Mundane

Here I am darlings. In Bahrain and ready to tear my hair out were it not for my mother who mothers and my brother who brothers and my friend who erm cares? The frustration is palpable and painful almost and my head spins and the people I know are everywhere and they are predatory predatory predatory for fuck's sake.

A one-time venture out of the house and I see 3458345073450 people I know. All the while I can only think of Adonis and want to bury my head in the dusty area just outside Starbucks Budaiya whilst sipping English breakfast tea.

I saw an ex who looked amazing though, all trim beard and dashing good looks. All grown up and devastating, heart-breaking.. He was a man now. Blue raised an eyebrow, after we'd left, in appreciation. We smiled and cracked jokes. He ruffled my hair and rubbed my arm and had to be on his way and I watched him slightly perturbed at this new person.

Still the weather is quite lovely.

I am looking forward to an indoorsy type night with Blue with maybe a tentative drive to BuKuwara for Janburger. Otherwise nothing fills these bleak days but episode upon episode of House and I look forward to the day when I can turn around to my colleagues at work and say in a serious voice while shooting loaded looks, "I'm trying to do my job."

My grandma gushes over me as I eat qormeh sabzi and tells me that I am the best granddaughter because I polish off my heaped plate. My mum bursts with pride when an aunt pays me a compliment. My best friend tells me I'm doing okay. There's certainly no lack of love in this here parts.

Some good news: a friend of mine is getting married! What's the big deal I hear you ask since marriage in Bahrain is basically a cure for boredom, depression, Tourette's, Alzheimer's, syphillis, general aches and pains, and any other mental or physical ailment you can think of. Well, she's a New Yorker and when she had come to visit me early on this year she had told me that marriage was not for her and that she never thought she'd take the plunge and I'd believed her because I knew her. But, she met someone and someone who is, by her account, pretty damn awesome. I'm feeling pretty damn awesome myself. An uplifting bit of good news. The wedding is to take place on New Year's eve which I think is lovely.

Otherwise nothing to report as my will to live and inspiration dry up. I will write something perhaps a little more meaningful at some point.

Time is of the essence

I do believe that today, time is standing still. And if I look at my watch very carefully, I can sometimes catch the minute hand going backwards.

That is all. Thank you.

Lists to make me feel better

Good things going on right now:

• My Adonis who spoils me.
• The white chocolate Crunch bar I just had. White chocolate is by no means a favourite but it works when the chocolate demons invade.
• The naughty cigarettes I had whilst waiting for my manicure.
• My luxury manicure and pedicure at The Berkeley courtesy of Adonis who spoiled me. And consequently...
• My beautiful nails.
  
• The fact that I still have a training contract.
• My ability to make random friends on the bus with people who nudge me in various directions.
• The rest of my evening which will be spent unwinding and watching things that numb my brain and drinking my body volume in tea.

Things I don't want to think about but dammit, they're there anyway:

• Bahrain. Surprised? I'm not.
  
• Interviewing assessment on the 18th and solicitor's accounts on the 19th.
• Saying goodbye to Adonis at the airport.
• The banoffee ice-cream I have in the freezer waiting for me.
• The rest of those naughty cigarettes in my bag just dying to be smoked.
• The disappearance of my Oyster card and all the other cards in that little black plastic holder i.e. my Costa loyalty card, college entry card, NUS card, random finance person's card with The Beast's phone number on the back.
• My boots which are due to arrive any minute now.

Things I will do in Bahrain:

• Hang out with mum and get her to love me again.
• Avoid the rest of the family.
• Hang out with my brother.
• Hang out with Blue and MSB.
• Generally do a lot of hanging.
• Sit in my brother's room and watch things. Can you say "escapism"?
  

Things I will do when I return from Bahrain:

• Write up a proper CV for fuck's sake. No more pussyfootin' around.
  
• Get out of London for a while. Maybe rent a cabin somewhere and hibernate.
• Stop worrying.
• Start revision early.
• Look for somewhere to live. Maybe same area. Maybe somewhere else. A nice safe haven which will be free of Max, my filthy French flatmate.
• Exhibit poise and grace and stop being such a noob in general.
• Finish House of Dead III after having finished House of Dead II when Adonis was long dead. I beat the boss on my own. Hello geekazoid.
• Watch every single Bond movie ever made with Adonis.
• Never say no to another invitation to the pub. Ever.

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Here's a blast from the past. Jesus I used to love this song so much and I found the video quite intriguing.

In a corner

Well well well.

The weekend was mentally exhausting. Disagreements with members of the family had me losing sleep, slamming fists against walls and sobbing in indignation. Ultimately, one curls up in the foetal position and contemplates life in general.

Is it worth it after all? And when you hit the low, why the fuck can't you see the high? Where does it go? Are antidepressants made for people like me? People who oscillate wildly? People who are highly volatile? Or do you need sustained misery to kill with the chemical? And what about death? What is wrong with oblivion? What is wrong with nothingness? There is no afterlife, let's face it. And if there were an afterlife, why prolong that hell? I'm sure humans in their infinite capacity for innovation can come up with an opt-out solution, a way to end Eternity.

Fuck me, bring on the Prozac.

My brother, helpful as always, came up with brilliant advice and sometimes, when all is bleak and grey, I wonder whether this little (not so little anymore) boy was sent here to take care of us all. His capacity for care is infinite and it melts my heart. Couple it with searing intelligence and a desire to right wrongs, you have the makings of a latter-day saint.

Then when he left to Paris I was left here, a wreck for Adonis to assemble. And Adonis assembled and cradled and loved. Adonis stroked my hair as tears ran silently down my face and told me that the peaks and the troughs were always going to be there with varying degrees of intensity. And this made me sadder and I snapped shut like a clam.

After a lot of coaxing, I did what any normal person would do. I called up the offending family members repeatedly to try and get them to love me again. They still loved me, which was odd. I wouldn't have loved me.

I finished reading A Fraction of the Whole and it was unbelievable. It's too good a book not to be exalted (although I didn't really like the author after I'd seen a mini interview with him). I'll exalt it later in another post. In the meantime, go out and buy it and read it and don't be put off by its size or volume.

Today

Adonis comes home today.

The sun starts shining today.
The birds start singing today.
The traffic lights are a brighter shade of yellow today.
The world is a better place today.
The flat is a lot warmer today.
My flatmate Max doesn't piss me off today.
Two weeks in Bahrain seems like a lesser hell today.
Two exams next week don't faze me today.
Banoffee pie tastes better than ever today.
This week's Prison Break has me on the edge of my seat today.
Hours spent on the work I've been doing all week don't matter today.
I'll laugh more sincerely today.
I won't have to pace his room and sniff his cupboard today.
I won't be sending frantic texts at 1 AM today.
I'll be taking care of my baby today.
Since I asked for one, I might get a chocolate Santa today.

But really, Adonis comes home today.

Can't Buy Me Love

Oh my fuck. You will not believe who I saw tonight.

Mind you this was supposed to be an ordinary evening where Adonis and I were just going to catch a shitty movie and do nothing. So we head to Camden which is about 5 minutes away and go to the crappy little Odeon, watch our movie, disturb everyone with our wisecracking comments and general disruptive behaviour, laugh at inappropriate times and just go home.
On the walk home we passed by the Chinese floating restaurant we see every time which intrigues us.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"A little. What do you think?"

"I've always wanted to try it."

We paused in contemplation. I always had an uneasy feeling about the place because it's right on the water. "Sweetie we'll only go in if there are people inside."

There were people. "I bet it's full of rats," he said. Awesome. Let's definitely give it a shot now. Still, we thought worst case scenario, we'll have a nibble and walk out.

In we walked, I took off the many layers I had on and stood for a while, staring out the window mouth agape at the many lights.

"Sit down I want to tell you something, " whispered Adonis. "Is that Paul McCartney?"

Oh. My. Fuck. It was. It was Sir Paul. It was a real life Beatle. It was him. And he was sitting a table away with some brunette eating seaweed with his hands.

Needless to say I completely lost the plot and sat there beaming at him. On his way out, he looked at me, did a double-take and smiled back, I swear!

When I told Adonis this he said, "Of course he did. Now pull your dress up."

A flurry of smses and I don't even know what happened for the rest of the evening. But oh dear Lord, I am positively starstruck.

Enjoy kiddos..



P.S. I must add that Sir Paul was the perfect gentleman. He got up when his lady friend came back from the loo, he asked for the check when she was away and he thanked the staff profusely with hugs and kisses. What a guy.

Allure

I have to say, I'm a sucker for magazines. And not those esteemed publications either like The Economist or whatnot. I'm a sucker for all things Elle and Glamour and InStyle and Allure and so on and so forth. I cannot resist the glossiness and the recycled beauty advice and the clothes, those beautiful clothes, and the stunning people.

I have been reading Allure religiously for the past nine years. Yes, I am a loser. Yes I am shallow and superficial and narcissistic and far too obsessed with beauty to ever dig deep into any particular worthwhile academic discipline, career-path or worthy cause.

Recently, however, I have been eschewing certain aspects of beauty magazines. As I mentioned earlier, it's all recycled and I'd noted that early on but chose to keep turning a blind eye for the best part of nine years. So, I ultimately decided that since most of this advice seems arbitrary and somewhat common knowledge, I'll give you my own version of advice that you may choose to follow or ignore, the results of which are dubious at best but ultimately, I pretty much practice what I preach and it all worked for me so here goes..

June's List of Tips

1. Skin is important but easy to deal with. Wash twice a day with any old soap you have in the bathroom. Trust me, it doesn't matter. Lotions and potions don't work and nothing beats the feeling of a very clean face. And if you find your face isn't as clear as you'd like it to be, reconsider your diet.

2. When it comes to hair, I am a firm believer that it should really be as natural and unstructured as possible. You have curls? Work them. Afraid of frizz? Don't be. Use your conditioner, wash it every day (that shit about it being bad for your hair is just that, shit). And the only men who preferred my hair straightened to within an inch of its life are the type of men I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. Wavy hair signifies sex-kitten. What could be better than that?

3. I have tried every moisturiser available in London (probably) and the best by far has always been Johnson's Dreamy Skin Body Lotion which smells sweet, edible and not moisturisery at all.

4. Mix it up a bit. Wear something masculine and utilitarian with girly accessories like big earrings or bangles. Wear a jersey dress with knee high clomp-clomp boots. And to hell with what's in the magazines. If you like it honey, get it. Also it doesn't really matter what you wear, it's how you wear it. Find a statement something per season and work it. I am currently loving tough-as-nails fingerless gloves.

5. It's never a bad idea to wear a dress. I have more dresses in my wardrobe than anything else and they're what get me compliments. Also, boys do like a nice dress.

6. Nail polish must only be iridescent and nude or any shade of red. Anything else is just ridiculous.

7. Every girl needs a pair of killer heels but they're not the be-all or end-all of footwear. Contrary to Sex and the City and their superimposed versions of "what is universally hot", if you walk tall in a pair of flats, if you see art in a pair of old sneakers then dammit, you'll look good.

8. A thin line of blue eyeliner drawn on your lower lashline looks good. It sounds odd but it really isn't if done well and worn with bravado.

9. Be happy. That skip in your step is huge in determining how attractive you are to the world. Happy girls stay happy. Miserable bitches will always be miserable. I see a lot of conventionally beautiful women with mean faces that put me off. Oh and girls (in Bahrain in particular), for fuck's sake, smile. Be nice. The attitude isn't sexy at all.

10. And finally, be good at something. One thing. Whatever it is, be very very good at it. Maybe you excel at your job, maybe your people skills are honed to perfection, maybe you can run really really fast, maybe you're a keen mathematician. It doesn't matter. Competence is sexy as hell. But make sure you couple it with nonchalance and a sense of humour otherwise you might as well be yet another arrogant twat, at which point I will turn around and say to you, "Honey, whatever you can do, someone out there can do it a million times better."

So there you have it. Tips that may or may not do much for you at all. I don't proclaim to be a great beauty or anything of the sort but some of the things here do make me feel better about myself and that, my friends, is what allure is all about.

Opa

So the song currently residing in my head is Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy by Queen and there is nothing much to say on it other than the note of irony with which Freddie Mercury sings it is audible only to me. The song is a satire and a catchy one at that. Love him. Also one has to admire the fetching harlequin ensemble he has on which is interchangeable with his silver glittery bodysuit thing..

Anyway the roof with those gardens had people standing outside who decided that we were decidedly on the wrong side of riff-raff and so we ended up bundled into a cab, heading to our tried and tested; Soho. Once there we descended to the nether depths of the underworld to a Greek rebetiko place. Initial shock at the general seediness was followed by delight upon clocking the singer.

Let's just say that Mr. Jack Daniels was an omnipresent guest of honour and we did our best to bestow him with our humblest thanks and appreciation.

We danced, we drank, we ate salt-drenched halloumi, we made wild declarations of love, we adored all things Greek. Then, at the end of the night, we stumbled home dazed and confused and instantly plopped on our respective beds (mine made a little warmer, a little sweeter by the presence of Adonis).

Needless to say, today we are all basking in our Mediterranean roots (hey Alexandria in Egypt qualifies as Mediterranean, no?) and we are all filled with Greek goodwill towards humanity.

Memorable Moment #1: My friend inviting us to touch her breasts as an affirmation of their size and her skill at concealing said size.

Memorable Moment #2: My other friend declaring upon downing a shot from a hideously overpriced bar that she, "Just downed £7!"

Memorable Moment #3: Watching those Greek boys do their solos. Oh my fuck. Opa!

Memorable Moment #4: Singing Wham's Last Christmas in the cab whilst I conversed in Persian with the Afghani cab driver.

I now go back to my incessant prep work which simply does not want to end. I leave you with a video showing Freddie at his finest, all buck teeth and hair. It doesn't get any better than this..



I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings
Be your valentino just for you

Gardens on a roof

Nothing, and I mean nothing, beats the feeling of getting ready before a massive Saturday night out with your friends. When you're all showered, smelling divine, drying your hair and wondering idly what to wear, that tight, anticipatory feeling in the tummy is just awesome.

Somehow, every time I'm about to go out, the ipod plays "Flawless" but never at any time.

I go through the motions tonight. My hair perfected, my makeup meticulous. I'm wearing a killer black lace dress that really looks like lingerie or so I've been told. Stepping into heels. Throw keys, cards, cash and mobile into a clutch, wear coat and I'm out.

I'm off to a night of dancing, of hobnobbing with those who are out to be hobnobbed with. Of beautiful gardens and random snaps of debauchery.

I'm off to have some fun.

It's about nothing

WHO CARES WHO CARES WHO CARES about the stupid Sale of Goods Act 1979 and bloody UCTA 1977? I'm so over it! I was so over it last year when we were done with Conract. I don't want these whole acts revisited! I don't care! If you noobs are stupid enough not to write up a proper contract for sale and agree on your own terms and conditions then you don't deserve regulation, let alone 48324386423084273 acts to teach you how to play like grown ups!

Yes, I am a ray of sunshine this morning.

Also I have trojans. I make it sound like I have fleas. But no I have trojans and they won't go away.

Still, I'm seeing Churchill this Friday and I'm quite excited as I haven't seen him in yonks and I'm so looking forward to his expansive, sweeping views and massive generalisations. And his obscure as fuck brand of Arabic that has me doubled up in laughter. He went to Syria this summer and came back speaking not regular Syrian Arabic but Hassakeh-Syrian Arabic (Hassakawi?). It's so odd to see this blue-eyed, ginger, public school boy, with the poshest accent this side of London speak like that. Anyway, Friday to look forward to, which is always good.

Right, back to prep. Later alligators.

Bring on the carrots

Just this minute, I went to the cornershop to buy some water. The sun was out in spite of the cold and I waved at the real estate guy staring out the window who waved back.

Got the water, plonked down the change and the shopkeeper with the beanie and strangely placed earrings (male) said to me, "You're happy yeah?"

I laughed, "You think so?"

"Yes I can see. Your body is nice."

I was taken aback. "What???"

"Before you skinny. Very skinny. Now you eat."

"Oh so now I'm fat."

He laughed. "Not fat. Happy."

.
..
...

Right, I will subsist on carrots from now on.

"I'm gonna be asking the questions around here..."

At the practice interviewing assessment I had yesterday, I was given a dvd of my, ahem, performance in order to correct any mistakes.

So I finally brought myself to watch that ridiculous video of me conducting this client interview and here are my thoughts in no particular order:

• I have never been one to proclaim that an examiner, assessor, invigilator or plain teacher has it in for me because honestly, I think it's bollocks. But fuck, she had it in for me. The condescending tone with which she spoke to me and the envious look on her face upon glancing my shoes all go to prove that.
• Her grading and subsequent comments were unnecessarily harsh. She told me I'd not done a few things which I'd clearly done (honey, the recording doesn't lie).
  
• I never realised I was quite so feminine. Which sounds utterly ridiculous. But I always thought I was a bit rough around the edges. I certainly don't eat my hamburgers with a knife and fork as do an alarming number of Bahraini girls and I'm actually unafraid to wear a man-style shirt, pull my hair back or do without jewellery (apart from my Teta's ring). Seeing myself in motion, all delicate and frail. Very odd.
  
• I need to stop saying "Fantastic". What a ludicrous, arbitrary, useless word to say. Where the hell did I pick it up from? Who do I think I am anyway? Joe England?
• Did I mention my shoes? Word.
  
• If I don't smile, I am haughty, aloof, serious and completely humourless. I wouldn't want to be my friend if I don't smile.
• Black really is my colour.
  
• Jesus my hair is so dark. So are my eyes.
  
• Only I know when I'm nervous. The rest of the world wouldn't be able to tell. Only I can see the imperceptible shake of the hand as I'm making notes.
• The "client" was an organic foods store owner who was in a huff about one of his partners buying salad leaves from a supplier at less than stellar prices without his consent. How ridiculous does one feel when one asks, "So you didn't know about the salad leaves?" at a client interview?
• The English urge to be condescending outweighs every other instinct they have. "Oh you did really well!" said the peer who was interviewing me. "Well done!" Har-umph.

Anyhoo today was quite cool as we all sipped cava and orange juice out of plastic cups and stuffed our faces with cookies and crisps in civil litigation. It made our cross-examination session with the resident class noob all the more vindictive somehow.

Post script: I'm reading A Fraction of the Whole by Steve Toltz. Started yesterday and jeez louise I'm loving it and can't put it down. It's fast paced, it's intriguing and it's written with vast amounts of humour. Worth a shot.

Neglect

Turns everything shabby no? Every two minutes though I have a new thing I feel like writing about but then I get distracted by a bag of crisps, Dope Wars, cookies, the Wii, a cup of tea, old Seinfeld episodes or Adonis. My life has deteriorated to a nutshell of domesticity of the worst kind where dirty laundry piles on and mornings are a frantic rush to make class on time coupled with a hurling of the bag with wild abandon as I hurl myself on to the bed at 3 when I hit home.

Not feeling particularly great these days either. A momentary lapse into self-doubt has me wondering why the fuck I'm doing law anyway and whether my firm was insane to grant me this training contract. So I can have a semi-decent conversation in a few languages. So what? I just feel so bloody mediocre. Following my LLM I had a massive shot of confidence, the giddy type that makes you smile at strangers, teeth a-glintin', eyebrow raised saying, "Yeah I just did my master's degree. And passed it." Piece of piss in hindsight. Then the GDL came along and my swagger subsided until I got my results. Beam beam beam. Then Dewey & LeBoeuf hired little ol' me and had I been taller, more ample-chested and blonde, I'd have been unstoppable. But then a few rejections came piling in and this was after I'd had a chance to dazzle them with my wit and charm. Whatevs, thought I. You lose some right? And anyway, I liked D&L best. And now here comes the LPC with their "practice" tests designed to make you feel like a twat, telling you things like you're borderline competent because your writing style is too formal and you use too much legal jargon. Maybe I should just write in the preferred style of yoof today wid bad speling and sum fuked up gramer rite lol? Ah they're right those LPC people. I need to do summink and fast. I need to get me back on top o' de class, pronto.

And I can't say I'm looking forward to going home for the 2 weeks of Christmas what with this wave of religiosity sweeping my family. But that's a whole 'nother story.

Reading back over what I just wrote I sound supremely self-congratulatory. Clap clap June. Pat on back. Well done me. It actually isn't self-congratulatory at all. It's just that my supreme ego can't self-deprecate without sneaking in some self-praise. And if I can't cheer myself on in my own blog, where can I?

To you readers out there (all 2 and a half of you), please don't feel alienated. Please do come back and leave me comments and brighten my day. I'm off to do my last civil litigation workshop prep ever ever. And drown my sorrows in some Walkers salt 'n' vinegar crisps.

Ray of sunshine in this dreary dreary world #2

Adonis: the love of my life, the reason London is the island paradise I've made it out to be, the loveliest of lovelies, the constant, the source of all that is good in the world, the koala bear to my Australia.

Adonis is in Stockholm and sent me roses. A lot of roses. Pink roses with lots of love.

Now tell me, how did I manage to find this one again?

Ray of sunshine in this dreary dreary world #1

I emailed Nestle to ask them about Fruit Gums and put to rest my concerns once and for all about the whole pork gelatine debacle. Imagine my delight when I got this email back:

Dear Miss X

Thank you for getting in touch about Fruit Gums.

The gelatine used in our Fruit Gums and Fruit Pastilles is a beef gelatine. For further information about our products please visit our website www.nestle.co.uk and http://www.rowntrees.co.uk/home/

I trust this information will be of help to you and may I take this opportunity to thank you for your interest in our products.


!

!!

!!!

I have nothing to say but word. Word playa.

Lit Chat

I have to say this. I am so disappointed by Jenny Diski's first effort (Nothing Natural), I feel like I could cry.

Trawling the Oxfam bookstore on St. John's Wood High Street the other day, after I'd told Adonis he could go and post whatever it is he needs to post, I decided maybe I could find a bargain book or two and get that sense of elation one usually has after finding a treasure for nothing. I was in my element. Amongst all those hideous crime thrillers that are the preferred choice of many forty-somethings on the tube, I found a couple of books for under three quid which made me squeal.

Now Jenny Diski had always been a favourite. I'd read Only Human a zillion times, intrigued by the relationship (love triangle?) between Abraham, Sarah and God. The concept blew me away at the tender age of early 20-something and I was at a total loss at the woman's imagination. To conceive of a story where God is jealous, competing with Sarah over Abraham's affections? Jesus on a Nazareth what kind of heresy was this? Attempting to explain my fascination to Muncle (my uncle) he shrugged it off as sensationalist literature combined with bad taste in books. But I know this isn't so.

So back to the bookstore, I saw Diski's name and immediately remembered the biblical rewrites of Only Human and After These Things. However, Nothing Natural seemed to me like a shallow amble into sado-masochism, much of it not really as shocking, taboo or controversial as it is made out to be. The character annoyed me. Her depression felt fake and contrived and in direct contrast with her excessive, unfamiliar sense of self-assurance. She was not as intelligent as the writer proclaimed her to be, rather sheltered with her shocked, outraged fascination with S&M*. I appreciate that it was written in the 80s. Still. Spankings? Sodomy? Beatings with a leather strap? Humiliation, pain and rape fantasies? They are all so yawningly passe, non?

But anyway, what do I know? I'm no literary critic. I don't proclaim myself to be above any form of literature.

On to the next book. I'm about to start Philip Roth's Zuckerman novels. I'm so excited about it, I can't bring myself to focus on property law for two seconds.

*S&M always reminds me of Slaughter & May, a leading UK law firm whose methods are not unlike a little mental S&M themselves. Rumour has it that a trainee missed a comma after pulling an all-nighter drafting an important document and promptly got fired when it fell into the hands of the powers that be. Ouchies.

Gay is the word

Last night's conversations as the tipple flowed like tipple and the cigarettes were chained. I was out with my friends, 1 girl (R) and two gay boys (H and L) checking out dingy Freud then meandering the streets of Soho.

#1 - On sexuality
H: R wants to know if you've ever done anal.
(Much squealing from R)
Me: Haha! Err no. God I don't know how you guys do it. It must hurt like hell.
R: H is a giver not a taker. And L has never slept with a man.
Me: Honey, where I come from, you both wouldn't be considered gay.

#2 - On measurements
(Flipping through a gay magazine in a gay club)
H: Oh my god! This guy is supposed to be 10.5 inches!
(We all stare at the picture of the penis)
Me: That's not 10.5 definitely. It's too small.
R: My boyfriend's about 7 to 8 inches.
Me: Did you measure it?
R: No but I know the size of my own hand (making a fist)
Me: Ah yes... (pause) One potato, two potato...

#3 - On flirtation
(Still in the gay club)
Me: I'm not used to not being approached on a night out.
R: I know it's great isn't it?
Me: (sulk sulk)

#4 - On acronyms
(Staring at the magazine personal ads)
H: Look at him! Jesus.
Me: "Latino dream lover". Can it get any worse? What's UC?
H: Ultra large cock?
Me: That would be ULC though.
H: Ultra... Hmm
(pause while we ponder)
H: UNCUT! UNCUT!
Me: Clever boy!

#5 - On art
(We were all cleverly drawn by a street artist for a pound each, manga style)
R: L you look like a girl!
Me: R you look like Bardot!
H: June you look like you!
Me: Haha I look so manga. Look how massive my eyes are!
R: Your eyes really ARE that big.

Saturday Night

So with my Aussie Adonis out of the house, gone for a piss-up with his Aussie mates, drinking Aussie drinks and playing Aussie games I was home on a Saturday night with no prior plans and feeling restless as fuck. I texted my friend, the very beautiful blonde Blondski with the following proposition: "Come round to mine for wine in front of the tv?" She was so there.

Then when she arrives, I am all hyperactive and overcompensatory. Whereas I love her plenty, I feel it is difficult to be completely at ease except for with a handful of people. Blue being one, MSB another and Churchill yet another. Conversation only flows naturally with a few since I can be the meanest bitch in the world and it would just work. With everyone else I hold my tongue. I hold back ever so slightly and I come off as stilted and child-like.

I break the barrier and crack open the merlot I'd bought Adonis on an impulse. Struggle with the cork and we fall about laughing then sip the wine tentatively. She nods in approval. I nod along having no idea what constitutes "good" wine and what doesn't. As long as it's not vinegary it's fine by me.

A few finger taps and scans of the room later I ask if she'd like to play the Wii. A split second look of horror until she realises I mean the computer game. We head to Adonis's room and engage in some highly competitive bowling, then tennis. We kick each others asses intermittently and I feel this is the most fun I've had staying in on a Saturday night. Then it's monopoly time. By the time we're done (and she's won) it's late and the last tube was ages back. Sleepover time. But not before watching some dodgy Queen videos and gyrating along to Crazy Little Thing Called Love much to the amusement of Blondeski.

I head off to bed and she goes to my room to sleep. I curl up and before I know it, Adonis strolls in and puts his hands on my face. He says, "Promise me one thing. Don't go out on your own at night. The streets are filled with freaks and weirdos and all these girls dressed slutty and you're here playing the Wii. So beautiful."

I love him so much sometimes I feel that my heart will explode.

Crikey Moses

I'm in pain. The kind of pain that should have subsided a while ago but is still there. Not that metaphysical heart ripped out kind of crap. I'm talking about the real shit, blood and guts and everything. Well no guts, considering it's my foot. But fuck me sideways, it's a nasty cut that happened in my haste to come out of the bathroom (childhood urge to run out before the toilet was fully flushed so as not to invoke anyone to come out at me and saaaay mutilate me?). I blame Hostel. I was watching it with Adonis who in his zeal refused to change the channel when achilles tendons were sliced and eyes were being blowtorched - "No look baby! Look! Oh bubba's scared. I'm gonna download Hostel 2". Yeah thanks. Naturally, me being me, I immediately started freaking out and being afraid and my mind association game kicked in as it does. Torture relates to Saw relates to that freaky doll relates to a myriad of fictional fuckers that are out to get me and slice me to bits.

A boy I once knew and have the vaguest recollection of once told me he loved me to bits. I do believe he had a dark side. I'm pretty sure he was quite the intense madman. Fuck, I can't go around making random allegations like that but meh, I do anyway. He was very stern and soulless in his judgements and had it coming anyway.

I be cooking tomorrow. I be Stepford Wife-ing it tomorrow for my sweet self. Yes Adonis in up (down?) in the land of Switzer being all corporate.

Obligatory Kath & Kim excerpt. If you don't know it, watch it. Aussie comedy:

"It's not easy being a corporate wife. You don't know what it's like being married to a successful man."
"Hello? What do you call this guy eating his yoghurt and muesli?"

Crikey moses, my fucking foot throbs. What have I fucking done to myself? Give me the fucking pills. Or give me Adonis as he lies here stroking my hair and kissing my head and calling me "bubba." Give me Adonis over everything else, anytime.

Laughing Wednesday

A bright start to the day. I open my eyes and there he is entangled, his hair soft like fur, his breathing steady like a little boy's. A few movements here and there and next thing I know he's up, eyes blinking at me that steady brownish-greenish light shining on me, trapping me in headlights.

A few Arabic words, maybe even a conversation:

"Tetkallam 3arabi?"
"Na3am. Anti?"
"Ee"
"Min ayna anti?"

A few more words here and there. Then I break into a grin, unable to control myself in the face of all this cuteness. For me, I think. He's learning it for me. I must have done something right to get this.

A few jokes cracked and I am in hysterics, I can't help it. He swears like an Egyptian woman, something involving a vagina and a mother. It is disturbing but oh so funny. His hands like spiders tickling me to keep it going. "You're so cute," he says and nothing could be farther from the truth. My eyes smudgy, my hair has a life of its own, my face looks a bit like a train wreck only not quite so fascinating. Cuddles abound.

I jump up, gallop to the front door. Maybe I got a package, my new book from Amazon. I gallop back. Nothing. I harumph my way to his arms again.

My mornings when he is here are perfect. My life when he is here is perfect. It's a Laughing Wednesday, a Chuckling Thursday, a Giggling Friday, a Chortling Saturday and a Snickering Sunday.

Until Monday when life becomes dreary again.

The Factual Basis

Because this is what they have been drilling into me for the past year or so. So allow me to regale you with the facts, and only the facts.

I am a girl.
I am studying to be a lawyer.
I live in London.
I am in love with a boy.
I read the fine print.
I gloss over the big picture.
I am the luckiest person I know.
I work hard to stay lucky.

So with all the egotistic tools available to me, I say to all, hello.