It's been a while since I have written. I needed a break from everything that was going on, and I needed a break from Amber, the table dancing,vodka swilling, next to nothing wearing party girl that had taken over my life. I always said that Amber would take a backseat in my life, be my alter ego. Well now she IS me! I am rarely myself, am hardly at home or with the friends that have loved me through thick and thin. Instead I spend my days and nights with promoters, party girls and minor celebrities (not the good kind).
This all came about after I was offered a free weekend in Africa to go to a party. Carlton was organising it and I jumped at the chance! A free trip to a continent I have never been to, a fabulous party and two whole nights of uninterruped sex with Carlton! Yes please. However my rose-tinted glasses soon fell off in the pool I jumped in when I got drunk at said party as I began to see Carlton's true colours. He's an insecure, posessive and jealous man who can be quite irrational and petty.
Ok, so maybe I knew this all along but it took something big - something like this weekend to make me realise. I won't go into details as it's all too confusing but basically he told me not to even speak to another man while I was there (hello, that's why we got to go there - to mingle!) and then when we all were talking to some guys we met by the pool that day he flipped... slowly.
First we went back to the hotel and he was quiet, then we had the most amazing sex ever (I now realise it's because he knew this would be the last time, how cruel) then he got MAD. He accused me of randomly SLEEPING with two men actually AT the party! What?!? He has serious issues. I knew this before of course, as this has happened when we've been in clubs in London - a guy says hello to me and all of a sudden I've been secretly seeing him for a year and we have a love-child together. He makes up some funky shit in his brain! The only thing was that this time, I was alone in an African country with a man that now despised me. Let's just say the next 24 hours was like a year-long therapy session that really made me re-evaluate my life and what it had become. Ok so yes, I went to the hottest parties, got everything free and went to places most people could only dream of, but was that what I wanted forever? I had unknowingly cut out the most important people in my life, my family and my best friends.
As I sat in the airport terminal waiting for the plane to take me back to London I began thinking about if I had died that weekend. What would the last couple of months of my life have been like? Spent with people who only cared about you because you were guaranteed to make their table look 'hot'. I hadn't seen my friends from college for over two months and I can't remember the last time I had a good conversation with my mum and the fact shocked me.
I returned to the UK with the resolve to change myself, just as I changed myself into party-girl Amber. I was going to dump anyone who didn't give a crap about me and spend alot more time with the people that did.
When people say they went to Africa and it changed their life, they usually mean they cared for aids orphans for a year, but really I just went for a two-day party. The effect however was strangely very much the same.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
The Final Chapter
The day was Friday 23rd February and my pilgrimage to Newcastle began promptly at 9:00am. I left so early thinking I could have a nice rest at the hotel when I got there then maybe do some shopping before seeing The Footballer. Oooooh no. I get stuck in hours of traffic, go wrong (yes, even with the aid of satnav) and arrive tired, shakey and in a cold sweat in the overcrowded, rather rowdy reception of Newcastle Central Travelodge.
Never mind - all was well (and rather surreal) - this is what I had waited for so longingly for several months. I was going to see my Footballer again! My excitement was tinged with sadness at the thought of the real reason for my coming here. Although he didn't know it, this would be the last time I would see him. After all, when the story breaks out in the Sunday paper he won't be speaking to me again...
I get inside my room and promptly have an accident with a packet of crisps (dinner) resulting in salt and vinegar walkers being sprayed all over my floor, bed and the inside of my bag! Basically anywhere but my mouth. I start getting ready with the vigour of someone about to complete a marathon. The bath is run, legs are shaved, make up applied, hair straightened. Body is moisturised, adding a tiny bit of Sunshimmer for a faint glow - after all those bright Travelodge lights are pretty harsh on mid-winter skin!
And I'm done! I decide to go for my classic uniform of a little white vest and jeans - my must-haves for when meeting a boy for the first time (ever, or in ages) indoors. I find it gives a simple and carefree look whilst making you look tanned and skinny! Underneath my clothes I had on a devastatingly gorgeous underwear set - all black ribbon and bows. He had better darn appreciate this!
As I sat on the bed checking my phone and half-heartedly watching channel 4 I started to get nervous. Really, really nervous. But before I had time to think he was here. I went out to the reception to meet him and there he was. And you know what? Nothing happened. I don't know what I was expecting but it was somewhere along the lines of an extravaggant fireworks display, or rays of sunshine beaming down on us from heaven, or maybe for a really catchy theme tune to play when we met, and for everyone in the room to see just how much we are just MEAN'T to be together! But... nothing. We said hi and quickly headed to my room before even more of the rowdy crowd recognised him, I was particularly worried about a large hen night group who looked like they had met at Fat Fighters.
Once we got in the room we had barely exchanged pleasantries before we were ripping each other's clothes off. He told me how long he had been waiting for this (as if I didn't know!) and I couldn't help retorting that it was his fault that it had been so long.
In between amazingly good sex sessions of which there were SIX we lulled into comfortable conversation. This, we most definately didn't have before. I guess that's becuase we've spoken so much over the last year, and he feels he can trust me more. This made what I was about to do with the papers make me feel even more terrible. Trying to explain the situation and how it was out of my hands though would have been futile. He would never have believed me and I would just ruin the precious little time with him I had left.
About 5 hours later and he was gone. As he dressed and got ready to go we hugged for what seemed forever. It wasn't even a sexual thing - it was just nice. Comforting. He walked out the door and I waited for a sense of terror to come over me................ but it never came. I thought I would be running after him down the hall begging him to stay, to be with me, ME!!! Whilst simultaneously calling the newspaper and demanding they drop the story - NOW! But - I didn't. Instead I laid back on my bed (on his side I do admit) basking in the warm glow he had left me with, thanks to his lovely, sweet personality and amazing sex. Hundreds of thoughts were whirring through my mind - but none were of sadness or regret.
This feeling, THIS feeling is what I had come all the way here for. He has gone from the pedastal I had placed him so highly on inn my heart and in my mind. Finally I realised - he's just a man. Before, no one could measure up to him, and okay... so physically - they still can't if you know what I mean - ha ha! But I'm not talking about that. Now I can actually see his flaws and see that I am .... oh my God I'm going to say it: I'm truly OVER HIM.
If you had to name years of your life like chapters of a book this year would most definately have to be the 'The ***** ******* Year'.
I wonder what next year's will be...
Never mind - all was well (and rather surreal) - this is what I had waited for so longingly for several months. I was going to see my Footballer again! My excitement was tinged with sadness at the thought of the real reason for my coming here. Although he didn't know it, this would be the last time I would see him. After all, when the story breaks out in the Sunday paper he won't be speaking to me again...
I get inside my room and promptly have an accident with a packet of crisps (dinner) resulting in salt and vinegar walkers being sprayed all over my floor, bed and the inside of my bag! Basically anywhere but my mouth. I start getting ready with the vigour of someone about to complete a marathon. The bath is run, legs are shaved, make up applied, hair straightened. Body is moisturised, adding a tiny bit of Sunshimmer for a faint glow - after all those bright Travelodge lights are pretty harsh on mid-winter skin!
And I'm done! I decide to go for my classic uniform of a little white vest and jeans - my must-haves for when meeting a boy for the first time (ever, or in ages) indoors. I find it gives a simple and carefree look whilst making you look tanned and skinny! Underneath my clothes I had on a devastatingly gorgeous underwear set - all black ribbon and bows. He had better darn appreciate this!
As I sat on the bed checking my phone and half-heartedly watching channel 4 I started to get nervous. Really, really nervous. But before I had time to think he was here. I went out to the reception to meet him and there he was. And you know what? Nothing happened. I don't know what I was expecting but it was somewhere along the lines of an extravaggant fireworks display, or rays of sunshine beaming down on us from heaven, or maybe for a really catchy theme tune to play when we met, and for everyone in the room to see just how much we are just MEAN'T to be together! But... nothing. We said hi and quickly headed to my room before even more of the rowdy crowd recognised him, I was particularly worried about a large hen night group who looked like they had met at Fat Fighters.
Once we got in the room we had barely exchanged pleasantries before we were ripping each other's clothes off. He told me how long he had been waiting for this (as if I didn't know!) and I couldn't help retorting that it was his fault that it had been so long.
In between amazingly good sex sessions of which there were SIX we lulled into comfortable conversation. This, we most definately didn't have before. I guess that's becuase we've spoken so much over the last year, and he feels he can trust me more. This made what I was about to do with the papers make me feel even more terrible. Trying to explain the situation and how it was out of my hands though would have been futile. He would never have believed me and I would just ruin the precious little time with him I had left.
About 5 hours later and he was gone. As he dressed and got ready to go we hugged for what seemed forever. It wasn't even a sexual thing - it was just nice. Comforting. He walked out the door and I waited for a sense of terror to come over me................ but it never came. I thought I would be running after him down the hall begging him to stay, to be with me, ME!!! Whilst simultaneously calling the newspaper and demanding they drop the story - NOW! But - I didn't. Instead I laid back on my bed (on his side I do admit) basking in the warm glow he had left me with, thanks to his lovely, sweet personality and amazing sex. Hundreds of thoughts were whirring through my mind - but none were of sadness or regret.
This feeling, THIS feeling is what I had come all the way here for. He has gone from the pedastal I had placed him so highly on inn my heart and in my mind. Finally I realised - he's just a man. Before, no one could measure up to him, and okay... so physically - they still can't if you know what I mean - ha ha! But I'm not talking about that. Now I can actually see his flaws and see that I am .... oh my God I'm going to say it: I'm truly OVER HIM.
If you had to name years of your life like chapters of a book this year would most definately have to be the 'The ***** ******* Year'.
I wonder what next year's will be...
Monday, February 19, 2007
33. End of An Era
As the date loomed for my 22nd birthday I felt a strange sadness wash over me. I felt a somewhat premature nostalgia for what had been my 21st year of life, the greatest I had known. The year I had taken control of my career, gone ahead and got a boob job - something that may appear frivilous on the surface, but really if you think about it is quite a big thing, dumped my posessive boyfriend, dated a footballer, partied in Ibiza, went skinny dipping, sold various stories, began writing this, the journal of my life, passed my driving test, got a car, learnt to pole dance, moved house, lived in a multi million pound apartment on Park Lane, became a Sugar Baby and so much more. It also of course, marked the 1 year since I had met The Footballer. The man that had dominated my thoughts day and night for 12 long months. It was time to do something about it.
Just as I was having this thought the universe worked it's magic and as can sometimes happen, something will hit you out of the blue which you think is the worst thing imaginable to happen - only for it to turn out well.
A national newspaper called me on my lunch break and told me they had pictures, numbers and messages from my phone (all from The Footballer obviously) that a 'source' (aka a backstabbing friend) had given them. My hands were tied. Either I contribute to the story and get to have my say (and of course a portion of the fee) or I can leave it and they will run the story with the (hideous and mainly untrue) account they have. It was tough one and I went back to my office and cried in front of my boss at the unfairness of it all. Then it suddenly dawned on me. God does indeed work in mysterious ways. I had been emotionally trapped by The Footballer for the last year, and counting. I had turned down dates, not put my all into relationships, and wasted too many nights texting him. And all for what? In the words of Lucie Silvas 'it's not much to ask for, to get back what I put in.' and I wasn't getting ANY returns on my emotions!
It has to end. It's been a year now. When I met him I was a shy 21 year old and now, one year on I've changed so much. Whereas in the beginning he almost gave me confidence in my life to try things, now I felt like he was just mentally holding me back. It sounds ridiculous to say it and I bet he doesn't have a CLUE how he is affecting me - but he is.
I decide to meet the reporter from the paper and see what he has to say. I tell him I want this... thing I have with him to end. It's been going on way too long and as much as I don't want to let him go I know I have to. It's ruling a part of my brain 24/7. Ok so in the last few months it's been smaller and almost subconcious - but it's still there. I go ahead and sell my soul for the sum of..... as if I am going to tell you!
As I hand over the messages in my phone, pictures and numbers I have the strangest sense of release. These things I have been guarding for the last year are finally out of my hands. On nights out I needn't leave behind my phone for fear of getting drunk, losing it and someone else finding his details. We talk for hours and I try to make myself not sound like too much of a slut. (almost impossible in these circumstances)
Soon the week is over. The interviews and photos have been done. All that's left is for the story to break on Sunday. I realise this needs real closure and my first pang of panic sets in. I need to see The Footballer one last time. If I leave him, high on his pedastal in my mind I will forever regret this and never forget him. And so - off I go to meet him for the last time feeling something like Thelma and Louise - only because I am setting out on a journey in my car. Realisticly it was probably more similar to an episode of Lassie. A mangey old dog who travels miles to see the man she adores.
Just as I was having this thought the universe worked it's magic and as can sometimes happen, something will hit you out of the blue which you think is the worst thing imaginable to happen - only for it to turn out well.
A national newspaper called me on my lunch break and told me they had pictures, numbers and messages from my phone (all from The Footballer obviously) that a 'source' (aka a backstabbing friend) had given them. My hands were tied. Either I contribute to the story and get to have my say (and of course a portion of the fee) or I can leave it and they will run the story with the (hideous and mainly untrue) account they have. It was tough one and I went back to my office and cried in front of my boss at the unfairness of it all. Then it suddenly dawned on me. God does indeed work in mysterious ways. I had been emotionally trapped by The Footballer for the last year, and counting. I had turned down dates, not put my all into relationships, and wasted too many nights texting him. And all for what? In the words of Lucie Silvas 'it's not much to ask for, to get back what I put in.' and I wasn't getting ANY returns on my emotions!
It has to end. It's been a year now. When I met him I was a shy 21 year old and now, one year on I've changed so much. Whereas in the beginning he almost gave me confidence in my life to try things, now I felt like he was just mentally holding me back. It sounds ridiculous to say it and I bet he doesn't have a CLUE how he is affecting me - but he is.
I decide to meet the reporter from the paper and see what he has to say. I tell him I want this... thing I have with him to end. It's been going on way too long and as much as I don't want to let him go I know I have to. It's ruling a part of my brain 24/7. Ok so in the last few months it's been smaller and almost subconcious - but it's still there. I go ahead and sell my soul for the sum of..... as if I am going to tell you!
As I hand over the messages in my phone, pictures and numbers I have the strangest sense of release. These things I have been guarding for the last year are finally out of my hands. On nights out I needn't leave behind my phone for fear of getting drunk, losing it and someone else finding his details. We talk for hours and I try to make myself not sound like too much of a slut. (almost impossible in these circumstances)
Soon the week is over. The interviews and photos have been done. All that's left is for the story to break on Sunday. I realise this needs real closure and my first pang of panic sets in. I need to see The Footballer one last time. If I leave him, high on his pedastal in my mind I will forever regret this and never forget him. And so - off I go to meet him for the last time feeling something like Thelma and Louise - only because I am setting out on a journey in my car. Realisticly it was probably more similar to an episode of Lassie. A mangey old dog who travels miles to see the man she adores.
32. So This Is My Apartment...Can We Have Sex?
My date with Celebrity Hairdresser was almost like two completely different dates. Maybe with two completely different people even. The first was the C.H I know and loathe - exactly how I thought he would be. Arrogant. Rude. Hostile. We went to the MayFair Hotel for a drink and for the first 20 minutes he did nothing except moan about his day, text on his phone (how rude) and give me one word answers. I wrote the date off by this time and when he suggested going to his apartment to call me a car I could barely be bothered to make conversation anymore to fill the silence.
We walked across Berkeley Square to his apartment and two text messages (him not me) and an argument about Rebecca Loos later I found myself in the nicest little apartment overlooking the square. Thing is - here's where it all changes... I now begin my date with the 'second' C.H. As from the moment we go through the door he changes like THAT 'snap'! He explains it's because he had a meeting with somebody before and the papparazzi followed him - it made him nervous. We sat down and he didn't make any effort to call a car, in fact he became really animated and we talked for almost two hours.
We started to watch a film on tv too and he came out with 'have you had a boob job?' I hate it when people ask me that! Do I ask them if that's their real hair colour? Grrrr.... Anyway he pursuaded me to show him - he insisted it was purely so he could judge them on others he had seen.... hmmm.... funny how things seem plausible until you write them down. Damn! Late New Year's Resolution: Don't be so dumb!
He talked, and talked, and talked........ so I sat back and listened - basking in the ambiance. It wasn't long before he pursuaded me to go sit/lie with him while we talked and as predicible as a fat girl in a cake shop he began doing what he does best. Being a slut. Ok, ok so when I told my hairdresser, Andrea about going out with him she warned me that it was a well-known fact that he was a whore of the highest order and would try it on - so long as you had blonde hair and a fake rack. Damnit why didn't I pay more attention to those gossip columns in magazines? Now I was in for it.
I ended up staying there until nearly three in the morning. There was a lot of talking, there was also a lot of groping (on his part - not mine!) andI think my top moment (I am being sarcastic) is when he came out with:
"Can I have sex with you?" (disgusted look and dignified 'no') "Ok well how about a blow job?"
Ugh! I sincerely hope he was talking about a wash and blowdry!
Rather disturbingly he took a creepy turn for the worse. Now he was coming out with "Ooooh you're so shy, don't you want to give me a kissy wissy?" All said in a creepy, child-molester voice. No, I'm not shy, you're just an old letch who's definition of a 'kissy wissy' is grating my skin with your old-man beard and slobbering over half my face.
I left and met Carlton at Funky Buddha. It's funny - I felt really guilty about having met Celeb Hairdresser that night, but why? I'm not even seeing Carlton... am I?
We walked across Berkeley Square to his apartment and two text messages (him not me) and an argument about Rebecca Loos later I found myself in the nicest little apartment overlooking the square. Thing is - here's where it all changes... I now begin my date with the 'second' C.H. As from the moment we go through the door he changes like THAT 'snap'! He explains it's because he had a meeting with somebody before and the papparazzi followed him - it made him nervous. We sat down and he didn't make any effort to call a car, in fact he became really animated and we talked for almost two hours.
We started to watch a film on tv too and he came out with 'have you had a boob job?' I hate it when people ask me that! Do I ask them if that's their real hair colour? Grrrr.... Anyway he pursuaded me to show him - he insisted it was purely so he could judge them on others he had seen.... hmmm.... funny how things seem plausible until you write them down. Damn! Late New Year's Resolution: Don't be so dumb!
He talked, and talked, and talked........ so I sat back and listened - basking in the ambiance. It wasn't long before he pursuaded me to go sit/lie with him while we talked and as predicible as a fat girl in a cake shop he began doing what he does best. Being a slut. Ok, ok so when I told my hairdresser, Andrea about going out with him she warned me that it was a well-known fact that he was a whore of the highest order and would try it on - so long as you had blonde hair and a fake rack. Damnit why didn't I pay more attention to those gossip columns in magazines? Now I was in for it.
I ended up staying there until nearly three in the morning. There was a lot of talking, there was also a lot of groping (on his part - not mine!) andI think my top moment (I am being sarcastic) is when he came out with:
"Can I have sex with you?" (disgusted look and dignified 'no') "Ok well how about a blow job?"
Ugh! I sincerely hope he was talking about a wash and blowdry!
Rather disturbingly he took a creepy turn for the worse. Now he was coming out with "Ooooh you're so shy, don't you want to give me a kissy wissy?" All said in a creepy, child-molester voice. No, I'm not shy, you're just an old letch who's definition of a 'kissy wissy' is grating my skin with your old-man beard and slobbering over half my face.
I left and met Carlton at Funky Buddha. It's funny - I felt really guilty about having met Celeb Hairdresser that night, but why? I'm not even seeing Carlton... am I?
Thursday, February 15, 2007
31. Ten Years Younger
2007 had started, and I was determined not to lose the magic I felt for 2006. So by the time the first Wednesday had rolled around I found myself packing my dancing shoes and fake tan and heading for for the London party scene once more.
The night was Wednesday, the club was Chinawhite, the dress was an impossibly short 60's style number that was designed to be worn as a top. Hey ho - they shouldn't make tops so conservative! Luckily Carlton had one of his friends there from some country like Sudan or something who loves nothing more than splashing out on a couple of bottles of Champagne, and Grey Goose of course!
As I proceeded to get terribly drunk with my little sidekick, Saskia I noticed a celebrity hairdresser/tv personality/whatever you call it sitting at the next table to us with none other than the original lothario himself - Calum Best. Now I must be the only girl in the WORLD that doesn't find Calum Best attractive - however I was still excited as he once went out with my all-time favourite woman - Rebecca Loos! Celeb Hairdresser with him used to live in the next town to me in Essex so he is also somewhat of a local hero. It didn't take him long until he sidled over and started talking to me. We chatted for about twenty minutes about hair, Essex and how I had actually met him once before when I was at college before we were rather abruptly interrupted by Donny Tourette from Towers Of London. Now there's a man with some hair going on! I stood, drink in hand while they chatted for approximately 10 seconds before I decided I wasn't going to be That girl. That girl people expect me to be when they see me. Standing there hanging on to their every word. So I walked off! Went to the toilets (even though I didn't need to go) and decided to make him realise you don't put baby in the corner! Or rather, you don't turn your back on an Essex girl.
Later on that evening Celeb Hairdresser noticed I was back at my table and came over AGAIN. Eager Beaver? I think so. We talked a little more and exchanged numbers. I was thanking God for having that one boring afternoon at work where I decided to memorise my number for such occasions. He promised to call me the very next day and that we would go out, and with that he was off. I couldn't believe it! He is a hot guy and him and Calum had a tonne of girls around their table - ALL THE TIME, but just like with The Footballer - they just can't help wanting a little bit of the Essex! And who was I to deny them it?
I left that night with Carlton at about half three, as I tried to say goodbye to Saskia I noticed that she was deeply engrossed with Sezer from Big Brother. Sezer!! I mean seriously! Although I really shouldn't judge. Although he is the lowest form of celebrity, even if you could call him that, he is there every week and every time I see him he is nothing but nice. So never judge your celeb by it's status! They were busy playing tonsil tennis with each other so I left them to it making a mental note to myself to mock Saskia about it the very next day.
Now just becuase I went home don't think the fun stopped there. Carlton and I have been steadily progressing despite both of our efforts to abstain from phyical ativity which can only lead to emotional attachments. We can't abstain. We had some fun that night, several times and all would have been perfect if it wasn't for some rather sudden revelations.
We were just getting down to it. I was sleepy but never to sleepy for him and just as I thought it couldn't get any better he comes out with "I hope you get pregnant. I want you to have my baby so much." WHAT?!?! Now I must admit this isn't the first time he's suggested such a thing. Just last week we had an argument about whether I would marry him or not. The sad thing is - and he's so right when he said it is; we're 10 years too far apart. If only I was born 10 years earlier or he was 10 years younger everything would be ok. But the fact is - I wasn't and he isn't. He even talks of getting married and stuff, but the reality is, it would never, ever work. We get on so well and I AM so attracted to him, but logistically it just wouldn't work. How could I marry a guy 17 years older than me? I would be widow in my 50s!
That's not the only problem that comes with dating an older guy. Stamina. I am used to young guys who have barely come before they're at it again, and again! Not so with Carlton unfortunately. I remember us getting into a little bit of a fight the other night as we had had sex once and then he promptly turned over and fell asleep! I wouldn't mind but I'm sure that when we first got together we were at it all the time. Maybe I am just looking back on that honeymoon period through rose-tinted glasses. Anyway, when this happens to me I get a little (a lot) angry. It's always the same. He is really persuasive, manages to have sex with me before I'm ready then when I want it again and again he gets mad and shouts stuff about how he needs time to 'recover' and that he's 'not a 17 year old'and my personal favourite 'you must be a nymphomaniac!' For the record, I'm not... or am I? How does one class oneself as a nympho? Maybe I'll look it up on Google and see...
To distract myself from this whole thing I agreed to go on a date with the Celeb Hairdresser later that week...
The night was Wednesday, the club was Chinawhite, the dress was an impossibly short 60's style number that was designed to be worn as a top. Hey ho - they shouldn't make tops so conservative! Luckily Carlton had one of his friends there from some country like Sudan or something who loves nothing more than splashing out on a couple of bottles of Champagne, and Grey Goose of course!
As I proceeded to get terribly drunk with my little sidekick, Saskia I noticed a celebrity hairdresser/tv personality/whatever you call it sitting at the next table to us with none other than the original lothario himself - Calum Best. Now I must be the only girl in the WORLD that doesn't find Calum Best attractive - however I was still excited as he once went out with my all-time favourite woman - Rebecca Loos! Celeb Hairdresser with him used to live in the next town to me in Essex so he is also somewhat of a local hero. It didn't take him long until he sidled over and started talking to me. We chatted for about twenty minutes about hair, Essex and how I had actually met him once before when I was at college before we were rather abruptly interrupted by Donny Tourette from Towers Of London. Now there's a man with some hair going on! I stood, drink in hand while they chatted for approximately 10 seconds before I decided I wasn't going to be That girl. That girl people expect me to be when they see me. Standing there hanging on to their every word. So I walked off! Went to the toilets (even though I didn't need to go) and decided to make him realise you don't put baby in the corner! Or rather, you don't turn your back on an Essex girl.
Later on that evening Celeb Hairdresser noticed I was back at my table and came over AGAIN. Eager Beaver? I think so. We talked a little more and exchanged numbers. I was thanking God for having that one boring afternoon at work where I decided to memorise my number for such occasions. He promised to call me the very next day and that we would go out, and with that he was off. I couldn't believe it! He is a hot guy and him and Calum had a tonne of girls around their table - ALL THE TIME, but just like with The Footballer - they just can't help wanting a little bit of the Essex! And who was I to deny them it?
I left that night with Carlton at about half three, as I tried to say goodbye to Saskia I noticed that she was deeply engrossed with Sezer from Big Brother. Sezer!! I mean seriously! Although I really shouldn't judge. Although he is the lowest form of celebrity, even if you could call him that, he is there every week and every time I see him he is nothing but nice. So never judge your celeb by it's status! They were busy playing tonsil tennis with each other so I left them to it making a mental note to myself to mock Saskia about it the very next day.
Now just becuase I went home don't think the fun stopped there. Carlton and I have been steadily progressing despite both of our efforts to abstain from phyical ativity which can only lead to emotional attachments. We can't abstain. We had some fun that night, several times and all would have been perfect if it wasn't for some rather sudden revelations.
We were just getting down to it. I was sleepy but never to sleepy for him and just as I thought it couldn't get any better he comes out with "I hope you get pregnant. I want you to have my baby so much." WHAT?!?! Now I must admit this isn't the first time he's suggested such a thing. Just last week we had an argument about whether I would marry him or not. The sad thing is - and he's so right when he said it is; we're 10 years too far apart. If only I was born 10 years earlier or he was 10 years younger everything would be ok. But the fact is - I wasn't and he isn't. He even talks of getting married and stuff, but the reality is, it would never, ever work. We get on so well and I AM so attracted to him, but logistically it just wouldn't work. How could I marry a guy 17 years older than me? I would be widow in my 50s!
That's not the only problem that comes with dating an older guy. Stamina. I am used to young guys who have barely come before they're at it again, and again! Not so with Carlton unfortunately. I remember us getting into a little bit of a fight the other night as we had had sex once and then he promptly turned over and fell asleep! I wouldn't mind but I'm sure that when we first got together we were at it all the time. Maybe I am just looking back on that honeymoon period through rose-tinted glasses. Anyway, when this happens to me I get a little (a lot) angry. It's always the same. He is really persuasive, manages to have sex with me before I'm ready then when I want it again and again he gets mad and shouts stuff about how he needs time to 'recover' and that he's 'not a 17 year old'and my personal favourite 'you must be a nymphomaniac!' For the record, I'm not... or am I? How does one class oneself as a nympho? Maybe I'll look it up on Google and see...
To distract myself from this whole thing I agreed to go on a date with the Celeb Hairdresser later that week...
Friday, December 29, 2006
30. Goodbye 2006
2006 is over. Not over as in - oh my goodness, 2006 was soo last week - as in it's actually ended. Christmas came and went finding me laid up in hospital after one particularly heavy night in Umbaba, and so I subsequently found myself spending Christmas Eve rather quietly in a local pub with some friends, J2O in one hand, car keys in the other. I also went to midnight mass which was suprisingly entertaining.
We have a famous (or should that be notorious) vicar where I live who is simply fabulous. He makes listening to a sermon like watching an episode of Graham Norton. Earlier in the year he'd fled to his home country after being (wrongly) accused of crimes against children and this christmas everyone was out in force welcoming him back with open arms (and bibles.)
My sister also finally moved out with Peck to Lincolnshire. I wasn't actually there the day of the move as I was being subjected to slave-like working hours in that period between Christmas and New Year. Out of principle, and rather in keeping with the festive spirit I decided against doing any actual work and dedicated the whole three days to eating anything within arm's reach and creating the most wonderful myspace page. What a great invention that site is! I spent hours amusing myself setting up slideshows of pictures of me and my friends I had found lying around on various club sites and creating little glittery banners. I revelled in each new 'friend' I added to my list - I now have something like 87. (beat that Tila Tequila!)
New Year's Eve was fast approaching and I was feeling somewhat sentimental about the last 12 months - not wanting it to end. 2006 has been a great year for me - it's the year I think I will look back on when I'm old and think - that was fantastic! I had a boob job, changed my day job, dated a premiership footballer, had a sugar daddy, was part of a harem, went to Madrid, Ibiza, Cyprus and Newcastle, lived in a multi-million-pound apartment on Park Lane, made the papers, turned 21, passed my driving test, learnt to pole dance, went skinny dipping, met Paris Hilton, went speed dating, had a threesome, (not a result of the speed dating) and so much more! I will be sad to let it go - and just hope that 2007 promises much of the same!
Things with the London situation have somewhat shifted... I wanted so much to keep things with Carlton (the events organising guy who I stay with) platonic. After all - he wasn't my type, and what with me staying at his house I didn't want things to ever become weird. It did. Not long after the first outing we realised our attraction for each other that saw us throwing away our promises of friendship for something altogether more fun. We now have 'fun' together about 8 or 9 times every time I see him - something that has caused a storm in my brain and a bout of cystitis - aaah how romantic! One can't expect, however to have hours upon hours of crazy sex and not suffer the consequences. And suffer I did. However a couple of pints of cranberry juice later and I was as right as rain!
He asked me to stay there New Year's Eve and I didn't particularly fancy getting a tube all the way back home anyway so I went out that morning bought sat nav for my car and set off for London. Despite taking several wrong turns including one onto Tower Bridge with my sat nav ordering me to "Make A U Turn!" and me screaming - "I can't, I can't!" I made it from door to ddor in 45 minutes and roughly in one piece.
I was meeting my friends from college in OnAnon that night but there was the business of getting ready to attend to first! I had decided upon that night to wear a short brown dress with matching metallic brown high heels (thanks Mum!) and long gold beads. As usual with Carlton I got dressed then undressed about four times before I could finally get out the door!
A lovely girl called Lauren who had experienced similar sat nav problems on the way down was staying the night too and we both went into town with Carlton, his brother and his slightly suspicious girlfriend.
They were headed off to The Penthouse where I would meet them later but for now I had a date with my girlies in OnAnon. Unfortunately OnAnon went on and on and on..... Now I remember why I hate new year's. It was sooooo busy!! WHY they let so many people in I will never know!
5, 4, 3, 2, 1 - Happy New Year etc... etc... etc... At 2am I met Carlton and went into Penthouse where he insisted, despite me almost being asleep standing up on staying until 6AM!!!! Yes, 6am! We only left then because it CLOSED. Jeez. We grabbed a rickshaw back to the car which was the most fun I had had all night. Watching the little Polish guy's spindly little legs struggling away to carry our fat asses down the road was strangely satisfying.
We met Lauren and Carlton at the car and us three girls sat in the back (Lauren to the left, strange girlfriend of brother in the middle then me) and this is where it gets weird... I had suspected at some point during the night that she might be a lesbian - don't ask me why. Maybe it was the dirty dancing she had done with that suprised-looking woman in the corner or the way she insisted on touching some part of your body when she talks to you. But I was nervous. It wasn't long before, in Hugh Hefner style she had her arm looped through mine whilst simultaneously rubbing the side of my boob (yes, my boob!) and on the other her hand was working it way up poor Lauren's leg. In the extremely quiet confines of the car and with her boyfriend and Carlton only centimeters away I found myself getting very uneasy. What do you say? Being fondled simulteously with another stranger in the back of a car by a rampant lesbian is not something my DeBrett's book covered. I tried not to squirm or visibly move away from her hand, whilst also trying to look like I wasn't encouraging it. I forced myself to look out of the window at the pretty lights and pleaded with myself not to laugh. I always have an uncontrollable urge to laugh in these sorts of situations.
Finally we arrived back at Notting Hill and with a unnecessarily lingering cheek kiss we left them and went to bed! Finally! Hello 2007!
We have a famous (or should that be notorious) vicar where I live who is simply fabulous. He makes listening to a sermon like watching an episode of Graham Norton. Earlier in the year he'd fled to his home country after being (wrongly) accused of crimes against children and this christmas everyone was out in force welcoming him back with open arms (and bibles.)
My sister also finally moved out with Peck to Lincolnshire. I wasn't actually there the day of the move as I was being subjected to slave-like working hours in that period between Christmas and New Year. Out of principle, and rather in keeping with the festive spirit I decided against doing any actual work and dedicated the whole three days to eating anything within arm's reach and creating the most wonderful myspace page. What a great invention that site is! I spent hours amusing myself setting up slideshows of pictures of me and my friends I had found lying around on various club sites and creating little glittery banners. I revelled in each new 'friend' I added to my list - I now have something like 87. (beat that Tila Tequila!)
New Year's Eve was fast approaching and I was feeling somewhat sentimental about the last 12 months - not wanting it to end. 2006 has been a great year for me - it's the year I think I will look back on when I'm old and think - that was fantastic! I had a boob job, changed my day job, dated a premiership footballer, had a sugar daddy, was part of a harem, went to Madrid, Ibiza, Cyprus and Newcastle, lived in a multi-million-pound apartment on Park Lane, made the papers, turned 21, passed my driving test, learnt to pole dance, went skinny dipping, met Paris Hilton, went speed dating, had a threesome, (not a result of the speed dating) and so much more! I will be sad to let it go - and just hope that 2007 promises much of the same!
Things with the London situation have somewhat shifted... I wanted so much to keep things with Carlton (the events organising guy who I stay with) platonic. After all - he wasn't my type, and what with me staying at his house I didn't want things to ever become weird. It did. Not long after the first outing we realised our attraction for each other that saw us throwing away our promises of friendship for something altogether more fun. We now have 'fun' together about 8 or 9 times every time I see him - something that has caused a storm in my brain and a bout of cystitis - aaah how romantic! One can't expect, however to have hours upon hours of crazy sex and not suffer the consequences. And suffer I did. However a couple of pints of cranberry juice later and I was as right as rain!
He asked me to stay there New Year's Eve and I didn't particularly fancy getting a tube all the way back home anyway so I went out that morning bought sat nav for my car and set off for London. Despite taking several wrong turns including one onto Tower Bridge with my sat nav ordering me to "Make A U Turn!" and me screaming - "I can't, I can't!" I made it from door to ddor in 45 minutes and roughly in one piece.
I was meeting my friends from college in OnAnon that night but there was the business of getting ready to attend to first! I had decided upon that night to wear a short brown dress with matching metallic brown high heels (thanks Mum!) and long gold beads. As usual with Carlton I got dressed then undressed about four times before I could finally get out the door!
A lovely girl called Lauren who had experienced similar sat nav problems on the way down was staying the night too and we both went into town with Carlton, his brother and his slightly suspicious girlfriend.
They were headed off to The Penthouse where I would meet them later but for now I had a date with my girlies in OnAnon. Unfortunately OnAnon went on and on and on..... Now I remember why I hate new year's. It was sooooo busy!! WHY they let so many people in I will never know!
5, 4, 3, 2, 1 - Happy New Year etc... etc... etc... At 2am I met Carlton and went into Penthouse where he insisted, despite me almost being asleep standing up on staying until 6AM!!!! Yes, 6am! We only left then because it CLOSED. Jeez. We grabbed a rickshaw back to the car which was the most fun I had had all night. Watching the little Polish guy's spindly little legs struggling away to carry our fat asses down the road was strangely satisfying.
We met Lauren and Carlton at the car and us three girls sat in the back (Lauren to the left, strange girlfriend of brother in the middle then me) and this is where it gets weird... I had suspected at some point during the night that she might be a lesbian - don't ask me why. Maybe it was the dirty dancing she had done with that suprised-looking woman in the corner or the way she insisted on touching some part of your body when she talks to you. But I was nervous. It wasn't long before, in Hugh Hefner style she had her arm looped through mine whilst simultaneously rubbing the side of my boob (yes, my boob!) and on the other her hand was working it way up poor Lauren's leg. In the extremely quiet confines of the car and with her boyfriend and Carlton only centimeters away I found myself getting very uneasy. What do you say? Being fondled simulteously with another stranger in the back of a car by a rampant lesbian is not something my DeBrett's book covered. I tried not to squirm or visibly move away from her hand, whilst also trying to look like I wasn't encouraging it. I forced myself to look out of the window at the pretty lights and pleaded with myself not to laugh. I always have an uncontrollable urge to laugh in these sorts of situations.
Finally we arrived back at Notting Hill and with a unnecessarily lingering cheek kiss we left them and went to bed! Finally! Hello 2007!
29. A Wednesday Night Unlike Any Other...
Wednesday night saw me heading out to where everybody who's anybody goes on a Wednesday night - Chinawhite of course. I think I have solved my sleeping arrangements issue in the form of Saskia's partying, table hosting pal - Carlton. He lives in Notting Hill and has said it is more than fine to stay there whenever I need to. Apparantly everyone does. I turned up after work on Wednesday night find a girl from the Mo*Vida table the other night was there too. Just like me, she was using this apartment to get ready in then to sleep at after. Handy.
The three of us watched Deal or No Deal which was suprisingly entertaining and ABSO Teen to Beauty Queen which is one of the most genius tv show concepts ever created I'm sure! I used this time to dig for some info on the hottie Dubai boy who looked afte me so much that night. I admit, I had been thinking about him nore than neccessary over the last few days and I was eager to find out more.
Earlier that day Saskia insisted that as he was an Arab and 29 or so already he MUST have a wife. Although shocked and temporarily distraught at the notion I agreed and wallowed for about ten minutes. I found out his name although I shall call him SK, partly for privacy but also because I still can't pronounce nor spell it. Carlton assured me he was a lovely guy (I knew that) but not much more was given away. I didn't want to seem to eager beaver so I left it at that. Well almost... Calton told me he spent the last summer in Marbella with him and had lots of pics on his laptop - yippee I thought as I am rubbish for putting a name to a face. I am ashamed to admit that my intoxicated eyes on the night of our liaison mean't that I couldn't tell one from the other. They were all tall, dark and - well I am sure he was hot! As I looked through the pictures I realised that they were all of Carlton with various hot girls in skimpier and skimpier clothing - sometimes none! Damnit - there wasn't one of SK! I would have to wait until I saw him next. (if ever)
We got down the the business of getting ready. Isn't it funny how different people view outfits in different ways? Yet really it always looks completely the same! I bought a top last weekend that totally could have passed for a dress... well, according to some it could. I showed my sister the other night and she gasped in horror and declared that if I wore that out as a dress I could only accessorise it with the phrase: "You like, you buy? Lookie Lookie." I was taken in by her comments and agreed that the top/dress looked much better with a pair of footless tights (normally something I cannot abide in nightclubs.) Teamed with my new high heeled peep-toes it looked dressed up enough for me to accept them. HOWEVER, when I put the outfit on back at Carlton's apartment, Jenna and him both agreed that it HAD to be worn on it's own!
Strangely I saw just as clearly then that they were right, as much as last night with my sister. Footless tights? to Chinawhite? What was I thinking? Ok so you could sometimes (more often than not) see my bum cheeks in it but that's de rigeur in these places! The only downside being that I tied the halterneck ribbon slightly longer to inch down the ungenerous hemline, and this occasionally made one of my boobs make an appearance.
We headed over to Chinawhite about 11:30pm where we were meeting Saskia among others. Once in we found our table to be rather disappointingly situated next so some rather unfortunate-looking geeks who looked as if they had just stepped out of a Specsavers advert. However on the upside whilst waiting for our drinks for the table to arrive I spotted they had got a bottle of Absolut on their table - yum! 'Will' - winner of Geek 2005 informed me they hadn't been out in 6 months but were splashing out tonight as they had just got a bonus. I decided at this point not to speak to Will as he was weird. Instead I turned my attention back to our own table where there were now a couple more girl in equally (if not more) revealing dresses and instantly felt more at home!
Carlton came back over and soon after Saskia and some of the Arab Men from the hotel after party last week were there. Aaah! HE wasn't with them, was he coming? Was he back in Dubai? I so wanted to see him again - and just as I was thinking that, in he walked and right up to me. "Hello again" he said and leant in for a kiss (on the cheek, come on!) and I felt like I lingered for a little bit, did he feel that? I hope not. Or did I? I have GOT to calm down! I don't know what to say so I tell him I was going to text him the other day (I wasn't), he asked me why I didn't, I don't know why I didn't - ugh - this was getting messy! Luckily my fave Kanye West song came on and I jumped up precariously onto the sofas and danced, Saskia to one side, an alarmingly fake-looking girl to the other and drink in hand!
The night carried on until a relatively tame 2:30am when some guy I had seen a couple of times, Carlton, Saskia and I decided to go. Outside the guy with Saskia had his chauffeur-driven Bentley waiting - yay! We jumped in and headed to an unknown destination - ooh I do love a bit of adventure! there were drinks and music aplenty so for a short while I still thought I was in a club (this is when I realised I was quite drunk.) We pulled up to the Lanesborough Hotel and all of a sudden it was very very quiet. With the music off our voices seemed louder than ever and I vaguely remember walking through the main lobby and upon spying a super-realistic deer in a christmas display, urging Saskia to sit on it while I took a picture. Oh dear.
We were taken up to the most beautiful, luxurious hotel suite (not a room dahling - please. A suite or penthouse will do) - and seriously, it was amazing. Impossibly high celiings, fine art and portraits hung on the walls with decadent wall coverings and curtains from floor to ceiling. Chandeliers that just begged to be swung from domintated each room, only being upstaged by the unmistakable smell of money. We sat and talked and drank from the elegant drinks cabinet for a few hours. When I visit the bathroom it's like stepping into a palace! It's roughly the size of a small apartment and had the biggest bath I have ever seen! It had big, draping, luxurious curtains which you could pull around it and even a little step to get into it. All I could keep thinking was darnit - if only SK were here I would so get him into that bath. I loved the bath.
Come 5am I am done for. I had come to the end of my line. I flopped on the bed and passed out waking up to find Carlton laying on one side of me and Saskia on the other. Super Rich Man had gone to work at 5am (aka gone home to the wife) and I was feeling SICK. I could literally feel vodka pouring through my veins and the urge to vomit exceeded my urge to sleep. I told Carlton and Saskia as much and they agreed we should get up and order some serious room service. I had a craving for a full english breakfast, but also a grilled chicken salad - so I got both. Half an hour of painful hunger-pain pangs later a cute little old butler arrives and hurries about setting the table up with a pristine white table cloth, crystal and silver.
Meanwhile the oddest looking threesome, Saskia, the normally well-heeled and well-turned out brunette sitting in somewhat streaky makeup, the lowest cut pink dress you ever saw and clear stripper shoes on her feet, even though we'd been to sleep, the tall black guy who looks like he's just been dug up and me, slumped over my chair, occasionally heaving at the smell of the food and balking at the brightness of the tablecloth wearing the shortest dress you've ever seen. That's because it's not actually a dress. It's a top!
One disappointing bite of sausage later and I can't do it. The food turns my stomach and I have lost the ability to swallow. I retire back to the bed, resigned and hungry.
Later that day, once the icky feeling had worn off to a degree that I could talk about food without heaving - Saskia and I headed over to East London for a photoshoot with Company magazine. We were to do a feature about dating the same guy and now we're friends! Ha, we couldn't wait to do it then post it to FGF! Ha ha! He thought he was such a God and he really, really was'nt! the shoot style was cool, all vintage furniture mixed with retro pink 80's style telephones and fairy lights. I hope the pictures come out well and the article is a nice, positive one. As I have learned from experience, too many magazines and papers try to screw you over or make you look bad. Only the other day I got a text from my ex-boyfriend saying that my; and I quote: 'slut stories' were being published in The Star again. I eventually got hold of a copy and in there is my face taking up almost the entire left-hand side of the page that was taken about six months ago. I remember the day well... I had a quick picture session booked in for lunch time. When it came to getting ready for it I realised I had completely forgotten my makeup! That day my face appeared in a national paper with not a stitch of make up on. I was soooo not happy about that!
My poor ex does suffer from my little press exploits - last christmas I had a feature in The Star about how crap he was at buying christmas presents. This christmas it was about me kissing some guy from my office at a christmas party - while I was still going out with him. Poor boy!
The three of us watched Deal or No Deal which was suprisingly entertaining and ABSO Teen to Beauty Queen which is one of the most genius tv show concepts ever created I'm sure! I used this time to dig for some info on the hottie Dubai boy who looked afte me so much that night. I admit, I had been thinking about him nore than neccessary over the last few days and I was eager to find out more.
Earlier that day Saskia insisted that as he was an Arab and 29 or so already he MUST have a wife. Although shocked and temporarily distraught at the notion I agreed and wallowed for about ten minutes. I found out his name although I shall call him SK, partly for privacy but also because I still can't pronounce nor spell it. Carlton assured me he was a lovely guy (I knew that) but not much more was given away. I didn't want to seem to eager beaver so I left it at that. Well almost... Calton told me he spent the last summer in Marbella with him and had lots of pics on his laptop - yippee I thought as I am rubbish for putting a name to a face. I am ashamed to admit that my intoxicated eyes on the night of our liaison mean't that I couldn't tell one from the other. They were all tall, dark and - well I am sure he was hot! As I looked through the pictures I realised that they were all of Carlton with various hot girls in skimpier and skimpier clothing - sometimes none! Damnit - there wasn't one of SK! I would have to wait until I saw him next. (if ever)
We got down the the business of getting ready. Isn't it funny how different people view outfits in different ways? Yet really it always looks completely the same! I bought a top last weekend that totally could have passed for a dress... well, according to some it could. I showed my sister the other night and she gasped in horror and declared that if I wore that out as a dress I could only accessorise it with the phrase: "You like, you buy? Lookie Lookie." I was taken in by her comments and agreed that the top/dress looked much better with a pair of footless tights (normally something I cannot abide in nightclubs.) Teamed with my new high heeled peep-toes it looked dressed up enough for me to accept them. HOWEVER, when I put the outfit on back at Carlton's apartment, Jenna and him both agreed that it HAD to be worn on it's own!
Strangely I saw just as clearly then that they were right, as much as last night with my sister. Footless tights? to Chinawhite? What was I thinking? Ok so you could sometimes (more often than not) see my bum cheeks in it but that's de rigeur in these places! The only downside being that I tied the halterneck ribbon slightly longer to inch down the ungenerous hemline, and this occasionally made one of my boobs make an appearance.
We headed over to Chinawhite about 11:30pm where we were meeting Saskia among others. Once in we found our table to be rather disappointingly situated next so some rather unfortunate-looking geeks who looked as if they had just stepped out of a Specsavers advert. However on the upside whilst waiting for our drinks for the table to arrive I spotted they had got a bottle of Absolut on their table - yum! 'Will' - winner of Geek 2005 informed me they hadn't been out in 6 months but were splashing out tonight as they had just got a bonus. I decided at this point not to speak to Will as he was weird. Instead I turned my attention back to our own table where there were now a couple more girl in equally (if not more) revealing dresses and instantly felt more at home!
Carlton came back over and soon after Saskia and some of the Arab Men from the hotel after party last week were there. Aaah! HE wasn't with them, was he coming? Was he back in Dubai? I so wanted to see him again - and just as I was thinking that, in he walked and right up to me. "Hello again" he said and leant in for a kiss (on the cheek, come on!) and I felt like I lingered for a little bit, did he feel that? I hope not. Or did I? I have GOT to calm down! I don't know what to say so I tell him I was going to text him the other day (I wasn't), he asked me why I didn't, I don't know why I didn't - ugh - this was getting messy! Luckily my fave Kanye West song came on and I jumped up precariously onto the sofas and danced, Saskia to one side, an alarmingly fake-looking girl to the other and drink in hand!
The night carried on until a relatively tame 2:30am when some guy I had seen a couple of times, Carlton, Saskia and I decided to go. Outside the guy with Saskia had his chauffeur-driven Bentley waiting - yay! We jumped in and headed to an unknown destination - ooh I do love a bit of adventure! there were drinks and music aplenty so for a short while I still thought I was in a club (this is when I realised I was quite drunk.) We pulled up to the Lanesborough Hotel and all of a sudden it was very very quiet. With the music off our voices seemed louder than ever and I vaguely remember walking through the main lobby and upon spying a super-realistic deer in a christmas display, urging Saskia to sit on it while I took a picture. Oh dear.
We were taken up to the most beautiful, luxurious hotel suite (not a room dahling - please. A suite or penthouse will do) - and seriously, it was amazing. Impossibly high celiings, fine art and portraits hung on the walls with decadent wall coverings and curtains from floor to ceiling. Chandeliers that just begged to be swung from domintated each room, only being upstaged by the unmistakable smell of money. We sat and talked and drank from the elegant drinks cabinet for a few hours. When I visit the bathroom it's like stepping into a palace! It's roughly the size of a small apartment and had the biggest bath I have ever seen! It had big, draping, luxurious curtains which you could pull around it and even a little step to get into it. All I could keep thinking was darnit - if only SK were here I would so get him into that bath. I loved the bath.
Come 5am I am done for. I had come to the end of my line. I flopped on the bed and passed out waking up to find Carlton laying on one side of me and Saskia on the other. Super Rich Man had gone to work at 5am (aka gone home to the wife) and I was feeling SICK. I could literally feel vodka pouring through my veins and the urge to vomit exceeded my urge to sleep. I told Carlton and Saskia as much and they agreed we should get up and order some serious room service. I had a craving for a full english breakfast, but also a grilled chicken salad - so I got both. Half an hour of painful hunger-pain pangs later a cute little old butler arrives and hurries about setting the table up with a pristine white table cloth, crystal and silver.
Meanwhile the oddest looking threesome, Saskia, the normally well-heeled and well-turned out brunette sitting in somewhat streaky makeup, the lowest cut pink dress you ever saw and clear stripper shoes on her feet, even though we'd been to sleep, the tall black guy who looks like he's just been dug up and me, slumped over my chair, occasionally heaving at the smell of the food and balking at the brightness of the tablecloth wearing the shortest dress you've ever seen. That's because it's not actually a dress. It's a top!
One disappointing bite of sausage later and I can't do it. The food turns my stomach and I have lost the ability to swallow. I retire back to the bed, resigned and hungry.
Later that day, once the icky feeling had worn off to a degree that I could talk about food without heaving - Saskia and I headed over to East London for a photoshoot with Company magazine. We were to do a feature about dating the same guy and now we're friends! Ha, we couldn't wait to do it then post it to FGF! Ha ha! He thought he was such a God and he really, really was'nt! the shoot style was cool, all vintage furniture mixed with retro pink 80's style telephones and fairy lights. I hope the pictures come out well and the article is a nice, positive one. As I have learned from experience, too many magazines and papers try to screw you over or make you look bad. Only the other day I got a text from my ex-boyfriend saying that my; and I quote: 'slut stories' were being published in The Star again. I eventually got hold of a copy and in there is my face taking up almost the entire left-hand side of the page that was taken about six months ago. I remember the day well... I had a quick picture session booked in for lunch time. When it came to getting ready for it I realised I had completely forgotten my makeup! That day my face appeared in a national paper with not a stitch of make up on. I was soooo not happy about that!
My poor ex does suffer from my little press exploits - last christmas I had a feature in The Star about how crap he was at buying christmas presents. This christmas it was about me kissing some guy from my office at a christmas party - while I was still going out with him. Poor boy!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
28. Essex, Essex, Essex!
By the time I had finally gotten home it was after 2:00pm and I immediately got in my car and went shopping with my sister. I had to keep up the momentum otherwise I knew I would crash and burn on my bed and not be able to go out that night.
Later on that evening my sister's friend Ken came round and asked if he could put his sim card in her phone as he needed to call someone but didn't have any battery. My delightful sister refused as it has wiped her phone of messages before and there were things on there she wanted to keep. So what does she do? She gives Ken MY phone! And alas, everything on my phone was wiped, the pictures from The Footballer, of his hot, hot body, and loads of messages that I had saved from him over the months. (I know, it's sad but some are just too sweet to get rid of) - months of hard work gone in an instant. I was so mad I cried, I actually cried. Looking back maybe it was just a little tres dramatic, but at the time I felt so crushed.
Anyway I soon realised that I should just shut up and get on with getting ready to go out (again). I decided to wear a comfy combo of skinny jeans with knee high boots and a boob-bursting tweed top I bought recently. The top button doesn't actually do up it's so tight but damn I love it! That top always gets results!
It was an unusual night out in Essex for me as:
1. None of my friends were there - they all cried off with various reasons - come on, what happened to the hard-core crew?!
2. My sister and her friends were. My sister NEVER goes to clubs - she hasn't been for about 5 years, no exaggeration! But as it was her friend's birthday and for the occasion she decided to grace us with her presence!
3. I wasn't going to Talk - my mecca, instead I was going to Mayhem, another club in Southend. (Who knew there was one?)
I have a new-found respect for Mayhem you know. It's the only club in Southend with a VIP area, you can hire this out in the form of pods and you can get waitress service. Very London.
So anyway, Basement Jaxx were appearing there that night and the queue was horrendous - I hate to admit that I am ruined, I can't contemplate queuing anymore, it just doesn't happen! I wish I could just do it but I can't. It seems wrong that I can get into the greatest clubs in London without even thinking of queuing or paying and get taken to a table with free drinks all night that would probably add up to the price of a small house, yet I would have to queue for some shabby Essex dive. No. Not working out. So we stand the other side of the door with about five others and get taken in straight away. The long queue at this point is booing but I don't care, ha ha! We get ushered inside and given Pod Passes (Mayhem's equilvalent of a VIP pass) and go through without paying a penny, no questions asked.
It got me thinking about that woman who scaled barriers in a ball gown and got into some of London's biggest premiers. If you act the part, look the part and seem as if you should be there - no one will question you. In other words: "Fake it until you make it." We weren't any different from anyone else in the queue, it's just they chose to queue up in the freezing cold for probably about two hours and pay £15 to get in, whereas I chose not to. I often think that when Saskia and I roll up to clubs and just head straight through, I look at the people queuing and wonder why they're not questioning the treatment they're getting. Once someone mistakenly asked us to pay, the look on our faces was as if she'd asked us to strip. She soon realised her error and we went straight through. But still.
Anyway, the whole night was good, got free drinks, saw Basement Jaxx, some boy was horrible to me so I got him chucked out, all in a night's work really. Was all going swimmingly until my dopey sister decided to walk into a door (yes, a door) and cut her eye open. We had to go to hospital and I got to sit in the front of the ambulance! I was well impressed!
Four hours, two triage appointments and some ranting and crying later (her, not me) we leave A and E with some steri-strips and what looks like a piece of toilet paper stuck to my sister's head. Always a good night that ends in injury I say!
Later on that evening my sister's friend Ken came round and asked if he could put his sim card in her phone as he needed to call someone but didn't have any battery. My delightful sister refused as it has wiped her phone of messages before and there were things on there she wanted to keep. So what does she do? She gives Ken MY phone! And alas, everything on my phone was wiped, the pictures from The Footballer, of his hot, hot body, and loads of messages that I had saved from him over the months. (I know, it's sad but some are just too sweet to get rid of) - months of hard work gone in an instant. I was so mad I cried, I actually cried. Looking back maybe it was just a little tres dramatic, but at the time I felt so crushed.
Anyway I soon realised that I should just shut up and get on with getting ready to go out (again). I decided to wear a comfy combo of skinny jeans with knee high boots and a boob-bursting tweed top I bought recently. The top button doesn't actually do up it's so tight but damn I love it! That top always gets results!
It was an unusual night out in Essex for me as:
1. None of my friends were there - they all cried off with various reasons - come on, what happened to the hard-core crew?!
2. My sister and her friends were. My sister NEVER goes to clubs - she hasn't been for about 5 years, no exaggeration! But as it was her friend's birthday and for the occasion she decided to grace us with her presence!
3. I wasn't going to Talk - my mecca, instead I was going to Mayhem, another club in Southend. (Who knew there was one?)
I have a new-found respect for Mayhem you know. It's the only club in Southend with a VIP area, you can hire this out in the form of pods and you can get waitress service. Very London.
So anyway, Basement Jaxx were appearing there that night and the queue was horrendous - I hate to admit that I am ruined, I can't contemplate queuing anymore, it just doesn't happen! I wish I could just do it but I can't. It seems wrong that I can get into the greatest clubs in London without even thinking of queuing or paying and get taken to a table with free drinks all night that would probably add up to the price of a small house, yet I would have to queue for some shabby Essex dive. No. Not working out. So we stand the other side of the door with about five others and get taken in straight away. The long queue at this point is booing but I don't care, ha ha! We get ushered inside and given Pod Passes (Mayhem's equilvalent of a VIP pass) and go through without paying a penny, no questions asked.
It got me thinking about that woman who scaled barriers in a ball gown and got into some of London's biggest premiers. If you act the part, look the part and seem as if you should be there - no one will question you. In other words: "Fake it until you make it." We weren't any different from anyone else in the queue, it's just they chose to queue up in the freezing cold for probably about two hours and pay £15 to get in, whereas I chose not to. I often think that when Saskia and I roll up to clubs and just head straight through, I look at the people queuing and wonder why they're not questioning the treatment they're getting. Once someone mistakenly asked us to pay, the look on our faces was as if she'd asked us to strip. She soon realised her error and we went straight through. But still.
Anyway, the whole night was good, got free drinks, saw Basement Jaxx, some boy was horrible to me so I got him chucked out, all in a night's work really. Was all going swimmingly until my dopey sister decided to walk into a door (yes, a door) and cut her eye open. We had to go to hospital and I got to sit in the front of the ambulance! I was well impressed!
Four hours, two triage appointments and some ranting and crying later (her, not me) we leave A and E with some steri-strips and what looks like a piece of toilet paper stuck to my sister's head. Always a good night that ends in injury I say!
27. The After Party's At My Body!
We all rolled into some chauffered cars that were waiting outside for us and I remember taking the shortest trip of my life, about 15 seconds round the corner to the Westbury Hotel on Bond Street. Actually scrap that. One year I went to the BAFTAs with my sister and we were just walking up to the red carpet when we were quickly ushered inside a car with Jimmy Carr. We sat silently not really knowing what to think when only two seconds after getting into the car I found myself getting rather ungainly out again. Flash bulbs a go-go until they realised they didn't know who I was (hey my mum loves me!) - THAT was the shortest journey ever!
I digress!
We pull up to the Westbury Hotel and make our way to the party. Aparantly the Arab guys have a penthouse suite in the hotel and plan to carry on all night. These boys were hard core! I realise Saskia isn't with me - she must have gone off with some boy she was chatting to all night. He must have something cos he was as ugly as sin. I wasn't too keen on the Arabs either until she said the magic words: "I can SMELL the money! It's dripping - and if you want it dripping on you - get in there!" So I did!
It's only when I entered the penthouse that I realised I had walked into some strange kind of sex party. I am not even joking. Bearing in mind we had all just come in from a club, there is one girl already walking around in just a thong. (so very wrong) and there are way too many blonde girls for this to be just any old party. I stay for a bit, chatting and dancing, dancing and chatting then I hit my low point. The end. It's 5:30am - I have been at work all day, had to endure The Kuwaiti for more than an hour, I have drunk best part of a magnum of vodka, danced all night and flirted my little butt off - I was going to bed.
I crawled into the first bed I could find praying, like only a truly drunk/hungover girl prays that no one will disturb her blissful oblivion of unconciousness. It wasn't to be. these boys wanted to party and party I would.
I woke up over five times that night with various men stradling me holding my arms down. The first time I screamed and got the reaction of the hottest guy I have ever seen who came in to look after me. He told me to go to sleep, told the man in question where to go and to leave me alone and then stayed and stroked my hair until I was in a peaceful slumber once more... until the next time. (once there were people having sex about 5 inches away from me, but I was too tired and drunk to care.)
Now call me naive but I didn't realise that laying down on a double bed in the middle of a sex party was more or less an open invitation. I really didn't. So I didn't take what happened too seriously. I woke up that morning lying next to Hot Dubai Man and it sounds soooo gross, but I had never felt so safe. I felt I could trust him so much - I felt like.... no surely not! I maybe liked him more than... The Footballer? Can't be!
We laid in bed and talked for what seemed an age - not because it was strained or boring, but because I felt like I had known him forever. For risk of sounding gay - I was on top of the world! He told me he the director of his family's investment business (cher ching!) in Dubai and that he comes to London about twice a month. He flies two or three of his friends over each time for some hard-core partying and hires a penthouse for 'whatever else'. I was enraptured! He told me he was going back to Dubai on Monday so would I come out again that very night? I couldn't as I promised my sister I would go back to Essex and go out, plus - I can't hadle that kind of shit two nights in a row!
I then did something I haven't done in a long time - I slept with him on impulse, a virtual stranger to me. I didn't care - he was been so kind, and he was going back to Dubai, somewhere I had never been and had to think twice about before spelling. I threw caution to the wind and we had the most amazing sex (safe of course, duh!) for what seemed like forever. It was only once we were laying down again that some random got up off the floor and staggered out. I coudln't believe it!! For the first time that morning I looked around me and realised there were about two or three of the Arab guys were passed out on the floor and were in various stages of undress. Oh well, you could call it a variation of Cosmo's 'getting caught' scenarios!
He had to leave to take one of his friends back to their hotel (a whiney boy who obviously couldn't go on his own - what's that about?) but left me over £100, enough to get a car home from the hotel. It was just as well - all I had with me was my tiny short dress and it was now Saturday midday in busy, busy London!
I took a look around the penthouse whilst waiting for my car to arrive and it looked just like a Robbie Williams video I have seen where everyone's passed out in various stages of undress and intoxication, there are bottles of champagne EVERYWHERE, along with an extraordinary amount of condoms and cigarettes. There's even chewing gum in the carpets. Jeez. This party was going to cost them a pretty penny - and it was starting all over again tonight!
Finally concierge call to say my car's there and I leave, wondering if I'll ever be back. It's only as I get in the lift with a pervy old man and a young family with children that I realise I am wearing the shortest, most see-through dress, full makeup from the night before and heels as high as you like. I am painfully aware what they're thinking and not for the first time this year I want to shrink into my own pocket. (If I had one. I didn't even have proper underwear.)
I try to finally relax for what seems like the first time in what seems ages and enjoy the ride home.
I digress!
We pull up to the Westbury Hotel and make our way to the party. Aparantly the Arab guys have a penthouse suite in the hotel and plan to carry on all night. These boys were hard core! I realise Saskia isn't with me - she must have gone off with some boy she was chatting to all night. He must have something cos he was as ugly as sin. I wasn't too keen on the Arabs either until she said the magic words: "I can SMELL the money! It's dripping - and if you want it dripping on you - get in there!" So I did!
It's only when I entered the penthouse that I realised I had walked into some strange kind of sex party. I am not even joking. Bearing in mind we had all just come in from a club, there is one girl already walking around in just a thong. (so very wrong) and there are way too many blonde girls for this to be just any old party. I stay for a bit, chatting and dancing, dancing and chatting then I hit my low point. The end. It's 5:30am - I have been at work all day, had to endure The Kuwaiti for more than an hour, I have drunk best part of a magnum of vodka, danced all night and flirted my little butt off - I was going to bed.
I crawled into the first bed I could find praying, like only a truly drunk/hungover girl prays that no one will disturb her blissful oblivion of unconciousness. It wasn't to be. these boys wanted to party and party I would.
I woke up over five times that night with various men stradling me holding my arms down. The first time I screamed and got the reaction of the hottest guy I have ever seen who came in to look after me. He told me to go to sleep, told the man in question where to go and to leave me alone and then stayed and stroked my hair until I was in a peaceful slumber once more... until the next time. (once there were people having sex about 5 inches away from me, but I was too tired and drunk to care.)
Now call me naive but I didn't realise that laying down on a double bed in the middle of a sex party was more or less an open invitation. I really didn't. So I didn't take what happened too seriously. I woke up that morning lying next to Hot Dubai Man and it sounds soooo gross, but I had never felt so safe. I felt I could trust him so much - I felt like.... no surely not! I maybe liked him more than... The Footballer? Can't be!
We laid in bed and talked for what seemed an age - not because it was strained or boring, but because I felt like I had known him forever. For risk of sounding gay - I was on top of the world! He told me he the director of his family's investment business (cher ching!) in Dubai and that he comes to London about twice a month. He flies two or three of his friends over each time for some hard-core partying and hires a penthouse for 'whatever else'. I was enraptured! He told me he was going back to Dubai on Monday so would I come out again that very night? I couldn't as I promised my sister I would go back to Essex and go out, plus - I can't hadle that kind of shit two nights in a row!
I then did something I haven't done in a long time - I slept with him on impulse, a virtual stranger to me. I didn't care - he was been so kind, and he was going back to Dubai, somewhere I had never been and had to think twice about before spelling. I threw caution to the wind and we had the most amazing sex (safe of course, duh!) for what seemed like forever. It was only once we were laying down again that some random got up off the floor and staggered out. I coudln't believe it!! For the first time that morning I looked around me and realised there were about two or three of the Arab guys were passed out on the floor and were in various stages of undress. Oh well, you could call it a variation of Cosmo's 'getting caught' scenarios!
He had to leave to take one of his friends back to their hotel (a whiney boy who obviously couldn't go on his own - what's that about?) but left me over £100, enough to get a car home from the hotel. It was just as well - all I had with me was my tiny short dress and it was now Saturday midday in busy, busy London!
I took a look around the penthouse whilst waiting for my car to arrive and it looked just like a Robbie Williams video I have seen where everyone's passed out in various stages of undress and intoxication, there are bottles of champagne EVERYWHERE, along with an extraordinary amount of condoms and cigarettes. There's even chewing gum in the carpets. Jeez. This party was going to cost them a pretty penny - and it was starting all over again tonight!
Finally concierge call to say my car's there and I leave, wondering if I'll ever be back. It's only as I get in the lift with a pervy old man and a young family with children that I realise I am wearing the shortest, most see-through dress, full makeup from the night before and heels as high as you like. I am painfully aware what they're thinking and not for the first time this year I want to shrink into my own pocket. (If I had one. I didn't even have proper underwear.)
I try to finally relax for what seems like the first time in what seems ages and enjoy the ride home.
Monday, December 11, 2006
26. V I P - Learn Your Acronyms!
On Friday night Saskia and I arrange to go to out, I am still experiencing a slight problem with having somewhere to get ready so I make the somewhat hasty/foolish decision to use Crazy Kuwaiti's apartment. I am lured in by it's beautifully central location and extensive getting-ready facilities! I know that the crazy one himself is going out to Tiger Tiger of all places that night for a work party so he would be totally out of my hair - the only reason I agree to go there. Luckily after enduring only half an hour of his tediously repetitive ramblings he heads on out and the real work gets under way. Come 11:00pm I am just putting the finishing touches to my hair and makeup and panicking about the fact that I am wearing the shortest, most transparent dress (I use the term 'dress' loosely - it was actually a top!) and I have forgotten any underwear (very Lohan).
In my haste all I could buy was a lime green thong with a putrid butterfly in a totally unneccessary place for an extortionate £6 from Accessorise. Windy night+tiny dress with even tinier thong=red face and embarrasing accidental flashes!
Just as I am putting my shoes on HE comes back - goddamnit what could he want?? He says he's come back to charge his phone, and begs me to go back with him to Tiger Tiger to - and I quote: 'show me off' to his work friends. Ugh. I can't imagine anything worse, although Saskia is late waiting for some boy and I could do with some drinks. So after agreeing he buys me all my drinks (obligitory) and gives me some money for a taxi to where I'm meeting Saskia we head off. One short taxi ride later and I arrive in Hell. Seriously, have you ever been to the London Tiger Tiger? What a stark contrast to the Newcastle one. In Newcastle it's huge with loads of different rooms and of course the all-important VIP lounge for those free champagne tables and hottie footballers! The London branch is an over-packed, sweaty mess with one large room like a church hall. Ok so it's not that bad but seriously - it's soooo crowded!
Like a clapping seal I perform the whole crowd-pleasing routine, meeting, greeting, smiling, drinking and praying for Saskia to hurry up so I can get the hell outta there. His work friends are actually really cool, nothing like him, and one's pretty hot. We get chatting when Crazy Boy reminds me that I 'should be flirting with HIM!' I should be 'making HIM look good!' Blah, blah, whatever - I'm not your bitch!
Luckily at this point I was saved by the bell and left to meet Saskia in Leicester Square. After checking out the dresses and heels and agreeing that we both look suitably slutty we head off to Cafe De Paris. At least we thought it was Cafe De Paris, when we turned up and found out that, shock horror, our names weren't on the guest list we realised we were at Cafe Royal. An easy mistake for two half-drunkards to make!
We finally get to Cafe De Paris and not only are our names on the guest list (no queuing or paying for me thank you lady) as usual we also got VIP access to a table upstairs couresy of her events manager, Carlton. Although I am always grateful for being invited to the VIP tables I have to say I am not overly impressed with Cafe De Paris' ones. Not only is the VIP area a long tunnel-like balcony but the vodka on the table was one of the skankiest brands I have ever seen. The last time I was in this particular club was about two years ago for the finals of Miss Great Britain, I think I will remain a rare night out from now on!
Saskia introduced me to a man she went to school with, aparrantly he had just finished filming a huge blockbuster that was to be out in the cinemas the following year. She later told me he has said I was hot and that we wanted to ask me out on a date. If he's going to be the next Jude Law then hey, jackpot! We decided to move on and took Saskia's events manager and a Lithuanian girl called Ora who bears a striking resemblance to Chelsy Davy with us.
It was once we got outside we found out that two girls Saskia knew had tried to get in but were turned away. I know this is commonplace in a club like this but I was shocked when I heard it was not because they simply didn't look good enough (always the excuse) but because they were too FAT. Now I have had a little fattie issue myself of late.
I had always been one of those jammy girls that can eat and eat and be oblivious to the inside of a gym yet still retain my size 8 - 10 figure. Of late (since all the the drinking) I find myself struggling into a size....... 12. It's hit my like a bullet between the eyes and I must confess.... only one pair of my work trousers fits me right now. I feel like a blonde Roseanne Barr, hang on - that's Vanessa! It's so not a good look and I find myself writing diet plans I never stick to, driving to Tescos to buy fruit I never eat, and going to the gym, only to decide to have a sunbed when I get there instead. It's a dire, dire situation and while I would have laughed at the misfortune of these girls before and maybe quietly said "Fattie Fattie!" whilst chuckling, I now feel their pain.
We headed over to Mo*Vida and Nicky took us to a private table with a bunch of Arabic-looking men who turned out to be the most minted, hottie guys from Dubai with a mission to party! Carlton expalined we mustn't move onto other men's tables. I am beginning to understand the game now. Guys like Nicky have deals with rich guys or the exclusive clubs to get the most amount of partying, pretty girls on their table. So girls like Saskia and I are somewhat obligated to make their table look good - and in return we get VIP entry, no queuing (perish the thought) no paying and free drinks ALL NIGHT. What more could you want? Everyone's a winner!
We were all introduced and we get stuck in to the main task - drinking! That's when I notice the BIGGEST bottle of vodka on the table - seriously I am not even kidding - it was as long as one of my arms, fully extended, if not bigger! I felt the rise of a challenge inside me as I struggled to pick up the bottle. Luckily they were (in some respects) gents, and poured all my drinks for me so I didn't have to strain myself on the monster bottle.
By 4am Saskia and I were pretty wasted. 5 hours, as many toilet trips, 1 large bottle of vodka and some networking and dancing later we were ready to go. Home? No way! This night isn't even over yet!
In my haste all I could buy was a lime green thong with a putrid butterfly in a totally unneccessary place for an extortionate £6 from Accessorise. Windy night+tiny dress with even tinier thong=red face and embarrasing accidental flashes!
Just as I am putting my shoes on HE comes back - goddamnit what could he want?? He says he's come back to charge his phone, and begs me to go back with him to Tiger Tiger to - and I quote: 'show me off' to his work friends. Ugh. I can't imagine anything worse, although Saskia is late waiting for some boy and I could do with some drinks. So after agreeing he buys me all my drinks (obligitory) and gives me some money for a taxi to where I'm meeting Saskia we head off. One short taxi ride later and I arrive in Hell. Seriously, have you ever been to the London Tiger Tiger? What a stark contrast to the Newcastle one. In Newcastle it's huge with loads of different rooms and of course the all-important VIP lounge for those free champagne tables and hottie footballers! The London branch is an over-packed, sweaty mess with one large room like a church hall. Ok so it's not that bad but seriously - it's soooo crowded!
Like a clapping seal I perform the whole crowd-pleasing routine, meeting, greeting, smiling, drinking and praying for Saskia to hurry up so I can get the hell outta there. His work friends are actually really cool, nothing like him, and one's pretty hot. We get chatting when Crazy Boy reminds me that I 'should be flirting with HIM!' I should be 'making HIM look good!' Blah, blah, whatever - I'm not your bitch!
Luckily at this point I was saved by the bell and left to meet Saskia in Leicester Square. After checking out the dresses and heels and agreeing that we both look suitably slutty we head off to Cafe De Paris. At least we thought it was Cafe De Paris, when we turned up and found out that, shock horror, our names weren't on the guest list we realised we were at Cafe Royal. An easy mistake for two half-drunkards to make!
We finally get to Cafe De Paris and not only are our names on the guest list (no queuing or paying for me thank you lady) as usual we also got VIP access to a table upstairs couresy of her events manager, Carlton. Although I am always grateful for being invited to the VIP tables I have to say I am not overly impressed with Cafe De Paris' ones. Not only is the VIP area a long tunnel-like balcony but the vodka on the table was one of the skankiest brands I have ever seen. The last time I was in this particular club was about two years ago for the finals of Miss Great Britain, I think I will remain a rare night out from now on!
Saskia introduced me to a man she went to school with, aparrantly he had just finished filming a huge blockbuster that was to be out in the cinemas the following year. She later told me he has said I was hot and that we wanted to ask me out on a date. If he's going to be the next Jude Law then hey, jackpot! We decided to move on and took Saskia's events manager and a Lithuanian girl called Ora who bears a striking resemblance to Chelsy Davy with us.
It was once we got outside we found out that two girls Saskia knew had tried to get in but were turned away. I know this is commonplace in a club like this but I was shocked when I heard it was not because they simply didn't look good enough (always the excuse) but because they were too FAT. Now I have had a little fattie issue myself of late.
I had always been one of those jammy girls that can eat and eat and be oblivious to the inside of a gym yet still retain my size 8 - 10 figure. Of late (since all the the drinking) I find myself struggling into a size....... 12. It's hit my like a bullet between the eyes and I must confess.... only one pair of my work trousers fits me right now. I feel like a blonde Roseanne Barr, hang on - that's Vanessa! It's so not a good look and I find myself writing diet plans I never stick to, driving to Tescos to buy fruit I never eat, and going to the gym, only to decide to have a sunbed when I get there instead. It's a dire, dire situation and while I would have laughed at the misfortune of these girls before and maybe quietly said "Fattie Fattie!" whilst chuckling, I now feel their pain.
We headed over to Mo*Vida and Nicky took us to a private table with a bunch of Arabic-looking men who turned out to be the most minted, hottie guys from Dubai with a mission to party! Carlton expalined we mustn't move onto other men's tables. I am beginning to understand the game now. Guys like Nicky have deals with rich guys or the exclusive clubs to get the most amount of partying, pretty girls on their table. So girls like Saskia and I are somewhat obligated to make their table look good - and in return we get VIP entry, no queuing (perish the thought) no paying and free drinks ALL NIGHT. What more could you want? Everyone's a winner!
We were all introduced and we get stuck in to the main task - drinking! That's when I notice the BIGGEST bottle of vodka on the table - seriously I am not even kidding - it was as long as one of my arms, fully extended, if not bigger! I felt the rise of a challenge inside me as I struggled to pick up the bottle. Luckily they were (in some respects) gents, and poured all my drinks for me so I didn't have to strain myself on the monster bottle.
By 4am Saskia and I were pretty wasted. 5 hours, as many toilet trips, 1 large bottle of vodka and some networking and dancing later we were ready to go. Home? No way! This night isn't even over yet!
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