29 July 2007

Love God: The Sequel


Love God is back on the scene. As I logged onto the dating site yesterday afternoon, his grinning face popped up onto my screen. This member wants to IM you, I was notified. I couldn’t resist.

Me: Well, well, well, if it isn’t Love God. How the hell are you?
LG: D, you sexy princess… when do I get to see you again?

We catch up on briefly on our dating experiences; I reveal only that I am nursing a bruised heart, trying in vain to prove to myself that there are plenty of other like-minded men on here I will click with, and that I am not looking for anything heavy; he tells me about the 2 failed relationships he has had since we last met. And then:

LG: So – you gonna come out and play again
Me: [in spite of self] Yeah, why not? But platonically…
LG: [clearly having not brushed up on his charm skills in the interim]: U mean I can’t undress you one day?
Me: Don’t push it, babe

Oh, what the hell? I left him my number and logged off.

24 July 2007

Spotted in the Big Apple

John Travolta. Alas, not wearing a white suit, earning money making pizzas by day, and letting it all hang out on the disco scene at night. Rather, being filmed walking in and out of a tanning salon, while hundreds of people took photos on their cell phones from behind a barrier. I didn't take a photo from behind the barrier, but probably more because I have a v crap phone that would not have been able to focus from that far away, than my own awareness of the absurdity of celebrity culture.

22 July 2007

It's a Small World


First of all, a confession: I am back on the dating website. Yes, I know I swore I’d never do it again, and I guess I can’t deny that a tiny part of me is looking… but really, I had 2 motivations for doing it:





  1. I had 38 unread messages in my inbox, which I couldn’t access unless I resubscribed, and I was curious


  2. I am really trying to move on from recent experiences and prove to myself that there are men out there who share a similar vision and purpose to their life, who have a social conscience, who don’t try to fit me in a box (or indeed a 5 bedroom home in suburban hell and try to immediately impregnate me), and with whom I can share a deep intellectual conversation, or visit an art gallery with or at least have an enjoyable coffee without one of us wanting to poke the other’s eyes out


It turns out, there are no men meeting these requirements. Although at least I am making an effort to move on.

But what is most alarming – and this is moving on from our recent discussions on related matters – is that between the dating website and Facebook, I feel as though my world is closing in on me. I recognise a lot of the people on the site as friends of friends on Facebook, and have not been able to contact some guys, as I know them to be either friends of friends I have dated, or – worse – ex-partners of friends of mine, where I know the history, and would be causing problems by getting involved.

The classic example occurred yesterday. It emerged that a guy I am meeting this afternoon (afternoon tea at Claridges, darling – for that pretentious reason alone, I know it’s never going to happen with him) knows both my sisters, and is completely mortified to have arranged a date with me (charming!). He has begged me not to tell either of them how we met – and even more alarmingly, he actually said to me that “should it become necessary in the future to disclose to them…” Eeek! I only agreed to a date, and I have made it clear I am not looking for anything other than a friend.

I have been going on a flurry of dates in the last 3 weeks in my bid to move on. I have enough material to write a book (and, oh, I probably will – some of the stories are utterly priceless). But honestly, all I want at the moment is to stay single, sociable, happy, fulfilled, and to move on!

I’ll keep you posted...

15 July 2007

Celebrating Difference, Diversity, Individuality and Equality Through the Arts


I have always been suspicious of any governmental scheme that sounds as though it is promoting spin and soundbite over substance. I have also been highly critical of the government’s policies on education. So I have never paid much attention to the “Fresh Start” scheme, which focuses on seriously underperforming state schools, where all options for improvement have been unsuccessfully exhausted. The school is closed and reopened on the same site, and is subject to reorganisational procedures.

A friend of mine is a dance teacher at one such school. Yesterday, the pupils staged a performance which she had helped to put together, and she invited me along to watch. What I saw of the performance, the school, the pupils and the dedication of the staff not only impressed me, but moved me practically to tears.

This particular school, located in an underprivileged area of central London, is a specialist arts and media school. Through the media of music, dance, drama and art, the school asserts its ethos of drawing out the potential of each child and instilling in them a thirst for learning, while bridging cultural, ethnic and religious divides. In addition to this, the school is committed to community-wide projects. These involve working with various arts foundations to benefit the pupils, as well as organising adult learning schemes in which the wider community may participate.

After being treated to Turkish dancing and African music, the main performance, incorporating music, dancing and drama, followed the title “Longing to Belong”, celebrating difference and diversity. The performers included a local group of adults with learning difficulties, and the look of pride and achievement on their faces at the end was absolutely priceless – and I am in awe of the teachers and pupils for putting the production together.

It is very easy to be “liberal” when you have the educated and economic freedom to be so inclined. It is also easy to fall for the misconception that you are worldly and open-minded just because you went to school or university with a culturally, ethnically and religiously diverse group of people. We need to be finding and supporting schemes that educate and allow everyone to live together in a mutually respectful environment. And the arts are an ideal way in which to effect this, for 2 reasons.

First, because education is about so much more than passing academic exams and going to university. It is about learning about the world around you; how each of us is a part of it, and has the ability to mould it and make a difference. It is about instilling in each individual a love of life and people and learning – and the desire to be a participating citizen. It is about realising the skills and abilities of every person and encouraging them to blossom. And this is not something that comes from memorising your times tables. A creative, extra-curricular hobby is an ideal way of teaching these values. Having the opportunity to showcase and develop creative skills is invaluable. It is complementary to the national curriculum; I know that when I took up kickboxing, I learned one of the most important lessons of my life: that anything is possible, but it takes time, perseverance, patience, dedication, belief and hard work.

Second, because, in contrast to other social and professional situations, involvement in the arts (in theory) transcends the socially-imposed barriers that divide us in the first place. In the boxing ring, the orchestra or on the stage, we are all willing participants, working together towards a common goal – what is more precious than this, and what better blueprint for living our lives can there be?

14 July 2007

Facing the Facebook (R)evolution


Who remembers life before the internet? An early convert, I remember when I lived in Paris – 10 years ago (eek!) - how frustrating it was that no one except my dad and a handful of university friends would communicate with me by e mail. I had just spent 4 months in Florida, and hated having to communicate with my American friends via a combination of a postal service that took 5 days, or pre-scheduled telephone calls.

Fast forward 10 years. The internet is now my primary form of communication. I use it for everything: for reference, research, several-times-daily communication with friends abroad; I use it to book travel and for most of my purchases: books, music, vitamins, superfoods, underwear (Myla, please, for anyone who wants to buy me a gift), men…

And then along came Facebook; the ultimate displacement activity tool for those serial procrastinators among us. I love it, and if any of you are wondering why we blog less than we used to, it’s because we’re too busy messing around on Facebook.

I don’t want to enter into any of the pretentious debates about Facebook that are currently appearing in the media over here. I think all those journalists are embarrassingly several steps behind the zeitgeist, and need to get over themselves. For god’s sake! It’s a social networking site, to be used (or not) as you wish (and most critics succumb in the end). Users have control over the content they share as well as their own privacy, and can choose to allow – or indeed block – anyone they wish into their network.

I’m also not interested in the – now dated – debate about the deterioration of communication and physical social interaction: we’re all busier now; we travel more and work longer hours; this has as much necessitated technological growth as it has resulted from the ever-developing modes of “virtual” communication. Blah blah blah – the upshot is that this is our reality now – get with it.

What I am interested in, however, is the extent to which Facebook (and to some extent, blogging) is eroding formerly rigid social barriers. Perhaps this is a specifically British concern, but as the popularity of Facebook has grown over here, any social reticence and desire for privacy we once had has started to disappear.

Some examples:

Last night, I was at a party. As I arrived, around 1am (busy weekend), I was accosted by a guy who was leaving:

“Oh – you must be D! I recognise you from your Facebook pictures! Shame we didn’t get to meet properly – A said she’d introduce us. I have to leave now, but never mind – I’ll message you on Facebook on Monday morning! Great boots you were wearing in those pictures, by the way, hahaha!”

And then this afternoon, my friend C called, to invite me to a brunch she is hosting at the end of the month. Before she hung up, she said (and I could practically hear her winking): “By the way, my friend M from Switzerland will be in London that weekend. He’d love to meet you – he saw your picture in my list of Facebook friends and says you have a lovely smile.”

Perhaps more astonishingly, a couple of guys from the dating website have – and I have no idea how – somehow tracked me down on Facebook, and are sending me messages. And in the last few weeks, I keep on receiving unsolicited “pokes” and friend requests from people I don’t even know – they see your profile in different groups and try to befriend you.

There’s nothing wrong with any of this: I ignore the creepy ones, message/flirt with the ones I think are fun, meet the ones I find interesting – and don’t accept friend invitations from people who are not my friends! But somehow, the casualness and familiarity that results from conducting your life from the end of a computer is spilling over into real, physical interaction. And actually, I rather enjoy it. I choose not to restrict my profile on Facebook; anything I have to hide, I simply don’t share it… and I rather like the idea of being seen. I like people being direct and forward, and although it’s a bit creepy that people I don’t know have checked out my profile – and admitted it to me! – before approaching me, I have to admit, I kind of like it.

Similarly with the blog: this is a creative outlet for me, and I have only shared the address with my friend J (recently-alluded to male platonic friend, upon whom I have bestowed the dubious honour of being my unofficial dating advisor; he has witnessed my greatest neuroses, and I figured there are thus no further secrets from him; he may as well read the bloody blog). Although most of the readers don’t know me, I still control what I share about my life (this is only a projected fraction); I choose not to share particularly difficult issues until they have been resolved, and out of respect, I protect the identities of, and don’t overtly share information about, the people I really care for (um, oh dear, apart from my mum and Evil Bitch Sisters). But there’s still something that delights me about the voyeuristic aspect of sharing some of my self, my thoughts and my life on this blog.

Facebook is unnecessarily feared and ridiculed by too many people. It is what you want it to be: a bit of fun and a way to keep in touch with lots of people at once (which is what it is to me) or – to some of my friends with high profile jobs – a bit of career publicity/propaganda. You can be as private or as public as you wish, and share or hide whichever information you wish. And indeed by watched by people you wish…

Oh, and that guy I bumped into at A’s party? Great guy. Witty, intelligent, charming, lots of opinions to share and stories to tell, fun, ambitious, attractive, confident, direct, persistent, etc… dammit, he’s only another bloody right-wing lawyer with offensive, xenophobic views on immigration, desperately seeking a Stepford wife.

Next!



07 July 2007

Questions To Ponder Over


How do you distinguish between genuineness and sincerity on the one hand, and bullshitting and fuckwittery on the other?

How can you be sure that the lovely things that are said to you come from the heart, and are true and real – and not being fed to other people at the same time?

Do you carry on looking for something if you’ve already found it; and when the results of that search repeatedly reinforce your gut feeling?

Which is worse: to take a leap of faith because your heart, head, mind and gut tell you to – and these end up being wrong and you get hurt? Or to put up the barriers, run away and risk losing the most significant, rewarding and irreplaceable opportunity of your life?

How can you be sure that while you sit pondering, someone else is not benefiting from the very thing you desperately want and are holding out for? How can you be sure that the opportunity that could be on its way to you will not be diverted to someone else because it was never meant for you in the first place?

What happens if you wait for something that is being sent to you and it gets lost in transit and never finds you, either because it no longer wants to, or because someone else has stolen it?

I consider myself to be a very good judge of character, and my gut feelings never fail me… but I’m absolutely petrified.

03 July 2007

On Blair and Brown



Irritatingly, the thoughts I wrote on Tony Blair’s departure and Gordon Brown’s leadership have vanished into cyberspace, and no, I didn’t back it up, and yes, I am a fool for not doing so.

Here are a few hastily reconstructed and crudely paraphrased points instead:

A bizarre, seemingly pointless and poorly written article appeared in the Sunday Times a couple of weeks ago by an outspoken critic of Blair (his name momentarily escapes me), basically saying that Blair’s dealings in Iraq etc were unforgivable and will overshadow his achievements, but hey, he smiled a lot, introduced Cool Britannia (if fleetingly) and engineered a new governmental trend in spin over substance (actually, I think that was Peter Mandelson in the ‘80s, but whatever), plus his almost evangelical belief that he was carrying out the will of God in Iraq was touching. And for that reason alone, isn’t Tony Blair a lovely man?!

I spent ages thinking about this, and – once I had stopped fuming and ranting – had to concede that I don’t entirely disagree with this, as uncomfortable as it makes me feel. However, I think that this is more indicative of how shallow our culture has become than it is testament to the greatness of Tony Blair.

I vividly remember the 1997 General Election. I stayed up all night watching it on TV with my cousin, and dancing round the flat at 6am when the Blairs arrived at Number 10, belting out D:ream’s Things Can Only Get Better, as my cousin sat sulking and chain smoking (he is a Tory, unfortunately), and those scenes really sum it up for me. We were always waiting for things to get better, and they kind of did, in the sense that Labour’s victory after 18 years of Tory government brought with it euphoria, optimism and promises of renewal and change. We had a handsome, young, cool new leader who used to have long hair and play in a rock band and who invited Noel Gallagher to Downing Street. Everything was about the “people”, and we somehow neglected to notice that behind the soundbites (remember “Education, Education, Education” anyone?) there was very little substance.

XXX

I ALWAYS say this, but I think that 1997 was a very interesting year culturally. Significant changes were coming about: in journalism, a new discourse was emerging, in which journalists turned their writing inwards and started writing about their lives (John Diamond writing about his battle with cancer in the Times on Saturday; Ruth Picardie writing a similar article in the Observer; Helen Fielding in the Independent – a column which was later developed into Bridget Jones’s Diary). Our growing interest in other people’s lives was displayed in the (then) astonishing scenes of mass public mourning following the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. Ten years on, we have become so media and PR savvy that it would be inconceivable now for the Royals to be so unprepared for such a reaction. Our interest in other people’s lives has grown to such an extent that our lives are practically one big reality TV programme. Everyone is a celebrity. Heat Magazine and Big Brother are only part of it. It’s all about the outer face rather than the inner substance. And perhaps that is why – even after Iraq – our enduring memory of Tony Blair is of his smiling face and he will be remembered fondly by a lot of people.

XXX

Gordon Brown is a different man, and I suspect one of more substance. Let’s see what his leadership brings.

_____

Addendum: I have been sitting in a coffee shop writing this, and had to leave hastily to use the loo in an adjacent bookshop, as someone was caught shooting up in the bathroom here (even Starbucks is not immune from insalubrious activity!). As I scrambled up the stairs en route to the bathroom in the bookshop in embladdered discomfort (breaking a toenail in the process – it really hurts, and I will now have to find alternative footwear to the strappy sandals I had intended to wear to Henley on Saturday), I stumbled upon a new biography, entitled something like “Gordon Brown: Prime Minister”. See? The man hasn’t even been in power for a week, and we already can’t get enough of his private life.