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!

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.

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...."

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!

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:

"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.

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:

• 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!

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.

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,

'But what's happened to Essex Girl, she wouldn't let no man tell her what to
wear or how to do her hair!'

and you're right. I ordinarily wouldn't. But what you're thinking of is a girl getting ready to go 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.

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!

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

• 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!)