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.
Tuesday 5 January 2010
Saturday 2 January 2010
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.
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.
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