Everyday brings new possibilities, on any given day your life could change. How would you deal with it? Good or bad, how would you deal with it? Why is it timing is so imprecise? Too early or too late for things to happen? Too sudden or too late?
We all wish for something in life, who do you ask? A friend of mine, who is religious, said in times of trouble he would ask his God for help. Help that his family is ok, that they’re not hungry or wanting. He asked me who I ask and honestly, I don’t know. I guess, I ask myself because my strength comes from within. No one else can help me in my life apart from myself.


All good things…

October 15, 2010

…come to those who wait. I admit I’m not the most patient person – I waited and anticipated for years for my boobs to grow and they were a massive disappointment!

However, the wait is over as Harajuku becomes the proud owner of a load of bricks and mortar and somewhere she can finally call home. Okay it’s not perfect but it’s all belongs to Harajuku (&  the silent mortgage company). This is actually the third property Harajuku has been involved in buying, but this is the most satisfying – was the wait worth it? Yes, yes, yes!


Single Sex

September 1, 2010

No, this isn’t a blog about sex per se, and it’s certainly not about having sex with oneself aka masturbation. I’m not that kind of blogger!

This post is about being single and what one has to do to meet the person that they want to spend the rest of their lives with. I have had a couple of very in depth conversations recently with single friends and being newly single myself  – singledom is very hard work indeed.  Why is it so hard though? Is it because we’re picky, is it because we have high expectations? Not sure, maybe a little bit, but women become of a certain age and it suddenly gets harder.

Meeting guys in your twenties is easy as twenty-odd men want to meet twenty-odd women. However, dating  in your thirties is harder as thirty-odd men only want to date twenty-odd women – so the successive rate of meeting a man of a similar age as yourself (prefeb 1-5 years older) when you’re in your thirties is a bit harder. Then, do they want the same things as you? It’s a well known fact that women mature earlier than men, so if you do find a thirty-odd man, does he want to start settling down and nesting with you? Or is he still clinging onto his hair and his misspent youth?

Also how do you know he’s not a psycho? You don’t want to get to his house and find he’s built a shrine to his exes or even share the bed with his teddy bear collection, or as a recent friend had the unfortunates to find out, he takes his shirt off to reveal a pair of well-placed moobs! So you get introduced by friends and when you’ve exhausted that supply, you try friends of friends and when that’s dried up you try speed dating, dating nights and finally internet dating.

Internet dating. Now this is a funny concept, so firstly you can be whomever you want to be on the internet – so instead of dowdy library-loving nerd you could be a glamozonian club chick. That’s funny, but not realistic if you want to seriously meet someone you have to be yourself. So, OK you pick the most becoming picture of yourself, not too much cleavage but just enough to pique interest, you write a funny and witty profile and then spend 3 hours answering the site’s forms on everything from political views, environmental stance, the family way etc.

Now this is a good idea you may think and yes it is – you don’t want to meet a tree hugging, vegan, charitable activist when in fact you’re a Nikey-wearing, taxi-taking, fly-swatter. Similarly you don’t want to meet a fun, booty-caller when in fact you’ve dreamed of the perfect fairytale and the two-point four. So, you dutifully fill out the forms which are a bit longer than age, sex and religion and you click send and hope that  the computer finds you a match.

But wait, stop. This process – the one where they match you on everything from political views etc – it sounds a but like something else. Yes, it sounds like arranged marriage. It does in a loose kind of way though, right? But instead of a computer it’s your mother or your aunt and in some cultures a designated matchmaker who made it their absolute priority to know about the eligibility of everyone. Has modern life gone back to the roots – have we all become jaded and disillusioned with the choice, the variety, the need for that perfect match that we no longer trust ourselves and let a few motherboards pick one for us.

Fat Cyclists

August 25, 2010

I am all for keeping fit, I am all for keeping yourself healthy – in fact I absolutely think it’s great when people go and do something about it – such as buy a bike and put their helmets on in a bid to stay active.  But. And there always a but – otherwise why would I be blogging?


Make sure you’re bloody able to cycle to wherever it is you’re meant to be cycling to before you hit rush hour traffic on your two-wheeled pedal machine. It is dangerous when you’re huffing & puffing, struggling to pump those legs clad in expensive cycling shorts, when you’re all over the road because frankly my dear, you’re just not ready. Get some weekend practice in, cycle the route a few times before you start endangering other road users, please.

I don’t want to run you over, really I don’t. I don’t want to honk my horn in case it scares you. I don’t want to appear to have road rage because really I’m a very nice person. Just get out of the road if you’re struggling to ride. Oh, and it’s not a pretty sight either.

Shanghai Slappers…

July 24, 2010

Who said China was a communist country? Who said China was full of cabbage growing peasants with rosy cheeks and ungroomed eyebrows? Not me, that’s for sure.

Shanghai women are slim, beautified and well dressed – they have a LV (no, not luncheon vouchers) for every day of the week and they certainly know what they want – a Rich Guy. Hell, me too! In a country where the average size is a UK6, I was looked at upon with pity at being so grossly obese and unattractive. My dress was too casual, my tummy too large, my hair hadn’t been groomed for months and my skin exposed to the sun a tad too much. Everything about me was wrong. When I asked for a bigger size, I got pitying looks and a wide eyed shake of the head. Nothing is more embarrassing or condescending than that!

Ah well. China is no communist country, there is no uniform of green clad boys & girls, proudly holding their red books aloft, there is Prada, LV and Coach. Everybody is not equal, there are some more equal than others and Shanghai is especially very multi-cultural. I was amazed at Shanghai, it’s traditional and modern, communist and commercial, it’s polluted yet spotless – it is just truly amazing. loved it and would I go back? Yes, definitely!!!

Everything & Nothing

April 29, 2010

He will love me where your love died

He will be kind where you were cruel

He will be polite where you were rude

He will smile where you only frowned

He will be honest where you could only lie

He will be everything I had hoped for

He will be everything you are not

He will be everything but nothing

For after all, he is not you

If only I had known that that would be the last time you would hold me with what I think is love in your eyes. If only I had known that would be the last time we would eat sushi together as man and wife. If only I had known that would be the last time I would awake from my sleep next to you…

It’s all too painful for words as I pack away the belongings of a shared life. I reach and pack away things I will no longer use – a pair of reinforced motorcycle trousers that will never be worn again by me, sat upright as your pillion, riding at speed over country lanes and roads. Photographs of an impossibly sunny day where we sweated and the confetti stuck to our skins. The day that even the sun was blinded by our love…

I will miss you, miss you despite your grumpiness, miss you despite your idiosyncraticties, miss you despite these past few days which will turn into weeks which will turn into months of growing apart. I feel like I’m losing the most important, best thing in my life and I can’t stop asking myself why. Why did it go wrong? Where did it go wrong? Could I have done more, could you have done more? Were we always drowning in our marriage, was it burning up into ash before our eyes all this time?

If only I had known there was a time limit to our kisses, if only I had known that there was a sell by date to our time together. If only I had known these things and then those times would be have been cherished and remembered more clearly. The engraving on the ring, the running through the streets of New York, the watching of movies, the eating of dim sum, the driving in my car, the shared life…

Why don’t you love me? Where did it go – these last few years where I constantly asked whether you loved me and you always replied…yes. Perhaps if you replied otherwise, something real could have been done, something could have been changed but I did not know the severity of your feelings. True I had thought it myself but I always came back to you and my love for you. You are my rock, you are my sole reason to live, I love you and now I can’t live without you.

How can you turn it off? How can you switch the feelings off like that? You say that you won’t feel it until later, that it will hit you afterwards. I want to say that I will always have you back if you change your mind but I know your mind is made up. I know you will never back down. I know you will go through with what you have said. You’re a doer and always have been. The complete opposite of me.

So now the rings are packed away and the photographs will follow, the name will revert back and the change complete. The daily pain will numb, the tears will come, come and go and come again. Our lives will slowly disentangle until we become two separate people again.

Who said that they were? True, the beauty never fades and cut properly they will never tarnish.

But the diamond will die as does the love it used to represent. How do I know this? Trust me I just do.

Then you will find that no 0ne wants to buy a second hand diamond as it represents a dead love.

Something that has shrivelled up and rotted away like a limb lost in battle.

Whilst your head is turned, I’m looking at you with what I hope is absolute and pure contempt.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

You’re talking about some job you’ve worked on.


I’ve heard this story only about fifty million times. Have you been to the Old House? Yes, I worked on it and it’s an amazing place. The lady that owns it must be worth a fortune… blah, blah, blah.

I hate the way you look, I hate the way you’re selfish, I hate the way you treat me like a second class citizen in your life. I don’t care you tell me that you’re not a metrosexual and how you were never romantic. I hate it how you expect things that are not given freely. I hate the way you tell me that you were always like this and I can’t change you. I don’t want to change you. I want you to change you.

Nine years ago – what was I thinking? Was I mad? Was I stupid? Maybe I was just young but you seemed like a different person then. You were exciting, you looked into my eyes as we kissed and you used to always touch me up as I did the dishes. What’s changed? What’s wrong? Complacency?  Comfortable? Love turning slowly to hate? I don’t know, all I know is that somewhere along the line the spark died out.

So what now? Well, we’ll divide our things right down the middle and we’ll go our separate ways. You will probably stay where you are and keep on doing the things you have and always will do. Watch the football, go to old-man pubs with your mates, leer at girls in the street now you know I won’t be looking. Buy stupid novelty things like musical beer glasses or wall plaques of plastic fish that dance and sing. Listen to thrash metal, polish your car, not wash up after yourself and dump everything in the washing machine on a 60 degree wash.

Me? I will move down to London, get a better job. Think about adopting a baby since I’ve wasted my best years with you. Yes, I will think about adoption…. or maybe not. Maybe I’ll get another kitten. I’ll go on summer holidays and bask in the sun, I’ll go on city breaks and try and order food in the local language. I will cook all the foods you were too fussy and narrow minded to try, I may even become vegetarian! Either way, I have loads of things planned for myself and none of them include you.

You are on your laptop, furiously clicking away. Probably surfing for porn or cars or trainers. Whatever. I hate the way you criticise, your laptop is noisy, your car brakes are too sharp, your TV viewing habits are crap, your shoes are too high and you look like a velocerapta, you baby the cat, this food tastes funny, you forgot my apple for lunch, this tea is cold. I hate it and now I hate you.

Now you’re snoring. Suck in breath, grunt, suck out breath, grunt. God, was it always like this? Maybe it’s 9 years of sleepless nights that has made me this way. Maybe it’s the insomnia that has driven me insane.

It wasn’t always like this, you must know it to. Remember the time in Prague, where the gang of youths checked us up and down and we feared for our lives – only to realise they were checking out our Nikes. Remember the time when our hair froze in the Blue lagoon in Iceland or the time we went for dinner at Nobu? Do you also remember the day you took me for your wife and we made the vows of fidelity and loyalty and our undying love.  What about the time in New York where we underestimated the cold at Christmas time and almost froze to death wandering in Central Park? Or the time we ended up at the casino and you won so much money I had to stuff it in my bra? Yes, it wasn’t all bad.

I’ve just been stuck in traffic on the way home, a fifteen minute journey taking almost an hour. My boss has done nothing but criticise my work, I had a ladder in my tights from half nine and I managed to spill coffee over my keyboard. To top it all, the battery on my ipod conked out and since the button on my car stereo doesn’t work I‘ve listened to nothing but staticcy Radio 2 all the way home.

Walking through the door, I’m struck by unmistakable smell of spag bol, as I collapse on the sofa and take my shoes off, you come in. “Hard Day, dear?” you say almost sarcastically before disappearing off into the kitchen. I’m scowling, and mustering my look of hatred when you come back in. Holding a huge glass of heaven, if heaven was red wine. “Dinner in five” you say, smiling, “and then you can tell me about your day”.

And suddenly, I love you, I love you, I love you.

So you think you can shop…

December 14, 2009

I can shop for almost anything.

Shoes, bags, the perfect LBD, rare cheese, fine wine – you name it and I know where to go. Did I say I’m a seasoned bargain hunter too? I can usually sniff one out within 100 metres.

But everyone has their Achilles heel, and my shopping thorn in the side? It’s toys. Kids toys.

Where do people buy these darned things from? Armed with a list from little niece babies, I had specific ones – each named, coloured, sized and typed – it should have been easy. It should have been a breeze, it’s should have been like going into LV and saying, Vernis, Pomme D’Amour, Summit Drive. Instead, like a harassed mother of five, I was running from store to shop, to shop to store and back again. How hard is it to buy a bit of injection moulded plastic in the shape of a baby? Or a fairy wand that has flashing LED’s and play a recorded tune? How hard is it???

Obviously much harder than trying to find half price Chanel’s at the sale of the year, that is Harrods.