Friday

I have taken a job at a university teaching an English course.  these types of jobs are not hard to get -- the amount of foreign students coming here now is just phenomenal.

There was not much sun this past summer, and as a result it seems many people are walking around feeling cheated...there are a lot of glum faces on the tube.  Summer is usually our party time, and this year it just didnt happen.

I'm not going out as much as I used to...money is very tight at the moment...everything seems much more expensive.  All of a sudden it seems stupid to spend £10 on a drink :-)

Friday

The Beginning of the Affair?

I’m having an affair with a married woman.  How did it come to this?  I’m not sure myself.  I don’t believe people purposefully go out and say, “I want to have an affair with a married woman” (or man).  I believe people often find themselves in situations via a combination of choice, circumstance and randomness.

About two months ago, I joined an online forum to discuss art.  I’m not sure how it began but I stared to have daily conversations with a woman on subjects ranging from modern art to literature and cinema.  She was intelligent, witty and overtly confident.  The conversations became increasingly flirtatious and one day I suggested we meet.  I’m not sure what for.  I just felt like we were becoming friends and that I wanted to talk to her in person.  I will not deny that I found her physically attractive. 

We went for a drink in a pub in Notting Hill just across the road from the underground station.  After about an hour chatting, she told me she was married.  I was shocked and didn’t know how to react.  She said to me “You can be my lover”.  This was something no one had ever said to me before and again I was not sure how to react.  I acted unsurprised and continued with the conversation.  She intrigued me.

She was complex.  If I could paint a picture, I would say that English girls were like a piece of string…very straightforward and easy to read.  She was like ball of rubber bands.

The way she put her situation was thus: she had met her husband five years ago in Serbia when she was nineteen and he was thirty-five.  They came to the UK together and after two years married…but only because she needed a British passport.  She said they were now like “room-mates”.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard such a story in London.  The desire to get into London and gain a British passport is such that many people are getting married out of convenience and buying marriages so that they can stay and earn the British pound.  I know two Australian girls that did it.

She is Serbian.  I must admit to having a fascination with Eastern European women.  I have never known one.  Perceptions over here are that Eastern European women are beautiful, ruthless, mercenary, a little crazy and quite “hard”.

It’s not the first time I have found myself in the position of being involved with a married woman.  I once chatted-up a woman in a bar and took her number.  After our first date, she told me she was “living” with a guy but that it was all over…they were even sleeping in separate beds.  Still, I felt uncomfortable and told her so, and backed-off.  This was the right thing to do.

Seeing her makes me feel BAAD.  I like feeling BAAD.  I do have respect for the sanctity of marriage but I have gotten to the point that I cannot help myself.  Whatever happens I feel I have to see this thing through.  You see, I believe it could be true love.  Maybe I’m being naive but only time will tell.

Tuesday

Three weeks have passed and nothing has happened with Rea.  I called a few times and we arranged to meet.  But then she or I would reschedule.  She is still in my phone but I’ll wait for her to phone me.

Notting Hill

There appears to be a misunderstanding, a misperception surrounding Notting Hill...especially by Americans. 

Notting Hill is not the glamorous place you think it is.

True, some of the wealthiest people in the country live here; true, some of most well known celebrities live here; but Notting hill is also home to one of the oldest and largest communities of West Indians in London.  And they are not doing so well.

They came in the 1950s and 60s and settled here...befre it was trendy.  And they stayed here.  But they live in small, governemnt owned flats. 

These flats are directly next to the large coloured hosue Notting hill is famous for

http://cuboidal.org/photos/2005/01/15/IMG_0265-medium.jpg

http://dev.null.org/_gal/i/London/NottingHill1/img_7393?s=V

I had to move in with my sister after losing my job.  I could no longer afford the rent on my flat ($1,200) a month.  My sister lives on the edge of Notting Hill near a place called Maida Vale.

I suppose when you see other parts of London, this area would be considered "upper tier".

The Third Date

I was nervous.  So I arranged to meet with Marty for a drink before hand.  By text, me and the girl had set a date to meet at London Bridge Station.

I left my flat at around 4PM (by the way, I lost my job last week...there appears to be some sort of recession happening?) and went to London Bridge early.  Marty was finishing work at around 5.15 so I waited for him at The Horniman, a pub we drink at sometimes.

http://tinyurl.com/5dp44n

I opt to sit outside as the sun is out.  There are loads of tourists around and there is competition for space to sit down.   Soon after, Marty arrives and we set to drinking.  It is the usual chit chat...football, James' wedding and films.

After a few hours we make our way towards London Bridge station.  We spot a rather plain-looking girl with sunglasses (think Chloe Sevigny without makeup.  I must admit one of my weaknesses is heavily made-up women, dressed to the nines). 

 "Is that her"?  Marty asks ""...eleven o'clock" (Marty always uses military terminology).  "I dont think so" I say...she looked TOO plain.  Then again, people always send you their best photos over the net.

I say goodbye to Marty then wait.  I wait for around 10 minutes then decide to call the girl.

The plain-looking one answers her phone.  I hang-up, smile and walk over.  She is quite shy...unlike the first two that I met and it's a bit of a struggle to keep up a conversation.

We walk towards tower bridge...through the old wherehouse district.  It's quite a long walk.  we end up at All Bar One...a professional's watering hole.

My goal is to drink as much as I can, thus making myself drunk enough to avoid awkwardness.  But there is little need to; Rea (the girl) is intelligent, sweet and friendly.

We stay there drinking and talking for about three hours before Rea decides we should call it a day. 

Unlike the other dates, during this date, I have bought all the drinks, but that doesnt bother me...actually it makes me feel good; I dislike it when I girl stops me from paying.

This was the best of the dates...it feels natural.  So we'll see what happens.

The 2nd date

I arranged to meet the second of the girls in central London near my flat in South Kensington. 

When I saw her I was not attracted to her in the slightest but she looked like a nice person.  I thought I should give it a chance.

We walked around the corner to a local pub and had some cokes.  It was an unusually hot today and alcohol was the last thinbg I wanted to drink.

We talked about our past relationships and I discovered that she had led a very eventful life: she had ran away from home at 16 and become pregnant at 17.  This freaked me out a little.  Not because I dont know the realities of life and its unpredictability but because this was not really my domain...I think I unconsciously go for university types with very predictable lifestyles...graduated at 22, career at 23 types.

We talked a lot and we became hungry.  I suggested we walk to Kings Road to get something to eat.

After a lot of walking we decided on an Iranian restaraunt.  We sat down to eat and ordered some food.

I was enjoying the conversation until she started to eat...much of the food that she was supposed to be consuming came directly across the table at me.  What was even more surprising was that she did'nt even notice.  I think I made up my mind there and then that I was not interested in her romantically.

After we had finished I walked her to Sloane Square station and said goodbye.

She sent me a text message a few days later and I responded cordially.  But I think she could tell I was'nt really interested.  That was three weeks ago and we have not spoken since.

Three blind dates

For some reason (probably boredom) I decided to arrange some blind dates via the Internet.

I went on a site called "Gumtree".

http://www.gumtree.com/london/girls-seeking-guys-dating_72_1.html

I put in a free ad specifying the age I wanted the girl to be (between 23 and 35), my interests (bars, art and writing) and said that I loved "good legs" most of all.

Three women responded.

The 1st date.

I was sent (to my e-mail) a very small picture of a cute-looking girl and a little bit about her.  She had a degree in fine art and sounded quite fun so I gave her a call.

We arranged to meet near where she lived, a place walled "Walthamstow" in North London.  North London is not my manor so I was looking forward to seeing somwhere new.

When we met later that evening, she was not what I had expected.  She was tall.  I am around 5 foot 10 and she was about 5 foot 11.  This made me feel a little weird...I dont think I've ever been out with anyone taller than me.  However, it was only an inch.

She was not as god-looking as the picture she sent...I believe this is always the case; people send their best pictures, people always put their best foot forward.  I suppose that's natural.

We walked and talked for a little while.  She said she was going to show me around the neighborhood.  She took me to several pubs.  I must say, the atmosphere and ambience was much more convivial than I was used to.  Going out in central London is much more pretentious, much more aggressive and tense.  Here, the atmosphere was light and sunny and open.

We drank for several hours, taking on all subjects from art to music.  She had a degree in fine art but had been working in administration as jobs in art are very hard to come by; restricted for those with contacts or high talent or extreme patience.  Although scholarly, I sensed a degree of recklessness in her.  This was confirmed when she told me she had been a lap-dancer.  Immediately, my interest perked-up...she did'nt really look the type.

It was around midnight when we decided to call it a night.  She walked me to the bus station and we said our goodbyes.  I didnt kiss her.  I dont take kissing lightly and will only do it if I feel a real need to.  I was'nt sure if I would call her again.

(to be continued)

Thursday 4.45PM

I'm in Canary Wharf

http://www.blwtl.uwo.ca/User/Doc/Buildings_FeatSheet_Canary%20Wharf,%20London,%20England.pdf

to see Marty and James.  James is getting maried in three weeks and this will probably one of the last times the three of us will be able to drink without time limits.

The streets are empty.  I managed to get off from work early...the people who work in Canary Wharf are notoriously driven by their employers (mostly American companies) so I wont see anyone until 5PM.  I can only see the smokers outside.

The buldings are spotless and the streets are modern; efficient, uniform; unlike the rest of London, this place has only been built for business, not for living.

Today I went for an interview at an advertising agency

http://www.theenginegroup.com/

They would pay me more, they are bigger, they have more "arms".

I went into the office unflustered, relaxed and blase; I didnt care wether I got the job or not.  As with all ad agencies in London, the people were beautiful, like models.

But the interview didnt happen...there had been some mix-up between me and the employment agency...I didnt care.  Maybe I'm having a "black" day?

Monday

I had a meeting this morning on the other side of London...I had a meeting at three in Victoria, and I had a meeting at four back in Chelsea.  I'm looking for a new job...my boss has now got me doing the job of three people.  The Bulgrian girl was fired...just before one year of her employment was up...so my boss couldnt get into trouble (you're not supposed to employ people who are not residents of the European Community).  The diplomat's son quit unexpectantly and I was given his workload.

After I finished work, I decided to meet my friend James.  We went to Coq d'Argent in the city.

http://www.worldarchitecturenews.com/index.php?fuseaction=wanappln.showprojectbigimages&img=3&pro_id=1207

I got into the city early and decided to go to Ponti's Italian restaurant in Liverpool Street for an all-day breakfast...but it had been turned into a Starbucks.  Seems like there are Starbucks on every corner of London now.  I decided to go to McDonald's instead.

Although I want to leave this life of drinking, bars, and schmoozing behind, I cant seem to...London wont let me.  I want to save money but I just cant seem to stop spending...restaraunts, pubs, bars...its just a long, neverending series of meetings, dinners and networking.

Monday

I saw Lin again today...why can I not get away from my ex's?  I had to go over there to pick up some stuff...she had let me leave some things when I was going away to Leeds to study.

When I got there I could see she was depressed, she was not getting along with her flat-mates.  They had started out as friends but somehow the relationship had gone bad.  I suspected Linda as the culprit...when you meet her at first she is an angel, but after a wile she becomes introverted and difficult (stobborn and suspicious).

She moaned for about two hours and I listened without comment.  I gathered that part of the problem had to do with money -- she was paying her flat-mate rent and her flat-mate didnt want to give her anything in writing...whether it be reciepts or contracts.

I did'nt want to hear about it...when you need a friend Linda is not there...but she feels she can be your friend when it suits her.  I tried to calm her down and alay her fears.  But what can I do in a situation like this?  I am not ashamed to say that once upon a time I was in love with Linda...the thing was I did'nt want to be drawn back into "her world".

I stayed for two cups of tea and we tried to talk about other things...Gordon Brown, the possibility of me doing a Phd, her boyfriend.  She said that she had begun to go to bed early...at around 10PM.  She was studying to be an accountant and her exam was soon.  I wanted to leave so told her that I had better let her sleep.

She walked me to the station and we said goodbye -- I dont know when I'll see her again but whenever it is I wont be worried.

Back to the city

I got a call out of the blue from an old sparring partner, Neil.  When I worked in the city, we used to go out for lunch and drink together.  He was at Merrill Lynch now. 

He wanted me to go out for a drink back in the old neighborhood...the city...I had avoided it for the longest time, not wanting to be sucked back into that life -- spending 100 pounds a night on beer.  But I decided to go...I dont know why -- maybe it was out of curiosity?  Curiousity of what the city had become?  But I also missed the life, that life of recklessness.

We were to meet at a bar called Prohibition near Liverpool St. station

http://www.citypubs.co.uk/pubs/prohibition.html

Upon walking in I felt the old passion come over me.  The place was filled with pin-striped suits and well turned-out PAs.  Pin striped-suits and long, black wool coats -- it was de rigeur.  I felt out of place, and in place simultaneously.

Inside was dark, but not so dark that you could'nt see people's faces.  Large, rectangular, cream lampshades hung low from microscopic wires.  The interior had been decorated by some trendy designer.   

Neil told me that this was the place to pick up women.  "Their here to meet rich men..." he said,"...a lot of traders come here". 

We stayed a while then I got a text from my other mate James...there was a free party on Kings Road.  This appealed to me as there would be free drinks and I would be close to home.  I told James to drive through the city and pick us up.  Thirty minutes later James turned-up.

The party was at a bar called Mahariji.  Nima said it sounded like a good bar.  When we got there it was about 11PM but it was empty.  We went in anyway.  The walls are white and the lighting is neon blue and green.  There was free champagne so we got stuck in.  Just as we wee about to leave more people started turning-up...women who looked like models...Victoria Hervey was there

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Victoria_Hervey

as was the young Collins, of the Collin's publishing family (English Dictionaries), and Prince William's friends.  Here, the men are all dressed the same: blue blazers, jeans, white striped shirts, and low-key Gucci shoes.

The people are freindly here though, not at all like I expected and the music is good, the atmosphere is sociable and there is a party mood.

At 4AM I call it a night and walk home.

The Four Corners of London

The people who reside in London consider it to be divided into four parts...North, South, East and West.  Each quarter has its own personality, its own identity.

Like many parts of London, North London is divided by wealth.  The village of Hampstead is the wealthiest, populated by a Jewish community of businessmen, and Arabs.  The north of London is largely unknown to me, I gre up in South London.  I suppose the village of Camden could be considered the North's capital -- a trendy area of markets, bars and bohemian clothes shops.  Soho NY comes closest in character.

North London also has the areas of Tottenham and Harlsden.  These areas are not to be frequented after dark.  I have never set in foot in them.  In these areas, there are large estates (projects) where crime goes unfettered.

East London too is somewhat of a mystery to me.  Many areas were dominated by the The Docklands http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Docklands

-- this was an area historically for the working class, but now East London has had an injection of money -- much of it from the American Investment banks.  Living in The Docklands now means probably living in a high apartment block (condos) or loft apartment.  There still exist poor areas, but these are becoming ever more rare.

West London can be seen as places like Ealing and Hammersmith and Shepherd's Bush but it cal also be seen as places like Chelsea, Kensington and the West End http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/West_End_of_London

Along with Hampstead, the Borough of Kensington is the richest area within London.  This area is the oldest part of London, this is where one would find all the historical buildings.  South Kensington has a small, wealthy French community. 

South London is the area I grew up in...Balham, Clapham, Tooting...this is my manor http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=manor

Tooting is an area populated by a large Indian and Pakistani community.  In the 1960s, Balham was inundated by a large West-Indian diaspora but now it has become fashionable and expensive.  South London is now the area of choice for the young professional...many are from New Zealand, Austrailia and S. Africa.

London People II

Occasionally, I go to the church I grew up attending...St. Matthew's in Victoria.  Afterwards, I visit my friend, who is a priest.  He would be round seventy now.

About 15 years ao Father Crawford was head of a trust that amonst other things, paid for boys to go to private schools.  I happened to go to St. Matthew's, and it was through Father Crawford that I attended private school.  He didnt ask about my grades, he just said "if you want to go to private school then you shall go to private school.

He continues to serve at the church when he feels up to it.

After John, David is probably the most common British name.  But the David I know is no common man.  David is one of my closest friends...in many respects, he is an ideal man -- not macho, not so proud to cry when the going gets tough and no too busy to help when his friends need a hand.

The Speed of LDN

It's amazing how fast London moves.  You get off a train at Victoria or drive in bar car and the whole atmosphere changes.  People are buzzing...moving at the speed of light as though their lives depend on speed.

There is little time for manners, and I have noticed the decline of manners in the last couple fo years.  People will routinely shove you out of the way in an attempt to get off a bus or catch a train.  Rush hour is particularly brutal.  I have seen many fistfights break out between suited commuters.

Road rage is commonplace, with drivers screaming obscenities at each other.  No one is above from this behaviour.

As people move manically about London so too do they manically move in and out of London.  Austrailians and South Africans typically stay here two or three years...long enough for them to make enough money to put down a downpayment on a house back home.  The rental market is crazy...people stay in a house or flat for around 9 months, before deciding it is time to move to another (probably trendier) part of London.

London People 1

Lady Amy

Lady Amy came to my attention when we were looking for new staff.  She had just come back from Japan where she had been teching English for a year.  She is only 23 but has the air of a 30 year-old.  After seeing her cv we decided not to interview her but we kept in contact via e-mail.  One day she asked if I would like to meet for a drink.  I said yes.

We spoke about religion, her career (she has a degree in philosophy but wants to go into advertising), booze (she loves to drink), dinner parties (she holds one every month) and life in general.  I also discovered her father bought her a title so she is now Lady Amy -- I thought this was rather funny.  She has one of the poshest accents I have ever heard but is extremly down to earth.  She does karaoke in her spare time.

J

J is in her early forties but looks like 30.  She has implants provided with a discount from a friend in Miami.  She goes to the gym often and does "boxercise".  She once tried coke with her daughter.  Her husband is a TV executive responsible for a big reality tv hit.

Helen

Helen has just broken up from her boyfriend.  She is bitter.  They met on the Internet and now the guy is dating another girl he met on the Internet while he was dating her.  She is from China and works in alternative medicine.  I'm not sure how old she is but I think she is around 34.  She lives in a flat in East London she shares with a French girl and another Chinese girl.

Deep

Deep is from India, I went to University with him.  He finds it hard to hold down relationships.  A year ago he went to Thailand for a month and didnt come back.  He went with his girlfriend and I heard on the grapevine that it was a nightmare and she came back without him.  At university he smoked a lot of hashish.

Alicia

Alicia is from Austrailia.  She's a lovely person but a bit of a flake...she is always forgetting her keys.  She has men chasing her every day -- about 5 new guys every day she told me.  She lives in expensive South London and works in Mayfair in a legal office.  She loves to party and has many friends.

Theo

Theo is on TV.  He owns several business and is said to be worth at least $200M.  He is a nice guy. 

Olivia

Olivia is from Italy.  She graduated from University last year and now works with an accounting/consulting firm.  She likes travelling.  She once worked in Boston for a year and loves Clam Chowder.  She's blonde, mysterious and very alluring.

Ros

Ros is lovely.  I went out with her on New Year's eve.  She is about 29 but has only been involved with two men.  She has had bi-curious experiences and may be gay...but she doesnt know yet.  She works in Law.

The London Business Lunch

Being in advertising, every couple of weeks you are expected to attend some sort of "business lunch".  Of course it's not really a business lunch -- just an excuse to get drunk during office hours at some swanky restaraunt.  Every couple of weeks my boss takes us to a restaurant -- and we sometimes discuss business. 

Last week we went out to one of the best Indian restauraunts in London -- for no reason -- all of it paid for by my boss.  For me, it was slightly uncomfortable -- it takes some getting used to in my opinion.  Business lunches are strange affairs...you sit around a table in close proximity to people you dont really know and pretend to get on...for the sake of business. 

A few weeks ago, we were invited out by one of our partner-firms in Soho -- we spend a lot of money on deals with them and they offered to take us out.  They took us out to lunch at some expensive, modern, pseudo-Chinese restaraunt on the King's Road.  The food was beautiful but lunch was punctuated my moments of awkaward silence and people thinking about what to talk about -- I didnt have a clue.  You want to appea friendly but do not want to seem "over-friendly". 

After a few bottles of wine, I noticed that my voice and the voice of one of my colleagues, had gotten considerably louder.  My boss looked on poker-faced, but I could tell he was getting some sort of thrill at the mild but obvious loss of coherence and control at the table.  I stopped myself from drinking any more and ordered water.

Apart from the wine situation, one has to contend with the ordering situation...what can one order?  Is that too expensive?  Is that too cheap?  Will I have to eat that with my hands?

In my opinion, the business lunch is not a good situation to be in.  Yes, it's better than being at work but it's not as though you can relax and let loose?! 

London Religion

Most people in London have no religion.  We used to be a secular, Christian people, now we are nothing.  I dont know if its good or bad.  People still have values but they seem to be less and more liberal than in my parents generation.  For example, the idea of casual, meaningless sex seems more widespread than ever before.

I'm 29 and seem to be one of a rare breed that still believes in God, goes to church (occasionally) and prays.  I'm almost looked-upon as a freak.

The church's population is dwindling - when I walk the streets I see chruches being torn down or converted into Yuppie flats.

The Muslim population is growing.  I see nothing wrong with that - I am a strong believer in faith of any sort.  Of course I dissaprove strongly in any kind of fundamentalism...even Christian fundamentalism.  There is a small population of Bhuddists - they too seem to be growing. 

In London, one has no idea who is Jewish...you could know somone for years and they would not mention it until one day you see them and ask "where are you going?" "to synagogue" they reply.  Jewish people are called called Green, Gold or Taylor not Abrahams, Schwartz or Dershowitz like in the States.  There is a community in North London obviously Jewish - the men wear black suits, skullcaps and grow their beards long -- like on Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn.

London People

London has become a world filled with foreigners.  As house prices rise, the English are moving out -- to Kent, to Manchester, to Bristol.  And Spaniards come, rich Russians, French and lots of Eastern European au pairs.

On the streets of London, everyone has taken to riding bikes.  This has happened becuase of "7/7" when Islamic terrorists bombed our public transport.  The middle-aged, middle-classes are scared, like the characters in the film American Beauty, they cling on for their lifestyle.

On the trains and in the stations now there are frequent announcements.  For example, "If you see a beggar on this train please tell a member of staff".  Am I paranoid or is there a hieghtened level of control being perpetuated by the authorities?

London is becoming increasingly Americanized, specifically, turning into Manhattan.  The career-women look up to the characters from Sex and the City, London is becoming increasingly "ghetto-ized" -- so now we have the Polish area, the Somalian area etc, just like NY, and people have become infatuated with Hollywood-style celebrity.

We are a multicultural society.  In this small office there are four mixed-race couples...my boss is English and has a French-speaking Moroccan Muslim girlfriend; my colleague Anna is German/Jewish and married to a Mauritian Hindu (both are non-practicing relgious); my colleague Chris is English and married to a French speaking Senegalise (both practising Catholics) and the guy in the next office: English with a Jamaican wife.

Because of house-prices, young professionals are now moving into Yuppie flats -- small box-like apartments not fit for any human to live in.  Like Manhattan, only the rich will live in houses.

Friday

I found some messages from another man on Nat's phone.  When I confronted her she simply said they were from a friend.    

The relationship seems distant and detached -- I hardly get to see Nat as she says she is always busy, so I've decided to date other women.  I call up a girl who I met at university and we go out for drinks.  I've also met another woman who seems nice.

4:05AM Nat's house, Sunday

I eventually got through to Nat the following Tuesday...but the way she did'nt return my calls that night me makes me wonder...

I'm at Nat's and I cant sleep -- sleeping here on a Sunday night was a bad idea -- I'm in Hither Green in South East London and I need to get to Fulham in West London to get to work in the morning -- I would say it's a two-hour trip that I dont need right now -- I've become accostomed to the ten-minute walk into work.

Nat's cell phone is beeping every ten minutes -- that means somone has left a message that has not been answered.  Who would send a message at this time of night?  I'm going to look at her phone.

Understand, usually, I would not look at somone's phone, usually, I would'nt act this way.  But something in her mannerisms have made me suspicious.

I've never done this before -- invade somone's privacy...but she says nothing of her feelings for me, when I aks her a question about "us" she is evasive and vague and sometimes when I speak, I feel she has something to say -- but she never says it.  I have known her for over fivee years yet, I dont know her.  I dont understand her.

Materialism in London

Being in London, you become critically aware of the value placed on material items -- it's endemic. 

My boss is shallow.  He's a millionaire and measures his happiness in terms of money.  He enjoys skiing in the alps, flying on private jets and eating at The Ivy.  It's important that he has the best of everything: the best cell phone, the best sofa in his office, "the best life".  He lives to travel.  Every weekend he flies to Morocco to see his girlfriend, next week he will be in Miami, the week after South Africa.

Apparently, he changed his accent and made his wife have elecution lessons.  He had no money when he was young so it seems he forever feels poor.  They say you can tell if people come from money: if they have to constantly prove it, they hav'nt.  I sit opposite the son of a British Diplomat.  He dresses rather scruffily.

The boss who runs the company next door is shallow.  He walks into our office and declares "One of my chairs costs more than five of yours" for no reason.  He just bought a house for $12M but doesnt buy his small, loyal group of employees Christmas presents.

He is skinny, balding and always wears black.  He is divorced and doesnt seem to have any friends.  He goose-steps around the office all day, speaking in an unaturally loud and agressive manner.

Both of theses men are fifty-five.  I find it difficult to believe that they still quantify life in these terms.

Sunday

Although I left messages last night on Nat's answering machine, she has not got back to me.

Last night I thought about Bev.  If she ever gave me the chance again, I think I would propose.

Saturday

Midday.

I walk down the road to get a haircut. 

After, I head back to the flat on Fulham Road (where I am staying).  I'm now living with an Arabic guy.  He insists on talking all through the night on his mobile phone and is becoming increasingly annoying.

At the flat there are plumbers.  They have taken out the boiler and occupied the kitchen -- things and pans strewn everywhere.  I dont like such chaos so I head back out.

"No Country For Old Men" is showing at the cinema across the street.  Supposed to be good they say.  I make up my mind to see it.  But I'm hungry so I walk to the King's Road to find a decent pub lunch.

Two pubs are full to capacity because there is an England rugby match on TV.  I find another.  It's filled with the young rich -- I feel a little out of place but I'm hungry.  I order a burger, chips and beer and it comes to $20.

I eat alone and listen to my portable radio with headphones.  The film starts at 3:30.

6:30

I turn my mobile on again.  Jack has cancelled.

I thought I would be seeing Nathalie tonight but she said Sunday would be better -- so I made arrangements for a guy's night out in a place where the girls were beautiful, plentiful, and friendly.

I dont know what Nat is doing tonight -- maybe seeing another man -- how do I know?

I text Jack "No problem" and call Nat. 

No answer.  Ok.  Looks like I'm staying in tonight.

I go across the road to the supermarket and buy some beers and chips. 

When I get back to the flat the plumbers are still there so I go to my room and put on the TV and watch Law and Order.

Saturday

I wasted Saturday.  I woke around 10, then had it in my mind to buy the coat I saw in Notting Hill before going to see Brendon down the road to ask him to fix my other coat.  I also had to go to my sister's house to collect some mail -- it was very important as it concerned university debts -- the creditors were after me.

I was supposed to meet an old uni friend 'Jack' in Liecester Square later and my mind wandered, thinking about the beautiful and accessible women I would be talking to.

When I arrived at my sister's she was not happy to see me "I could have been on a bootly call" she told me as she opened the door.  I felt slightly ill at the thought of that.

I picked-up my mail and used the lap-top to check my facebook.  Actions as simple as this are taken with a great deal of care at my sister's...last time she made me clean the lap-top after I had used it.  I would describe my sister as a sort of female Woody Allen character...without the humour.

Always worried, always tense, always in agony, my sister says she is undergoing a life-change.  She's converting from Christianity to Bhuddhism...but she isnt really.  She has'nt really made any changes.  She chants once in a while.

She found out she was ill.  She is thirty-nine but moves like she is 55.  It's so sad.  I think she made herself sick -- with all the worrying.

The doctors did'nt know what it was for an age.  "Connective Tissue Disorder" they eventually came up with.  This is a woman who does'nt drink, does'nt smoke...does'nt even have a vice.

It's difficult for me to be around my sister.  I offer to help her do anything -- she refuses.  She takes after my father I think...arrogant, moody and impatient. 

Saturday

It's impossible to be a professional in London and not drink.  Last night I was drinking with colleagues at a pub on the corner near work, Thursday night I was out in Leicester Square drinking at a corporate party put on for buyers, today I am hung-over.

Drinking is ingrained within the British culture like roast beef, soccer and Michael Caine.  I believe it comes from our Anglo-Saxon/Celtic heritage.  Tonight, I am meeting James and Marty for a drink on the South Bank of the Thames. 

As I walk along the South Bank from London Bridge Station, and look across the river at the massive modern buildings, the city is all lit-up in neon-blue like 70s Vegasthis colour is now so much associated with "new London"every new structure that is built is bathed in blue lighting.

After drinking till quite late, I jumped in a taxi and went to Nathalie's house - we have started-up our affair again with a view to a more permanent, long-term arrangement.  It has been going on for three or four weeks now.

It started completely by accident - before Christmas I had arranged to meet James and Marty for drinks in the city.  However, the place we were to drink at was right next to Nathalie's office.  I never have thought badly of her so I sent her an e-mail inviting her along.

She responded immediately with a great enthusiasm that surprised me - it was slightly flattering.  However, she said she couldn't meet me right now but that we should get together soon.  I was indifferent.

She e-mailed me a few days later and said she would be free on the night of the office Christmas party - which was taking place at a place I knew well - a Latin bar where office drunks hangout called Fuegos - I used to go there when I worked in the city.

I turned-up there on the designated night but it was late - around 11PM.  The place stunk of stale alcohol and the suits that remained were gone - dancing around like zombies with their shirts hanging out.  I looked around for herno sign.  As I was about to leave when I noticed a familiar figure seated in the smoky darkness talking to two executives.  I thought to myself: "That must be her".  I waved and she saw me.  She ran over like a little school girl and hugged me.

We talked for about an hour.  Then out of the blue (it seemed to me) she said "are you coming home with me".  This was purely unexpected - I was only there to say hello.  I thought for a second as I wasn't sure how to respond but at the end of the day - I'm a man.

And it has been going on ever since.  Not like the old days - once every six months, but like something more conventional - once or twice every week. 

Last week she introduced to her children for the first time.  We'll see what happens next.

In the office

It's a big change coming back to London from my post-grad at university.  At the university, we discussed political theory, Barthes and the move toward Internet journalism, in the office, we gossip about other people in the office.  In particular, one girl seems to enjoy gossiping more than others. 

I have been here three months now and my initial impressions of the woman have proven unfounded.  From my perception of her as a sweet girl, she now seems to have the makings of a harpy. 

I hate to say this but the secretaries (what are now referred to as PA's or "Pee-ae's"), seem to discuss the most banal subjects.  I like talking about films but draw the line at a film star's personal life.  Shoes, bras, stockings, hair, Natalie Portman's love-life, anything at all seems up for discussion.  

It seems that the true and only goal of these girls is to look good.  When I worked for HSBC in the heart of the financial district in London, it was the young, good-looking girls who always secured the entry-level jobs.  This is 2007, and reverse sexual discrimination still abounds.  Most of the departments are still managed by men, and most men in their mid-forties want to see a 24 year-old who looks great, sashaying around the office in tight white jeans.  In my office, there is a girl from Eastern Europe who could easily be a model.  She's dumb as hell but still commands an important role within our small company.  Next door there is a South African of Portuguese originsize eight and the queen of tight clothes.  She's does an important job: "Account Manager" she says (i.e. selling the company's brand and products globally) I believe she handles 1,000,000 Euros in business a year.  I asked her what she did before this and she said "I worked in pizza hut - I was recommended by one of the bosses friends".  I have nothing against a person coming from humble beginnings to make good - I just don't think company-climbing should be done with a tight skirt.  Maybe I'm naive?

Saturday

4AM.

Still up - I can't sleep.  I'm back at my sister's in West London.  I'm on the laptop screwing around.

Woke up at 11.30 (when I set my alarm to go off).  I have to meet Marty and James at Charing Cross at 1.30 and I want to sell a coat in Notting Hill before I do that.  I go back to sleep.

12.30 PM

Wake up again.  Just enough time for me to have something to eat, NOT sell the coat, and get to Charing Cross on time. 

I leave the house and walk around the corner.  There is hardly anyone on the street.  They must be all in Oxford Street shopping?  Its dark - even though its only 1 PM.  I look down the road for a number 6 bus, but there are none and I'm not waiting in this cold for one.  I decide to walk it to Maida Vale -- to get the Bakerloo Line to Charing Cross.

The walk to Maida Vale always seems to last an age.  Even as I reach Paddington Recreation Ground I'm exhausted.  Eventually, I get to the station and go down into the tube.

1.40 PM

I get to Charing Cross and phone Marty.  My phone is fucked so I have to use a pay phone.  He's in Temple in the Walkabout bar.

I assume the Walkabout is five minutes away and walk toward the Thames near Embankment Station.  I'm wrong and have to walk some distance until I remember where this bar is.

Down near the Thames, the streets are deserted also.

1.55 PM

I get to the Walkabout bar.  This is not my sort of place.  It's Australian, its quiet and the place is full of giant screens showing football - West Ham Vs someone.  I walk in, and see the guys anxiously waiting for me at a table.  I haven't seen them since late summer. 

I know these guys from HSBC.  James is lanky and thin with a shaved head - not the sort of person I would imagine myself to hang around with but he's a great guy: down to earth, intelligent and generous.  He's an Essex boy, went straight into banking from his A-Levels and he's doing pretty well now - he's well respected in the company.  He's the most affable bloke I know - he'll talk to anyone.  He's always got women on his mind but he's not a player - he's a relationship guy really.

Marty's a neurotic.  He's the Woody Allen from Sidcup.  Highly intelligent - a geek really, he knows about Machiavelli and films and HG Wells.  He respects the traditional Japanese traits of loyalty and manners and hard work.  One of the most loyal people I know, Marty will stick up for you if someone speaks badly of you, and doesn't involve himself in speaking behind people's backs.  He's hard-working but is afraid of his bosses - afraid to challenge them when they take advantage.  He's a hard-core drinker.  He is doing pretty well for himself as well - he's now with Citibank.  He hasn't had a girlfriend in years and I don't think he's kissed a girl since 2004.  An all-round good guy.

I stay in Temple drinking for some two hours.  I have to meet Dave at 5 at Notting Hill, so I'm constantly looking at my watch whilst trying to be discreet about it.  We talk about the new Bond film, Eastenders (surprisingly, I'm not a fan), Ridley Scott, travelling and football.

It's about 4 on the dot when we decide to call it a day.  We walk out onto Embankment and I shake hands with James.  James shakes hands with Marty and James heads off east, presumably to get a bus.  Marty and I walk west, toward Embankment tube station.

I leave Marty at Charing Cross and head up toward Leicester Square, not yet knowing the route I'm gonna take.  I think about walking across Leicester Square and getting a bus to Notting Hill from Regent Street.  Is it Regent Street I have to take a bus from or Oxford Street?  I'm a little confused.  I'm hungry so pop into Burger King, Leicester Square to try one of their new 'Angus Burgers'.  Of course I know its not real steak but I'm a sucker for something new.  I eat quickly whilst deciding the best thing to do.  I decide the best thing to do is to walk to Tottenham Court Road and take the Central Line to Notting Hill.

When I get out at Notting Hill, D is waiting for me but he's on the phone - explaining to his mum why he's out drinking when he should be helping her with the shopping.  He feels guilty.  I first met D when I worked at the Law Society some seven years ago and he's now one of my closest friends -- he's the only one who came to visit me when I was living abroad. 

The air is cold and crisp and is curt on my skin.  As usual, everyone in Notting Hill looks trendy: the men wearing knee-length brown Hackett coats, designer jeans and scarves and Loake Oxfords.  The women wear knee-length woollen coats also but accessorize them with antique broaches and black high-heeled boots - they look gorgeous.

We go to the Prince Albert (once the scene of a disastrous date with a pretty girl) as they now play good music.  We find ourselves a quiet corner and D fills me in about his trip to Australia - as everyone else does now, he's raving about it.  I'm looking at my watch again.  I've made arrangements with all my close friends and time is stretched.  I'm to meet James at around 7 or 8.  Me and D talk about house prices, jobs and travelling.

We run out of things to talk about and decide to leave.  I try calling James from Notting Hill Station - no reply.  I'm guessing he's screening calls.  Fuk it!  I decide to just go down there.  The journey is simply Central Line to Mile End then on a few more stops on the District Line.

When I get out at my stop, I walk quickly - its fuckin freezing!  Ten minutes later, I'm at James' - luckily he has just arrived.

No food mate! He says.  I was dropping round for dinner.  When we can, we always arrange small dinners.  Another friend of his was coming round so we wait for a while. 

We go to the supermarket and pick up some turkey, vegetables, pudding and wine - this is gonna be a good dinner!

Whilst we eat we talk about women, whether or not we would shag Nicole Kidman, travel, the new Bond, Lost, Kevin Bacon and Tom Cruise.  We talk about business and the flow of money in the world.  We even touch on the science v God thing - I'm on the 'God' side, James is on the science side.  James is of the belief that everything can be explained by science.  I'm of the belief that science will one day prove there is a God.

We finish eating and its time to go home - its 1.30AM

Two French girls

Lin

I first saw Lin on campus at University.  I fancied her immediately.  She approached me one day in the dining hall and introduced herself.  I was so flattered. 

I helped her with her English (she is French).  I fancied her but I knew she had a boyfriend so made no attempt to do anything. 

We lost touch for a time but I received a postcard from her while I was working in NY at the beginning of 2002.  I immediately began my seduction.  We e-mailed each other every day for 3 months.  I was due to return to London that summer, by then I knew she was hooked.

When I got back to London we began what can only be described as a "fling".  It lasted all of two weeks. 

Her lovemaking was warm and tenderit meant something.  This was unique for me.  The girls I had been with previously were faster and more 'animalistic'.

We had one fight and she said she didn't want anything to do with me again.  I said "ok" and basically told her to "piss off" in a polite way.  It wasn't that I didn't care, it was just that I didn't know how else to respond.

Three years ago, I contacted her again through her e-mail, which I remembered.  She respondedcautiously at first.  When she realised I held her no malice she warmed-up. 

My first intention was either to get her back or to get her into bed - I was going through a "dry-spell". 

I enquired as to "us".  She said she wanted to be friends.  So over the next several months we met-up as friends but by that point I didn't care whether we got together as a couple or not.  I liked her, but I didn't like her that much.  Don't get wrong, she looked gorgeous but that harsh, cold side of her put me off

Last summer, out of the blue, I got a text asking if she knew of anywhere she could stay - she was desperate.  I had a spare room and it was no loss to me to give it up so I said she could come and stay at mine and I would charge her "twenty pounds a week" for bills.  Also, I figured she would keep the place clean.

We lived together for six months and there were never any arguments.  She was calm and I was relaxed.  At times, I felt like ripping off the towel she had wrapped around her as she came out of the shower but I never did. 

I think I was falling for her but I can't be sure.  How can one be sure?  I had to keep these feelings in check - we were friends now and any type of emotional discussion makes Lin feel uncomfortable I think.

When she finally moved out I was sorrowful but she didn't know. 

We see each other a bit less than once a month and talk on the phone a bit less than once a week.

Nat

I first met Nat at the Pitcher & Piano bar in Bishopsgate, opposite Liverpool Street Station.  The year was 2003 and I was working in the financial area of the city.

Nat was the oldest woman I had ever been out with.  When I met her, she would have been around 34.  She looked great - she was one of those successful female executive types - all high heels and pencil skirts and tight business jackets - with the French scarf thrown in.  She was extremely athletic.  I think she was the type of girl who didn't get a lot of attention in school, she had blossomed late and by God, she was going to make up for it now. 

The P&P was a pick-up joint.  I always went there because lots of Essex girls

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Essex_girl

went there and most of them were very attractive and easy to talk to.  Although this was so, Nat was the only girl I actually pulled there and we didn't get it together until some 18 months later.

The first time I took her out, I took her to the Coq d'Argent restaurant at No.1 Poultry - a relatively new building with a rooftop bar and restaurant.  After we had finished eating I took her outside onto the roof and I think she was impressed. 

On the roof, Nat told me she was in a relationship but that she was going to break it off.  She had two children but wasn't married.  I was not sure how to respond to all this but acted "grown-up".  She told me things weren't working out at home and that it was over. 

We went out a few times during those 18 months and I acted the gentleman - it takes me a while to feel comfortable around a girl, as well as that, I was uncomfortable with the fact that the father of her children was still living in the same house.

We started seeing each other as friends and this went on for over a year.

One day, I think when she felt I was neglecting her; her "husband" and rang me up.  He asked me "if he should move out" and "what was the deal between me and Nathalie".  This was new to me.  I felt like JR in Dallas.  In a way, I was flattered - was I officially a player now?  The man seemed like a nice guy so I told him he had nothing to worry about.  What bothered me about the incident was: how the hell did he get my number anyway?

With hindsight this was probably the time for me to declare a serious, strong interest but I didn't - I was just going with the flow -- after several disappointing dates with other women, I had decided that it was prudent to ask out as many girls as possible as; some cancelled, some never answered the phone, and some turned out to be dumb.

We were drinking in a pub one day when I casually asked: "Well what do you want to do now?"  She responded by saying "Your place".  I couldn't get into the taxi fast enough. 

It was like I was in some exotic melodrama; she handled me with such expertise and confidence.  This was experience. 

She was insatiable.  The love-making was frenetic and crazed - but there was little tenderness or affection.

And this became the pattern of our "relationship": we would sleep together, then I would put some kind of pressure on her for a more conventional relationship, then she would tell me to grow up, then I would lose my temper and break it off, then I would ring her and apologize and we would go back to this casual relationship.  This went on for three years.  It is not normal to me but I realise in this day and age such relationships are common.

I have not seen her for about two years although we had some phone and e-mail contact.  The "husband" moved out some two years ago

The Brummie and the toff.

Angela

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brummie

Angela needs constant male attention.  At any one time there are three or four guys fawning over her.  I'm not a fawner.  I first met her at a school for English Teachers in January of 2005. 

She knew how to look at a manto get him intrigued - get him turned-on actually.  She had perfected that unique act of experience and naivety.

We were never an item but I always felt that there was something special there - I was deluded.  Last year she went to work in Italy and invited me over to visit.  Just as I was planning how to get there, and in the process of booking my ticket, she stopped returning my e-mails and didn't respond to me for about six months.

Then a few months ago, out of nowhere, she contacted me again.  Angela had got back from Italy and was working in Cambridge.  I was looking for work and Angela told me about a job at Ridley Hall in Cambridge,

http://www.simonho.org/images/Cambridge/RidleyHall1.jpg

teaching rich foreign students English.  She promised to keep me company and show me the ropes once I had got there.

A few days later, I arrived at Ridley Hall expecting to see her - expecting just some company as I was terrified - not having taught in a year.  But she had left Cambridge and returned home to Birmingham.  There have been other instances of unreliability which I will not go into here.  I have come to the conclusion that Angela is flaky and unreliable and I am loath to believe anything that comes out of her mouth.

I am no longer interested. 

Jess Gold

http://www.thefreedictionary.com/toff

I first met Jess a couple of years ago at Hakkesan

http://images.hardens.com/images/remys/remy_yakitoria_web.jpg

in the West End.  She was 20 and I was 28.  This age difference was a huge obstacle by my reckoning but she won me over with her intelligence, wit and confidence.

We kept in touch but never managed to get it together - I later found out she was actually seeing someone at the time.  Jess sees it as entirely reasonable that she should see several men at the same time - I have never met anyone so young and comfortable with this lifestyle - this includes my men friends!  I do not find it particularly appropriate to see more than one person at a time - call me old fashioned!

Last year, by coincidence, Jess moved into a house just down the road from me, I was living in Westbourne Park in West London, and she was living in Notting Hill.  So last summer, we spent more time together than we ever did and eventually got it together. 

The whole thing was difficult for me - she was difficult.  She would over-dramatize situations, demanding that we "clashed" when we had a disagreement, and when we had intelligent discussions, she suggested that she should leave my flat immediately - as though no one had ever dared to argue with her before. 

I could only refer to her in certain ways.  She became known to me as Jess "don't call me babe" Gold.  "You can call me Princess" she would say.  "Don't use any rude words".  At times being around her was a nightmare.

Her lovemaking was rough, unpracticed and quick.  Her skin was rough and a little cold not like B or Clare who were warm and smooth.  I'm someone who relies heavily on feeling, and this didn't feel right.

In mid-summer, (to my relief) she left England for NY - we had that in common, she had always wanted to live in NY and I had lived there.

She does not return my e-mails but sometimes we chat on msn.

7.08 PM Tuesday, sometime in late November

I'm in (the bar) "All Bar One".  Music is playing.  I would describe it as "Funky house"?  It's dark in herelike a club.  The crowd is mostly young - lawyers and bankers I suppose.

I was in here a few years ago - with Jason.  The city

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/City_of_London

has not changed.  I'm waiting for Lin and some friends of hers.  Why are we still friends?  She annoys and infuriates me. 

I'm drinking a pint and considering whether or not to continue my workresearch into viral marketing.  I work for a small marketing company in West London and this research is proving to be very interesting.  According to Wikipedia, "viral marketing is the building of brand awareness via natural human contactit is hoped that word spreadsthe name is analogous to a virus" or something like that.

What are people doing out drinking on a Thursday night?  I myself just want to go home and sleep but I was worried about letting Lin down again - I was supposed to meet her the other day.

I went out the other nightFridaywith some girls from the office.  Very attractive they were but my intentions were noble - well almost.  I didn't want to try anything with girls from the office in case something went pear-shaped

http://www.peevish.co.uk/slang/p.htm

down the line and screwed with work.  So my strategy is just to see what happens.  To be perfectly honest, I'm not lookingrelationships are a serious matter, not to be taken lightly, and it's settling-down time for me - I've had enough fun.  Not that I've been prolific but I've been an "above-average-male, who resides in the UK" - and it's enough.  Hearts are too fragile to be played with.

I'm going to sign-off now, and read about viral marketing.  I wonder what London has in store for me next?

Girls in London between the ages of 25 and 30.

Is it my imagination or are all the girls in London aged between 25 and 30 completely mad?

I went out with one and she wouldn't let me buy her a drink.  She wouldn't give me a reason but I suppose it was because she was suspicious that I would put something in it.  Another insisted she pay -- she whipped her money out of her purse so fast it nearly hit me in the face.  Another gave me her number and would only talk to me by phone -- refusing to meet up with me -- insisting she was too busy.  Why the hell d'u give me the number in the first place?

Another lured me all the way up to Birmingham (Angela) before talking about other men all night -- whilst constantly checking her mobile for calls.  Another told me she was seeing four men whilst I sat across from her in a restaurant. 

Yet another literally forced me to take me her number after she sat across from me in the train.  When I called her she apologised for the way she acted and said she had changed her mind.  Another said she was thirsty and when I brought her water, insisted I drink it first.  What the hell are these women thinking???

I'm the guy who gets the drunk women coming up to him at a club or party.  They give me their number and when I call them in the morning they can't remember me.

A Seinfeld in London

I'm in a pub, at the back of the Haymarket near Piccadilly.  Its 16:05 on a Saturday and I'm alone.  This is a pub I come to sometimes as I never have to queue and it's central.

I'm always drawn to Leicester Square - why?  It may be my fetishistic, voyeuristic, intensely aesthetic nature - the "West End" has an abundance of things to look at - beautiful women, colourful clothes, well-stocked bookstores that contain a wide variety of magazines and books, foreigners, sex shops, cinemas, architecture, exotic food

I'm going to jump on the 14 bus and go through Kensington - I'm going to see a friendbut this bloody Oyster card - I must refill it with credit which means I'll have to go to the cash-point and I'll have to go to Piccadilly Circus tube station to get credit put on it.  I'll have to go through the hassle of that when all I want to do is jump on the bloody bus.

I leave the pub and venture out.  As I pass certain streets I'm reminded of different women - God I wish I hadn't come to the West End quite so often.  Panton Street and the cheap restaurant that I took B to.  Norris Street and the kiss with Tamsin when I felt nothing and refused her offer of a lift home.

I'm going to test a hypothesis.  It is said that if you stand in Piccadilly Circus for 32 minutes you're bound to see someone you know.  Well what else is there to do when you've got a free Saturday?

I last all of 5 minutes then go to get some food in China Town at the Crispy Duck restaurant on Shaftsbury Avenue. 

When I emerge from the restaurant its 17:30 and the streets are becoming crowded.

I cut through the crowds with skill and dexterity - its no mean feat - one must be accustomed to the shortcuts, the rhythm, the crowd.

I find myself back at Piccadilly Circus, waiting for the number 14.  It comes and I get on.

6.30 PM

For some reason, when I step out into Fulham Road it feels as though I have come home.  I am of South London, yet West London feels like home - I spent all of my post-adolescence here.  Fulham Road, near the cinema, statuesque, rich, blonde women of all sizes.

I walk by Tampopo, the pseudo-Japanese restaurant where me and Jess had dinner once - I know, I'm terribly sentimental - but we don't talk anymore.

I stop in at my friend's house and he offers me some kind of drug - a bush Somalis chew on to get high - it has little impact except to make me talk non-stop for an hour.

We walk to King's Road and have two ice creams, a cappuccino and a tea -- for 20.  The streets are filled with good-looking women and rich men - toffs, Arabs and old businessmen from around the world.

I'm reminded of an episode from Seinfeld: sitting in the restaurant with George one day, Seinfeld holds his head in his hands in despair and says, "What are we doing?  What kinds of lives are these?  We're not men".  Sitting here now, in this pretentious cafe, I feel I can truly empathize with Seinfeld.