunts.
By 6pm I was feeling just about human again so decided to take myself down to the gym for a jacuzzi/sauna pampering session (which I don't think I'll be mentioning to my trainer. She has told me in no uncertain terms that *nothing* I am currently doing is conducive to weight loss, sigh).
I was floating around in the jacuzzi on my own, thinking rude thoughts (does anyone else find all those bubbles mildly arousing?) when I heard raised voices coming from the direction of the pool. My hearing isn't great and without my lenses I am comically if hopelessly shortsighted but even I could understand the problem: a rather large and very aggressive lady who was taking up most of the fast lane and absolutely refusing to swim clockwise in it like everybody else.
Cue much shouting and arm waving (well, it wasn't exactly easy to swim around her either) as Large Lady insisted that she was in the right and they were all wrong. Eventually they got so cross that they all stomped over into the middle lane and then moved the lane rope so instead of the fast lane it became a Large Lady Lane and they had a bigger lane for all their speedy strokes.
I was inwardly applauding their ingenuity and wishing one could do this in other walks of life, like when one is driving behind somebody very slow who will not go any higher than 2nd gear. How lovely to just be able to create their own little slow lane and zoom off at one's own pace.
Large Lady didn't seem to be too pleased with the solution though and got out. At that point a hapless member of staff came along, just to take a sample of the water. Terrible timing. She chewed his ear off for about 10 minutes and then everybody else piled in to tell their side: apparently she is well-known in these parts for being a swimming offender(interesting accolade).
Then she got back into the pool - in the middle lane - I suppose to make a point (honestly has the woman no shame?). The exasperated fast laners moved back over and took their lane rope with them.
Unfortunately then I realised that I'd been in the jacuzzi for so long that my skin had turned to mush so I got out and hit the sauna to dry out. I saw her waddling in the direction of the showers shortly afterwards so I suppose she admitted defeat in the end. I shall look out for her in future. She's the most entertaining thing in this gym by miles.
Unfortunately I was a lot less divine - I woke up feeling fairly crap and sadly as our breakfast continued so did the nasty feeling that something had gone distinctly awry inside my body.
A stressful yet boozy week is inevitably to blame and the result was a sordid little moment on the way home when I had to pull over in the middle of a very posh part of west London and dispel said breakfast. I have never done that before and I don't intend to repeat the experience. All most unpleasant and embarrassing, and a complete waste of a meal in one of my favourite weekend breakfast haunts.
By 6pm I was feeling just about human again so decided to take myself down to the gym for a jacuzzi/sauna pampering session (which I don't think I'll be mentioning to my trainer. She has told me in no uncertain terms that *nothing* I am currently doing is conducive to weight loss, sigh).
I was floating around in the jacuzzi on my own, thinking rude thoughts (does anyone else find all those bubbles mildly arousing?) when I heard raised voices coming from the direction of the pool. My hearing isn't great and without my lenses I am comically if hopelessly shortsighted but even I could understand the problem: a rather large and very aggressive lady who was taking up most of the fast lane and absolutely refusing to swim clockwise in it like everybody else.
Cue much shouting and arm waving (well, it wasn't exactly easy to swim around her either) as Large Lady insisted that she was in the right and they were all wrong. Eventually they got so cross that they all stomped over into the middle lane and then moved the lane rope so instead of the fast lane it became a Large Lady Lane and they had a bigger lane for all their speedy strokes.
I was inwardly applauding their ingenuity and wishing one could do this in other walks of life, like when one is driving behind somebody very slow who will not go any higher than 2nd gear. How lovely to just be able to create their own little slow lane and zoom off at one's own pace.
Large Lady didn't seem to be too pleased with the solution though and got out. At that point a hapless member of staff came along, just to take a sample of the water. Terrible timing. She chewed his ear off for about 10 minutes and then everybody else piled in to tell their side: apparently she is well-known in these parts for being a swimming offender(interesting accolade).
Then she got back into the pool - in the middle lane - I suppose to make a point (honestly has the woman no shame?). The exasperated fast laners moved back over and took their lane rope with them.
Unfortunately then I realised that I'd been in the jacuzzi for so long that my skin had turned to mush so I got out and hit the sauna to dry out. I saw her waddling in the direction of the showers shortly afterwards so I suppose she admitted defeat in the end. I shall look out for her in future. She's the most entertaining thing in this gym by miles.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Life laundry
Last week I finally succombed to gadget envy and got myself an iPhone. I'm sending all sorts of strange texts as my clunky fingers are evidently too huge to touchtype the delicate keyboard, and I haven't even got round to sync it with iTunes yet, for reasons too tedious to go into. But I love it.
iPhoning up involved ending a long term relationship with Vodafone. They didn't take it very well. I received six letters begging me to stay, and even more phonecalls offering ever more incentives to stay. I am half expecting them to turn up drunk on the doorstep at 3am declaring undying love sometime soon.
Anyway new phone company = new SIM and therefore the task of inputting all my contacts from scratch for the first time this millennium. My contacts list got a very harsh edit. Out went ex-boyfriends (including the chap now doing 10 years for drug dealing, somehow I doubt he's still got his mobile on him), people I haven't spoken to since university (I graduated in 1998) and people who I just don't recognize (like 12 of the 14 'Robs' listed). Finally, I decided not to transfer dad's phone numbers. That was a tear jerker. But it's time to move on.
Speaking of which... I spent a surprisingly enjoyable Saturday afternoon trying on wedding dresses. Typically I now have three favourites and I seem to have managed to fall in love with gorgeous bridalwear from north London's most expensive designers. Marvellous!
iPhoning up involved ending a long term relationship with Vodafone. They didn't take it very well. I received six letters begging me to stay, and even more phonecalls offering ever more incentives to stay. I am half expecting them to turn up drunk on the doorstep at 3am declaring undying love sometime soon.
Anyway new phone company = new SIM and therefore the task of inputting all my contacts from scratch for the first time this millennium. My contacts list got a very harsh edit. Out went ex-boyfriends (including the chap now doing 10 years for drug dealing, somehow I doubt he's still got his mobile on him), people I haven't spoken to since university (I graduated in 1998) and people who I just don't recognize (like 12 of the 14 'Robs' listed). Finally, I decided not to transfer dad's phone numbers. That was a tear jerker. But it's time to move on.
Speaking of which... I spent a surprisingly enjoyable Saturday afternoon trying on wedding dresses. Typically I now have three favourites and I seem to have managed to fall in love with gorgeous bridalwear from north London's most expensive designers. Marvellous!
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Happy new year
How quickly have the last two weeks flown by? One minute I was eating endless turkey and trimmings and now I'm sat at a computer at the gym, desperately putting off the beginning of the inevitable health kick that NEEDS to start happening right now... I haven't dared to get on the scales yet but my new jeans are already a bit on the tight side. Hence the fancy new colours etc - that alone has happily squandered 20 mins that should have been spent on the treadmill.
NYE was spent in fancy dress with MC and my best mate - we went to an old smugglers pub hidden away on the clifftops of Dorset and drank endless pints of scrumpy. I can't remember the last time I was cider-drunk but I felt so relaxed and in love with the world. The last time I felt like that was back in my clubbing days, only this time it wasn't followed by 3 days of insomnia and a stiff jaw. Cider could well be the way forward (but not during health kick obv. Sob).
Wedding plans coming together surprisingly smoothly - and next weekend the hunt for a dress begins. I am terrified. I have no idea what I'm after and I hate trying things on in front of people at the best of times. Please send me positive vibes as I'll have who-knows-how-many shop assistants, two bridesmaids and two mothers (yes, Mrs MC is coming too) casting critical eyes over me. Any more and I may have to start charging admission. I think I may have to drink my way through it.
NYE was spent in fancy dress with MC and my best mate - we went to an old smugglers pub hidden away on the clifftops of Dorset and drank endless pints of scrumpy. I can't remember the last time I was cider-drunk but I felt so relaxed and in love with the world. The last time I felt like that was back in my clubbing days, only this time it wasn't followed by 3 days of insomnia and a stiff jaw. Cider could well be the way forward (but not during health kick obv. Sob).
Wedding plans coming together surprisingly smoothly - and next weekend the hunt for a dress begins. I am terrified. I have no idea what I'm after and I hate trying things on in front of people at the best of times. Please send me positive vibes as I'll have who-knows-how-many shop assistants, two bridesmaids and two mothers (yes, Mrs MC is coming too) casting critical eyes over me. Any more and I may have to start charging admission. I think I may have to drink my way through it.
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