Monday, 18 July 2011

Moving to a new pad

I'm moving to wordpress!

I felt a little left behind on blogger so I decided to move. You can find me at

Hope to see you there

Wednesday, 15 June 2011

A beautiful Attribute

Yesterday a deep discussion took place between myself and my new work colleague.

Quiet-Guy belongs to the Muslim faith and has recently tied the knot with his long standing girlfriend.

So, me being the nosy person that I am, demanded details of how they met, how they fell in love, how did she style her hair etc.

Their story is quite a sweet one. They met four years ago while they were both studying. They became quick friends and fell in-love (awww).

Like every good love story, the main characters faced a few obstacles. The main problem with their relationship was that her parents didn't approve of the way the couple had met. Their beliefs and traditions were the same, but the issue was that they hadn't been properly introduced as potential partners.

Being a confident and respectful person, Quiet-Guy politely spoke with her father and asked for her hand in the traditional sense. He promised to take care of her and love her like no other.

So far so good right?

Well Quiet-Guy casually mentioned in passing that his wife had decided to wear a hijab (a hijab is a headscarf that covers only the hair not the face).

I immediately jumped to the conclusion that her decision was really his.

Talk about media influenced!

He smiled and said "I knew you'd think that!"

So I felt guilty, and decided to probe a little more.

Quiet-Guy's wife took the decision to cover her hair as a form of worship to their lord, not as a compliance with his wishes. He, of course supports her decision.

He then said something very deep "I believe a woman's hair is her most beautiful attribute, even more so after meeting my wife. I didn't ask her to wear a hijab but I'm happy that she does. It makes me proud to think that her most beautiful asset is for my eyes only."

So when I got home, I casually asked Solicitor what he thought was a woman's most beautiful physical attribute.

He sighed and raised his eyebrows in question.

"Are you writing a romantic novel again? Because the last time you did that it turned in to an unfinished thriller."

I flushed with annoyance. I worked hard for two days on that novel. And so what if I went off subject? It's not like I was planning on being an international best seller or anything!

I pushed him again for an answer. And this is what he said:

"Probably your hair. It just smells and feels nice. Or your skin. Why?"

"What about eye's and smile?"

"Yeah, very beautiful, but you said physical. Eyes and smiles are to do with personality and emotion. Why? Are you fishing for compliments?"

Of course I wasn't!

Well, it wasn't my main aim but a few compliments wouldn't hurt.

I told him about Quiet-Guy and his wife's decision to wear a hijab. We talked a little about it and explored the extremism of wearing the garment.

I'm not one to normally look for a sociological discussion, but any thoughts?

Tuesday, 14 June 2011

The Return of Elise

Well... I'm not too sure how to start. I'm assuming that most of you have also gone AWOL but if not... HELLO AGAIN!

I haven't blogged in over a year, and I've just realised how much I missed it.

I recently started a new job. The starting my own business thing? Long story. Not over. I'll cover it one day. But for now I'd like to introduce you to my new colleagues (now the new subject of gossip)

Doing the same job as I am but with a different brand we have a hardass blond european. When I first met her she must have been going though some kind of breakdown. We shook hands and the conversation went a little like this:

"Hi, nice to meet you I'm Elise."

"I'm Euro-Girl."

Then she slipped into a low whisper

"If you want my advice Elise, I'd leave. I'd leave right now. These people are fucking bastards!"

Then her large brown eyes filled with tears and she fled in the direction of the loos.

What a great start. I supressed a groan. I had no wish to spend the major part of my day with an emotional woman, but I soon found out that I'd just caught her on a bad day.

Euro-Girl has three others in her team: Quiet-Guy, Diva and The-Invisible-One.

Quiet-Guy is, well, quiet. But don't let the lack of talk fool you. You don't have to be a blabber mouth to be confident. You don't have to shout about what your doing to be good at it.

Quiet-Guy gave one nod when he met me. About half an hour later he added me on office communicator. We have a lot in common. Apart from my dramatics. And my chatty nature. And our views of the work place.

Actually scrap that. We don't have much in common, but we get along.

Diva is a larger than life woman. When I first met her she'd limped in to work an hour late carrying a shoe with a broken heal. She was in a bad mood.

Not because she'd broken a heal and spent an hour limping miles down the road. No, she was late and moody because she'd spent an hour in Aldo complaining that they didn't have the exact same pair of shoes to replace her ruined ones.

She flicked her long impracticle nails in frustration and complained that the shop managers didn't even sound apologetic when they said sorry.

Lastly on the other team is The-Invisible-One. I met her once. In passing. She pulls slot of sickies and takes alot of holidays.

My team also consists of a quiet guy. At least I thought he was. The more I get to know him the more I see a playful side. Indian-Guy is from India. He has the best scientific brain. Worked for years in research and has recently taken a job with this company to be "the science behind the product". Indian-Guy is cool. I think I'm going to enjoy working with him

And last but not least there's Sweetie. Sweetie is, in awful terms, a doormat. There's nothing she wouldn't do out of the goodness of her heart. When I first met Sweetie she insisted on helping me carry my bag. She fetches coffee and tea and anything else the team would like. It's hard not to take up on those offers... I have to control myself. She's not my PA!

So ther you have it. A new start and a new post. I hope your all still out there!

Friday, 30 April 2010

Relax, Rant and Relax

I have a day off!

I mean a real day off. I'm not working, I'm not organising meetings, or weddings, or going through finances. I feel like a diva!

It's such a beautiful day outside, but I have no plan to leave this house. I'm sipping pimms and lemonade (yes I know its before 12, but so what?), wearing my short-shorts and a tacky top with what are you staring at written in tiny tiny letters across my chest, and watching Smallville reruns.

I actually have time to blog, and catch up on some reading. I have seriously missed reading about everyone's lives. I'm such a nosy bitch!

Now I know on a lazy day like this I shouldn't talk politics but; Did you see the debate last night??

Oh. My. God.

Answer the question David. Answer the question. You can't can you?

No, David Cameron never answers the question. He blurts out a pre-meditated "Labour have ruined you. We can help you"


Help us?

How, David? How? When you're about to destroy the construction industry. Don't deny it David, we heard you!

I'm still on the fence. Labour have served us well. True, Gordon's the worst front man ever, but the party still serves us well. We needed the New Labour reign. I think people are seriously forgetting how it was when the Tory's were in power.

But then there's Clegg.... sigh!

The Liberal Democrats are brilliant in theory. Their policies are the best so far. They've covered every aspect of politics with a reasonable plan in hand.

I love what they say about immigration. They are the only party to actually have a solid plan. Funny how immigration is a Tory Campaign Idea isn't it? Too bad they haven't given the public any insight into how they'll realistically tackle it the way Lib Dems did.

And Nick seems genuine.

I've decided to wear both red and yellow on the day of election.

I'll go with my instincts on the day.

My instincts so far are; The Conservative Party are scum. Not as scummy as BNP or Ukip. But they're definitely comparable to germs of a public toilet.



That's my rant for the day.

I'm going to pour myself another pimms and relax.

Monday, 1 March 2010


I've been buried for a while.

So I suppose it's time to wake up!

Brother In Law (Solicitor's brother) and I have finally started things up. I have to admit (very grudgingly) that he was right; having a male business partner does help. We have two clients! Okay, I know that doesn't sound that impressive, but honestly I am over the moon.

Solicitor and I have set a date. I have six months to sort out everything. Luckily, I have already sorted out and filed away four large Liberace folders full of possibilities.

This is where Bimbo came in handy.

Bimbo is the most organised person when it comes to certain things. For example, Bimbo is the only person I know that has eight make up bags.


They're actually first aid bags, the type that unzip and fold out with separated plastic compartments for bandages etc. Bimbo has a different bag for different make-up items. A whole bag dedicated to lips; the gloss separated from the lipstick and organised into colour. A whole bag for mascara; separated by volume, length, colour.

So about two months ago, Bimbo and I were lying down on my living room floor with thousands of clippings of wedding magazines sprawled all over the floor.

Actually I was the only one lying down. Bimbo was sort of sitting up on the sofa. As much as her huge belly allowed her to do. And I mean huge! She had three cushions shoved behind her lower back and she sighed loudly every time she lifted her bottle of water to her mouth.

Despite her vulnerable position, Bimbo turned into Hilter!

"For God's sake Elise, the orchids go under 'table arrangement' not 'flower arrangement'. Not there! In THE OTHER FOLDER!"

"Jesus Christ! How the hell are you going to find the dress that you want unless you put them in order of style. No. No Elise. No. Not order of I-Like-This-One. Order of STYLE! Separate them by STYLE not Long and Ones-With-Train."

I hate to admit this, but I nearly cried. I started organising the wedding months before that, but apparently I had "done it all wrong".

Bimbo knew what she was talking about, though. After a few days we had separated everything (my one pathetic folder of my dream wedding) into four folders. It looks amazing! Each section is divided into sub-sections, with cross referenced footnotes. So for example if I flick to "1940s Dress" I have page references to "1940s Style Flower arrangements" and "1940s Hair".

When we were finally done we excitedly flicked through the folders like normal women and talked about the perfect wedding. It was during this happy occasion that something extraordinary happened.

Bimbo shut her eyes and groaned.

The baby was coming!

I dropped my folder and stared at her. She huffed and puffed in pain for about thirty seconds and then she carried on like normal.

"I love the 40s thing. We can do your hair like Veronica Lake"

"Bimbo, what the hell is wrong with you? That was a contraction!"

She nodded calmly.

"Yes I know. I've been having them for about an hour."

An hour?!

Okay, I must be the most unobservant person in the whole world. I didn't even notice!

I panicked and began hauling her up.

"We have to get you to the hospital. I need to call Pierce. Oh my God. I need to call an ambulance. No. I'll take you. We can't wait for an ambulance. Breath Bimbo, breath. Has your water broken?"

Oh my God, the sofa!

I didn't mean to think about the last thing, but for some reason it popped into my head.

Bimbo protested hard as a yanked open the front door.

"Wait. It'll be hours yet."

She was the one that dragged me back to the living room.

"Breath Elise."

I did. I breathed and then I cried.

Bimbo was having a baby. I was over joyed for her. Over joyed for her and selfishly crying for myself.

I didn't say anything but Bimbo is my best friend. She knew. She gripped my hand when I should have been holding hers and said "I'm here."

Two minutes later we were laughing and hugging. I called Pierce, who panicked way more than I did!

Bimbo has another Baby Girl. Big Baby Girl is a big sister! How adorable is that?

Tuesday, 10 November 2009

Great Aunt Celine

Grandmama's sister, Great Aunt Celine, is staying with Grandmama until the new year.

Like Grandmama, Great Aunt Celine has an air of sophistication. She's beautiful and holds herself with grace and elegance.

That is where the similarity ends.

Grandmama is a homely woman. She's embraced family life, knows how to bake, knit and other grandmother-like things. Great Aunt Celine is slightly eccentric.

She was married. Several times.

Husband Number 1 was quite a few years older than she was. He was a soldier in WWII. His family at the time were based in a northern village in France, his wife and baby daughter. It's not quite clear what happened to his family, all I know is that he lost them in 1944.

For five years he lived alone in Paris, until Great Aunt Celine stumbled into his life.

The poor man was trying desperately to read his newspaper quietly in a cafe. Celine spotted the serious looking man in the corner and thought it would be fun to blow smoke at him to see how angry she could make him.

Apparently he "loved her" that very night... (ew!) and they got married a month later.

He was a wonderful husband, and would have probably made a good father, but Great Aunt Celine got bored with him quite soon after he slipped the ring on her finger, and she decided to keep a lover on the side.

Husband Number 2 was that lover. He was nearer to Celine's age and she felt more comfortable with him on a "social level". Husband Number 1 knew about Celine's lover, but chose to turn a blind eye to the situation. Celine preferred it that way and enjoyed the sneaking about.

Obviously Husband Number 1 got a little cheesed off with the situation and eventually divorced Celine, leaving her free to marry her lover.

Husband Number 2 was a fun husband. They went dancing together. They liked to smoke on the balcony and talk about poetry and the theatre. They were happy for over four years.

Until he found himself a mistress.

Husband Number 2 was an honorable man and told Celine that he intended to take a mistress before her actually did. He swore to Celine that they would always remain husband and wife and that nobody would ever take her place in his heart.

Celine played the dutiful wife and gracefully accepted his mistress. Husband Number 2 had fun with Claudette, and Celine transferred their savings to a personal account and moved out.

Husband Number 2 understood and gave her an easy divorce.

Husband Number 3 came a few years later. He was Celine's real love. They met through a mutual friend and became quick friends. Their friendship developed into love and they eventually swore to be with each other always.

They bought a beautiful home and decorated it themselves. It took them two months to paint the living room. Husband Number 3 painted a mural of a tree on one wall and he was adamant on getting the shade of each leaf perfect.

He left her the home they built together. There was nobody else. He left everything to her in his Will.

Not surprisingly, Great Aunt Celine has alot of stories to tell and advise to give.

"Elise, how is your sex life?" she asked me last night, in a serious tone.

What was I supposed to say? "Yes, my sex life is amazing. My orgasms are as strong as ever."

"Because, Cherie, you have only to ask and I will be happy to advise you."

No thanks! The last thing I need is my great aunt giving me that kind of advise.

She smiled wistfully "My second husband was very good with his mouth-"

"Stop! Oh my God! Stop!"

Sunday, 6 September 2009

Elise Returns

It's been pretty crazy.

The first two weeks were spent in a slump of depression. I mean actual depression.

Sister came to stay and we did nothing but lounge around in our pajamas staring into space. Occasionally one of us would speak.

"He doesn't know where the Lenor goes. How is he going to do his laundry? Should I call him? I should. I'm going to call him."

She didn't call. And I never answered her.

I was listening.


"How can the doctors say "it's just one of those things" and "it's nature's way"? What kind of bullshit answer is that? Their supposed to be scientists, but when it comes to something that they don't know it becomes "nature's way". What the fuck?!"

It worked both ways. She never answered. And in all honesty I don't think she was even listening.

But I needed her there. Just like she needed me.

Then of course Solicitor lost it with the both of us. Over a bowl of dry pasta and frozen garlic bread.

It wasn't the fact that I'd over boiled the pasta and completely forgot to cook some sauce. It wasn't even the fact that Sister forgot to switch the oven on to cook the pathetic roll of garlic bread. It was the fact that we'd spent over two hours preparing the meal.

Solicitor, like most men when they get back from work, was hungry. He was tired and slightly moody. He'd reached for a menu and I'd felt the first stirrings of guilt. I insisted that I'd cook. Sister numbly got up from the sofa to help.

Two hours later Solicitor stared at the breakfast bar and completely flipped out. Sister cried. For the first time in weeks. I sobbed my heart out. For the first time in weeks. Solicitor told us both that he'd book us both for an appointment if we didn't sort ourselves out.

British people don't go to doctors for those kind of problems. There's nothing ever wrong with us. Complain? Yes. Admit that it's affecting us? No way! We don't do psychological traumas. We don't have them.

So the next day Sister moved back home. Nephew missed her terribly and moving home got her back into a routine.

I signed up with an agency and began temping.

Temping is an odd world. Honestly, people assume that you're pretty thick if you're a temp.

"Can you staple these two documents together? Please make sure the pages are in order. It makes sense when they're in order."

You don't say!

It keeps me busy. And I meet new people.

I've started planning my wedding. Sometimes flower arrangements are so fascinating. Other times I toss the wedding magazines aside with zero interest and tell Solicitor that I think it would be better if we just eloped.

The last time I said that he actually scared me a little. He told me that he'd looked into a Vegas wedding at he'd really love to do the Elvis thing. I must have looked so shocked and freaked out that he laughed at me and handed me the new bride gown catalogue that I ordered. I haven't complained much since then...