Nec Vi, Nec Clam, Nec Precario

This evening

2011-01-19T17:59:00.002Z

Following what appeared to be possibly the worst day of my career to date (oh yes, I predict many more cock-ups to come), I was ready to jump off the balcony. I had already melodramatically declared that it was my intention to do so tonight when asked what my plans were for the evening by the partner. "I'm going to jump off the balcony."

"Why is that?"

"Because I messed up."

He rolled his eyes and laughed, clearly loving the fact that he know had something very real, very big over me. The horror of hearing him call up the managing partner and explain this lapse in my judgment -

"Well, this kind of slipped through the cracks. I mean essentially, it was sent to June but she didn't send this out. In fairness she didn't receive instructions to do so but... Yeah. June was the recipient. June had this. June wasn't clear on what to do next." Hearing your name said that many times in the office in the context of a sheepish explanation makes you want to kill yourself.

I did however have to put my balcony plans on hold when I remembered that I had promised to meet a childhood friend of mine. She was my best friend in year 6. We were completely inseparable and then one day, out of the blue, she was gone. She had moved to another country and I was absolutely devastated. Who would be my friend in year 7? Needless to say high school was all downhill from there.

But tonight we reconnected and away from those fuzzy childhood memories, it felt like I was simply meeting a new person. A person who lives a backpacker's lifestyle, loves ashrams and japanese food, freelances and does graphic design. Essentially someone who is the opposite of me (apart from the Japanese food bit, although I do prefer a massive plate of pasta over anything else in the world).

15 years is a bloody long time. The girl is lovely but I have forgotten who I was as a kid. I did not know who to be and being myself as I am right now didn't seem like such a fabulous idea. I did not know what to do and how to behave. And frankly, I didn't know if I was particularly comfortable reminiscing about a childhood I was frankly ashamed of.

The evening was pleasant enough and ended with hugs and promises that we will stay in touch and I have no idea if that will actually happen. I suppose we'll see.

It was however a welcome distraction from intended suicide. So all in all, a success.

Goodnight.

I feel missed

2011-01-17T14:51:00.002Z

Well I do. My insane ego has decided that people have missed me for about a year and so this is my comeback.

Also, I have been battling with Etisalat since June and have since found out how to steal internet. And I can't blog from work.

No matter. I'm here now. What did I do over the last year? Quite a bit. Here you go in no particular order:

I moved to Abu Dhabi with Adonis, my beautiful husband.
I got a crap job which resulted in a training contract with a top firm.
I obtained what many adults, and some children, may call a "career".
I found a house and furnished it with crap.
I bought a car.
I went to Australia again and will be going yet again.
I revisited London and cried.
I learned how to cook. And bake. And all I want to do is bake apple pie and run away from the washing up.
I met people who freaked the hell out of me.
I was supremely humbled. Nothing humbles you like working your way up in a law firm.

The year was crap. Lets be honest, there's nothing great about this law business. But ah well, I suppose it's for me.

It is for me.

And Abu Dhabi? It's nothing like Sex & the City but you already knew that. Don't visit. There's nothing here for anyone.

I have most certainly missed you though.

Earnin'

2010-03-14T17:48:00.003Z

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"

2010-03-04T12:41:00.002Z

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

2010-02-24T08:07:00.004Z

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"

2010-02-11T14:05:00.003Z

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

2010-01-05T19:21:00.002Z

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

2010-01-02T16:22:00.004Z

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.

Lebkuchen

2009-12-19T13:40:00.002Z

A recent development on the personal front has me feeling retardedly happy. I smile at strangers and want to be friends with them all. I am unable to walk without having Mr. Junebug (formerly known as Adonis) by my side. I have a shiny sparkly ring that I wear on my index finger (it's the wrong size but no matter - I rock the non-conformism of having it on the wrong finger). I want to do heaps of laundry all the time. I am frisky and flighty. I'm up for doing things I'd never ever have done in a former life i.e. go on a guided Jack the Ripper walk in the freezing cold and smile throughout even though my hands are about to fall off, wear Uggs in public, buy 'I heart London' hoodies. I eat lots. I eat lots.

But no matter. Life is for living and it's beautiful and sweet and currently glazed and in the shape of Hansel and Gretel's honey-gingerbread house. And it tastes incredible and spicy and aromatic and fills your tummy and heart with goodness while making you feel all content and warm.

My love for Mr. Junebug is up to here.

I fly to Sydney tomorrow. And life will then be in the shape of an aeroplane and sunlight and the Opera House and happy days in the arms of Mr. Junebug and family. I can't wait to go. I really cannot wait.

I do

2009-12-15T18:00:00.002Z

Today I got married.
Religiously.
Aqd qaran.
In London.
I have the most beautiful husband in the world.
I am the happiest I have ever been.

That is all.

Things

2009-11-22T19:23:00.002Z

Okay so I'm back in Bahrain and have spent the first week in a state of false euphoria and this, my second feeling absolutely dismal. I can't pull myself out of it, I can't get out of this bleakness that wraps its claws around me and permeates all the way to my insides.

But no matter.

I have the following on my mind:-

Working out every single day is doing nothing but giving me a monster appetite. I am constantly ravenous and cannot just nibble on a rice cake for dinner. It's a balls-out feast every bloody night and I'm starting to wonder whether I should ditch the trainer and return to my previous brittle self (I was skinnier then).

We have jars of olive paste (a bit like a tapenade) brought over by a family member from Greece. It is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted and I have gone through an entire jar in less than a week all on my lonesome. I eat it on Iranian bread and sometimes, as I sit and chew in the kitchen at midnight, I think of how this lovely melange represents Adonis and me - I am Iranian flatbread and he's olive paste and damn, we go well together.

Why the fuck is the father's consent needed for a marriage in Bahrain when you're, oh I don't know, 26? To hell with this. I'm well not getting married here.

I am blown away by Brooke Magnanti aka Belle de Jour. I've read everything she's written - books, blog, the lot - and watched the show and can't help but feel slightly cheated. I don't know why I expected a stunner, even though she had previously admitted to being "no great beauty". Still, her sexual escapades and ease with men led me to believe that she must be an absolute traffic stopper. The reality ain't so. I saw a ginger geek with gap teeth and bad skin. However, she is a scientist doing super-smart things so maybe I shouldn't be quite so bitchy.

Speaking of skin (and hair, and general wellbeing) oh my fuck those Omega 3s. I don't believe in popping pills but this is the best thing to happen to me since the end of adolescence. Take them. They do no harm.

I discovered that I reject spirituality especially when presented with an eastern slant through the eyes of a westerner. It reeks of bullshit. I don't know what it means. I can't connect. I tried reading Siddhartha and ended up wanting to tear my own hair out. No no. It's not happening.

I go back to Londhino in less than a month and I cannot wait to see the beautiful Christmas lights and drink mulled wine.

And I'm out. My brain has atrophied from inactivity. Goodnight yall.

The dress that found me

2009-11-04T16:51:00.002Z

There's a feeling you get when something goes your way. My last few posts have been gushing wildly but when it's good, it's good.

I had spent the last week packing things and sending them off and trying to have a very broad-brush plan so I can appear organised and make myself feel better without seeming like I need to control it all. I'd make lists that were purposely in the wrong order say, or leave things to the last minute so they'd look spontaneous when in reality they weren't. Organised chaos was what I was looking for but in reality I ended up looking and feeling quite schizophrenic. So to calm myself down, I decided to go looking for a wedding dress a couple of days ago.

I didn't want anything wedding-y. I'm sure many people have said that they abhor the creampuff-let's-play-princess-and-fulfil-a-fantasy-I've-had-since-I-was-5 style dress but judging by what I've seen in weddings and in wedding dress shops, I'd say that's a bold-faced lie. So I went out with an open mind and a firm desire not to shop at a wedding dress shop.

"A cocktail dress, really," was what I told Adonis when quizzed on my preferred look. And so we looked for my "cocktail dress" here and there and everywhere until we found a breathtakingly beautiful Ralph Lauren gown that was so beautiful, I had to sit down.

It was layers of dusty pink and gold lace shot with more gold somehow, fitted bodice, dropped waist, strapless and flowingly ethereal. I picked it up as I walked around the shop and twirled for my husband-to-be. He said, "Wow." However, the dress being a one-of-a-kind Ralph Lauren, it was, quite expectedly, not my size. And frankly, quite impossible to alter. I needed to be twice the height I am now and in heels to maybe have had a chance in hell of carrying this off. So I let it go with a heavy heart.

But me being me and stubborn as hell, I wanted something similar. I went around looking and looking and finding fault with all presented to me.

One dress was "something I'd wear at someone else's wedding - not my own"
Another one was "too satiny"
Yet another was "too ordinary"
And finally one made me say, "Hello boobs"

Making our way to the bus stop from Bond Street, we decided to take a quick look at one wedding dress shop. Giggling I told the lady I want a wedding dress. She sent me away with a catalogue and we sat in the bus flipping through and earmarking a few dresses we liked.

Then we saw one dress which was decidedly lovely. It was also un-wedding-y yet unabashedly bridal and special and unusual and it was my dress. So, the very next day I called up to book an appointment (a "first try") and got swept away in all that is bridal.

The dress deserves its own paragraph. It looks a little bit vintage but timeless. Fitted bodice layered with fluid halterneck chiffon, dropped waist and detailing around that area and lace from there on downwards. Clearly a flowing dress and one that will look phenomenal with towering heels and an updo. Also a dress where I can frolic which is what I intend to do at my own wedding. I am so tempted to post a picture but something tells me that ain't right.

Anyway, that was it. That was my dress. And Adonis got it for me. And I pick it up next month. And corny as it may sound, it was exactly how it was supposed to be because I never found the dress really. The dress found me.

My life in cardboard

2009-11-02T11:13:00.002Z

I'm packing things and all I can think about are boxes. I have many boxes. I love boxes. I wish I lived in a box.

So the plan is to get out of here and go home and have my fiance join me later. The next plan is to go to Australia in December and the plan after that is to have a little party then jet off on a honeymoon which lasts ages. Oh my word, a lot to look forward to and many many plans. But first I must put things in boxes.

London, goodbye. Good while it lasted. Still, a little bit soul-destroying but I think everyone needs to have their souls a little destroyed.

I'm looking forward to the big picture, not so much the micro, immediate side of things. I think maybe a little list is in order to help me out -

Things to do when I get back

Hire a personal trainer and work out every day
Eat Froot Loops
Learn Greek
Look for a temporary apartment for Adonis
Look for something a little more long term for us
Plan the honeymoon
Have mum plan the wedding
Check out the new addition to the family - Cousin JJ

So all will be well hopefully, once I ship off these stupid boxes.

blurb

2009-10-07T08:47:00.002+01:00

The beauty about living in a place like Bahrain is that when you wake up one morning, without having washed your face the night before, with a hankering for Froot Loops only to find there is no milk in the fridge, you can easily call the little corner shop next door, quote your grandfather's name and have them deliver 200ml of milk for about 100 fils. And it will be at your doorstep within about 45 seconds of you hanging up.

So as I sit here shovelling Froot Loops in my mouth, my heart swelling with temporary infatuation with this country, I try to come up with something philosophical and profound to reflect how I feel. But all I do is stare in the distance, vacantly, chewing Froot Loops, with smudged eyeliner on my face, wearing my brother's old t-shirt.

I tell Adonis about the lifestyle here and he takes to it like a fish to water. Luxury becomes him. He wears it well and is the kind of man who likes, loves, being spoilt. I lure him here with promises of maids and chauffeurs and grandma's cooking delivered to our house every day and swimming pools and heat.

But for now I head on back to Londinium to see him. This whole trip was a grand success. My family loves Adonis and he loves them back. I love everyone in return. Love is all around me. My heart overflows.

As for the future, well who the fuck knows? It could be here, there, in between or all the way out. As long as I have Adonis by my side, I'm set for life.

Good things

2009-08-31T22:07:00.002+01:00

I hate neglecting this blog. I hate feeling that I could write but don't due to general laziness. I'm better than that but I suppose that doesn't show.

Here are some good things.

Adonis is coming to Bahrain this Saturday. The family is all over the place, planning things, thinking of what to feed him, re-upholstering sofas, cleaning curtains (because that's what Adonis is going to be judging when he gets here obviously - the cleanliness of the curtains), looking for things in common between us (of the Persian variety) and Greek-Australians (quite a few things apparently, but mainly me). I am so excited. I am so bubbling over with gratitude for my lovely family's wholehearted acceptance. I am so touched.

One of my best friends got the break she deserves and has been looking for and it went as smoothly as can be. I am delighted for her and cannot wait for her to get started with this new kickass life she'll be leading. MSB, kisses in your direction.

I am pretty much training contract-less but feel somewhat liberated. I reckon I deserve a bit of fun. I'm sure the job will come along somehow soonish (and if it doesn't then Adonis will have to return this beautiful Tiffany diamond horseshoe charm I'm wearing around my neck because I was promised it was lucky). Now though, I be focusing on the man who is changing my life.

I am knitting. I am knitting lots. I knit my brother a beautiful scarf and now I'm knitting Andonis a ribbed (for her pleasure) scarf. Loving it.

There's more but I must run.

dot

2009-08-03T15:20:00.003+01:00

Crapples. I am so tired and just emotionally drained from the crap I have been putting myself through. For those in the know, I failed a module and now feel like the nice little world I've built in my head has come crashing down. My future job hangs in the balance and I'm just waiting for the powers that be to come back to me and tell me what to do. I was a wreck for a while, eating very little and isolating myself from the well-meaning folk who'd call to congratulate or go out and par-tay. Instead I chose to stay at home with the only person I can be with in times of a crisis, the only person in the vicinity who cries if I cry and bleeds if I bleed, and watch reruns of Sex and the City.

But today feels a little different. I started studying for my re-sits and, as I cram a fistful of Party Rings in my mouth and absorb the sugar rush, I don't feel as depressed about it as I should.

Things between Adonis and I have started to become a little more serious. A few more parties are involved, namely my family. Scary people are on board and things that used to seem so far-fetched are now within reach. Adonis will be coming to Bahrain and I couldn't be happier about my personal life, my lovely little relationship. All this is making me very happy.

But fuck, where am I heading? I am currently without a long-term job. I am not on my way to train as a lawyer and this is scaring the shit out of me. Relocation may be on the cards or it may not, I don't know. I don't know, I don't know. I don't know a thing and I am terrified. But at least throughout it all, Adonis will be there to hold my hand.

Before I leave this badly-written entry, I would like to post a lovely little picture of my current favourite drink. This bad boy is called the Pornstar Martini and it's made with passion fruit and served, weirdly, with a shot of champagne. Here we is:

Mon dieu, 'tis good.

I'm so full of the proverbial

2009-07-16T16:57:00.002+01:00

I am a lawyer by training. I am a "writer" by profession. I wake up mornings and drink coffee because it's what's done by normal people. I cut my hair short to try and get myself into this prevailing corporate mentality and so I can fit in with the business-like world of 8.30 am on the Tube. I wear shades of grey so I can blend into the London haze. I skip lunch and have a cheese croissant instead on my way home. I don't smoke anymore because it's frowned upon in my office. I meet clients and smile and discuss their needs, wants and desires whilst maintaining a professional distance. I am pleasant and charming with my superiors. I had a fellow writer 'helpfully remind' me that I need to be polite with the clients (this condescending asshole needed a slap from me). I take work home with me because I have grown-up things like deadlines to meet. I am supposed to develop a writing 'style'. The Royal Courts of Justice are supposed to become a regular haunt.

Yet why do I feel like such a fucking sham when I put a suit on?

I cannot wait to churn out a ludicrous book which will make me shitloads and allow me to wander in whatever my heart desires.

----

At the moment my heart is desiring a Herve Leger bodycon dress which I tried on a whim in Harrods then put right back on the rack after looking at the price tag and shedding a few tears. My heart is also desiring sky-high nude Louboutins which would go amazingly well with that dress. Finally, my heart is desiring something, anything anything anything, from Lanvin.

Waitin'

2009-04-23T17:59:00.000+01:00

Waiting waiting waiting in a dimmed room and with a painful head and a tummy wound up tight like a ball of yarn. Ceiling oh Ceiling bring him back safe for me.

***

Yay to the weekend and the impromptu trip to Croydon for a chance at happiness. Yay to spending three hours with a caseworker, feigning politeness, interest, charm. I pray the caseworker is a man.

***

When I close my eyes I see bungalows in the sand and cliche clear water. When I close my eyes I am sipping an umbrella drink, swinging in a hammock and living in a postcard. When I close my eyes I can smell the corn with cheese on top.

***

Today I answered questions in class as a part of a "panel of lawyers". Three Alan Sugars were sitting in front of me and all I could see was the black frame of my obligatory-only-in-class glasses. Specs just make you feel dorkier but I now dress extra-sexy to counteract the geek effect.

***

ADONIS! Where are you eff eff ess. I want to smell you please. I want to curl up in the foetal position and smell you.

***

Today I saw John - Standing outside my window, smoking his cigar, ordering his yuppie drinks, trying to take me to sexy clubs, with his braces, wearing pin-striped trousers, texting me things like, "Credit crunch? What credit crunch?", holding up a fan of £50 notes, making a face - and he wanted to go out.

"We're thinking of going out next week and listening to jazz while smoking cigars... Care to come along?"

"Whereabouts?"

"Soho probably."

"Will you order your Courvoisier?"

"Haha! Maybe."

"Can we go to KFC afterwards?"

He looked like I'd just slapped him. "I'd never take you to KFC. Ever."

"Meh. I'll let you know."

How depressing would it be to live your life shielded from the joys of KFC, especially when drunk or hungover?

***

Come on sunshine, come home to your girl. I'm waiting for you. Come on baby, I'll love you and kiss you and caress you til you purr contentedly. Come on sweetheart. Come home to me.

I'm the King

2009-03-11T19:24:00.002Z

So a serious lack of updates is only due to my general topsy-turviness. I would like to write something but I cannot be bothered at the moment. Therefore, I shall write later.

Later x

What's the opposite of lucid?

2009-02-11T07:24:00.003Z

I was going to start this blog off by apologising for my lack of posting but I changed my mind.

There is something so brazen about London's audacity in the wee hours. Early morning, the sun isn't even out yet, the cars are whizzing by, the buses are all operating, people are out, in the dark, jogging, going to work, doing god knows what. London flips the bird to the world and doesn't give a shit about things that normal people need to survive, like sunlight and warmth. London does its own thang.

There is something so brazen and audacious about me here. I am very unkempt yet have no hesitation in going out to the shops to buy a pack of Marlboro Lights (20s) and smoking them in the confines of my minuscule room. Back home, I would have to think long and hard before trekking out in an oversized Qantas t-shirt, frayed jeans and a pair of Uggs. Back home, my only excuse for this ensemble would be a visit to the hospital, if I personally were dying. Still, I feel better. I feel prettier here than I ever did in Bahrain. Wilder abandon, recklessness, stupidity, call it what you want. Here I am the mess that I really am. And the outside reflects the inside.

The papers in my room had a party last night. I only know this because I walked into my room and they were everywhere, littered about, lying on the floor, passed out, clearly hungover from last night's fiasco. I could swear there were a couple of empty bottles of vodka hidden under the bed but I can't be arsed to check. The litigation twins (civil and criminal) had a bit too much fun methinks and were getting it on with insolvency. Sluts.

I'm jazzed up on my old friends caffeine and nicotine. My filthy lifestyle of the past is back and you know what? In the wise words of Mr. McDonald: I'm lovin' it. No I don't fucking want to give up smoking, Red Bull, coffee, or salt 'n' vinegar Walkers. Yes I want to ingest crap that is bad for me and see how long I can sustain it. Jesus, I'm only 25. If I cannot abuse my insides now, when can I?

Today will be a long day of criminal litigation, a paper worth jack shit really but it has to be done. If I just barely pass this, all will be fine. Then I can concentrate on other things. Like making sure the rest of my life is in working order.

Here's the sunrise at 7.30 am. I'm off to shower and try and look presentable enough to face the outside world. Later lovelies.

Another list

2009-01-30T18:59:00.018Z

So yep, I have had a mental past few weeks, richocheting between wildly optimistic, insanely happy and clinically depressed. Life's a bit shit innit but we all plod along like hopeful puppies, thinking that maybe a biscuit is just around the corner.

I want to write about frivolity and stupidity and not address any major issues that have been plaguing my life and my head. And so I will. Welcome to:

June's List of Top Ten Unconventionally Good-Looking Guys (in no particular order)

1. Mickey Rourke

Maybe it's just a resurgence, maybe it's the new movie that's out that I have only managed to watch snippets from but christ he's hot. He was hot from the second he played Harry Angel in Angel Heart and had blood-spattered sex with Lisa Bonet. He was hot strolling casually, moodily down the streets of New Orleans and everything about him, from his seemingly corrupted soul in that movie to his ability to hold his own opposite Robert DeNiro is just sexy. Also, Mickey Rourke looks seedy and frankly, that seediness is something else.

2. Valery Nikolaev

Aka the bad guy "Ilya Tretiak" from The Saint. Everything about that movie kicked serious ass. Everything about this bad boy makes me think I want a Russian mobster who prances around with a cane and has long wavy hair. One particular scene where he is dancing with a Russian mademoiselle in some odd Russian cabaret-style club is probably a favourite. She is clearly taller than him yet he dances and sways her like a demon (for the two seconds that are shown anyway). Yum. Later on in the movie his face gets burned and he goes, "Look at me. I'm a damned devil." That is just so hot.

3. Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords

Whereas Brett is the obviously hot one on the show, it's Jemaine who pulls it all off. He dresses in those vintage threads and is unabashedly monotonous and hilarious. What's hotter than a man who can make you laugh? Seriously?

4. Alex from Prison Break

Yes I know. Wentworth Miller is the obvious piece of hotness on that show but this is an unconventional list and so I think Alex should get the recognition he so rightfully deserves. He is every bit as intense and intelligent as Michael Scofield without that whiny morality that gets on your nerves. He's in love with his wife, he's vengeful, he's hardcore and he can kill a man with his bare hands, easily. It really doesn't get any better than that.

5. Nicolas Sarkozy

Hell-oo Monsieur le President! My mum believes him to be some sort of sexual deviant based on practically nothing. I say anyone who manages to marry Carla Bruni is definitely sure to have a few tricks up his sleeve. You can't pin down a woman like Carla without being really good in bed. Oh wait. She gets to chill out in the Elysee. And be Madame Sarkozy. And be married to the president of a sexy country. Yeah I suppose that's enough to pin anyone down.

6. Dylan Moran

Irish comedian extraordinaire, he is the right side of scruffy and side-clutchingly funny. He's been in Black Books where he plays a surly, pessimistic bookshop owner and has had a few stand-up shows. His humour is dry and sarcastic and a little bit angry. But really, it's his voice. Oh that voice. The Irish accent kills it every time and the combination of cigarettes and alcohol gives it that depth that only a lucky few are naturally blessed with. Talk to me, talk to me Dylan. All jokes aside, Dylan, you're hot.

7. Jesus Christ

Our Lord and Saviour is not a bad looking bloke. Actually, I think it was part of the charm and a huge proponent of His popularity that He was so handsome. I am in love with Jesus, I always have been. Especially in Passion of the Christ. And this is yet another classic example of my intrinsic inability to distinguish between fact and fiction.

8. Val Kilmer

Yes in my head he is unconventional because ask anyone in the world as to whether they think he's hot stuff and 9 times out of 10 they'll be like, "Eeuw." Little do they know Val is far from eeuw and back in his heyday, back in the time of Batman Forever, The Saint, The Ghost and the Darkness and The Doors, Val was some kinda god. To me anyway. Val had it all without being too obvious about it and he managed to convince me 100% that he was all of those characters and then some. Val made me have dreams about him and made me write "June Kilmer" on the back of all my exercise jotters (notebooks for those of you with an American education). Val had me insanely jealous of Cindy Crawford and wishing I'd had children with him instead. Val had me abandon all hope and reason. I think I'll be addressing this obsession in another post actually.

9. Jean Reno

He's French, he looks a little like a hotter, kinder version of my father, and he manages to be both deadly serious and funny at the same time. Yep, without getting too Freudian about it, he's very hot.

10. Shane Warne

The Wonder from Down Under. A cricketer known for his philandering and thus introduced to me through the incredible medium of Kath & Kim. He's a serial cheat and sleazy as they come but had actually agreed to be on the show and be poked fun at which I love. We all make mistakes hey. What's more endearing than a man who is willing to have his' brought up repeatedly on national television? Not much I tell you.

Mundane

2008-12-23T22:01:00.003Z

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

2008-12-17T11:24:00.004Z

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

2008-12-15T19:18:00.003Z

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.

------

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

2008-12-15T09:51:00.002Z

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

2008-12-11T10:03:00.002Z

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

2008-12-08T22:16:00.003Z

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

2008-12-07T23:16:00.004Z

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

2008-12-07T22:38:00.003Z

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

2008-12-06T19:59:00.003Z

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

2008-12-04T10:08:00.002Z

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

2008-12-03T12:20:00.002Z

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..."

2008-12-03T00:04:00.004Z

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

2008-12-01T18:04:00.003Z

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

2008-11-19T13:49:00.004Z

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

2008-11-18T18:24:00.002Z

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

2008-11-17T21:43:00.003Z

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

2008-11-07T09:13:00.004Z

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

2008-11-02T15:02:00.003Z

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

2008-10-28T01:28:00.003Z

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

2008-10-15T10:39:00.003+01:00

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

2008-09-23T17:08:00.004+01:00

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.