Earnin'

I could do it. I could say I knew all along. I could be all of course it happened. Of course. I could presume knowledge about the whole sorry situation and the miraculous about-face it did. I could say I was a genius who calculated it all to turn out the way it did and now that it has I'm as happy as a clam. I won't though. Because I didn't. Because I wouldn't. Because no one would have. Because no one could have. Because I don't believe in karma. Because there's no one who dictates what happens to whom and why. Because let's face it people - we all know jack (he's generally quite pleasant but sometimes can be an irritating prick).

I'm in Abu Dhabi all on my lonesome. Mr. Junebug has gone to somewhere good whereas I'm here, wading my way through the eerie familiarity-yet-not of another arab country. We live in a hotel which is pleasant enough except for the bizarre ban on toasters (to any idiot who has ever stuck a fork in there - don't). It's a massive suite, labelled Executive probably because it likes to wear a suit and boss around all the other suites dictating memos and shit. I bought green apples that I don't touch. I am sustained on a diet of coco pops bars.

First day here and we wander out in search of something with which to fill out tummies and we run into a friend I used to know in Year 8. She was in the year above me and a bizarre friendship grew out of my little penchant for writing notes and her little penchant for reading them. Randomly I'd write her notes filling her in on the day's events where nothing happened other than a deepening crush on an obnoxious pimply gangly youth. She's write back with the same albeit a different obnoxious pimply gangly youth. Anyway we chat, she meets my husband and we promise to call each other. Needless to say the experience shook the hell out of me. What are the odds? Within an hour or so of landing?

Second day now and I started work. I think the best part of the day wasn't meeting people nor being welcomed nor eating salad nor discovering a huge stash of kitkats in the fridge nor being pumped for a handover plan. I think the best part of the day was seeing the words "Fee Earner" next to my name. Fuck yeah, I earn a fee! That I get from billing a client! That I retain diddly squat from! But I don't care! I earn a fee mesdames et messieurs. 'Tis a good thing. Having said that, it looks like the role is pretty intense. I expected a stroll through a park with geraniums bursting in my wake (bursting? maybe blossoming). Guess not hey. I may be struggling at the very very bottom of the food chain but ain't nobody's feelin' sorry for little ol' me.

No point to this post other than a bit of a natter at no one in particular since I am in complete and utter isolation in this bizzare-o country. Work tomozzles. I'm off.

P.S. And where was ya, stalkeroozi? You went missing for 5 or so days. So unlike you. I've missed you.

"100 returning visits"

All by the same user.
All in the space of not very long.
All for little ol' me.

I don't know whether to be flattered or worried.

.
..
...

I think I'll be flattered.
Thanks.

A post about shoes

I was, I really was, going to write something quite long and convoluted about my relationship with shoes culminating in the climax of my having bought a fabulous new pair that are the best of the best and better than the rest. Then I thought fuck me that's pretty shallow and dull. But then again I have never been one to eschew shallowness as I reckon everyone needs a bit of dumb relief now and then and if I be taking it out in blog form then that surely is better than going around being a genuine bimbo. At least here I can hide my lapse into shallowness behind the facade of anonymity rather than have it on full display.

Anyway time to chronicle things so I can look back on them and cringe as I usually do. God I do embarrass easily. I'm moving out of Bahrain to somewhere probably worse. If all goes according to plan then I'm going to Abu Dhabi, trying out something job-wise. Here's hoping that after the career black hole that has been 2009 this year will lead to somewhere. And it better because I am getting a little bit broody and couple that with career inactivity and we all know what will happen. Mini Junebug! The cutest little mixture of random bloodlines and the most beautiful baby on either hemisphere. I say that without a hint of irony which makes me one hell of an arrogant cat but I'm biased. This is my potential future child I'm on about.

But why am I talking babies? I'm leaving here to do something else with Adonis and set up shop elsewhere. Should make a nice change from my regular idleness here where I spend my days driving around in a shitty rental wearing a Queen t-shirt and rocking out to bad 90s music while waiting for my husband to come back from wherever it is his jetset lifestyle has taken him (this week - Zurich). So much for anonymity. Better go change t-shirts.

Well I've chronicled for posterity. This post hasn't entirely (read: at all) been shoe based but if you're still interested, I got some heart-stopping Louboutins. So high I need an oxygen tank when I wear them. Thank you for reading this rubbish.

"When she's happy she blogs"

Well well well. It certainly has been a while. Things are happening that are a little bit private so instead of saying anything and giving anything away, I shall shield my life ever so slightly from your nosey prying eyes and shall focus on making inane comments on things that don't matter.

Ever notice how law firms have names which make them sound like anything but a law firm? Probably not because not everyone cares about law firms and spends hours musing on their names as opposed to doing something a little bit more constructive than that. But still. Without further ado I present to you -

A List of What Law Firms Should be Doing With Names Like Theirs:

Allen & Overy - The gynaecologist
Freshfields - The supermarket
Linklaters - The telephone company
Eversheds - The DIY shop
Norton Rose - The florist
Baker & McKenzie - The boulangerie
Slaughter & May - The abattoir
Shearman & Sterling - The barbershop
Ashurst - The incendiary
Beachcroft - The resort
Trowers & Hamlin - The German builders
Skadden Arps - The Scandinavian ski resort

Can't think of any more. Re-reading the top bit I sound so hostile. Sozzles all. I'm just ever so slightly uncertain about things and I want to write things down but only when all is a bit more certain.

Oh and Thailand with Mr. Junebug was wonderful but by no means the honeymoon. Much love all around.

Holiday

Bahrain is at an uncharacteristic 19 degrees at the moment. I am uncharacteristically cold and even more uncharacteristically bundled up in a hideous velour tracksuit. I plan on wearing a velour tracksuit tomorrow on the plane. When I showed it to my mum she said, "It's for when you want to dress like a chav?" Sometimes I tell her too much.

Anyway I fly to Thailand tomorrow to laze in the sun having fun and doing all the cliche things people do on holiday. I'll sip cocktails and have people fan me with palm tree leaves while feeding me peeled grapes and rubbing my feet. I'll have Adonis ruffle my hair and tickle my belly. I'll eat heaps of fish.

Then we come back and move into the apartment I found by sheer coincidence.

For now, I say later alligators. I'm off on a little holiday.

Ego

This here is 2010 and I am determined to make it the year of happiness. The year of me.

Quick update - Australia was incredible. The trip was a huge success. I love them in-laws. Aaah. Now I'm in Bahrain.

So on New Year's day I ventured out tentatively with one of my bessie mates. My mood was that of muted jubilaton. My tummy was all a-flutter. My heart had relocated to Bangkok since Adonis was there and I was well looking forward to a holiday from the endless holiday that appears to be my current life. I was out for a coffee and dinner on the first day of the year and, by jove, I was going to have a good time.

Dinner consisted of a measly salad; charred chicken slivers on a bed of soppy rocket leaves. Yum. As I pushed my intensely raw mushrooms aside, I stared at people. Right in front of me, two boys were sitting. Both around my age. One facing me directly and the other not. The one facing me went inside to get a pen and paper. It was one of them restaurants that displayed crappy children's artwork to add to the 'family friendly' element, I suppose, of the general ambience. I hate children's art. It's pretty shit generally and the charm escapes me. No kid of mine will ever have his or her crappy painting stuck to my fridge door unless it's practically akin to a Van Gogh. Only then will I think about it. Maybe.

But I digress.

Anyway, boy starts scribbling on paper. I turn to my friend, put my hand up so my face is hidden and whisper furiously, "What do you reckon he's doing?"

My friend looks at me like I've lost my mind and says, "He's drawing something."

Ahh. I can't help but be unimpressed. When presented with pen and paper I'd write something. Obviously. Drawing seems a little too GCSE Art coursework for my liking. Probably because I have zero talent.

Time passed. An hour. An hour and a half. This nondescript boy is scribbling away not saying a word to his mate. I am passively intrigued yet more concerned with making sure I maintain the ratio of chicken to greens on my plate so that by the time I'm down to the last bite, I get both chicken and greens on my fork. I'm obsessed with ratios of food whilst eating. I blame my grandma as I'm sure this madness originated with her but I'm unsure as to why or how.

The bill comes and I dig in my wallet. Mr. Scribbles walks up to our table and places his masterpiece in front of me then walks away. I look at it dumbfounded. It's a drawing of me. Hardly looks like me yet undeniably me! "That's not me is it?" I call out, quick as ever. I feel like an utter idiot.

The drawing is slightly (grossly) inaccurate apart from the eyes, which are huge, dark and manga-like. I blushed and dithered and flapped about, giggling with my friend who was enjoying this immensely. Ultimately I was embarrassed and on the verge of crawling under the table but then figured fuck it. Let's embrace the ego boost. Someone out there thought I was worth drawing which is always nice. So I skipped to the car, albeit in heels due to the most badass pair of shoes around, and drove off happily into 2010.

Happy new year fellas. It's gonna be a good one.