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!
Friday, December 29, 2006
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!
Thursday, November 30, 2006
25. The Master Plan
Meanwhile I have been reading up on this whole 'sugar babying.' Leidra Lawson's book has revolutionised my way of thinking about this whole thing you know. Before I was just taking it as it came, with no plan of action, no tactics - nothing! I was walking into a minefield with not a clue how to avoid getting my leg blown off. So while I am disappointed I may have ruined things with FGF through my own ignorance, at least I can put it down to experience and build up a master plan. I didn't realise this thing was so hard, although of course it must be, otherwise every woman would be doing it! I can't get it right the first time! Oh, I forgot to tell you about FGF. He and I have drifted apart somewhat. I think he likes his 'babies' to be complacent and sit and smile and look pretty like those geisha dykes, but Saskia and I just wanna party, and I think the fact we like each other more than we like him was doing his fragile middle-aged ego some damage! So we are going it alone!
He has fled to India until the new year when we will reassess our 'relationship' - my theory is that his son has been kidnapped and he is going there to buy him back again. Or maybe he's just visiting. (It's odd that he's the dad yet he has sole custody of his son when his mother is living in a totally different country.... hmmmm, bit of baby-buying going on here?)
It's scary not having him as my backup but I am determined to follow the rules and forge ahead with a masterplan. My first obstable I have to overcome is finding a new place to stay in London. I must admit I am rather enjoying this quiet period of respite back in cosy Essex, that was until last night, Saskia texts me saying do I want to go to the Roberto Cavalli party in Mo*Vida and then onto a private table at Pangaea? I am so mad at myself for losing the FGF and with it my apartment, mad at myself for not keeping a spare party dress and heels in my bottom draw at the office and even madder at myself for letting this opportunity pass me by. Still, there's plenty more where that came from according to Leidra, so long as I work hard at the regime, work well with my sugar baby buddy (the newly-appointed Saskia) and devise a master plan.
I fessed to Saskia that I met FGF the same way she did, as before this FGF wanted me to keep it a secret, and she agreed that we need to go it alone, find some more Daddies and get what we want! And so that's exactly what we're going to do!
He has fled to India until the new year when we will reassess our 'relationship' - my theory is that his son has been kidnapped and he is going there to buy him back again. Or maybe he's just visiting. (It's odd that he's the dad yet he has sole custody of his son when his mother is living in a totally different country.... hmmmm, bit of baby-buying going on here?)
It's scary not having him as my backup but I am determined to follow the rules and forge ahead with a masterplan. My first obstable I have to overcome is finding a new place to stay in London. I must admit I am rather enjoying this quiet period of respite back in cosy Essex, that was until last night, Saskia texts me saying do I want to go to the Roberto Cavalli party in Mo*Vida and then onto a private table at Pangaea? I am so mad at myself for losing the FGF and with it my apartment, mad at myself for not keeping a spare party dress and heels in my bottom draw at the office and even madder at myself for letting this opportunity pass me by. Still, there's plenty more where that came from according to Leidra, so long as I work hard at the regime, work well with my sugar baby buddy (the newly-appointed Saskia) and devise a master plan.
I fessed to Saskia that I met FGF the same way she did, as before this FGF wanted me to keep it a secret, and she agreed that we need to go it alone, find some more Daddies and get what we want! And so that's exactly what we're going to do!
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
24. Lesbians And Sushi
I wake up, well I say wake up - it sounds as if it would be from a peaceful sleep, not a painful semi-concious state, interrupted every half an hour with the need to vomit. Anyway, I wake up on Friday morning feeling rougher than 
velcro and realising it is half ten in the morning. After ten minutes of struggling with the remote to open the poxy curtains I decide to head out of the door without taking last night's makeup off, putting today's on or brushing my hair. The only part of my body to get any kind of treatment was my teeth got a brushing - they deserved it after the sickness. My friend J went to the dentists once and he could tell that she drinks and is sick alot as it had taken all the enamel off the back of her teeth! My stomach bile which forcibly exited my body at around 9:00am that morning was so acidic it could have melted steel I am sure, so I was feeling guilty on my teeth you see.
I couldn't face the tube that morning, me and the central line needed a break from one another so I thought I would take the relaxing option of ordering a car. What a mistake that was. How do London drivers not know where they are in London? I asked him to take me to Cannon Street, we pull up outside some building by St Paul's to the unneccecarily chirpy announcement that
"We're here!" No, no, no no no no NO! We're blatantly NOT here! Aaarh!! I felt like pulling the little Asian guy from his seat and driving myself. Eventually I get to work at around 12 midday, over THREE HOURS late! This is NOT good. Luckily no-one really seems to notice and I manage to slip in unscathed.
I spend the remainder of my day trying not to heave, forcing my eyes to stay open and vowing 'never to drink again'. Later that night back at the apartment FGF tells me we're all going out for dinner. Yay! Now by 'we all' I find out means me, him, the brother and two lesbians he plans to watch have sex later. Nice. FGF,
brother and I set out and pick up the girls at Fifty, Fifty! I mean, how on earth did they get in Fifty, they're LESBIANS for Christ's sake! Gay they may be, but soon I find out they're two of the cleverest sugar babies I've met. I could learn from these girls. (and by learn I mean sugar baby tactics not, like, sex tips for same sex orgies - no!)
We go to Nobu for drinks and before I know it my vow to not drink is out of the window and I
find myself with a large vodka, lime and lemon in my clammy little hungover hand. Not even nine hours before I was wretching in the bathroom and I felt the need to tell everyone this, along with the fact that:
a. In the last 24 hours I had been sick more times than I had drank so therefore I must have lost weight
b. My drinks taste like sick - I need to drink something I didn't regurgitate only hours before
The girls are friendly, entertaining - almost geisha-like in their mannerisms and the men are content with our little table with enough food, drinks and girls to keep them satisfied. It's not long before we decide to head to a club. The lesbos are keen on Pangaea but I refuse to go two nights in a row and we all settle upon Mo*Vida. I'm happy we didn't have to naked arm wresetle or anything to come to this decision, just a simple vote - the perfect lesbian democracy.
Mo*Vida is hot, heaving and sweaty - just how I like my men, ha ha! FGF takes us through a secret door and through the back of the club round all the kitchens, where on earth
are we going? We end up meeting a snotty girl in a dress that shouldn't be worn with boobs anything less than a C cup who is guarding her precious velvet rope as if her life depended on it. We are quickly ushered into the infamous VIP room and get one of the only champagne tables in there. Tables in clubs annoy me so much. You have to pay at least £1k usually to get a table by ordering a bottle of their champagne - but I HATE champagne! Call me unrefined or whatever but I can't tolerate the stuff - one sip and I am ill for about three days.
I order more vodka and check out the room to see who's there. There are several guys who look hot and the annoying thing is I don't know who they are. Half the guys in there were probably footballers for some of London's biggest clubs but even when I met my Footballer in Newscastle I didn't have a clue who he was. I have tried researching on the internet for squad pictures so I can swat up a bit but they all mould into one - they're all tall, fit, (I mean physically) quiet and
usually black. I get talking to one of them who comments on our strange group - what strange group I indignantly ask?!? Ok so there's fat Indian guy lounging on the sofas alternating between kissing me and giving me drinks and watching the lesbians being all over eachother (eiw), said lesbians dancing with eachother in that rather uncomfortable, intimate way that only gays know how to do to make everyone else in the room suddenly find the floor very interesting. They occasionally give eachother dirty looks and the Brother is standing watching it all go on and occasionally trying to grab one of the lesbo's hands - hello! She likes GIRLS!! I explain the whole thing to him and he is somewhat astonished at our strange little set-up.
Hmm, it got me thinking - was I so far into this whole thing that I couldn't see clearly anymore? was it normal to date a guy who has more girlfriends than Hugh Hefner and is twice your age? Maybe not but the other girls and I were having fun and considered ourselves to be the winners of the situation so what does it matter?
It did get me thinking though how maybe my family and friends may not be as open-minded as us and that I should censor what I tell them. The hot boy had taught me a lesson - loose lips sink ships. I would remember this for the rest of my sugar baby days.
velcro and realising it is half ten in the morning. After ten minutes of struggling with the remote to open the poxy curtains I decide to head out of the door without taking last night's makeup off, putting today's on or brushing my hair. The only part of my body to get any kind of treatment was my teeth got a brushing - they deserved it after the sickness. My friend J went to the dentists once and he could tell that she drinks and is sick alot as it had taken all the enamel off the back of her teeth! My stomach bile which forcibly exited my body at around 9:00am that morning was so acidic it could have melted steel I am sure, so I was feeling guilty on my teeth you see.I couldn't face the tube that morning, me and the central line needed a break from one another so I thought I would take the relaxing option of ordering a car. What a mistake that was. How do London drivers not know where they are in London? I asked him to take me to Cannon Street, we pull up outside some building by St Paul's to the unneccecarily chirpy announcement that
"We're here!" No, no, no no no no NO! We're blatantly NOT here! Aaarh!! I felt like pulling the little Asian guy from his seat and driving myself. Eventually I get to work at around 12 midday, over THREE HOURS late! This is NOT good. Luckily no-one really seems to notice and I manage to slip in unscathed.I spend the remainder of my day trying not to heave, forcing my eyes to stay open and vowing 'never to drink again'. Later that night back at the apartment FGF tells me we're all going out for dinner. Yay! Now by 'we all' I find out means me, him, the brother and two lesbians he plans to watch have sex later. Nice. FGF,
brother and I set out and pick up the girls at Fifty, Fifty! I mean, how on earth did they get in Fifty, they're LESBIANS for Christ's sake! Gay they may be, but soon I find out they're two of the cleverest sugar babies I've met. I could learn from these girls. (and by learn I mean sugar baby tactics not, like, sex tips for same sex orgies - no!)We go to Nobu for drinks and before I know it my vow to not drink is out of the window and I
find myself with a large vodka, lime and lemon in my clammy little hungover hand. Not even nine hours before I was wretching in the bathroom and I felt the need to tell everyone this, along with the fact that:a. In the last 24 hours I had been sick more times than I had drank so therefore I must have lost weight
b. My drinks taste like sick - I need to drink something I didn't regurgitate only hours before
The girls are friendly, entertaining - almost geisha-like in their mannerisms and the men are content with our little table with enough food, drinks and girls to keep them satisfied. It's not long before we decide to head to a club. The lesbos are keen on Pangaea but I refuse to go two nights in a row and we all settle upon Mo*Vida. I'm happy we didn't have to naked arm wresetle or anything to come to this decision, just a simple vote - the perfect lesbian democracy.Mo*Vida is hot, heaving and sweaty - just how I like my men, ha ha! FGF takes us through a secret door and through the back of the club round all the kitchens, where on earth
are we going? We end up meeting a snotty girl in a dress that shouldn't be worn with boobs anything less than a C cup who is guarding her precious velvet rope as if her life depended on it. We are quickly ushered into the infamous VIP room and get one of the only champagne tables in there. Tables in clubs annoy me so much. You have to pay at least £1k usually to get a table by ordering a bottle of their champagne - but I HATE champagne! Call me unrefined or whatever but I can't tolerate the stuff - one sip and I am ill for about three days.I order more vodka and check out the room to see who's there. There are several guys who look hot and the annoying thing is I don't know who they are. Half the guys in there were probably footballers for some of London's biggest clubs but even when I met my Footballer in Newscastle I didn't have a clue who he was. I have tried researching on the internet for squad pictures so I can swat up a bit but they all mould into one - they're all tall, fit, (I mean physically) quiet and
usually black. I get talking to one of them who comments on our strange group - what strange group I indignantly ask?!? Ok so there's fat Indian guy lounging on the sofas alternating between kissing me and giving me drinks and watching the lesbians being all over eachother (eiw), said lesbians dancing with eachother in that rather uncomfortable, intimate way that only gays know how to do to make everyone else in the room suddenly find the floor very interesting. They occasionally give eachother dirty looks and the Brother is standing watching it all go on and occasionally trying to grab one of the lesbo's hands - hello! She likes GIRLS!! I explain the whole thing to him and he is somewhat astonished at our strange little set-up.Hmm, it got me thinking - was I so far into this whole thing that I couldn't see clearly anymore? was it normal to date a guy who has more girlfriends than Hugh Hefner and is twice your age? Maybe not but the other girls and I were having fun and considered ourselves to be the winners of the situation so what does it matter?
It did get me thinking though how maybe my family and friends may not be as open-minded as us and that I should censor what I tell them. The hot boy had taught me a lesson - loose lips sink ships. I would remember this for the rest of my sugar baby days.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
23. My High Heeled Partner In Crime
A friend of mine once went travelling alone after suffering a life-changing experience.
She deemed it a life-altering time, saw some amazing sights, heard some amazing stories and experienced some incredible things – but her one regret from her year of travelling is that she didn’t take anyone with her. She had no one to share everything with. Only the other week I was out at one of London’s most exclusive bars, sipping on an impossibly-named cocktail and I suddenly wished that one of my friends could do this whole scene with me, wanted to experience all these modern landmarks of London that get featured not in a London guide or history books, but make their very own history in Victoria Newton’s Bizarre pages, and provide the setting for many of the gossip pages of celeb mags and red-tops alike.
The only thing is that none of my friends are like me, which is rather fortunate really! They’re all fabulous, the most special friends a girl could wish for and the fact that we’re so different is what makes us work. I believe this is the secret recipe to have been friends for so many, many years. However when I think about who would be able to join me on this crazy adventure of clubs, celebs, men and London society I can’t think of one. They all have such different priorities and my one seriously party-loving gal pal has recently become a teacher which takes up her energy, thoughts and time.
I talked to my sister about it and made a wish for a Sugar Baby Buddy to join me on my adventure. Someone who would appreciate the places we were going, understand the protocol and be happy staying out as late as we wanted with whoever we wanted wearing our skirts short and our heels high! Where on earth was I going to find a girl just like that? Just like me, who wanted the same things? Right in front of me of course, the sort of girl who too would go out with a Sugar Daddy, with My Fairy God Father in fact! Saskia!
Although I originally thought her stuck up and a little bichy, like all bitches she’s great fun and up for all the same things as I am. She asked for my number on the night we met and we’ve been texting ever since. She asked me out one night last week – her friend who’s a model was making a tv show about model lifestyles and partying in London – free drinks would be supplied at Umbaba, was I up for it? Was I ever!
The night was last Thursday, we had planned our outfits (both short dresses, the more
revealing the better was the rule) and sky high heels! I relished in wearing my highest gold and black peeptoes with black ribbon tied in a bow round the ankle. They had barely made it out the box in the past before being deemed too dressy or too high. You see, back in Essex my friends have a trend of wearing flat pumps out to clubs, I do refuse to do this, even though I am the tallest of my friends by at least a head. So of course it’s more or less logistically impossible to go out wearing my favourite skyscrapers. Thankfully Saskia’s a model which means she’s as tall as me and is fond of a heel or two. So I can safely go out in her company without her looking like my rather well-developed child.
Umbaba was great, and we soon secured a guy to pay for everything we wanted in there. He was sweet-looking and an absolute dead-ringer for Steve-o from Jackass, only older. I noticed, (as I always look now) that he had a wedding ring on. That’s fine, it’s his life, but when he went to the bathrooms and returned without it on I grew a little suspicious of him. I don’t like men doing that. If you want a mistress then be up front about it – don’t sneak around with a little band of white skin on your finger that you think no one has noticed. I mean, come on I am blonde, but I’m not stupid, dumbass!
One hour, 5 sex on the beach cocktails, and too many sex on the beach innuendos later Saskia and I decide to join Fairy God Father, his brother, his friend (the editor) and FGF’s annoyingly naive ‘girlfriend’ in Pangaea. They picked us up and somehow all four of us squashed in the back of his usually impossibly spacious Range Rover while ‘the girlfriend’ swanned around in comfort in the front seat. Grrr. Saskia and I were ready to party! It was at this point I decided it would be a good idea to have a competition with her to see who could get the most free drinks. Hmm.. a seemingly pointless game seeing as FGF had a table with waitresses so everything was paid for anyway. Kind of reminds me of celebrities playing TV gameshows with cash prizes. They already have all the cash, they give this lot to charity - but it's still fun seeing what you can get though!
During one of our circuits round the club we met a guy with a vodka table!! Bottles of vodka and mixers lined up with a bucket of ice - my idea of heaven! He invited us to stay and party with them for a little while and to help ourselves to drinks. I fear from here on in I do go decidedly downhill. I have no self-control where free alcohol is concerned, I feel like I must drink as much as I can for the sake of all the times when I was younger where I have had to pay for it myself. I am doing it for my inner-geek. The girl I was at school who never would have got free drinks! You could say that I'm making up for lost time.
By 4AM I find myself back at the table, kissing a rather hot black guy who is calling me his wife, with yet another mysterious drink in my hand, Saskia is dancing with the freakiest little guy I have ever seen (she was one of the girls dancing in the Freddy Le Grand video - how cool?) and FGF is almost passed out on the couches. Steve-o from Umbaba is there too... it's all a little strange. I decide there and then I have to leave. I am going to be sick and I will be darned if all my weeks of hard work, socialising, partying and portraying this perfect 'sugar baby' image are going to be destroyed with one shocking and very public regurgitation.
I grab FGF's brother who is staying in one of the rooms at the apartment and Saskia, make our
apologies to the others and head off home in the lurchiest/speediest car I have ever ridden in. Thank God clubs like Pangaea have valet and their own drivers and cars on call right away, for not even a minute after my head hit the pillow was I up seeing my once-tasty cocktails again, only this time they weren't so tasty.
My last waking thought was - "Oh crap, I have to be in work in four hours...."
She deemed it a life-altering time, saw some amazing sights, heard some amazing stories and experienced some incredible things – but her one regret from her year of travelling is that she didn’t take anyone with her. She had no one to share everything with. Only the other week I was out at one of London’s most exclusive bars, sipping on an impossibly-named cocktail and I suddenly wished that one of my friends could do this whole scene with me, wanted to experience all these modern landmarks of London that get featured not in a London guide or history books, but make their very own history in Victoria Newton’s Bizarre pages, and provide the setting for many of the gossip pages of celeb mags and red-tops alike.
The only thing is that none of my friends are like me, which is rather fortunate really! They’re all fabulous, the most special friends a girl could wish for and the fact that we’re so different is what makes us work. I believe this is the secret recipe to have been friends for so many, many years. However when I think about who would be able to join me on this crazy adventure of clubs, celebs, men and London society I can’t think of one. They all have such different priorities and my one seriously party-loving gal pal has recently become a teacher which takes up her energy, thoughts and time.
I talked to my sister about it and made a wish for a Sugar Baby Buddy to join me on my adventure. Someone who would appreciate the places we were going, understand the protocol and be happy staying out as late as we wanted with whoever we wanted wearing our skirts short and our heels high! Where on earth was I going to find a girl just like that? Just like me, who wanted the same things? Right in front of me of course, the sort of girl who too would go out with a Sugar Daddy, with My Fairy God Father in fact! Saskia!Although I originally thought her stuck up and a little bichy, like all bitches she’s great fun and up for all the same things as I am. She asked for my number on the night we met and we’ve been texting ever since. She asked me out one night last week – her friend who’s a model was making a tv show about model lifestyles and partying in London – free drinks would be supplied at Umbaba, was I up for it? Was I ever!
The night was last Thursday, we had planned our outfits (both short dresses, the more
revealing the better was the rule) and sky high heels! I relished in wearing my highest gold and black peeptoes with black ribbon tied in a bow round the ankle. They had barely made it out the box in the past before being deemed too dressy or too high. You see, back in Essex my friends have a trend of wearing flat pumps out to clubs, I do refuse to do this, even though I am the tallest of my friends by at least a head. So of course it’s more or less logistically impossible to go out wearing my favourite skyscrapers. Thankfully Saskia’s a model which means she’s as tall as me and is fond of a heel or two. So I can safely go out in her company without her looking like my rather well-developed child.
Umbaba was great, and we soon secured a guy to pay for everything we wanted in there. He was sweet-looking and an absolute dead-ringer for Steve-o from Jackass, only older. I noticed, (as I always look now) that he had a wedding ring on. That’s fine, it’s his life, but when he went to the bathrooms and returned without it on I grew a little suspicious of him. I don’t like men doing that. If you want a mistress then be up front about it – don’t sneak around with a little band of white skin on your finger that you think no one has noticed. I mean, come on I am blonde, but I’m not stupid, dumbass!One hour, 5 sex on the beach cocktails, and too many sex on the beach innuendos later Saskia and I decide to join Fairy God Father, his brother, his friend (the editor) and FGF’s annoyingly naive ‘girlfriend’ in Pangaea. They picked us up and somehow all four of us squashed in the back of his usually impossibly spacious Range Rover while ‘the girlfriend’ swanned around in comfort in the front seat. Grrr. Saskia and I were ready to party! It was at this point I decided it would be a good idea to have a competition with her to see who could get the most free drinks. Hmm.. a seemingly pointless game seeing as FGF had a table with waitresses so everything was paid for anyway. Kind of reminds me of celebrities playing TV gameshows with cash prizes. They already have all the cash, they give this lot to charity - but it's still fun seeing what you can get though!
During one of our circuits round the club we met a guy with a vodka table!! Bottles of vodka and mixers lined up with a bucket of ice - my idea of heaven! He invited us to stay and party with them for a little while and to help ourselves to drinks. I fear from here on in I do go decidedly downhill. I have no self-control where free alcohol is concerned, I feel like I must drink as much as I can for the sake of all the times when I was younger where I have had to pay for it myself. I am doing it for my inner-geek. The girl I was at school who never would have got free drinks! You could say that I'm making up for lost time.
By 4AM I find myself back at the table, kissing a rather hot black guy who is calling me his wife, with yet another mysterious drink in my hand, Saskia is dancing with the freakiest little guy I have ever seen (she was one of the girls dancing in the Freddy Le Grand video - how cool?) and FGF is almost passed out on the couches. Steve-o from Umbaba is there too... it's all a little strange. I decide there and then I have to leave. I am going to be sick and I will be darned if all my weeks of hard work, socialising, partying and portraying this perfect 'sugar baby' image are going to be destroyed with one shocking and very public regurgitation.
I grab FGF's brother who is staying in one of the rooms at the apartment and Saskia, make our
apologies to the others and head off home in the lurchiest/speediest car I have ever ridden in. Thank God clubs like Pangaea have valet and their own drivers and cars on call right away, for not even a minute after my head hit the pillow was I up seeing my once-tasty cocktails again, only this time they weren't so tasty.My last waking thought was - "Oh crap, I have to be in work in four hours...."
Thursday, November 23, 2006
22. Leidra Lawson - A Legend In Her Own Right
At the weekend I decided to go out and have fun with my friends so on Friday my two friends from college Nic P and Nik K came over for the night. I was grateful for the normality of their company after the strange week I'd had. They came round and did what they do best - drink! Fairy God Father went out and bought them some Malibu and Coke and me some Vodka and Lemonade and we drank for loooong time! It was just what I needed!FGF's brother and one of his film editors (I think they make, like, Bollywood or something!) was staying too for a couple of days so they drank with us. Unfortunately Nik K and
FGF didn't see quite eye to eye with their conversations veering toward the horrifying: "Why do you think so many girls like you? Is it just because you have money?" HELLO!! I AM one of those girls!! and him giving as good as he got. Bless her for standing up for me though. When she realised he was open about seeing many other girls she said I deserved better and that he should be lucky he had me. Whether or not that's true is another matter but I was really grateful to her for saying it. Nic P on the other hand loved him and the two got on famously! Unfortunately what my friends (and most people) can't understand is this Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby relationship. I, myself was struggling until I came across a book written by an American woman called Leidra Lawson. It's a guide on how to secure a Sugar Daddy, and how to be the best Sugar Baby you can be. The woman is a genius and gives advice on every aspect of this extraordinary world. I feel like it's opened up a whole new ball game now as I realise I was dating FGF completely blind to this strange world where normal rules don't apply. Thank goodness I got my hands on a copy of this book before it was too late!
One of the major things I realise I am doing wrong is I am selling myself as a cubic zirconia. I need to be a DIAMOND! I thought I was going about it the right way by pretending to not really know how much things were and being 'amazed' by stuff - but really I need to be more demanding yet refined and aknowlege how much he's spending - and assure him that's just fine! I have a vulgar habit of making people guess how much my outfit cost - when people say how much they like something straight away I'm like: "Primark!! £4 would you believe it!!!" This is typical cubic zirconia behaviour, infact it may even be QVC style crystal. I need a radical metamorphasis and I can feel it happening day-by-day. I feel like I am getting an education in London clubs, style, entertaining, modus operandi and men, and sometimes feel somewhat like a geisha in training. It can only be good though and I don't think I am far off becoming a diamond yet (or at least acting like one). I think my basic rule is: Whatever my natural instinct is - go against it, and hey presto! I am going to treat this like a challenge, sort of like The Crystal maze, each night is a new game that I must win to get to the next level - at the end who knows what will be my prize?
One of Leidra Lawson's pearls of wisdom: 'It's not where you come from that matters, it's up to you where you end up.' Forget the wisdom and give me the pearls!
Back in Essex...
My friends S and J called to say that we were going to TALK tonight - yay!! Okay I do love trendy London nightspots, but you can't beat a good night out at Talk and this diamond was taking a night off to revert back to her original cubic zirconia status! I got dressed up in my gorgeous new dress and headed on over to S's for some good old fashioned pre-drinking!
One large bottle of Absolut and 2 Sean Paul albums later and we're on the road to Southend, to our Mothership, our Mecca - Talk Nightclub! Good time is had by all for several hours and I arrive home feeling somehow refreshed, recharged (in a tired, drunk sort of way) and ready to face another week of diamond-training!
21. Back In The Game!
Oh my goodness. Woke up at about 4:00am with a raging hangover and the thirst equal to that of a fish in the Sahara. I stumbled out to the kitchen and drank some water out of the tap that's never used so is probably going to poison me - it tasted so so good though so I didn't care. If I had waited any longer for some liquid I would have turned into a little pile of dust on my bed.That's when I remembered the awful, awful truth! That I had called The Footballer last night - and I think I may have ruined the one 'relationship' (I use this term very loosely) that I had been trying to preserve for so long. I checked my call log and it told me I had been on the phone to him for over an hour and a half - what on earth had we been talking about? (or was I just leaving a really long voicemail?) My head was throbbing and I was beginning to feel sick. I don't know if it was part of the hangover or the thought that I may have destroyed months of hard work in one night. I decided to go back to bed and sleep it off a bit before thinking about it again as it was hurting my brain.
I woke up again at about 11:00am feeling much better to the sound of my phone ringing. Ugh, who's it going to be? My ex had an annoying habit of calling me alot lately - or
it would be my mum saying "What time are you home? I want you to come and look at some curtains." Now I know now what my mum means by 'looking at curtains' - it's anything but. We go to Homebase or some other store intending to do some DIY but end up having a massive lunch out and buying clothes I don't need. Hey - this might not be so bad! But no, it's neither of them - when I look I see it's The Footballer!! What?? I can hardly contain my excitement, or amazement when I answer the phone. (so not a good look)"Hello babe" he says, "Bit drunk last night were you?" Uh oh, I think, what on earth happened? What did I say? It can't be that bad as he is calling me now. We end up chatting for a while and it is slowly revealed to me that during that phone conversation last night I:
- Told him that I had seen his boss out that night, and that he looked like Anne Robinson (eek!)
- Why didn't he see me more? I missed him! (double eek!)
- That I had showed a variety of people a picture of his.... thing and they were all as amazed
and impressed as me! I may have talked about this part of his anatomy in quite a favourable manner for quite a while... - I was seeing a guy who had several girlfriends and that I had just got back from a triple date (oh no...)
- I actually gave him a QUIZ on things I have told him over the past year and he had to answer, he actually got almost all of them right, I was well impressed! (apparantly there was a theme tune to the quiz which I felt the need to sing to him - not even thinking about it, my head will explode)
- and finally (and maybe the worst) I told him about THIS. About my plan to write a book. AAAH!
He was the one person I was most terrified about finding out about my book. I was shocked at his response though: He said, and I quote:
"You told me you always wanted to write a book, but once you met me it gave you the inspiration to do it - I can't believe it, no one's ever said anything like that to me." (what? He actually likes it?)
I assured him that no one is named in the book and you can't tell who it is to which he replied:
"Oh what? I don't mind you saying who I am, infact in the front I want you to say - "I want to thank (his name here) for helping me to write this book.
I thought I was hearing things, it turns out that being drunk and being totally open and honest with him about how much I did genuinely like him worked! He was so much more open with me now and we chatted easily for a while. He assured me he wanted to see me soon (I still don't believe him) and told him as much. He promised to check his fixtures list and call me later that day to let me know when he would next be down this way.
It turned out he was playing Arsenal that very weekend in London and so if they won he may be able to stay down for the Sunday - yay! I wasn't getting my hopes up as I have had them dashed in the past but there was a faint glimmer of hope. The Footballer was totally back in the game!
Saturday, November 18, 2006
20. The Illustrious Career Of A "Sugar Baby"
A Sugar Daddy is an older, wealthy man who gives money and/or gifts to a younger woman in return for her company, time, friendship and sometimes sexual needs (if they like eachother). That woman is a Sugar Baby.
It's been a week since I last wrote and what a week it's been! I find myself writing this chapter back in my office, feeling like I have never been away. I may not make too much sense due to extreme tiredness from the Essex home, London apartment commuting, the fact I haven't been at work all week due to crippling pain in my neck, the solitary confinements of my Baker Street home, and the complications that choice brings.
On Monday I decided to stay for most of the week in London as I couldn't go to
work and I didn't much fancy staying the whole week at home watching Trisha, I would go mad. I arrive at Green Park laden down with my stuff to support me in my role as a 'Sugar Baby' and go to the apartment. Fairy God Father and I decide to go out for some drinks and dinner, and head off to Collection. Once in there who on earth do I see? No, this isn't some exciting celeb-spot, no only Old But Gold! Darnit! I'm full of hasty apologies and make up rubbish lies and excuses for ignoring his calls. Oops, I hate confrontation!
FGF had rather taken to taking me under his wing and made sure I was taken out to London's hotspots and fed steak and vodka (in that order) each night, and rested my severely whiplashed neck on the softest down pillows during the day.
Although I am becoming a regular feature in my FGF's social calendar he still 'sees' on average about 8 other girls regularly. One particular night he was out on a first date, (I don't approve of
these, he can keep existing girls but why add new ones?) and asked me to join them for dinner and drinks. Now, I know what you're thinking, that this guy's grooming me for some scandalous, lewd sex act, but it's one thing to go on a threesome date, and another thing altogether to actually have a threesome.
The night was unusual, eventful and ultimately good fun had by all! The girl (I'll call her Saskia) was a year older than me at 22 and seemed to have all the same outlooks on men, dating and partying that I do, with the added wisdom of being on the London party circuit for a few years and with a typical model's connections! The three of us went to Nobu Berkeley for dinner although I have a SERIOUS PHOBIA of anything that was in the ocean and is now on a plate, so instead of eating - I mainly drink!*Nobu is a sushi restaurant.
FGF and Saskia begin to discuss this season's fashion and I know when asked where I love to shop it's going to come out of my mouth like word vomit faster than my real vodka-induced vomit comes out:
On Monday I decided to stay for most of the week in London as I couldn't go to
work and I didn't much fancy staying the whole week at home watching Trisha, I would go mad. I arrive at Green Park laden down with my stuff to support me in my role as a 'Sugar Baby' and go to the apartment. Fairy God Father and I decide to go out for some drinks and dinner, and head off to Collection. Once in there who on earth do I see? No, this isn't some exciting celeb-spot, no only Old But Gold! Darnit! I'm full of hasty apologies and make up rubbish lies and excuses for ignoring his calls. Oops, I hate confrontation!FGF had rather taken to taking me under his wing and made sure I was taken out to London's hotspots and fed steak and vodka (in that order) each night, and rested my severely whiplashed neck on the softest down pillows during the day.
Although I am becoming a regular feature in my FGF's social calendar he still 'sees' on average about 8 other girls regularly. One particular night he was out on a first date, (I don't approve of
these, he can keep existing girls but why add new ones?) and asked me to join them for dinner and drinks. Now, I know what you're thinking, that this guy's grooming me for some scandalous, lewd sex act, but it's one thing to go on a threesome date, and another thing altogether to actually have a threesome.The night was unusual, eventful and ultimately good fun had by all! The girl (I'll call her Saskia) was a year older than me at 22 and seemed to have all the same outlooks on men, dating and partying that I do, with the added wisdom of being on the London party circuit for a few years and with a typical model's connections! The three of us went to Nobu Berkeley for dinner although I have a SERIOUS PHOBIA of anything that was in the ocean and is now on a plate, so instead of eating - I mainly drink!*Nobu is a sushi restaurant.
FGF and Saskia begin to discuss this season's fashion and I know when asked where I love to shop it's going to come out of my mouth like word vomit faster than my real vodka-induced vomit comes out:
"PRIMARK! You can't beat a Primark Special!"*
*Primark Special is a phrase that my friends and I have cultivated for when you spot a classic item in the store - is to be shouted over the rails and other shoppers to alert your fellow friends to pick up the item immediately! May also be used after being asked where your top/belt/bag is from. Reply: It's a Primark Special.
I can't help it, I should do their PR seriously! Now although my Essex girl counterparts would cheer and unanimously agree these Bond
Street-shopping, Vogue-reading, catwalk show-visiting fashionista clotheshorses would gasp in dismay - so I drink. I drink when FGF leans in to Saskia for a kiss on the cheek, I drink when he rubs my knee blatantly in front of her and I drink most of the times inbetween. By the time the starters come I am pretty... well, drunk.FGF is speaking inconspicuously to a waiter for several minutes leaving Saskia and I wondering what's going on. One of FGF's other, rather less open-minded, rather more vunerable 'girlfriends' is also in the restaurant tonight, and Saskia and I need to adopt a 'cover' to protect her fragile mind. I, in my drunken condition was in no fit state to pose as my selected character, FGF's lawyer's daughter, (what kind of fool was going to believe that?) and Saskia defiantly refused to be played down, but then decides it would be somewhat amusing to play along as my 'school friend'.
We meet this 'girlfriend', Andi and her friend who is introduced as Miss Trinidad and Tobago (she most definately wasn't - although in my intoxicated state I announce I am amazed by her
acheivement and ponder aloud at why one country has the word 'and' in it for almost twenty minutes.) Andi is actually lovely and the whole set-up on reflection reminds me of my situation with The Footballer. He probably has a tonne of girls, one for each day yet I am so besotted with him that he feigns cellibacy for my peace of mind - this girl must be dumb though - we clearly weren't a lawyer's daughter and a school friend. My little counter-part and I made FGF squirm when Andi and her friend asked us questions about my dad and how we know FGF by slipping up in drunkeness and confusion of roles. I think Andi got the picture and when our table arrived they left, I presume leaving poor old FGF their bill.By about 11:00pm I am pursuaded to eat a little shredded beef, about enough to feet a small monkey, although the vodka combined with the improper use of chopsticks mean I go largely hungry. I make a mental note to myself that I would later forget not to drink so much, but blame it on the empty stomach and generous measures. I tend to repeat myself, loudly, alot - and get amazed by the most trivial things. Par examplar:
"WOOOOW!!! Look! There's KFC! Let's try and break in and get some chicken! OI! Cleaner!! I can seeeee yoooou in there!! Let me in to get some chicken! Chicken!!!"
We leave Nobu at gone midnight where I realise Christina Aguleria was sitting at the
next table to us the whole night! We also saw Jack Black from Tenatious D (I would so marry him!) and the unusual amount of papparazzi outside told me 
Michael Jackson was to arrive shortly after we left. I also saw The Newcastle United Manager, Glen Roeder (you know the one,
he looks like Anne Robinson) and it gave me the strange urge to call The Footballer, something I NEVER do!! (but more about that later)
As we leave and get in the car we see the bustling doorway of Funky Buddha and beg to go in for some more drinking but poor old FGF's shattered though from the stress of the secret-keeping from Andi (why bother?) and taking two young girls out and giving them vodka all night. I get back to the apartment, Saskia goes home as her mum's ill and FGF goes, well - who knows where he goes at night? I am still drunk, ready to party and have been sent to bed too early, so I
decide to call The Footballer. From there I don't really remember toooo much - however when I look back on my call records, my trusty little phone tells me we had been talking for over an hour and a half! What on earth about?!!? This must be the longest I have ever spoken to him EVER yet I can't remember a thing! I DO remember, however getting off the phone to him and feeling so, so elated that I jump around for a full ten minutes until I have to stop, lay down and try to regulate my breathing before I pass out. It was a goooood night.
decide to call The Footballer. From there I don't really remember toooo much - however when I look back on my call records, my trusty little phone tells me we had been talking for over an hour and a half! What on earth about?!!? This must be the longest I have ever spoken to him EVER yet I can't remember a thing! I DO remember, however getting off the phone to him and feeling so, so elated that I jump around for a full ten minutes until I have to stop, lay down and try to regulate my breathing before I pass out. It was a goooood night. Friday, November 10, 2006
19. A Brief History Of Time
There's me, Essex Girl, am 11, parents split up rather amicably, Daddy gets new girlfriend and moves away, Mother meets Scottish Man.. Big Sis meets Peck on Dating Direct and plans to move out, Essex Girl is left with the prospect of living alone with elderly Mother with ME who makes her feel guilty that she's never there and she's all alone. Mother and Scottish Man decide to move in together as Big Sis is moving out and Essex Girl is a London-tramp who's never home. All move to new house, Scottish Man drives Essex Girl to drink, Essex Girl makes rash statement to move out, rather regrets it and is now making a good impersonation of the Littlest Hobo - or perhaps a rather well-groomed tramp with a Pringle holdall rather than a shopping trolley.
And so this is how I find myself residing part-time in an apartment in Mayfair during my working week.
I have decided to spend the next week or so in London. It's working out quite well on one hand as well! I don't have to pay out the extortionate travel fare for the commute from Essex to London, I get driven to beautiful apartments in the most desirable locations around London, taken out to dinner then left to do as I please for the rest of the evening. I don't have to cook, a cleaner comes and sorts everything out and my office is a mere 15 minute tube ride away.
On the other hand however it is quite a lonely and solitude lifestyle (a bit like a hamster). Most of my friends are back in Essex and I am not at the stage of being comfortable enough yet to have friends staying over and going out.
Of course I wouldn't want it this way forever, and I love going home on the weekend and getting back to normality. I have been living on Baker Street this week and while it's relaxing and luxurious there are several things I am looking forward to:
We went to Hammersmith School Disco last weekend, it was so cool! I love anything that involves some slutty dressing up anyway! Combine that with a bottle of Absolut vodka, some cheesy school disco music worthy of Talk on a Thursday night and my crazy friends who love nothing more than dancing around with such vigour that they wake up with bruises and you have yourself a good night! I even wound up on the Hammersmith website!
We stayed until three in the morning and I am ashamed of the followig facts:
*I fell asleep actually in the club - true sign of a drunken girl.
*I was sick in the limo on the way home - nice.
*I spoke to some French boy for approximately 1 hour with the sole intention of getting a chuppa chup strawberry and cream lolly pop from him.
And so this is how I find myself residing part-time in an apartment in Mayfair during my working week.
I have decided to spend the next week or so in London. It's working out quite well on one hand as well! I don't have to pay out the extortionate travel fare for the commute from Essex to London, I get driven to beautiful apartments in the most desirable locations around London, taken out to dinner then left to do as I please for the rest of the evening. I don't have to cook, a cleaner comes and sorts everything out and my office is a mere 15 minute tube ride away.On the other hand however it is quite a lonely and solitude lifestyle (a bit like a hamster). Most of my friends are back in Essex and I am not at the stage of being comfortable enough yet to have friends staying over and going out.
Of course I wouldn't want it this way forever, and I love going home on the weekend and getting back to normality. I have been living on Baker Street this week and while it's relaxing and luxurious there are several things I am looking forward to:
- Being able to simply turn the tv on, not having to contend with finding the remote that releases it from the ceiling, trying in vain to turn it on for about half an hour through a vast amount of remotes and a wall control panel and finally giving up almost in tears in frustration.
- Actually having food and cutlery in a kitchen. It's not normal to have a fridge with only a bottle of vodka in it. (doesn't he know it's a sign of alcoholism to drink alone at home?)
- Being able to walk out of my front door and get in my car not worrying what I am wearing or what I look like. Now I have to walk past a lobby with a somewhat hot 24 hour ex-SAS security guy on the door who looks like he's watching my every move.
- Speaking to other real-life people, not just Fairy Godfather when he deigns me a visit. Ok I love him, he's a sweetie but I feel like I am getting Stockholme symdrome. When I am alone there I sometimes feel like I am in a huge, rather luxurious prison and when I have some human contact in the form of FGF I am so happy and jump all over him! This isn't a good sign!
I need to get my friends up to London some nights once I am more settled for some serious nights out on the town!
We went to Hammersmith School Disco last weekend, it was so cool! I love anything that involves some slutty dressing up anyway! Combine that with a bottle of Absolut vodka, some cheesy school disco music worthy of Talk on a Thursday night and my crazy friends who love nothing more than dancing around with such vigour that they wake up with bruises and you have yourself a good night! I even wound up on the Hammersmith website!We stayed until three in the morning and I am ashamed of the followig facts:
*I fell asleep actually in the club - true sign of a drunken girl.
*I was sick in the limo on the way home - nice.
*I spoke to some French boy for approximately 1 hour with the sole intention of getting a chuppa chup strawberry and cream lolly pop from him.
How the standards slip with simply the addition of a slutty school uniform!
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
18. One Night In Stepford (Wives)
I found myself back in London a few hours later, bag packed, ready for my after-work adventure! Tonight was the night I was going to stay in the apartment. Now it sounds dodgy but it isn't - you see this is just one of many The Fairy Godfather owns around London and he doesn't even live there. He said I can use it whenever I want which is terribly handy! There's nothing worse than being under each other's feet - at least here I can be on my own when I want. Kind of like a hotel...Anyway he picks me up from Green Park and takes me to the apartment so I can have a little sleep (v late night the night before!) and a shower. He says this place will be perfect for me, just one person as it's not too big and has a central location. Also it's just around the corner from his house. We turn up and it is in a lovely old building just off of Park Lane - we go in and ... wow!
This place was AMAZING! It's exactly how I would decorate somewhere if I had my own house and endless money. Everything was brand new as it had never been lived in and consisted of five bedrooms, six bathrooms, two lounges, a kitchen, two dining rooms, a steam room, sauna, jazuzzi, gym and a terrace.
It was PERFECT!
He left me to get ready and have a sleep and said he would come back to get me at about 9:00pm. The minute he was out the door I was running round having a look everywhere taking pictures on my phone as no-one would believe just how nice it was! I settled my stuff in the end bedroom, the biggest one! It had a huge dressing room and a massive bathroom with a beautiful freestanding bath and a shower big enough for a family of five Albanians.
Finally I realised I had to start getting ready and attempted to have a shower. I ran the water
for what seemed an eternity and it was just running cold. In the end, out of desperation I decided to just have a cold shower (remember it's November), to my dismay just as I am stepping out the water runs hot. I kept thinking it was doing this the whole time though as if you run cold water over your entire body long enough your mind starts to play tricks on you, telling you it's getting warmer. It's not. I realised it was because the water here hadn't been used in months and all I had to do was run it. I was so mad I was tempted to have another shower in scalding hot water to make up for the misery of the cold one. But the thought of broken veins and the lack of time stopped me.He came back to get me and we laid on the bed talking for a while, I asked where he had been - that's when he told me he had just been at a very famous British pop star's house who is permanently in my Top-Three Man List! I couldn't believe it! I had sooo missd out having my damn cold shower. The moral of the story here? Stay dirrty!
Anyway, we went out for dinner at a beautiful chinese restaurant in Soho. He was irritating me a bit as he kept texting. He has a harem of about 15 girlfriends and his phone rings CONSTANTLY. He often turns it upside down while we're out so you can't see it permanently flashing but when he looks at the end of dinner/whatever there are about 28 missed calls and twice as many messages. I am not even exaggerating. It's ok though, and this is the beauty of the relationship I wanted! You see - he has so many girls he dates that he isn't constantly nagging to see me. And that's sooo attractive!
At about 1:00am he drives me home (look at me calling the multi-million pound house 'home') and he doesn't stay even a minute. I'm relieved as I want to watch re-runs of Have I Got News For You and lay on the bed, texting and reading - and luckily he has another date to see to. Finally, the perfect relationship! I can't believe this could work but it does! Do I feel the slightest twinge of jelousy? Hell no! Lonlieness? Maybe.
When he's gone I realise it's dark out, very late and I am all alone in this huge show room of a house, brightly lit with not a thing out of line. It feels as fake as my boobs and wouldn't look out of place in Stepford.The apples in the holder in the kitchen are fake, the champagne bottle with the strawberries in the hot tub is unopened, the plastic is still on the inside of the fridge and the only personal touch in the entire house is the bottles of Evian, vodka and lemonade that have been put especially there for me. The beds have never been slept in and the bathrooms never used. Everything I touch seems to stick out like a sore thumb as it's now not in keeping with the impossible perfectness of the rest of the house.
I decided the best thing to do is watch the only tv I managed to get working (darn these plasma stylee, sky digital thingimibobs!) and lie on the bed whist trying to not think of scenes from Sixth Sense and Amityville Horror. I don't even contemplate trying to sleep with the tv or lights off and drift off into a suprisingly deep slumber in these strange surroundings.
Friday, November 03, 2006
17. Date Three - Fairy Godfather
My third date I was excited about. As they say, 'third time lucky' (also three times a lady!) and I hoped this was true of dating too. My theory is that the more guys you meet you more you can compare and find out what you really want. What you want might not be anything like what you originally set out to get. I am finding that now.
The guy I was met last night is a proper, old fashioned, bona fide Sugar Daddy. That's what he does. He lives and works in Mayfair and owns a tonne of property in the area as well as about 20 hotels around the world. (Just a little background info for you.)
I got to Green Park station, my tube of choice! Nice leafy paintings on the wall, a
good flow of people, a suprisingly talented busker and trains with door guards so you can't fall on the track and die, what more could you want? He met me in a Range Rover I would kill for if I wasn't so against them. I am really becoming a car girl now since I have been experiencing all these 
Top-Gear-appearance-worthy cars that would put my poor little KA to shame! He is lovely and I like him straight away.
I really do trust my instincts on things like this. I am lucky (touch wood) that in all my life with all the risks that young girls take when they think they're invincible nothing bad's ever really happened to me. When I meet people I tend to know if they're dodgy or not - I am a firm believer in the more you trust your instincts the more they will work for you.
Anyway, back to the point. We go to Mortons in Berkley Square for drinks first, is lovely although I am more and more thinking he is G A Y! He is totally into fashion and where I am
usually proud of my smart budget shopping and Primark finds I begin to wish I had paid more attention to the latest collections that were out. (Note to self: Buy Vogue and do homework)
He offers to take me shopping as he LOVES women's clothes and shoes (cross dresser alert) and even offered to book up an appointment for me at a top London hairdressers as apparantly my hair is too blonde. Should I be offended or grateful for this help? I decide on the latter as I am becoming ever-determined to lose my typical 'Essex' tag.
Now at this point I know you may all be screaming,
out and her boyfriend saying, don't wear that short skirt - wear these jeans and an ugly top from T K Maxx - NO! I am talking about taking up invaluable advice and the offer of free shopping from a guy who clearly knows his stuff. He knows all about what shoes Louboutin have brought out this season, exactly what shades I need in my hair to accentuate my skin tone and is like Trinny, Susannah and the Fairy Godmother I never had all rolled into one big man with good shoes.
We go on to dinner at some lovely chinese place and it's a reminder of my Aspinalls date - this place was possibly even fussier though. Even though the bottle of water and our glasses were all close to hand on the table he called the waiter to fill up our glasses. The weird thing is - I am getting strangely used to it all. At the beginning I found it disturbing to be hovered over constantly and watched for anything I might need. Now I find it comforting knowing that I don't really need to do anything. I have been to some amazing places over the last week and had some fabulous dinners (with fabulous little waiters!) and I am loving it all. Fairy Godfather has more money than he can spend and actively seeks girls to spend it on - I like!! We go on to a private member's club in Soho and have our last drinks of the night before I say it's too late and I have to go home, Cinderella stylee.
He gets me a car and pays for it to take me all the way home which is handy and says he wants to see me again the following night. I have a date with Old But Gold that night and there's also the issue of late nights and trains to Essex - they just don't mix. However, he tells me he owns apartments all over London and I can have one to use whenever I like - and so now there is no excuse to not stay out with him tomorrow night. 'Good work' I think to myself,
and promptly agree, making a mental note to let Old But Gold down gently tomorrow.
I finally get home at about 3:00am and suprise myself by waking up on time and heading straight back to London not even five hours after I left it.
The guy I was met last night is a proper, old fashioned, bona fide Sugar Daddy. That's what he does. He lives and works in Mayfair and owns a tonne of property in the area as well as about 20 hotels around the world. (Just a little background info for you.)I got to Green Park station, my tube of choice! Nice leafy paintings on the wall, a
good flow of people, a suprisingly talented busker and trains with door guards so you can't fall on the track and die, what more could you want? He met me in a Range Rover I would kill for if I wasn't so against them. I am really becoming a car girl now since I have been experiencing all these 
Top-Gear-appearance-worthy cars that would put my poor little KA to shame! He is lovely and I like him straight away.I really do trust my instincts on things like this. I am lucky (touch wood) that in all my life with all the risks that young girls take when they think they're invincible nothing bad's ever really happened to me. When I meet people I tend to know if they're dodgy or not - I am a firm believer in the more you trust your instincts the more they will work for you.
Anyway, back to the point. We go to Mortons in Berkley Square for drinks first, is lovely although I am more and more thinking he is G A Y! He is totally into fashion and where I am
usually proud of my smart budget shopping and Primark finds I begin to wish I had paid more attention to the latest collections that were out. (Note to self: Buy Vogue and do homework)He offers to take me shopping as he LOVES women's clothes and shoes (cross dresser alert) and even offered to book up an appointment for me at a top London hairdressers as apparantly my hair is too blonde. Should I be offended or grateful for this help? I decide on the latter as I am becoming ever-determined to lose my typical 'Essex' tag.
Now at this point I know you may all be screaming,
'But what's happened to Essex Girl, she wouldn't let no man tell her what toand you're right. I ordinarily wouldn't. But what you're thinking of is a girl getting ready to go
wear or how to do her hair!'
out and her boyfriend saying, don't wear that short skirt - wear these jeans and an ugly top from T K Maxx - NO! I am talking about taking up invaluable advice and the offer of free shopping from a guy who clearly knows his stuff. He knows all about what shoes Louboutin have brought out this season, exactly what shades I need in my hair to accentuate my skin tone and is like Trinny, Susannah and the Fairy Godmother I never had all rolled into one big man with good shoes.We go on to dinner at some lovely chinese place and it's a reminder of my Aspinalls date - this place was possibly even fussier though. Even though the bottle of water and our glasses were all close to hand on the table he called the waiter to fill up our glasses. The weird thing is - I am getting strangely used to it all. At the beginning I found it disturbing to be hovered over constantly and watched for anything I might need. Now I find it comforting knowing that I don't really need to do anything. I have been to some amazing places over the last week and had some fabulous dinners (with fabulous little waiters!) and I am loving it all. Fairy Godfather has more money than he can spend and actively seeks girls to spend it on - I like!! We go on to a private member's club in Soho and have our last drinks of the night before I say it's too late and I have to go home, Cinderella stylee.
He gets me a car and pays for it to take me all the way home which is handy and says he wants to see me again the following night. I have a date with Old But Gold that night and there's also the issue of late nights and trains to Essex - they just don't mix. However, he tells me he owns apartments all over London and I can have one to use whenever I like - and so now there is no excuse to not stay out with him tomorrow night. 'Good work' I think to myself,
and promptly agree, making a mental note to let Old But Gold down gently tomorrow.I finally get home at about 3:00am and suprise myself by waking up on time and heading straight back to London not even five hours after I left it.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
16. Date Two - Married Man
Since signing up to the site I have become so busy, replying to emails, checking back on their profiles so I know what they want and tell them what they want to hear, arranging dates, setting up lunches - I tell you what it's hard work and almost a full time job! I think it's time this PA got a PA of her own!I have been emailing several guys regularly but one really sticks out in my mind - we'll call him Married Man because he's exactly what he says on the tin. His emails are funny, witty and so
well written. I am a sucker for a guy who can write! After many, many emails we arranged to meet for lunch. He's 39, lives in London and wants someone seperate from the rest of his stress filled life to spend some down time with in and around London. We met at The Fine Line at Monument near to where I work, I've never been in there before and after today I know why (shabby service and overdone steak). We sat and chatted, chatted and ate, ate and drank and that's about it. He's nice - but so not what I'm looking for. And so that was the end of that one. I SHALL be assertive and tell him it's just not what I'm looking and hopefully I'm not what he's looking for either.UPDATE: Just checked inbox and got three emails from M.M asking why emails have stopped, I find myself replying feigning busyness and lost emails in cyberspace. Why am I so weak?!
Anyway, there was no time to worry about this as I had another hot date the very same evening - and this one I was making an effort for!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
15. Date One - Old But Gold!
Last night was my first date from The Site. I thought I had prepared everything, change of clothes for 5:30, make-up, cleansing wipes, perfume and chewing gum. However the day before I broke out in spots (stressed probably from the pressure to have perfect skin) and so had a 
usual dose of UV rays to clear it up - unfortuantely it all went horribly wrong which resulted in the burning of my face and I spent all day at work explaining my unusual crispy appearence to my colleagues. My skin was so hot and tight across my face I had to freeze wet paper towels and hold them to my cheeks and forehead to calm it down. Thankfully, by 5pm most of the swelling had gone down and all that remained of my 'accident' was some redness that could be covered up by makeup. The plan of action was into full swing - 5pm - discreetly pop out to the bathrooms and uncover makeup that was hidden away earlier, spend next 20 mins trying to make skin appear non-red and clear - misson accomplished!
I return to the office and remove all items from bag that I don't need that night, spray some perfume about, put on my carefully pre-selected jewellery and add some serum to my hair. Perfect. It's half five - back out to the toilets double checking I haven't forgotten anything as I go.
I change into black corset I bought just after I had my operation that looks great on (according to my friend, S, who if I ever doubt what to wear points out that this top is always a winner!),
put on some eyeshadow (ooh a new sparkly boujious one I bought especially for tonight!) and realise - SHOCK HORROR - I don't have any mascara! Luckily I work in a building that has a Boots just below it so run in, pay for one and head on down to the tube. Spend next twenty minutes squeezed tightly between sweaty shirts and an old tramp-like man on a seat which positions his face about 2 inches from my chest stares the whole way. Nice start!
I meet him at Green Park tube station and he picks me up in the nicest car I have ever seen ("that don't impress-a me much" - Shania Twain stylee) and I find out soon after the man collects.... not stamps, no, cars! He has 2 Aston Martins, a Mercedes and a Porshe - so unfair! First impressions were good - he seemed really nice and I felt immediately comfortable, not like there were going to be any uncomfortable silences. We go for drinks first at Claridges and this is where I first notice 2 things.
1. This guy is LOADED. Seriously, even by my standards he is RICH. He also knows EVERYONE at every nightspot in London.
2. He is OLD. Older than he first said. He told me he was 41, a young looking 41. That I could handle. When I told a secretary at work she assured me that her husband is 20 years older than her too and it's fine. So I was fine with the whole 41 thing. It turns out he's 42. That means he is exactly DOUBLE my age! That's just not right! And although he's good looking - he does look 42. Every day of it.
It occured to me that our dating is the equivalent in age as to me going out with my friend F's baby. I know it's different as you get older the gap closes and also it's ok for men to be older than women but whoa!! 21 years is alot for me to digest! As my friend N pointed out - he is about 3 years younger than her dad. Eiw. Funny how money can change your point of veiw though isn't it.
We end up going for dinner at Aspinalls and I notice (ooh here's the jew coming out of me!) that
he heavily tips the valet guys - Hello!! I could park it for him for £20! No, no, NO! Mustn't think like a jew anymore. I shall continue. Went inside and obviously I looked a bit shifty as not only did I have to be signed in (normal protocol for member's only clubs) but I also had my driving licence taken, my address checked and my picture taken! OTT maybe?
Dinner went perfectly and when I didn't know what to choose he told the waiter that he wished to order EVERYTHING on the chinese menu! What? Is this guy crazy? So there
I am about to have a duck pancake (my favourite thing) and he and the waiter both fight to put the duck into my pancake for me - I can't even do it myself. It goes the same with every dish I lean toward or even look at. Before I know it my little white-gloved waiter is there already putting some on my plate. It was nice - but a little overbearing!
The waiters which outnumbered us by a ratio of about 4:1 and suddenly appeared with a lighter the minute my date got a cigarette out were alway hovering about. Not only that but the place was so darn quiet that I became quite self concious of our conversation. What do you say when you know everyone's listening?
This is where it turned tricky - he started joking about me staying there the night, I mean, as if! I don't even have any cleanser or a tooth brush or clothes for tomorrow! I mean, err... no as if on a first date! He was starting to hold my hand across the table and I knew I was in trouble. My problem is I am not assertive enough. I can't turn people down face-to-face and it's really a problem! Well anyway we leave there shortly afterwards as it's getting late and before I know it I am kidnapped and taken to his house, literally. I am in the car saying no I really should go home now and he just keeps going. He is still really nice though so it's ok.
He lives in Kensington High Street in a really nice building and he has a strange cat who was giving me evils. Now I worry about men with cats. My mum used to have a long-time-single friend who had a cat. He used to make all sorts of jokes about what the cat and him got up to on those lonely nights - but it does make you wonder... wonder then heave.
I refuse to sit down and point out that I was technically being kidnapped but eventually realise he isn't bad but just a little eager. (When was the
last time he had sex? I wonder if he takes viagra?) All these thoughts going round in my head. I kiss him and it's ok - he is actually really nice I just hate being 'forced' into a situation I'm not happy with and wanted to be on my way home already. Luckily my moaning paid off and before I knew it I was in a car on my way home breathing a big sigh of relief.
The next day I get several emails from friends asking how the date went and I find myself reflecting on the night. Did I really like him or was it a classic case of the 'fluff' again that I first experienced with The Kuwaiti? I know I wasn't gagging to see him again but that was the whole purpose of this site - it wasn't for people to fall in love and get married. Not primarily anyway. Whenever I'm confused I always write my feelings down. I did this in the form of a list of pros and cons about the night.
Cons
usual dose of UV rays to clear it up - unfortuantely it all went horribly wrong which resulted in the burning of my face and I spent all day at work explaining my unusual crispy appearence to my colleagues. My skin was so hot and tight across my face I had to freeze wet paper towels and hold them to my cheeks and forehead to calm it down. Thankfully, by 5pm most of the swelling had gone down and all that remained of my 'accident' was some redness that could be covered up by makeup. The plan of action was into full swing - 5pm - discreetly pop out to the bathrooms and uncover makeup that was hidden away earlier, spend next 20 mins trying to make skin appear non-red and clear - misson accomplished!I return to the office and remove all items from bag that I don't need that night, spray some perfume about, put on my carefully pre-selected jewellery and add some serum to my hair. Perfect. It's half five - back out to the toilets double checking I haven't forgotten anything as I go.
I change into black corset I bought just after I had my operation that looks great on (according to my friend, S, who if I ever doubt what to wear points out that this top is always a winner!),
put on some eyeshadow (ooh a new sparkly boujious one I bought especially for tonight!) and realise - SHOCK HORROR - I don't have any mascara! Luckily I work in a building that has a Boots just below it so run in, pay for one and head on down to the tube. Spend next twenty minutes squeezed tightly between sweaty shirts and an old tramp-like man on a seat which positions his face about 2 inches from my chest stares the whole way. Nice start!I meet him at Green Park tube station and he picks me up in the nicest car I have ever seen ("that don't impress-a me much" - Shania Twain stylee) and I find out soon after the man collects.... not stamps, no, cars! He has 2 Aston Martins, a Mercedes and a Porshe - so unfair! First impressions were good - he seemed really nice and I felt immediately comfortable, not like there were going to be any uncomfortable silences. We go for drinks first at Claridges and this is where I first notice 2 things.
1. This guy is LOADED. Seriously, even by my standards he is RICH. He also knows EVERYONE at every nightspot in London.
2. He is OLD. Older than he first said. He told me he was 41, a young looking 41. That I could handle. When I told a secretary at work she assured me that her husband is 20 years older than her too and it's fine. So I was fine with the whole 41 thing. It turns out he's 42. That means he is exactly DOUBLE my age! That's just not right! And although he's good looking - he does look 42. Every day of it.
It occured to me that our dating is the equivalent in age as to me going out with my friend F's baby. I know it's different as you get older the gap closes and also it's ok for men to be older than women but whoa!! 21 years is alot for me to digest! As my friend N pointed out - he is about 3 years younger than her dad. Eiw. Funny how money can change your point of veiw though isn't it.
We end up going for dinner at Aspinalls and I notice (ooh here's the jew coming out of me!) that
he heavily tips the valet guys - Hello!! I could park it for him for £20! No, no, NO! Mustn't think like a jew anymore. I shall continue. Went inside and obviously I looked a bit shifty as not only did I have to be signed in (normal protocol for member's only clubs) but I also had my driving licence taken, my address checked and my picture taken! OTT maybe?Dinner went perfectly and when I didn't know what to choose he told the waiter that he wished to order EVERYTHING on the chinese menu! What? Is this guy crazy? So there
I am about to have a duck pancake (my favourite thing) and he and the waiter both fight to put the duck into my pancake for me - I can't even do it myself. It goes the same with every dish I lean toward or even look at. Before I know it my little white-gloved waiter is there already putting some on my plate. It was nice - but a little overbearing!The waiters which outnumbered us by a ratio of about 4:1 and suddenly appeared with a lighter the minute my date got a cigarette out were alway hovering about. Not only that but the place was so darn quiet that I became quite self concious of our conversation. What do you say when you know everyone's listening?
This is where it turned tricky - he started joking about me staying there the night, I mean, as if! I don't even have any cleanser or a tooth brush or clothes for tomorrow! I mean, err... no as if on a first date! He was starting to hold my hand across the table and I knew I was in trouble. My problem is I am not assertive enough. I can't turn people down face-to-face and it's really a problem! Well anyway we leave there shortly afterwards as it's getting late and before I know it I am kidnapped and taken to his house, literally. I am in the car saying no I really should go home now and he just keeps going. He is still really nice though so it's ok.
He lives in Kensington High Street in a really nice building and he has a strange cat who was giving me evils. Now I worry about men with cats. My mum used to have a long-time-single friend who had a cat. He used to make all sorts of jokes about what the cat and him got up to on those lonely nights - but it does make you wonder... wonder then heave.I refuse to sit down and point out that I was technically being kidnapped but eventually realise he isn't bad but just a little eager. (When was the
last time he had sex? I wonder if he takes viagra?) All these thoughts going round in my head. I kiss him and it's ok - he is actually really nice I just hate being 'forced' into a situation I'm not happy with and wanted to be on my way home already. Luckily my moaning paid off and before I knew it I was in a car on my way home breathing a big sigh of relief.The next day I get several emails from friends asking how the date went and I find myself reflecting on the night. Did I really like him or was it a classic case of the 'fluff' again that I first experienced with The Kuwaiti? I know I wasn't gagging to see him again but that was the whole purpose of this site - it wasn't for people to fall in love and get married. Not primarily anyway. Whenever I'm confused I always write my feelings down. I did this in the form of a list of pros and cons about the night.
Cons
- As old as the day is long. Ok he's 42 but he LOOKS old! People SO know what the deal is
- Kept on and on and on about me staying there (needy)
- Technically kidnapped me which is plain wrong
- Has a cat
Pros
- Absolutely MINTED - as neither of us are looking for love here this factor is important
- Took me to all my favourite places in London
- Has a house in Kensington which is v handy to get to work from and for staying out late!
Actually SAID the magic words: 'I will buy you a beetle!'
See and this is where it gets tricky. It's the thing the Bible warned me about. Temptation. I really do believe that if I went out with him on his terms until christmas I WOULD get a brand spanking new cream, leather interior cabriolet VW Beetle - my FAVE car!! I can almost see it sitting on my driveway! Is it really a good enough reason to stay and entertain this overly-paid overly-old man for a month or two?? As I always do I should think of it financially. It is a financially wise decision and I think I should go for it. He knows what I want and I got what he needs (in the words of Nelly Furtado!)
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