Thursday, May 26, 2005

Is this fate?

I speak to Dame Mavis, my mentor on all things housing, she says 'darling, you can do that job, it's made for you', only without the darling, before agreeing to be a reference. Can't get better than the woman who headed housing for the UK Government and now heads the mega department that includes it. I love her, she's such an inspiration to me on so many levels.

I call the recruitment guy and say 'Are there strong internal candidates?' i.e. look, let's cut to the chase - is it a shoo-in? He says 'you're asking albeit subtly if it's a shoo-in, no it isn't, would be suprised if any internal candidates, all to play for baby' Only without the baby.

Suddenly everythings on it's head and I'm aquiver in a way I haven't been about a job prospect for a very long time.

Mum Says

I thought you wanted to be a writer darling?

Fair question seeing as how I have been doing the, being a writer is a proper career mum campaign for a fair old while

I do actually.
But this job is one of those so exciting that the mere thought had me revelling in insomnia that resulted in getting up to start the application at 3am.

Ailsa has a witchy feeling and anyone who know's Ails and her witchy feelings knows that that's a good sign

I am rehearsing my interview answers in my head already

calm down girl,

It throws a big spanner in the Bali affair which was on the verge of nicely rekindling
He's ill. I haven't told him, but if I got it it wouldn't start till September so being a bit short of holidays this year (!) I could always nip over and see him, try and do a bit of 'you'd look lovely in a kilt, just come for a year' stuff

We could have a prolonged holiday romance and see if it lasts the distance, which is kind of where I had decided to get to anyway....

Reigns herself in, has neither the job nor the fella...
I know it's an about face, I know I probably won't get it... but the person spec looks made for me - all paths seem to have led to ticking boxes for this job, and it involved loads of travel to London, great holiday package, great salary, great experience and a chance to really get my teeth into something I believe in.

So I'm running at it head on, knwoing full well this move would need to stick for a decent number of years (4 at least I reckon given how much moving I've done). the downsides are apparent, but the upsides more so.

Rebecca Loos, very strange, there's a crush I didn't see coming.
Life, it's funny. (sorry ailsa!)

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Then out of nowhere comes a job

That makes my mouth water. Head of Shelter Scotland. Huge punt that would require a big step up for me to manage an organisation with 115 staff, so I call the recruitment guy and say 'look I think it's out of my league but this is what I've done....' He says, no, not out of your league at all, let me please encourage you to apply....

hopes are not up, and it would mean a massive change of plans if I got it... But there's a bit of me going, maybe this is why I am here, networking like crazy in a new town.

I'm applying, strill think it would take fabulous references, a very glossy spin on my experience and a stroke of luck coupled with a knock em dead covering letter to even get me in the door, I'll give it my best, see what happens

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Love Shack Baby

Rebecca Loos and Callum Best head to the love shack. Abi Titmus gets a taste of her own medicine. Paul (who is he?) ups his lad credentials following the 'great boobs / nice curve / I love your pot belly' charm and tries to start a fight with any of the other boys whilst hammered... Liz (from atomic kitten, I love her) declares she wants to be a lesbian and all the girls confess to having kissed other girls... Can telly get any more exciting I wonder?

Beats real life that's for sure. My bosses are driving me nuts. The publication date has been delayed. I fight the urge to say 'stop faffing and do some bloody work' on a daily basis. The fact that they are constantly babying me, giving me bugger all autonomy and asking for updates every five minutes is distinctly irritating given they seem to be overdosing on coffee and strategy meetings themselves. I am working my arse off and wondering why a lot, not helped by the fact the one of them not my friend can't seem to refrain from making bitchy and undermining comments on a daily basis, whether this is intentional I have no idea, but suffice to say it's not seeming worth the hundred quid a week at the moment, and the chances of me fancying staying on to get involved in the longer term are currently about 1% during an optimistic spell.

However things are getting sexier on the invite front. Since I informed you about being invited to the launch of a holiday cottage, and since I attended the launch of some Scottish history videos (stop quivering with envy!) the invites have been flooding in thick and fast. I am off to the Scottish film awards on Sunday (I know that sounds like a contradiction in terms, but obviously such a thing exists) which sadly means a day with the bikers at a Harley Davidson event is woefully off the cards. (!)

Sadly the launch of the New Rover Sport clashed with Jo's softball and celebrity love island, but I think we'll be going to the outstanding venues of Scotland launch which unsuprisingly is being held in an outstanding venue.

No false eyelashes, haute couture clothing or Chanel freebies as yet, but we're on the mailing list for Molton Brown new products, although I suspect I'd be last in the queue to get any and they'll arrive post me in any case. But I live in hope.

Monday, May 23, 2005

The Reality TV Junkie

in me returns, not since Indonesian Idol have I been so obsessed with anything Telly. Those who say celebrity Love Island is dull haven't been watching enough I reckon. Anything but....

I'm obsessed, it isn't healthy, Friday nights are now a social life free zone as I hasten home to see who's out. Sleep deprivation encroaches as I stay up to watch the post news segment...

Help! Before you know it i'll be reliving my Australian /Pop / American idol days, crying at totally pants telly and being on the rollercoaster with the contestants.

I know this isn't wise, another addiction to kick and all that.. but what fun, what joy, what will become of my life when it's over?

Where else can you find such cracking lines as 'he can kiss my arse, kiss it' and 'you've got great tits babe'? Where else can you hear about the heroin problems in families of the aristocracy and the phobias of former Eastenders cast members? Where else can you see the unashamed personal PR of a woman who makes wet t-shirt look like an art form?

Out in the real world, I hear you cry..
Which is probably true but just makes the sofa seem that much more alluring

Some Decisions

He's texting daily
Planning to take his friend who is teaching him English up to have a family conference

I am not sure this is a good idea
Especially now
Given that even if I revisist financially that's a way off

I have asked him to hold off until we can have a proper conversation. Partly because his family's concerns seem valid from where I sit and I don't want him making promises on my behalf I can't deliver on and don't think I would know if I could deliver what would be required for there to be a future until I know him better than I currently do.

I have however decided to take time out from the dating game.
Stay single for a bit, work on my new job, the book which is suddenly flowing, and see what happens in the medium term.

I want to be able to write fabulous things about women, I love women as you all know. Then watch celebrity love island, and all sense of sisterhood drains faster than a plugless bath.

Is it just me or are Rebecca Loos and Abi Titmuss reinforcing every stereotype about bisexual women faster than you can say 'it's all about titilating the boys ain't it'?

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Naturally, no answer

Presume that means they didn't jump up and down saying 'bring her on, bring her home, bring her into the bosom of the family'

I go to dinner with a friend of mine this week

he's been seeing a Muslim woman for ten years
her family still call him her 'friend'

marriage and therefore kids are still off the table

he just handles it all with gentle understanding

a few cousins have been mentioned as wanting to come from Pakistan to meet her

No-one presses it though when she says no

I am just thinking, that's all, I know all the arguments against, god knows I know them, but the urge to get on a plane persists. Even without Brad and Angelina. I feel like it's a toss up between a set of regrets, which would be more potent?

I text, he texts

J :This is my new number, I want you to have it.

N: Yes I want! How are u sayang. I thinkging about you I hope you are okey

(this is literal rather than me just losing spellcheck again by the way)

J: Ok, but trying to forget you, throwing myself into life, work, play, then bang, you're back in my head.

N: Why try to forget me. I love you! I missing you and then I had spoke with my family about i and you

J: and?

Bali calling

bugger bugger bugger.

Julie x

Saturday, May 14, 2005

Undercover Mission - Back Up Required

I want to be an International woman of Mystery. Partly because I have been secretly harboring Julie as a spy fantasies

(Before anyone gets on email, I know, I would be useless. Getting drunk and giving the game away, losing my special keyring cum poisoner. Having a crush on those I'm supposed to be spying on then forgetting to be covert as slightly unhinged I send morse code messages saying 'take me, or I'll text you constantly' . That's without popping out for a fag at the key 'suspect on the move' moments. Spy spy, not cop as implied with that suspect on the move bit, definitely not cop, that would be even worse. 'Well your honor I think that's the geezer I saw running down the back alley, but sadly my platform heels and inability to peg it meant I lost him, and I am a bit blind you see')

I digress
International Woman of Mystery. How did I get from the gypsy gets naked to a hankering to be shrouded I hear you wonder.

Partly because I think with whistling admiration of my mate who told me that her then boyfriend, now hubby had never heard her fart, never seen her on the loo and never heard her moaning about hating her boobs.

I think that's all good. I am currently aspiring to uber-glamour and those things fit whilst my inability to cultivate such behavior patently doesn't.

Mostly it's just that anyone who shows an interest in me seems to be scared off faster than you can say 'oh, that was a little inappropriate, did you have to give so much away'.

I've been thinking a lot about control, self control, how to cultivate it. I've been thinking a lot about how I define myself through my romantic relationships and want to stop that. I have been thinking a lot about chaos and how destructive it can be. I have been thinking carelessness is something I want to grow out of.

I am coming to believe impression management is where it's at. I tend to just roll along (in my personal though not professional life) shouting 'look at me, oops there goes my bloomers, a naked buffoon, with a giant cleavage, coming your way, sorry madam, let me extricate my skateboard from your hairdo'

Yet at work I manage the impression I create much more effectively. Ok so I don't do International Woman of Mystery but I do do slick and measured much more.

What brought all this on?
Naturally it's my love life. Deciding I don't want it to define me then writing about how it does are naturally not mutually exclusive.
There's the Balinese pedalo bobbing up and down just out of sight
There's the cyberspace warrioress who has I suspect, wisely decided I'm not worth the trouble
There's the famously funny man who can currently be seen running through the streets of East London shouting ' I should never have replied, she's nuts'.

Balinese boy sent an email, two lines, nothing meaningful, half in Indonesian. The brief flurry of activity / effort seems to have died following the phone conversation. I can't help thinking I should have tried to play games. Dumped 'look I'm here if you're quick'. Inserted ' Bit busy right now, must dash'.

I keep thinking I should have been less available, more enigmatic.

I keep thinking maybe inviting the comedian to a one woman show about an artists experience as nasa's artist in residence was little toff for this particular funny man. Maybe he couldn't see the comedy value I could see in the whole thing. Maybe it's just to scary to commit to a whole evening with a women who signs her text message aka the drunken cleavage.
He's not responded.

One of the best game players I know once told me 'everyone does it, you just have to do it best'. She's probably right and has it has to be noted managed to sail through life breaking hearts and avoiding being dumped.

My socialist / artist side objects to that though, says, ahh there's merit in being broken, and surely constantly being able to cast aside is at heart a tad Tory?

My take me as I am side, and she's a noisy bugger, goes, 'ahh shucks, if they can't take the whole thing, can't see the merit in not having to hunt for the flaws, then they're nowhere near your one'.

My new grown up side goes 'well, there's a lot to be said fo slow release, not flooding the market so to speak, take dancing dear Gypsy, there's naught sexier than someone who controls it, little less so than the let it all out whatever the rhymn approach'.

What finally nails it is the hat.
I know it's shallow but surely an International Woman of Mystery would get to wear one of those fabulous veiled numbers? the 1950's movie star meets Jackie O meets funeral ones. I love those hats. I have always wanted one.

So watch out folks, new 'what is her name, that women in the corner, with the cigarette holder and fabulous hat?' gypsy is coming. She'll say less, not be less that her previous incarnation. Only trouble is - having never done International Woman of Mystery I have no idea where to start (bar the not farting). So I'm relying on you lot for advice. Those that have watched from afar but so far avoided the signing up to comment stuff, you're desperately needed. Please don't leave the gypsy stranded naked in the UK's coldest Capital.












Thursday, May 12, 2005

New Girl

I am helping set up a new magazine in Edinburgh. This all happened largely by accident, I had a chat with a friend of mine (now boss) to say, 'hey lady, wanna take my writing' and ended with, 'look if you need a bit of advice on the sales side'... Before you could say 'is this part of your long term plan?' I was being whipped up to the artic climes of not so sunny Scotland and persuaded to give the guys a hand as they had sold precisely no ads, arranged precisely no distribution and considered (you guessed it) precisely no content.

They did however have a very glossy media pack with fabulous green eyeshadow which hit the uber-feminine side of me and got me all excited about glamour, make up freebies and fabulous launch parties. I have it seems been reading far too much Marian Keyes as so far not one pair of free eyelashes, not one chance to review a restaurant and not one party invite has come anywhere near the mag let alone me. Ahh, unless you count the dull lady from yesterdays women's network I angled to go to hoping to meet some power mentors and kissable maidens (nope, neither) who wants us to to have a glass of wine with her while she exclusively launches her latest holiday cottage for I-on magazine. (hum, busy that night, sadly)

I have in true me style told it how I see it, i.e 'come on girls, you say we have five weeks to make this work yet as far as I can see there's no urgency from either of you' (lots of coffee, lots of strategy, lots of turning up to work around 11am), and as a result lists have started appearing and boxes getting ticked off. This is I think good news. I have agreed to give them five weeks, which is when we need to have the cash in the bag to go ahead... Not sure what I'll do beyond that but currently London seems appealing even if it's up and running and that's a big if. I have told the girls that if they want to keep me long term I want to be involved editorially but it seems we have different views on what the mag should look like (I want vanity fair, naturally, they want a PR type hello thing) so not sure that will happen. Maybe I should revise my expectations as it is after all just a free lifestyle mag for Scotland's sexiest city.

It's the first week though and I've a load of meetings set up, a load of people to meet and a load of work done, plus I have a fabulous two bedroomed flat in the centre of town (guests welcome, bring your own bed) so it's not all gloom. I even have three friends other than Jo here, all of whom have responded to my desperate pleas for company and are taking me out next week. On top of that I have stopped eating ginger nuts which if nothing else good comes out of it, makes the whole endeavour worthwhile.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

It's raining men

Actually that's a major exaggeration, but even in my only eyes for girls days that song got my booty on the dancefloor so the chance to use it as a title was too tempting to ignore.

There's a famously very funny man. I chatted him up recently. He said taking my number was a waste of time as I was leaving for Scotland. Then chased me down the road to drive me round the corner home. I emailed him and said look, Scotland's possibly short term, my number is worth having. He replied today with his own and an offer to call him next time I am in the big smoke.

My love life climaxes between my inbox and cyberspace right now, and it's certainly not a when Harry met Sally noisy ahh ahh at that, but at least there's a plethora of possible threads. Being single is refreshing for the unjaded anticipation at least.

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

The Boy is back

Why is it the minute you start to get over people they jump around banging cymbals in your ear so you can't pretend they're not there? What is it about human nature that means cool is so much sexier than warm?

I have been quietly getting on with not missing the Indonesian beauty. He has been texting. When we were together he texted as prolifically as a ninety year old with severe arthiritis and failing eyesight. Suddenly he's popping up in my inbox with alarming regularity.

'I love you, I miss you, I remember you, I think of you all the time'.
Uh-huh? Tempting as it is to shout 'shove it big man. I need guts' loud enough to be carried from Prague / Crowhurst / Edinburgh to Bali I have too much empathy for the predicament he's in and if I am honest....Like him too much to do so. We spoke. He went a few steps down the road I want him to travel. He has been speaking to friends, they think he's crazy, they think he should stand up to his family, they think he should take me to his village to meet his folks. He thinks they're right.

I feel like the lead is being tugged just to see if I am still at the end of it.
I am
But
Asked him what he wants to do
To get the back peddling don't hold me to anything stuff. 'I am not sure I am strong enough, I just thinking'

Uh huh
So, if it works I need to leave my home, friends, family, culture, live in a village in the middle of nowhere, have your kids (the caste must be propergated) and then bring them up to face all the 'you must' traditions your caste entails, convert to your religion or risk having your family go even more ballistic, deal with in laws hostile to me, hide big swathes of myself from the gossipy, uber suspersticious, uber religious Balinese community, and you are not sure you're strong enough?

I want to tell him to grow up. I want to tell him he creeps into my dreams and taunts me. I want to tell him 'I'm on the next flight over, by the way am bringing Brad and Angelina, did I mention I practice duo-monogamy now?'

I tell him to go away, do his thinking. I tell him not to talk to me again until he has something tangible to discuss. I tell him not to take too long.

The lead twitches
I decide it's long enough to roam around on
'Too little too late' says little sis.
I decide I will paddle down the stream of life at full throttle and if the Balinese boat comes my way again so be it, but I'm not standing at the shore watching out for it.
Then I stand at the shore and watch out for it

Edinburgh is beautiful, the job is going well. I am writing prolifically and setting up a network frenzy to get my eyes off the beach and into a plethora of sensuous softly furnished urban alcoves.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

I love my family

There is a whole blog coming on Classical music. (The words culture and vulture will in fact do!) But I must slip in my line of the week from my 83 year old Nan in Prague.

Mid Vivaldi / Bach concert, Nan asks (pretty loudly for a woman with her frailty), 'is there anything to suck on round here?'. The man in front turns round, sees her faded beauty but realises he doesn't want to do an Ashton Kutcher.

Mum and I are suddenly back in the land of school assemblies. Unable to look at each other, for fear the head violinist with come down and beat us with his big stick for giggling uncontrollably and snorting just a little more than you would expect from two such glamorously attired concert-goers.

Oh shiny veneer, slick titles, you lie

Hurray I thought on first hearing I had a 'priviledge manager' at my bank, that sounds fun.

Which priviledges are mine for the taking? Interest free credit? Offshore banking for the three pounds twenty six in my savings account? Maybe a DVD player (I hear videos are going down the tube of technology past). No, I thought, I'll ask him, whilst I am totally skint and relying on my overdraft to pay my credit card and get me through the current lean spell, if they could give me a loan for consolidation purposes. No. They couldn't, not enough cash coming in you see.

The post-post, well- beyond-ironically titled priviledge manager(PM) then wrote to me, assuring me it was not their intention to cause any distress but could I give them a call to discuss my overdraft. Admittedly I took a while to get back as my mail goes to another address, but I called in time, had a nice thirty minute chat with a woman at a call centre where I explained my circumstances in detail, slipped in I had banked with them for well over a decade, always come good, and would soon be doing so again. Nice call centre lady said she would pass on all the details to Sam Samad. This seriously is the name of said PM. PM himself was unavailable, and in fact located in a branch somewhere within a thirty mile radius of the actual branch I bank with, reachable only via the call centre (in Swindon or some other town fit for call centre purposes). I left my number should PM wish to discuss offshore banking.

He called a couple of days later, I rang him straight back only to tour the call centre a few times before being assured a message would reach him within three hours. That night, go to use my card, declined. Next day, the letter comes. As we have not heard from you (????) and you look like you may be a bit skint, we've whipped away your overdraft, therefore making it impossible for you to pay your credit card, increased your interest rate to 30% as the Overdraft you have is now unathorised, oh and will charge you thirty quid when the credit card doesn't get paid. Don't try to top up credit on your mobile phone, we'll refuse even a fiver, do scrounge some cash to pay in, ring your new boss and go through the humiliation of begging for a letter saying you have a job now, phone us a few times from overseas and after all that, we will decide not to reinstate it.

We would like to assure you it is not our intention to cause our customers any distress.

I am sure I don't need a priviledge manager after all.

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Funny How the folk you fall in love with never fancy you...Funny how the ones you don't do

I'll come clean. There were a few people I wanted off my blog list which partially motivated the move. The biggest problem, a boy I made friends with in Bali. His name was Nur and he asked me one evening when I was wandering if he could wander with me. I said he could, but made it clear as was my wont in such a Testosterone sodden environment that if he was looking for romance or any of it's less pink incarnations, I was not his girl.

We chatted, he told me about the personal impact of the Bali Bomb on his life, recounting fabulous stories including his battle to turn the Australian architect who designed the memorial from a man hostile to him personally into a friend. He believed the architect in question possibly due to the nature of his task was frightened of Muslims in Bali. He recounted the numerous failed attempts to strike up conversation as he was at that time living on the street by the memorial site. He told of the time the architect, not recoginising him returned the favour when seeking a light, and how he used that opportunity as an in to question the man's previous unfriendliness before offering his own views on the men who had wreaked the devastation that had claimed one of his closest friends. He told me the story of his life, in bits, warts and all. He had had a tough one, being addicted to heroin as a kid on the street, being part of a gang before getting his act together and returning to school with the proceeds of a mobile cake stall he pushed through the streets of Java.

He had excellent English, had lived in Australia for a while, and had mastered the art of storytelling. I liked him, we swapped stories, he sought me out, I took him for dinner and games of pool. That he had a crush on me was obvious, his numerous confessions to that effect impossible to ignore.

I told him, repeatedly, that it was a one way street and that all was on offer was my friendship.

When I started seeing Ngurah he didn't handle it very well. He tried to find reasons why I should walk away. He at one point claimed Ngurah was a gigilo. Had Ngurah been a more sophisticated lover, or at that point a lover at all (he was sleeping in his jeans to prevent any temptation that would undermine his religion), I may have believed this. I checked with a few of my friends who knew Ngurah well nonetheless and had my intuition wholeheartedly confirmed.

The seeking me out became increasingly problematic for me. Every corner I turned seemed to have Nur waiting at the end of it. When I was twice in one day stopped by different men on bikes asking if my name was Julie and letting me know Nur was asking if anyone had seen me, I began to both understand how he was tracking me down, and get concerned.

I had a series of conversations with Nur where I reiterated that my friendship was all that was on offer and explained his constant companionship was making me feel uncomfortable. He backed off, things seemed to normalise. After a couple of weeks of normality I agreed he could accompany me and the boys on as night out. He got drunk, couldn't cope with seeing Ngurah and I together, behaved very badly. I backed off again. Then he told me he planned to explain our relationship to Ngurah. I told him there was no need, I had already done so, I would prefer he just left things alone. He ignored me, spent three hours with Ngurah when I was elsewhere explaining in detail his love for me, before adding it wasn't reciprocated. Ngurah told him he knew about this. Nur sought me out to tell me he had realised during this conversation that Ngurah in actual fact was not a gigilo!

I told Nur I was not happy with how he was behaving, asked him again to back off. Then two of my friends (both Western customers of Ngurah) told me how Nur had approached them saying he recognised them from photos I had taken, before trailing them to explain his devotion to yours truly.

For me this was a final straw, I had had enough and the fact both friends had warned me that they thought he was seriously obsessed had done little to calm my own fears. I told Nur, no more, leave me alone. He didn't. Turning up at my hotel, trying to hug me, bringing gifts, sending me emails. I embarked on a pretty uncomfortable campaign of pretending he wasn't there, explaining just once that I had asked him to leave me alone and was therefore engaging no further. I felt terrible doing it, and uncomfortable every time he was sat in a bar Ngurah and I were in, in my hotel lobby, or the plethora of other haunts I frequented.

I was getting seriously scared by his persistence and concerned about his mental health. I was beginning to feel that this man would be a serious threat to my safety if I returned to Bali. Yesterday he emailed me for the third time via my weblog. I had stupidly given him the link during the early stages of friendship as my original date to depart Bali approached.

I am not sure if it was the proclaiming I was planning to date that sparked the latest email in which he told me he loved me, would always love me.

Every time I think of him the (non gender specific modified) Blur lyrics titling this post ring round my head. Only it doesn't seem that funny.