Need a fresh look?

A few months ago I went on some demented rant about how much money I was spending on clothes. Not that I'm regretting spending the equivalent of a small fortune of some former eastern republic on Spanish designed pret a porter, not for one minute.

It's just that, I kind of forgot to get myself a nice new coat. And now that it's getting chillier than Jade Goody's BB exit, or Danielle Lloyd's telephone for that matter, I'm left in a kind of strange position where I am desperately looking around for a particular item of clothing, and I can't, for the life of me, find it.

You would think, wouldn't you, in the city that so spectacularly celebrates the coming of the frost, that there would be an abundance of well priced, qualiity merchandise designed to keep snowflakes off the Armani, whilst decreeing to the world that the wearer has almost enough style to teach those Wags a little thing or two.

But no, I just cant find what i'm looking for.

I have tried Selfridges, every big chain including Zara, even spent a good couple of hours in every boutique in the Marais in Gay old Paris on the weekend. Even they don't make coats any more apparently.

So last night I buried my hatchet of hatred against Harvey Nichols and everything Knightsbridge and took a stroll through the overpriced, over cologned and uber rude collonnades of the most overrated shopping strip on the planet.

OK, so I just don't like Havey Nicks, the ceilings are too low. And the fact that every pooflette you'd find at GAY on a thursday night works there and thinks that their shit dont stink because they work there, just makes me see red and pink spots.

And then they didn't even have any coats either. So they suck double.

Then I went into Zara, which, as far as Zara stores go, is a pretty good one. The whole first and second floors are the womens lable, and HARK! racks racks and racks and racks of funky winter coats.

Up on the third floor however, the marvellous groovy wintercoat song went a little off key. One floor of men's label, sharing half the space with the Zara CASA and not a SINGLE coat anywhere. I actually walked around the floor 3 times, just in case my contact lenses weren't working for some reason leaving me with a white out where that fawn coloured wool coat was meant to hang, but I just kept bumping into the glass display and knocking wicker candle holders onto the floor (bad idea anyways..)

Strike two.

So then there was Harrod's. (Dramatic Pause) I HATE HARROD'S even MORE than I hate HN's. It's always CHOCKER BLOCK packed full of ageing women with hundreds of bags wandering aimlessly through halls that have absolultely NO logic as to what they're selling in them, thereby confusing the old ducks even more.

It's like Mr Al Fayid has just organised the whole store alphabetically, or around the shrine to Diana or something. I dont know. Who can explain how you can go from the Lanvin counter to the Lamb butcher in six steps? And there's this incipid stench of women's perfulme that permeates into everything. I smelled of it for hours afterwards, even after I had showered in Domestos. Seriously.. I woke up this morning, and when i went for my morning toilette, it smelled like Chanel no 5.

Anyhow, once I found menswear after having walked all over the ground, first and second floors, I actually DID find the coat that i wanted.

It was £800.

FUCK.

Lost

Ok, so why, after all these years of MISPLACING things, have I suddenly lost my umbrella?

Lets backtrack a few months, to the Keslakia family's trip to Paris for the weekend. A Paris, j'ai achete une paraplui de Tintin. I bought a tintin brolly in other words. It was the most sensational blue and grey brolly with little silhouettes (such a french word hey) of the boy and haddock in their various scenes in their stories where they were without paraplui.

So on the first occasion in London when I took the lovely thing out for a spin, I left it on a tube. All I can say to this is MERDE.

Why is it that we lose the things we love the most? loved ones, boyfriends, our figure, sanity, my limited edition Britney souvenir beer coaster...

I never lose my wallet. Thanks god. Or my Keys. Thank CHRIST. I do often lose my sense of reason at 4.00am after my 9th bottle of chablis. BUT NEVER MY UMBRELLA GOD DAMMNED IT!

Recently, i went to a scanky sports shop on TCR to purchase a water bottle for the gym. It was only £3 so i thought, well why not have 2. Within about 3 weeks I had lost them both!

So as a test. I am embarking on the most inane test of self control, designed to send me around the bend, no doubt, but to see if i can actually hold onto something, misplaced or no, for a period of time.

This is my manky water bottle test. I am going to see how long I can hold onto this water bottle - it will go with me everywhere, kind of like a tamagotchi, but without any of the stupid bleeping and death that will ensue if i stamp on it repeatedly. So watch this space. I will be keeping a virtual diary of my water bottle's progress. And like a tamagotchi, he shall have a name. For I shall call him Eugene.

And you thought this was going to be a blog about Matthew Fox, didn't you!?

A winter wonderland

This morning the man and I awoke with some excitement to discover that it had snowed during the night. HOW EXCITING!

Everywhere was covered in a wonderful blanket of white. It really made you realise how wondeful London is. And with all the muck thats being going on with Jade Goody, I just think it was the cleansing distraction we all needed.

Even the little sqirrels in the park were frisky and happy for a little romp in the fluffy white stuff.

Made me feel like a little child again.

Outside the bedroom window




Snug as a bug in the Prue Acton Bicentennial wool fair scarf.

Hit the road, Jack

I'm a busy bastard. Just three weeks into the new year, and I don't know what to do with myself...da nah na na naaaahhhh

I just dont know what to DOOO with myseeelfff da na na na naaaahhhh!!!!

Just reeling from the revelation that I'm going to be sent off to Singapore for a design workshop on Feb 10th for this wonderful project that I'm working on. So I'm also tieing into this trek around to the other side of the planet, a site visit to Manila, in the Philippines to inspect groundworks on a project I'm doing there, and to buy some trees. God I love my job.

THEN I have also decided that on this mega trip to the far east, that I might as well go back via Dubai and Bahrain and check out a project I'm working on THERE. All up, I'll be away for a week and a half, and will probably have crammed in about a month's worth of work.

Then today, I found out that next week I have to go to Cyprus as WELL! MAN. And I'm off to Paris this weekend.

So who's feeling sorry for me?

A treat

Just before christmas, we got online after a few woines, and oredered some Liam Show merchandise. Nothing too OTT, but a nice tshirt each, and a smart pair of undies to add to the collection.
So imagine to my disappointment that the little package from LA hadn't arrived by the time santa had shoved his fat arse back up the chimblie. Nor had it arrived by my birthday some 5 days after.

Nor by new years

Nor a week later.

Nor a week later.

Recently, I have been wondering what Her Majesty the Queen thinks about the phrase "royal mail" with her crown on it. This week I received a note from HM's postal service that my parcel had arrived and was awaiting collection from the post office. A lovely chirpy little card declairing that I had to pay ANOTHER £10.61p for customs clearance charge, which contained a £1.00 postal handling fee, and a mere week to heinie my heinie up to the mail centre. OH KAY you bastards. So we all know the postal service sucks, but I just couldn't believe that I had to collect the item myself, and still pay the exhorbitant fee. What bastards.

The stress of all this complaining is giving me wrinkles.

My favourite new saying

That something is "pants"

ie

shite.

i espcially love saying when something is especially crap, it's a "bag of pants"

hahah

I just bought

the biggest ball of wool on the earth right now.

Its bigger than my head.

George Eads L'oreal Commercial

love it!

Royal ambitions

Royalty.

Recently my husband and I went to the picture palace to see a delightful little fillum starring our dame Helen.

Title. The Queen.

Now you all know that I am a fierce royalist. If you dont like it, or disagree, then I'm sorry, i can't help your affliction. But since I have behaved as if I was born into the house of Windsor since I was about the age of 6 years, I'm afraid that anything with even the slightest sniff of royalty will pique my interest.

However, just recently, we are most dismayed at the rediculous amount of papparazzi attention that Miss Kate Middleton seems to be getting. Sure, It's likely she will be the next Queen of England... (GASP! oh my god - just lets take a minute, clutch our royal bosom, and think about that... and she still drives herself around..) but will they just leave her alone please? Aren't they happy with the blood of Princess Diana on their hands? They are utter mongrel scum. All of them.

I take my hat off to the newspapers here in London who are making a stand against the papparazi and not purchasing their images of poor Kate with a 3000mm telescope lense pointed 2mm from her face as she goes out for her cunningham muffin on her birthday.

So Rupert. Why cant you have a little class and a little taste? huh?

I must say though, she is Impeccably styled, and a most beautiful creature. Sure, the future His and Her Majesty might not be the most colourful and multi layered disco track in the collection, but who cares. Look at Stephanie.

On this basis, I would like to now publish my list of my favourite Royals, here and now, and maybe one or two from the past.

Eddie the Queen of Keslakia's pick of the world's Royals

1. Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II, Queen of Great Britain and the Commonwealth. Head of the Church of England.
2. Princess Mary of Denmark
3. Princess Margaret (d)
4. Prince Harry
5. Prince Albert ehhheh (d)
6. Diana, Princess of Wales (d)
7. Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands
8. Kate Middleton
9, Camilla
10 Blanch D'Alpugel


no, but really....

"Yeah, but it's a great pool but..."

I think one of the best things about making a long list of new years resolutions, is that they can be broken. Well, OK so I have crumbled already. On the way home from the pub last night I had a piece of chicken. I couldn't help it.

I didn't smoke however, which I claiming as a small victory.

You see, I am absolutely resolute that this year, I will be healthier, shed some weight, and look after my back. Smoking really isn't in this happy little house on the prairie scenario.

So I'm also swimming again too, which is great. I'm really enjoying it again, and I may even compete again this year. Ooh Ryan has alerted me to a meet in Vienna in February, which could be fun, but I'm not sure I'll be ready by then.

However, going to the Queen Mother pool this week, I was quite shocked to discover at the counter that the price had risen to £4.55 for a casual swim. For those of you in Australia, that translates to over $10 to swim in an indoor 25m pool. I mean, WHAT?

When I shreaked "WHAT?" at being asked to hand over this small fortune, this voice from behind the other end of the counter said in a thick Aus accent "yeah, but its a great pool but.."

Honey, first, I didn't ask you. Second, you and I BOTH know it ain't a great pool, but, so FUCK OFF.

Someone at work this week was grizzling that England isn't good at any sport.

Hm. I wonder why.

I resolve, therefore I am.

A few years ago, when I was young and pretty, and co-habiting with some disastrous hygeine phobic monster from the pits of hell, I vowed that I would never grow old and cynical, like the tired old drag monsters that lurk in dark corners in tired old gay haunts, nor would I ever become disenchanted with the idea of falling in love. And that I would wash regularly and always have clean bits.

Every now and then, I fall pray to these wild illusions that I am going to do this or that, make my life better or worse, sometimes with success (moved to London, didn't I?) and sometimes with failure (still smoking after 30..). So I have never really been one to worry about new year's resolutions. Usually I am so slaughtered by the festivities of Christmas, my birthday and new year's in the one week, not to mention the build up of one million christmas parties through december, that I just vow to stop doing everything, and dive into a tank of evian and hope the minerals will look after me.

But this year, since I did sweet f all over the period, and I'm feeling all sanctimonious and full of rightiousness, I'm going to admit to having thought about it, and hence, dear reader, I am about to regale you with my list of things I am vowing to commit to attempting to try and do.

It goes a little sumptin'like this:

1. Quit smoking for good.
2. Drink more water
3. Eat my food more slowly, thereby not scoffing so much in
4. Get more sleep
5. Be more fabulous (that's a hard one)
6. Do one thing for me every day ie: see something I havn't seen before; make a plan to go somewhere I havn't been before: go somewhere I havn't been before
7. Eat 5 serves of fruit and vegetables a day
8. Swim at least twice a week
9. Quit the chicken cottage
10. Save more money and stop spending money on stupid crap (except pencils)

I could have tried and been rediculous, and resolved to, say, wear more tuille and chenille, join an eighties pop band appreciation(fan) club, or vowed to get myself into a 12 step programme, but thats just stupid. I already do all those things.

If this isn't a model for everyone to follow then quite frankly, I don't know what is.

Happy New Year!

And now it's new year!

So I'm sitting at home with the fella and we've watched the fireworks on TV, and now we're off to bed.

Aren't we just the most.

Happy new year!

BTW I would MUCH prefer to be under the disco ball somewhere. But we have no friends.

And Natalie Imbruglia is on the Secret Policeman's Ball at the RAH.