All the Above

So I failed to mention my actual wedding. So much build up and then silence. It was a great party. We got back to the hotel at 7am and had a blast. Thank you to all my friends and family – those who came and those who stayed away.

Here is a picture of the incredible pavlova that our friend Lillie made us. This pretty much sums up how great the day was.

I have been a lazy arse since returning to Dubai. The occassional swim but I have avoided the gym, I even avert my eye when I am forced to venture near it.

I never introduced you to ‘Vagina’ but she is the Russian lady who lives in the gym and who always seemed to work out at the same time as me. She doesn’t wear pants so every time she stretches you get an awkward view. Ulysses loves it. Anyhow apparently she is working out so much because she is desperate to put some muscle on her non-existent arse. How much would you pay for some of mine?

We did go to the water slide park, Wild Wadi. It is pretty cool. Although I hear the one an hour away serves booze, but then who would drive home? A day at a water slide park sadly doesn’t count as exercise. I gave it my all and even grazed my arm going 80 km p/hr on their near vertical slide, I was trying to save what dignity I have left – a worthy pursuit especially considering the ogling one gets dressed in an entire swimming costume. Wild Wadi is always packed with teenage boys so it’s not really a surprise but a lot of them have much bigger tits than me.

Dubai is a magnet for morons. The likes of Jim Davidson live here and we get enough Premier footballers coming here for public make up sessions with their wives. But, it also attracts really odious posh twats. I guess they are everywhere but I have run into a few recently who have really creeped me out.

We have new tenants moving into our London flat. I am now a property owner. Go marriage! Anyhow we get sent their background information and financial profile to approve them. Why would a music producer and his model girlfriend bringing in over £3K a week want our flat? I suspect they have a habit and need to be local to Hackney’s finest.

I am having corporate glamour shots done tomorrow for a presentation I am giving for another company. Trying to work out what to wear. It’s so bloody hot, all I want to wear is my pants.

On the subject of dress code. I have been invited to a school reunion in London. I went to high school in Sydney but it has got in the habit of having annual old girl gatherings in London, New York and Geneva – sums the place up really. Anyhow the dress code on the invite is tailored business attire – WTF? I suggested to one of the two friends I have left from school that we dress in matching mens suits and wear moustaches. She has suggested we boycott it and drink cocktails with people we actually like. I’m with her.

I found out recently that nonce means paedophile – I had no idea. Sorry to all the people I have called nonce in the past. I love the sound of it and thought it meant dick. Woops.

Hocus Pocus

My A/C is bust and it’s 40 degrees outside and inside. Luckily the A/C in the bedroom is working so I stayed in bed while 3 repairmen worked on fixing it.

They have been on the job for 2 hours, which is taking the piss so I went to investigate their progress. They responded with coy giggling. I was not amused and made that clear.

They produced a local newspaper and pointed to a picture of Emma Watson, saying that ‘you look like Hermione madam’ and ‘you get cross like Hermione to madam’.

It’s hard to stay cross. The landlord is going to cover the bill, so what if they take their time. I’m too hot to care.

By the way, I don’t look like Emma Watson. For one thing I am at least 12 years older than her and I grin too much.  My only trick is that I can wriggle my nose, but that’s more like Bewitched and it doesn’t make magic happen.

 

 

We are not amused

UK credit crisis  worsens

SOMEONE has to pay for the wedding

Never Darken My Dior Again

‘Never darken my Dior again’ My dad has been working this line into every conversation in recent weeks what with the crazy goings on with John Galliano. I never tire of Dad jokes. But, apparently this is a Dorothy Parker quote said when a waiter accidentally poured soup on her Dior in a NY restaurant.

DOOMED

Japan was hit by a massive earthquake this morning and is being threatened by 10m tsunamis. Scary shit indeed but this is the last straw.

What with revolutions threatening H’s availability, my mother taking ill in Sydney, the fact that its really unlikely we’ll make it back in time to get our marriage license sorted, and that our honeymoon destination could be a disaster zone. Our wedding has become a cluster fuck.

H suggested postponing everything but I can’t face it. Currently watching the news and wondering WTF?

The One Baloney

The One store is the Middle East’s attempt at doing a Habitat or Conran Store. At least it thinks it is. We have bought a sofa and a very expensive leather chair from the One store and I took delivery of it a week ago. The chair arrived with a metal logo attached to the front leg. I am furious. Who brands furniture like this? And who puts logos on wonky?

H just got back from Bahrain. His paper was holding him hostage just in case a new angle on the revolution broke. So our housemove has been delayed. We finally move in tomorrow.

H wouldn’t let me return the chair until he had seen it. He bought it for himself so fair enough. Anyhow I decided to do some prep and approached the new consumer rights group in Dubai. They were on stand by to take the One Store down (http://www.consumerrights.ae). They liked the idea that the case was based on aesthetics rather than another case of a broken watch. But, boy scout H managed to remove the logo with his pen knife so the drama’s over.

I went to the opening of a new creative space last week, The Pavilion by Shelter. The space is great, but the wall graffiti stating ‘Be Impressed’ was enough to make me leave early.

Ulysses has really upped the ante on my exercise. I have to do 150 star jumps and 100 ab cruches each time. Total bore. Not sure I will ever get the hang of it. And, the gym in our new place is much smaller, so I will have to star jump on the balcony in full view of the Marina walk Should humiliate me just that little bit more.

I am seeing the dressmaker tomorrow. Mum finally sent the fabric. God only knows what it is like. I am hopeful.

Now that H is back I have to get our wedding invites sorted. My friend loaned me her polaroid, a fellow analogue-er. Plan is to rent a costume horses head. Not sure why, just like the idea of H as a horse. Anyone want to give me therapy for a wedding present?

 

 

Whip It

Check out this article from Gulf News about the ‘gradual edifying reconciliation method’ for husbands struggling to reason with their wives. Unbelievable.

Circled section suggests several steps that a husband should explore before considering divorce.

Step One: Talk to your wife

Step Two: If talking doesn’t work, move into a separate bedroom

Step Three: If step two doesn’t work, whip her in a gentle manner that makes her understand the situation.

X-Rated Cock & Balls

I have cottoned on to this Google traffic thing and am going to insert as many popular search words into this entry as BIG TITS possible to up my numbers.

Last night I went for dinner with my friend Andy. We were planning on going to a fancy steak house but it was fully booked so we ended up at Trader Vics for some burgers. After ordering we discovered it was karaoke night. Compered by a red-faced Bernhard Manning impersonator who persisted on screaming at us all in attempt to get people to sing.

Andy has a very strange aversion to karaoke. A deep-seated fear in fact. He was not impressed. I don’t like karaoke much either, but we were trapped.

The talent was thin on the ground too. A few drunk girls singing Tina Turner and some very high-pitched Lebanese guys. The food sucked but Andy was great company despite his apparent discomfort.

H is loving his time in Bahrain. But, he has requested a correction on my last post – he was running through wastelands with his i-Pod not i-Pad. Important difference apparently.

The fabric for my wedding dress should arrive this weekend. Mum’s friend made the final decision and it all sounds rather classy and I am thrilled I didn’t have to pay for it. So hopefully  I won’t look like a WHORE, a 1950’s deb or a 5-year old princess. Here’s to being a classy bride.

Ulysses has been working me like a dog this week. I am really not coordinated. He made me jump up on a bench, I fell over twice. And I had to do 80 star jumps. I can’t feel my left arm.

For our wedding we are setting up an art fund. H & I have so much shit in storage and have just had to buy more shit for our new place, so really don’t need anything. Art is a good idea. But, deciding on what we both like is tricky. I think we have found a good option though, a print of one of John Stezaker’s collages. I wish we could afford the real thing, but I don’t think my guests will be that generous.

The honeymoon is coming together well. We are on the waiting list for this ryokan – http://www.hakoneginyu.co.jp/english/main.html. It looks bloody marvellous. Its really fucking expensive though. But what are honeymoons for, other than to do what you will never be able to afford again.

H is booking me in for a Geisha experience in Kyoto. I have to dress up as a Geisha and wander around Kyoto posing for photos. H just wants to follow me around and laugh.

CHEAP DVDs, PENIS ENLARGEMENT, HOW TO WHISK EGG WHITES, DIET CHEATER, FREE SHIT….

 

Leopard Print HQ

I was wondering why I was getting a lot of traffic on my blog recently. Apparently its all down to people searching for leopard print bedspreads.

The Middle East is very exciting at the moment. Egypt’s revolution has been addictive viewing.  I like to flit between the networks. Balance my Al Jaz with a bit of sober BBC and some crazy Fox.

H is in Bahrain today for their Day of Rage. He just rang to tell me all about his day. Apparently he has been running through wastelands, escaping tear gas in his Margaret Howell trousers and Jil Sander shirt, clutching his i-Pad. Not sure he has got the hang of foreign reporter attire.

My mother is buying the fabric for my wedding dress as I have had no luck in Dubai and am on the brink of a nervous breakdown. I have never had a dress made before, other than the dress for my high school formal – and mum took care of that too. Anyhow, I am a bit worried that I will either end up looking like the mother of the bride in cappuccino satin or a 5 year old princess in pink lace. My head hurts so I am leaving it all to chance. Shit this could end up being really embarrassing. All I am insisting on is pockets. Mum thinks I have lost it.

I haven’t been to the gym in 6 days. This is not good enough. Tomorrow is my 4th week of training and I think my double mac n cheese on Saturday reverted me back to the fat old days of Feb. Must get my act together. I have 2.5 months to go. And I don’t want to be a fat princess.

Cancelled?

Poor H is celebrating his birthday in Saudi. He’s taking the no drinking policy as an opportunity to give up smoking. But, this means we have some very strange Skype exchanges. The chemicals are obviously seeping out of him. He suggested we cancel our honeymoon because the line up for Primavera Sound was so good. Has he gone mad?

I am working pretty hard at the moment, it is all coming together but I do get worried that I won’t ever get to produce films again. My attempts to go corporate have been too successful. I am even considering buying a trouser suit. Help!

I am struggling to find the fabric for my wedding dress. I have tried loads of shops and even hunted the party dress shops for the under 5’s, they actually offered up the best options so far. I am getting a bit desperate.

We are celebrating H’s birthday on Thursday with dinner at a fab Chinese I tried last weekend for Chinese New Year. Any excuse to eat peking duck pancakes. They also serve pork, so my favourite ribs are worth a return visit. H suggested we do the Julian Assange fundraising dinner for free speech. www.dinnerforfreespeech.com Apparently he was joking, but too late MF-er I just filled in the form. So Julian is coming to dinner too, albeit digitally. Shit. Not sure what the staff will make of it, nor my more right wing pals.