Wednesday, September 29, 2004


After only two days my two Chinese friends whom I am on holiday with can only struggle to keep up with my excellent suntan. Perhaps because I cheated and used three "Pre-Tanning" sessions at a Tanning Salon before I came here , or maybe because I am genetically predisposed to tan because I am simply darker than them , but nonetheless their pathetic attempt to change colour amuses me.

Anyway, today I chose to have a go at Water Skiing.

Water is soft. You can bathe in it. It cleanses your skin. You can drink it. It brings life. It is fun. Water is soft and fun and friendly. As an example of a body of water. the Red Sea is warm and full of lovely little fish. It is a nice colour and a cool refreshing breeze blows across it.

But move as a fast enough speed and water becomes deadly. Solid as concrete and sharp as razor blades.

I consider myself to be a good swimmer. I have a reasonable level of fitness and I consider myself to have a good sense of balance.

But stone me, isn't Water Skiing Extraordinarily difficult. I could NOT get the hang of it. Attach two gigantic planks to your feet and then you lose whatever kind of grace and agility you may have previously had in the water. Between each pathetic attempt for me to Ski, I found myself actaully wondering how much torque it would take to actually tear my feet out of my ankle joints - Then wondering if my insurance would cover this.

(Incidentally I quickly feel the need to point out that the water in the Hotel is NOT for human consumption and I have been nursing s sore throat for several days now. I really need to gargle with salt water solution but I cannot find enough salt/clean water. Anyhow, my problem had found a solution because I was flung into the Red Sea with such force so many times that I had more salty liquid down my throat than a Dutch hooker on overtime. Oh yeah, and I got a free Salt Water Enema too.)

So - Water Skiing - After about 20 attempts the furthest I manage to ski was about 25 meters.


And when I returned to the beach I am certain that the man who was "teaching" me started to curse my ineptitude in Arabic.

He can shut the fuck up because my haircut is way better than his.

Friday, September 24, 2004

The Quest for Sushi

Very recently a change has come about within me. I am not sure where this change has come from, I suspect that it is the logical outcome of several variables.

1. A willingness to try new things.

2. A delight of many things eastern.

3. An enjoyment of fish.

4. Stupidity.

Nonetheless, I have become obsessed with Sushi.

And today I had a meeting with my animator and we went to a sushi place in soho. Amusingly enough he is a vegetarian and hence, barely touched the stuff beyond a few vegetables but I myself was in heaven.

Seared Sesame Salmon Sashimi - As my old English teached taught me, the alliteration cannot be accidental - indicitive of the smooth, succulent, sensuous taste. Pure bliss. No less.

Nevertheless the animation is coming along nicely and should look very good once done.

Friday, September 17, 2004

10,000 metres

Today I deciced to run 25 laps of the running track with only my iPod to keep me company

It took me 80 minutes and brings the total number of KM I have run this week to 20.

Which is a very sub-standard time. However I have not managed to run this distance in over a year. (it is almost insulting to other runners to actually classify my activity as "running" because I was so slow)

Nonetheless, I never realised this, but last year when I trained to run the Nike 10k, there was a Moroccan chap who used to hurtle past me on the track like a speeding Gazelle with such grace and swiftness that it rendered my entire effort nothing more than ugly and pathetic - anyhow, as I later learned, he, like many of those who train at the track is an international Athlete! and if my information is correct, he actually won the Olympic Gold for the 10,000 meters.

Anyhow, I have managed to lose about 4lb of weight. I am 11 and 3/4 stone or 74 kg, depending on how you want to measure it. My vanity is such that I want to return to the weight that I was when I was 19... 11 1/4 stone... (71 kgs? I think)

But it is not total vanity, I figure that any target is obtainable if worked for so I see no reason why I should not at least aim for excellence. Who knows. I may even succeed.

Monday, September 06, 2004

Behind enemy lines

I wake up a few minutes before my alarm at 13:25.

Checking my phone I have two messages.

One of them, a friend of mine want me organise Salsa tonight, but I know that I cannot make it so I phone her and apologise. Hopefully we will hook up next Monday.

The other message is regarding a seminar I have booked for the 28th of the month. Among other things I have a few tasks to organise: Most importantly, I need to confirm my trip to Egypt at the end of the month. I also confirm my attendance to a hip-hop/RnB night tomorrow evening at SO.UK The Egypt trip means I have to cancel the already booked seminar and shift a hospital appointment.

Nonetheless, along my travels I meet with my accountant and together we go for a coffee in the nice place in Catford. At the coffee shop I am reminded of the importance of Groundwork as I meet a girl, whom I chatted with a couple of weeks ago. I notice her playfully flirting with me, which I of course, respond to accordingly. Over a coffee and couple of iced drinks my accountant I discuss at length the strategy of chatting up women. We say goodbye and I leave.

I walk to my friend in a Record Shop and pick up the latest release, Teedra Moses, a fantastic RnB soul singeR. I also find out some details about tomorrows trip to SO.UK. I return to the Coffee shop and ask the girl if she wishes to come along… she responds coyly by telling me that she will let me know tomorrow. I tell her I will swing by to find out the answer. (She is 19 years old and goes off to University in two weeks time so I realise that I do not have much time to make a move on her)

I go home and them make some breakfast before a meeting I have this evening.

My hair needs styling. I experiment with the VO5 Rework fibre putty, but the result is messy and now that I have used peroxide on my hair three times, it is thin and lifeless. In the end I use the Wella Shockwaves Ultra Strong Gel. Which is, as the name suggests, ultra strong. Although it has been only two weeks since my last haircut, I believe that I need another.

My shoes, by Jones the Bootkmaker are a light crème leather, the same shade as my Ralph Lauren Polo Shirt – which I wear with the collors turned up, the way a polo shirt is meant to be worn. Arguable they are both the same shade as my hair but nevertheless I also wear my French Connection Denim Jacket along with my fitted jeans by Zara. I must point out that the two shades of denim do not match, as that would make me look like a tourist. Scentwise I choose Man, by Jasper Conran - I find this scent to be mature and masculine.

I venture into town to meet the animator for my commercial. At the train station I am delighted to find that a considerate soul has left their used travelcard in the machine for me to use. I consider this to me a good omen.

I meet the animator and we agree on some good ideas. Then wo go our separate ways.

At this point I find myself as a loose end. It is roughly 20:30 and I am alone in the big city. I ponder calling an old friend from university to go out with her but I decide against it as I am wearing the same shoes and polo shift as the last time I saw her - invariably she would consider me to be a tramp. In the end I decide to walk along Shaftsbury Avenue to SO.UK to check the venue before tomorrow. I notice that the girl behind the reception desk is pretty and before she lets me through to the rear club area I ask he whether or not she will be working tomorrow night – the answer is affirmative and I make a mental note to remember her. The club area is very nice, it is tastefully decorated and I believe that tomorrow evening could well be a very nice night. I thank the girl with a wink and walk out.

Then I head down to Leicester Square to see if my friend is at Salsa in Sound. She is not and then I aimlessly walk towards the square. At this point, a man hands me a flyer for a free drink at The Buzz bar which then head down to. It is empty so I immediately leave again. On the way out I see two girls heading in and I tell them that it is “fucking shit” but they too have the vouchers and after a quick chat we decide to go in together.

I spend the next two hours with two girls who are 19 and 20 respectively, two marvellous ambassadors to the Australian people. We have a really cool time and as they leave them I pass them my number telling them to give me a call if they are in town again.

After two minutes of sitting alone I turn the table behind me to apologise to two nice girls for disturbing their conversation earlier in the night with my misbehaviour. I then skilfully manage to integrate myself onto their table and pretty soon the flaming sambrucas are flying back. The girls names are, ***and ***. I make a mental note than ***name is very much pronounces like *** which I find amusing because she really is. She is 22 and from the Czeck Republic. At 6”1 and with beautiful blonde hair she cuts a striking figure in the September evening.

Kissing them on both cheeks I say goodbye on the street outside - I pass ***my number and ask her to give me a call.

I then leave them and walk to the station utterly smug in the knowledge that I have actually gone out in London for the first in my life ALONE, and had a really cool time.

As I walk I quietly hope to myself that *** will call me one day. Somehow I doubt it, but nonetheless, I walk with the arrogant strut of a man who knows that – for one day at least - he is the don.

Thursday, September 02, 2004

An exceptional day.

At 4pm I telephoned my friend to enquire whether I wished to go into the West End to go shopping.

He agreed so we hooked and and caught the train into town. But before this when purchasing my travelcard I smiled and winked at a girl who was walking out as I left the shop,

"You don't remember me do you? You work at the Print Shop... I met you a few months ago"

Blah de blah, but she was moderately crisp, BUT it was cool for me to say hello because I laid down some groundwork a few months ago. I noticed her then as being rather attractive, she was curvy but maybe a bit young. She did however have flawless skin and I had made enough of an effort to talk to her than so that the neccessary groundwork was laid down in case of a future encounter.

Anyhow I winked and walked off. Smiling to myself because the sun was shining.

Anhow, once in town I got this married Polish woman chatting ME up in a sandwich shop next to Selfridges... I couldn't believe it.... but with my recently bleached hair and badboy clothes
I had a cocky swagger WHICH must have given out subconcious signals which a girls were picking up on.

I would not consider myself a man of the world yet. but one thing I won't go near is a married woman. But nonetheless, for the sake of experience I should have played it differently and seen where this encounter would have taken men. She was quite nice, blonde hair and well dressed, but something about her didn't quite... add up. Iit was like a movie or something, she was telling me about her husband being away on business and how what Polish women are the 'best' and that they are sexy and all. But that is the nature of experience I suppose. Next time I will be prepared.

Nonetheless, in Selfridges there WERE UNTOLD number of TRIPLE FIT women.My friend and I walked through ultra show - PROPERLY eyeing them up AND getting eyed up too. Normally these girls are so stuck up that they won't even look in a mans general vicinity but somehow today - somehow today was differnent.

But believe, I'm not joking when I say they were TRIPLE FIT. In fact, this point CANNOT be fully understood unless you were there, But that in itself was a pretty cool experience, cos it is not often you see so many crisp women. especially not all at once, and that in itself would have made my day.

Anyhow, we walked back through the nice areas in London and me and my mate were proper getting clocked by Rich Fit women. Again, had we been in 'Darkness' mode then things could have worked out differently maybe. My friend is a few years older than me, and he knows how things "run" as it was, it is good to have access to a wealth of experience.

Anyhow, there WAS something in the air... every now and then cool nights just happen - they are not planned. so we just went with the flow. SO we decided to go straight to Sound in Leicester Square which is ALWAYS full of crisp girls.

After chilling and relaxing and eyeing up the considerably high number of crisp girls I danced Salsa with 4 girls.... and 1 of them was ULTRA crisp.... and it is not often that a man gets to dance Salsa with a TRIPLECRISP girl. Anyhow, that was pretty cool.

I also bumped into a girl I met **** - WHO IS A SUPREMELY FIT SALSA DANCER from Greece whom I met a few months ago.... BUT BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY SHE WAS TRIPLE CRISP... and I layed some groundwork for a later date- Bearing in mind that the last time we met I had a spy that claimed that this triple crisp woman was giving ME the eye.

We left the club and suddenly somehow we ended up in Sunset Strip watcing a live full strip tease!

(As a note... I now have the phone number in my Mobile of a very unsavoury character whom I won't mention a thing about - but he was something else.)

The first girl in the strip club was so unbelieveably ropey I thought she was a man... BUT girl 2... oh gosh - was she triple crisp.

Anyhow, knowing that she gets chatted up ALL the time I thought I MUST say something to her, just so that I can know that I can talk to a crisp stripper- even a few minutes after I have seen her pun pun.

"Excuse me miss, I don't want to rude about a girl who is obviosly one of your friends..."

(This aroused interest)

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"But, well, this is a bit funny to say, but... the girl before you... I can't believe that she made WAY more money that you did. It makes no sense to me."

Her response was subtly bitchy, and basically she implied that the "ropey" one got so many tips because she knew she was ropey and made up for this by constantly exposing her vagina.

Anyhow I said that she looked good,"out there," purchased my drinks at the bar and returned downstairs. Smiling. Mission accomplished: I had sustained a reasonable conversation with a crips looking stripper and I neither became boring nor overstayed my welcome.

We left the club and went through soho in search of a bar.

We *almost* got in a fight with the CUNT bouncers outside Bar Rumba. who were cunts. End of story.

Then we were on a mission to find a place open as late as possible.

Then we ended up in Tiger Tiger which was FULL of corporate whores.

But amongst them were these two italian girls. (both 21)

And by very definiition a beautiful thing is dancing SALSA in a Regular club with a crisp italian girl to a KYLIE minogue song,.

And for the rest of the night I was dancing Salsa/Merengue with these two gaal.

AND believe - the (not so nice one - which was shame) Italian girl was PROPER letting me grind up close with her - and that is a RARE thing. From both front and back!

I also tried to chat up the bar maid Katie a little but she must get chatted up all the time.


At 4am I got home.

Checked up my email

Got this e-mail from a girl.

Reponded in a way which will probably cause me trouble in the future.

Went to bed.

12 hours and about £200 after I said. "lets go shopping"

Not one phone number or anything like that to show my success.

But oh gosh was the day good.