Monday, 30 March 2009

Women on Women

Solicitor asked me an interesting question;

"Why do women make an extra effort to look good when they know they'll be in the company of other women?"

The question arose on Saturday night. We were meeting for dinner with a few of Solicitor's old university friends. Before getting ready I asked him if they were bringing their girlfriends.

"What difference does it make?"

It makes a big difference to the way I dress. For some strange reason I feel that I should make more of an effort if I'm going to be around women.

I should point out that I am not a lesbian.

But it did get me thinking. Do I make the extra effort due to the competitive side of my personality?

I don't think so. I don't spend longer on my make-up and choosing a dress so that I can look better than the other women. I don't get a buzz out of standing out amongst them. (Well not much of one anyway!)

Actually I feel the opposite. I feel better when I see that they too have made an extra effort. It's nice to see them dressed to please. It's nice to see evidence of a flawless hand in applying make-up.

When I see an unusual item of jewellery I compliment them. In fact many women compliment others within the first few seconds of meeting them.

Whilst we were out with Solicitor's friends and their girlfriends I brought up the subject.

One of the women flicked back her extra straight silky blond hair and said "Women are extraordinary creatures. We can blatantly look and admire each other. Being admired by a women is worth more than being admired by a man. And it works both ways. A woman's attraction to another woman is stronger than her attraction to another man."

The more I think about it, the more I can see the sense in what she said.

I have decorated my blog with pictures of Marlene Dietrich the 'original femme fatale'. Although I love Film Noir I didn't upload pictures of Humphrey Bogart or any other male actor. In fact I realised that the reason I love watching black and white films is because the women of that time period were classic, sexual, beauties. When watching them I feel a pull towards them. More than sexual. It's almost hypnotic.

Perhaps women who dress up for other women do it because they are seeking that kind of admiration. Perhaps that's why women can look at a picture of Angelina Jolie and not only understand that men find her attractive, but find her attractive themselves.

Friday, 27 March 2009


"Does my bum look big in this dress?"


I knew it! But Solicitor's truthful answer made me want to fling things at him.

My lip trembled and I gazed at him with wide eyes.


Please say no. I won't believe you, but it will make me feel better.

"Yes. It looks... Juicy."

"Juicy! You're saying I'm fat, aren't you? Admit it, you think I'm fat!"

Solicitor smiled and watched me parade around the room in distress.

"You're sexy when you're angry."

"Stop it!" I flung open the wardrobe. "Oh my God! I've got nothing to wear!"

I pulled out a series of dresses and discarded them on the floor.

"Just wear what you're wearing."

"You said my butt looks.... JUICY!!!"

"Yeah, in a good way. Sexy."

"No it makes it look big!"

"In a good way." He repeated

He stood up and walked behind me and grabbed my hips.

"Let's have sex."


He kissed my neck. I always get turned on when he kisses my neck.

"The dress is perfect."

I shuddered as his hands moved up my skirt.

And half an hour later I pulled the skirt of the dress back down and quietly began applying my make-up.

"Don't bother doing your hair. We've got hours" He said casually unbuttoning his shirt. "Did I ever tell you that you have juicy breasts?"

I love this honesty thing!

Monday, 23 March 2009

Being A Man

I met with Solicitor's brother early this morning. Brother-In-Law is an architect and the company he owns designs houses for the top house builders in the country. At the ripe old age of 32 Brother-In-Law is a millionaire.

In addition to his main company, he has shares and investments in other companies. So when it comes to starting my own company Brother-In-Law's advice is a great way to start.

I took my business plans along with me.

"Elise, this isn't going to be easy." He warned as he flicked through my perfectly arranged folder. "As far as industries go, this one has suffered the most in the current financial climate."

I nodded. I'm aware of the current situation. Solicitor trades with stocks and shares on a daily basis.

"The question is, do you enjoy this?" He asked.

"It's not about enjoying it, it's about believing in it."

I enjoy writing, but I don't believe that I will ever make a successful career from it.

He smiled.

"You hit the nail on the head."

We sat down with steamy mugs of tea.

"Do you have enough contacts? It's not what you know, it's who you know."

"I've got a database of over 1500." Carefully collected over the past year.

"New business model plans?"

"Yep, I've got 6." Narrowed down from 21.

"A nice suit?"

"Are you joking?" I have about 15.

"A male business partner?"

"Excuse me?"

"A male business partner?"

"You can't be serious!"

"I'm very serious."

My mouth hung open.

"Elise, this isn't some media company. The industry your planning to embark on is dominated by men."

"Isn't every industry?"

"Ninety-Nine percent is pretty high. Higher than the average industry." He sighed. "You need a male partner. I'm not being sexist but there's no way you can break into it without a man with you."

"That's not fair!"

"I know. I'm sorry. I know you're more than capable, but in my honest opinion they won't take you seriously."

I almost cried.

"But the plans are perfect!"

"I know. But you'll need a man to speak to the men."


"How many of the database are women?"


"Elise, how many-"


I'd never even thought about it.

Brother-In-Law sighed.

"Maybe we should talk some more. Go over some options."

"I can do it." I told him defiantly. "I have contacts."

He shook his head.

"It won't matter. Trust me I know what I'm talking about."

He gave examples. Lots of examples.

A man would rather have a male mechanic fix his car.

A male stock broker is more trusted than a female broker.

Male sports commentators

Male builders

Male IT consultants

Bottom line. I need a male partner.

On my way home I went through all the possible candidates.

Good Points: um... I like him..
Bad Points: He's stoned. He hates waking up early. He dresses like a student. He's not business minded.

Good Points: He's logical. He's business minded. We can have sex during lunch times.
Bad Points: His career is pretty much sorted.

Gay Boss?
Good Points: He looks and sounds like a typical man. He even uses the phrase "What's up with you? Are you on your period or something?". He's logical. He's business minded.
Bad Points: We'd argue too much and eventually kill each other.

Good Points: He knows the industry. He's a successful business man. He's logical. We get on well.
Bad Points: I can't actually think of any....

But I don't want to share!

Friday, 20 March 2009

The Interview

Today I had an interview with a young company.

The company has only been established for a year and believe me it shows.

They've rented a loft space above a Costa Coffee in the heart of Soho. Let me break this down further.

Soho in London = clubs, bars, gay-clubs, gay-bars, prostitution and crazy tourists with cameras.

If your going to base your company in London, don't choose London's sex ridden backstreets. It's more professional to be based in a nice area. Preferably a nice area where you can drive in and park your car...

Most multi-national companies are based in business parks all over the UK. It brings a sense of calmness. Business associates can drive to your offices for meetings. You can work late without worrying about using piss stained public transport to get home.

This is how I know that the company is run by people who have migrated to London.

I've lived in London all my life. The excitement of using the tube to get to places died when I was 3 years old. The sight of a person wearing a banner promoting theatre tickets fills me with pity, not interest. I don't give a shit about the latest club opening on Tottenham Court Road. I don't buy fashionable hats. I don't get excited about restaurants on Shaftsbury Avenue. There are better ones in West London and the staff speak English.

So anyway, back to the actual company.

I was interviewed by a young woman and a young boy. The boy was barely out of university. He
wore Rupert trousers for crying out loud. I don't care what anybody says. They are not fashionable!

They were nice people. They smiled a lot. Asked a lot of questions.

Can somebody please tell people, that speaking in complicated sentences makes them sound like bullshitters!

I'm a pretty straight forward person. If somebody asked me what I used the Internet for I would tell them the truth. I obtain information and connect with people. Simple.

The boy said: "The essence itself is dependant on the argument for, not against, the need for a higher understanding of organisations, or such, that use and distribution of certain information for the sole use of the user...."

What the fuck?

He had no idea what he was talking about. I had no idea what he was talking about. But the woman nodded with an interested look pasted on her face.

They liked me.

I would rather kill myself then work for a bunch of bullshitting idiots who love working behind a Stringfellows Strip Bar.

It confirmed it. If they can make it in the business world, there's no reason why I can't. The hard work starts on Monday.

Wednesday, 18 March 2009

Dinner, Cousin and the Mafia

We had dinner at Grandmama's house on Tuesday. Solicitor and my father suddenly turned into the Mafia. Honestly, it was so embarrassing.

Let me start from the beginning.

Grandmama invited my father, his new lady-friend, and Solicitor and I over for dinner. Grandmama is my mother's mother but for some odd reason she loves my father like he's her own son. She wanted to get to know Lady-Friend after I gave her an update over the phone after meeting her on Friday. Grandmama is a curious as I am. She was desperate to see her 'dear boy's new sweetheart'.

So it was supposed to just be the five of us. A quiet event, so we could all get to know each other. But things never work out the way they're planned.

Cousin called me during the day and told me that he and his sister were in London for the week. Cousin and his sister live in a village way up north. They're not really my cousins, they're Step-Father's niece and nephew.

Now, since I'm a stupid idiot who can't keep her mouth shut, I accidentally invited them both to Grandmama's. Grandmama didn't mind at all. She doesn't really know Step-Father's family too well and she was eager to meet them both properly.

Cousin (Girl), is the biggest Wag-Wannabe in the whole world. I've never seen anyone who looks so orange, blond and fake in all of my life. She doesn't say much, but I can sense bitchy thoughts.

Cousin (Boy), on the other hand, is extremely friendly. He calls and emails regularly and is always quick to invite me to all of his parties. To be honest, I've never gone to any of his parties. He lives too far away, and he can be very annoying at times.

So, while we were sitting at Grandmama's large dinner table, I noticed that Cousin (Girl) was giving Solicitor 'the look'. You know the look I'm talking about. She fluttered her fake eye lashes, pouted her orange lips. I almost smacked her in the face.

While I was busy focused on Cousin (Girl), I didn't notice how much Cousin (Boy) was drinking. Cousin (Boy) was sitting directly next to me talking a mile a minute. I wasn't listening and I occasionally nodded out of politeness.

I suddenly sprung up when I felt his hand sliding up my leg. I couldn't believe his nerve! Everybody stared at me as I stumbled to my feet.

"I need to make a quick call." I gasped hurrying out of the room.

Solicitor followed me.

"What the hell just happened?" He asked.

I told him. He looked ready to kill. (God he looks so sexy when he's angry!)

I obviously had to calm him down. We paced around the kitchen for couple of moments before rejoining everyone in the dining room. As we settled down, Solicitor flashed my father a look.

After the main course my father stood up casually and stretched.

"It's a nice night. Maybe we should leave the girls to gossip."

Solicitor followed suit, and the two of them coaxed Cousin (Boy) into going outside with them.

Alarm bells went off in my head. I really should have followed them, but I didn't. I settled down next to Lady-Friend and asked her what she did for a living.

While Lady-Friend, Grandmama and I sat back chatting, Cousin (Girl) sulked at the other end of the table and played with her hair extensions, swishing them around, fiddling with the ends. I did my best to include her in the conversation but she just shrugged and stared at the table with a frown. What the hell did she have up her ass?

"What's going on outside?" Cousin (Girl) suddenly asked staring out of the window.

We all stood up and walked to the window. Solicitor and my father had Cousin (Boy) kneeling on the floor in front of them. Cousin (Boy) was clearly drunk. He seemed to be pleading with them.

As funny as it looked I darted out of the room and jogged outside.

"What are you doing?" I asked in disbelief.

Father turned and smiled.

"You want to say something to my daughter?" He asked Cousin (Boy) in a fake friendly voice.

Cousin (Boy) looked at me apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Elise. I will never touch you again."

God, he looked pathetic.

"What did you do to him?" I asked Solicitor and my father angrily.

The both looked at me innocently.

Lady-Friend, Grandmama and Cousin (Girl) stepped outside of the house in question. My father shrugged.

"We're just talking." He said casually.

Solicitor grabbed Cousin (Boy) by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.

"Yeah, we're just having a chat."

Both Cousin's left quite soon afterwards. I doubt Cousin (Boy) will call for a while. Poor Guy.

Monday, 16 March 2009


For the past few days I have practically camped by the window looking across the road at Number 26. So far I have nothing. She leaves for work at 7:30am and returns at 6:30pm. That's it! I can't believe it.

Solicitor went out to a Stag weekend on Friday. One of his old friends is about to tie the knot and organised a weekend in Liverpool. (I know! We live in London and the guy wants to go out in Liverpool??) So, I had the house to myself and I intended to make the most of it.

I started the night by cranking up the volume and playing some old favourites while I applied a homemade banana hair mask. I picked up my microphone (hair brush) and slid around the wooden floor in baby pink socks and matching underwear. (The curtains were closed. Nobody saw.)

I didn't hear the phone ringing, I was too involved with being Diana Ross, but when I went to change the track I saw the red flashing light on the answer machine. I wish I'd left it, there was a nice bottle of white wine cooling in the fridge and line up of Brad-Pitt-In-The-Nude films, but I couldn't resist listening.

It was Aimee. I groaned when I heard her voice.

"It's me. I know you're busy but I need you. Please, please come and get me. Please."

Her voice was thick with tears and she sounded so lost and panicked.

The message was left for Solicitor. She probably tried to call his mobile but had no luck.

The problem with Aimee is that she won't go away. It hurts knowing that Solicitor had a life and a wife before me. Aimee calls every so often and reminds me of it. I'm not jealous, I just have this ache. Regret is probably a better word.

A large part of me wanted to delete the message and continue with my night in. My earlier excitement came to a crashing halt, and instead of deleting the message I replayed it. Twice. And then I called her back.

She sounded terrified. It took me 15 minutes to wash my hair and head out of the door.
When I arrived she was so wide eyed and skitty. Paranoid would be the best way to describe how she was. Her eyes were dilated and I knew in seconds that she had taken something.

I cautiously walked into the hallway and through to the living room. There were clothes everywhere. Aimee had darted across the room and was staring out of the window.

"I know he was here." She whispered.

"Who?" I asked whispering back. There was nobody else there, I have no idea why I even bothered whispering.

"That man." She gasped.

Before I could find out more, she ran from the room and locked herself in the bathroom. It was like being with an over imaginative child. She wouldn't open the door despite my gentle voice, despite my pounding.

I finally stepped out onto the balcony and attempted to call Solicitor. His phone was switched off. I was on my own. I gave up smoking a long time ago, but at that point I really needed a cigarette. I dug around my handbag hoping I still had an emergency one. I wept with frustration when I found that I hadn't.

After ten minutes of pacing around the large living room, I called Stoner.

"I'm with Aimee and she locked herself in the bathroom. What should I do?"

Although Stoner was, well, stoned. He snapped to action.

"Check the whole place. Look for empty packets, white powder, anything you can find."

I immediately began rummaging around. I told him about her state of mind.

"It sounds like she's done a hell of a lot of coke. Probably mixed with something."

Sure enough, there was white powder on the kitchen counter and in her en suite bathroom. I found a bag of pills with smiley faces on them and a packet of some kind of hard brown rock (It wasn't hash, I still have no idea what it was). I flushed everything that I found.

Once I was sure that I'd taken care of everything, (I'd even flushed the OTC medication) I began pounding on the bathroom door where Aimee was still hiding. I completely lost my temper.

"You selfish fucking bitch! What the fuck do you think your playing at? Get out here right now or I'm kicking this door in."

She didn't reply. At first I thought she was unconscious but then I heard a faint sob. True to my word, I put all my force behind kicking the door. I managed to dent it, but it didn't budge. I was more angry than worried at that point, until I heard her puking.

I almost called 999. Almost. Then I remembered that I knew somebody who lives quiet near to Battersea, someone I could trust.

My father lives in Chelsea, just over the bridge. I hesitated before calling. He answered on the first ring.

"Elise? What's happened?"

I hardly ever call him unless I really need to. I almost regretted it as soon as I heard his voice. I gave him directs and told him that I needed him.

He arrived in 15 mins. I pointed to the bathroom door and told him that Aimee was inside high on drugs and she wouldn't open the door. He bolted into the door and it crashed open easily. How come it didn't work when I tried it?

Aimee was lying on the floor with vomit all over her. She clearly missed the toilet. She was just about conscious and was sobbing uncontrollably. It was disgusting.

We lifted her and dragged her to the shower cubical. My father left me to undress and shower her. I called him back in after I'd cleaned and dressed her in a bathrobe and he carried her to bed.

It was only after we'd put her to bed that I realised that there was another woman standing around in the living room. She was quite a pretty middle aged woman dressed in smart clothes. She smiled warmly.

"I'm so sorry." I said, blinking away tears. I'd ruined their night.

The woman shook her head and gave me a hug. "Don't be silly. It's a good thing you called. You needed someone here with you."

They stayed with me for a few hours, making sure that we wouldn't need to take Aimee to hospital. She slept like a baby. I stayed with her the whole night, just making sure she was okay. Part of my wanted to smack her on the face and let her know that I was angry.

I can't keep doing this. Aimee can't keep scaring me like this. I just want her to disappear.

Solicitor was furious when I told him about it the following day over the phone. I don't know what he's said to her but she called to apologise and to tell me that I don't have to worry, she won't be calling again.

I want to be relieved but now I'm going out of my mind with worry. What if she does it again and there's nobody there to help her?

Wednesday, 11 March 2009

The Homewrecker at Number 26

So I haven't had much to write about. The past few months have been BORING.

But last night I had a little adventure... and found something else to occupy my time.

It all started at around 11pm. I offered to make Solicitor a cup of tea. When I opened the fridge door I realised that I'd forgotten to buy some. So, desperate as we were, Solicitor and I slipped on some clothes and decided to take a drive to the off licence.

When we approached the car we both noticed the front passenger door at the same time. It was wide open and the window had been smashed. The car had been broken into.

Solicitor sighed and told me to go inside the house and find the insurance details while he tried to sort out the mess. He slipped me the keys and walked over to the car to assess the damage.

As I started back to the house a tearful voice stopped me.

"Excuse me."

A rather chubby middle aged woman stood a few meters away from me. She was drenched from head to toe.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Do you know who lives at number 26?" She asked

"Not really. Why?"

"My husband!"

The woman dissolved into tears. I'm a compassionate person. The car crisis was completely forgotten as I put my arms around her.

"What's wrong?" I asked her gently.

She stepped back and blew her nose.

"He told me he's going away on business. But he isn't! I followed him. He came here. I know he's sleeping with her. I just know it!"

Okay. Wow. I was torn between going into the house and finding insurance details and listening to this woman's story.

"Please help me." She cried.

"Okay. Um. What can I do?"

"Keep and eye out. Let me know if he comes out of that house. I know he's at number 26 and I'm not losing 20 years of marriage because of that cow!"

She gave me her mobile number and before I knew it I'd promised to call her with any updates. She even showed me a photograph of her husband on her phone!

To be honest I have no idea how I got myself into the situation. Solicitor was flashing me impatient looks, I had to get inside and find the details. The woman just kept talking and before I knew it, I'd agreed to help her.

So, as I ruffled through papers I tried to think back. Number 26 had always been pleasant. I'd never actually spoken to her but she always smiled and waved. She didn't seem like a home wrecker. Maybe the tearful woman had made a mistake. I mean maybe she thought she was following her husband but she was just following some random guy in a blue Nissan. It could happen!

I found the insurance papers and skipped out of the house slamming the door behind me.

Oh shit!

I'd left the keys on the desk! I knew I'd forgotten them as soon as I heard the door shut. I pushed the door hoping that it would miraculously open. It didn't. Obviously.

I pasted a smile on my face and walked slowly to the car. I handed the papers to Solicitor wordlessly. He glanced down with a frown.

"We may as well lock up the car. It's not going anywhere. We'll patch up the window and wait until morning."

I nodded.

"So, where's the keys? I need to lock up."

I nodded


"Okay, about the keys... They're in the house."

Solicitor stared at me.

"I locked them in." I explained dumbly.

More staring.

"But it's okay." I said brightly "Because your mother has a spare, right?"

He slowly shook his head. "We replaced the lock three days ago. Remember?"

I remembered. We hadn't given any spares out. Damn! Solicitor looked angry.

"I didn't mean to! That woman's husband is cheating on her and I was thinking about number 26 and-"

"What the hell is the matter with you!?" Solicitor snapped. "Can't you, for once, focus on what you're supposed to be doing instead of indulging in mindless gossip?"

"I was, I just-"

"Look. Just go and get the milk. And for fuck's sake stay out of trouble."

Okay, that hurt. I didn't mean to forget the keys. I bit my lip and turned in the direction of the shop.

I got back half an hour later. Solicitor had calmed down. Don't get me wrong, he was still pissed off. He'd called a locksmith. We had to wait around for an hour. If it wasn't so late we could have knocked on a neighbours door but it was coming up to midnight and we didn't want to disturb anyone.

The locksmith turned up and hour late. Instead of picking the lock with tools, he drilled through the lock and replaced it. When I asked why he didn't just pick it, he looked at me scornfully.

"I don't think Yale would be too pleased if it could be picked with a screwdriver."

(I didn't know who Yale was. And I wasn't going to ask. I googled it later and realised that they make front door locks.)

The total cost of going out to get milk last night was £209.89

The insurance cost for replacing window: £69
The cost of locksmith: £140
The cost of semi-skimmed milk £0.89

While we drank our much deserved cup of tea Solicitor asked me about the woman. I told him the full story. He shook his head

"God, I thought number 26 was too nice to be a home wrecker."

"Oh my God! That's what I thought!" I gasped back