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.