This evening

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

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:

1. I moved to Abu Dhabi with Adonis, my beautiful husband.
2. I got a crap job which resulted in a training contract with a top firm.
3. I obtained what many adults, and some children, may call a "career".
4. I found a house and furnished it with crap.
5. I bought a car.
6. I went to Australia again and will be going yet again.
7. I revisited London and cried.
8. I learned how to cook. And bake. And all I want to do is bake apple pie and run away from the washing up.
9. I met people who freaked the hell out of me.
10. 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'

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.

Lebkuchen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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'

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

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?

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.