Each week begins with thoughts and ideas of one sort and ends with outcomes of another!
It still surprises me how a passionate rendezvous burning with desire changes leaf through the following days and turns into sweet nothing in no time. The heated hours spent in Chuck's company had started a little flame in my soul; as exciting as it felt at the beginning, it occupied a little too much of my time thinking about it than I had previously cared to allow my emotions to run ahead of my controlled comfort zone. I kept asking myself what could be wrong with my free style of living? Do I want to check my phone to see if someone has texted me? Isn't my life exciting enough without attachment? There is a saying in my language that says... 'Don't wrap a head that is not aching with tissue'. Meaning don't bring unnecessary pain into your life when you can be free of it.
Hence, I happily accepted Alain and Romel's invite to the Arts Club last Tuesday and wrote to Chuck to cancel our dinner date for the following evening. To end it all, I also added my true thoughts, namely, 'things have already gone stale between us', wishing him joy in his new life here, followed by 'ciao'.
Chuck did tell me from the beginning he's just come out of a long-term relationship, and I agreed with not wanting to go heavy anyway, but he also mentioned:
"Guess I'm where you were when you first separated."
And that made me think, 'Oh! Oh!' If he is going to do half the things I did when I first felt my total freedom, he will not have a second to spare!
However, when the boys at dinner on Wednesday asked about my latest fling, I mentioned what I had done, and they insisted on me writing a brief text to Chuck, from whom I had obviously not heard since my remark. Being a little tipsy by then, a short text was sent.
One thing led to another, and Chuck eventually got in touch, confessing his confusion at my sudden outburst and once again getting my heart pumping with the thrill of our fun times when he asked to meet up if we were on the same plane.
Of course, I answered, we were on the same jet plane, and another meeting was arranged for Sunday lunch.
Meanwhile... At Jane's dinner party on Thursday, I met her childhood friend Andrew, who told me about Whirl-Y-Gig, the spirit of community in a colourful carnival atmosphere, where he used to party many years ago and had purchased extra tickets to revisit the coming Saturday. Even Helma, another fantastic dinner guest that evening, who happened to live in my neighbourhood, got excited by hearing of the event and asked me to give her a full report when we next meet. I thanked Andrew for his kind invite and mentioned to let him know in the days to come.
Friday was lunch with Sergio and Kristel at Racine's French restaurant and dinner with Tila at Punch Bowl, the pub in Mayfair, best known for its owner, Guy Richie. After hearing about the pub, I finally made it there to think. Frankly, I hadn't missed much, not having been before.
Saturday was one of my busiest days (and nights) possible.
Pilates at 11am. Walk in Battersea Park for an hour and a half, soaking in the winter sun. I met Jamie for a drink at Anglesea, where I bumped into Flavio and Salvator.
The evening was drinks at Claridges' to celebrate Niel's birthday with Rory and Shiba, followed by dinner at Kai's Michelin star Chinese restaurant in Mayfair. I had gathered my friends, who would be heading home after the food, so I left them to cab my way to SE1 and join in a short queue for ticket holders at the entrance of the converted church in Hackney. People had been waiting up to two and a half hours to purchase tickets to get in. Thanks to Andrew, my task was relatively easy. As I entered the colourful underground tunnel and was waiting to get my ticket, two guys walked past the other side of the barrier and, seeing their friend standing in front of me, got all excited. One of them shook his bottle of sweet shandy in the air, targeting it in a straight line first in my eyes and face, then on my hair, never mind my Joseph jacket! Luuuuvely starts. My eyes stang, my cheeks felt sticky, and my coat wet all over; I tried not to rub the mascara further to my new mask of shaken shandy and told their friend standing in front of me:
"Who were those 'morans'?"
The guy apologized, and Amelie stood by her friend 'the guy' and sweetly tried to explain that it was not he who did it but his friends.
I picked up the ticket left by Andrew and went in to join him and his friends inside. But I had to hand in my jacket and coat. While I waited patiently in the cloakroom queue, my turn finally came when the attendant informed me there were no more hangers and they could not take in more coats! What?!? Amelie stood behind me, and her friend (the guy) came to our rescue by persuading the attendant to take our coats and leave them in a black rubbish bag behind their counter. The night was saved, and I met eclectic, delightful groups of young regulars at the gig.
Everyone was super friendly.
Andrew was a true gentleman in the way he looked after me without being intrusive in any way. His friends are charming.
Andrew's remark about how he was blown away by my character when we met brought a smile to my semi-sticky face.
I spent most of the night alone, in the outside smoking area, making more new friends!
It still surprises me how a passionate rendezvous burning with desire changes leaf through the following days and turns into sweet nothing in no time. The heated hours spent in Chuck's company had started a little flame in my soul; as exciting as it felt at the beginning, it occupied a little too much of my time thinking about it than I had previously cared to allow my emotions to run ahead of my controlled comfort zone. I kept asking myself what could be wrong with my free style of living? Do I want to check my phone to see if someone has texted me? Isn't my life exciting enough without attachment? There is a saying in my language that says... 'Don't wrap a head that is not aching with tissue'. Meaning don't bring unnecessary pain into your life when you can be free of it.
Hence, I happily accepted Alain and Romel's invite to the Arts Club last Tuesday and wrote to Chuck to cancel our dinner date for the following evening. To end it all, I also added my true thoughts, namely, 'things have already gone stale between us', wishing him joy in his new life here, followed by 'ciao'.
Chuck did tell me from the beginning he's just come out of a long-term relationship, and I agreed with not wanting to go heavy anyway, but he also mentioned:
"Guess I'm where you were when you first separated."
And that made me think, 'Oh! Oh!' If he is going to do half the things I did when I first felt my total freedom, he will not have a second to spare!
However, when the boys at dinner on Wednesday asked about my latest fling, I mentioned what I had done, and they insisted on me writing a brief text to Chuck, from whom I had obviously not heard since my remark. Being a little tipsy by then, a short text was sent.
One thing led to another, and Chuck eventually got in touch, confessing his confusion at my sudden outburst and once again getting my heart pumping with the thrill of our fun times when he asked to meet up if we were on the same plane.
Of course, I answered, we were on the same jet plane, and another meeting was arranged for Sunday lunch.
Meanwhile... At Jane's dinner party on Thursday, I met her childhood friend Andrew, who told me about Whirl-Y-Gig, the spirit of community in a colourful carnival atmosphere, where he used to party many years ago and had purchased extra tickets to revisit the coming Saturday. Even Helma, another fantastic dinner guest that evening, who happened to live in my neighbourhood, got excited by hearing of the event and asked me to give her a full report when we next meet. I thanked Andrew for his kind invite and mentioned to let him know in the days to come.
Friday was lunch with Sergio and Kristel at Racine's French restaurant and dinner with Tila at Punch Bowl, the pub in Mayfair, best known for its owner, Guy Richie. After hearing about the pub, I finally made it there to think. Frankly, I hadn't missed much, not having been before.
Saturday was one of my busiest days (and nights) possible.
Pilates at 11am. Walk in Battersea Park for an hour and a half, soaking in the winter sun. I met Jamie for a drink at Anglesea, where I bumped into Flavio and Salvator.
The evening was drinks at Claridges' to celebrate Niel's birthday with Rory and Shiba, followed by dinner at Kai's Michelin star Chinese restaurant in Mayfair. I had gathered my friends, who would be heading home after the food, so I left them to cab my way to SE1 and join in a short queue for ticket holders at the entrance of the converted church in Hackney. People had been waiting up to two and a half hours to purchase tickets to get in. Thanks to Andrew, my task was relatively easy. As I entered the colourful underground tunnel and was waiting to get my ticket, two guys walked past the other side of the barrier and, seeing their friend standing in front of me, got all excited. One of them shook his bottle of sweet shandy in the air, targeting it in a straight line first in my eyes and face, then on my hair, never mind my Joseph jacket! Luuuuvely starts. My eyes stang, my cheeks felt sticky, and my coat wet all over; I tried not to rub the mascara further to my new mask of shaken shandy and told their friend standing in front of me:
"Who were those 'morans'?"
The guy apologized, and Amelie stood by her friend 'the guy' and sweetly tried to explain that it was not he who did it but his friends.
I picked up the ticket left by Andrew and went in to join him and his friends inside. But I had to hand in my jacket and coat. While I waited patiently in the cloakroom queue, my turn finally came when the attendant informed me there were no more hangers and they could not take in more coats! What?!? Amelie stood behind me, and her friend (the guy) came to our rescue by persuading the attendant to take our coats and leave them in a black rubbish bag behind their counter. The night was saved, and I met eclectic, delightful groups of young regulars at the gig.
 | |||||||||||||
| The parachute covering the seated crowd |
Andrew was a true gentleman in the way he looked after me without being intrusive in any way. His friends are charming.
Andrew's remark about how he was blown away by my character when we met brought a smile to my semi-sticky face.
I spent most of the night alone, in the outside smoking area, making more new friends!
At 5:30am, half an hour before closing time, a giant parachute spread throughout the hall while everyone sat on the floor underneath.
The colourful lighting enhanced the rather magical ambience.
The Fabric was moved from different corners of the room to spread the air of 'love' all around the atmosphere.
'The guy' whose friends were responsible for the earlier shandy incident came up to me to say Amelia was sitting at the front of the room, under the parachute with our coats and added: "Hope I made up a little for my friends' foolish behaviour."
Aaaaahh. Now, that was sweet. I had washed my face and forgotten the incident by then. I rushed to get my coat from Amelie as soon as the music stopped and ran out of the place to find a taxi.
It was 6am. The dilemma was, should I go to Fabric (my Saturday hangout), where Ricardo Villalobos was bound to start playing his funky music or go home for some rest before my lunch date with Chuck that day? Decisions, decisions. Then again, I thought he had yet to text me the day before about our meeting, knowing from experience it likely would not happen. But even if I went to Fabric, I would get a few hours of sleep later in the morning and still make it to lunch late. As I have done so on many occasions.
My strong instinct got the better of me, and I hailed a cab and ordered:
"Fabric, please."
I arrived, told by Chris, the superb lighting director of room 1, that Ricardo had just begun playing. At my favourite table, I was greeted by the familiar faces of friends I had made there. Gabi and her flatmate were a bundle of fun to mingle with. Accompanied by Judes, we did some DJ booth, and by 8:30am, I decided to take the load off my Prada boots (big mistake to wear, but I had so many varied events to attend that evening) and retired on a small two-seater leather sofa in the staff smoking room. Every half hour, a newcomer took their seat next to me; we would chat, and they moved on to be replaced by another. The tall, good-looking 22-year-old Thierry landed next to me quickly. We began talking and having a few laughs; the naughty French boy asked me specific questions, which somewhat puzzled me. The room was getting busier as the morning went on, and more familiar faces showed up through the entrance. I was beginning to get concerned about finding a way to stand up on my tired legs and make my way home when Chuck's text said it was his turn to cancel and that he could not make our lunch date due to the flu.
Immensely relieved, I eventually stood up, declaring the time to go home. It was 10:15am, after all! As I left the basement room to go up the many stairs and fetch my coat to leave, I noticed Thierry standing behind me. Looking up at him, I asked whether he was leaving, and he mentioned being tired. So, in his native language, I questioned:
"Where are you going now?"
"Well, Haldita," he answered in that sweet French, "Going home with you!"
"Going home with me?!" I exclaimed with a cheeky smile.
And on that note, we left the club.
Learning from experience makes me a wise woman.
The colourful lighting enhanced the rather magical ambience.
The Fabric was moved from different corners of the room to spread the air of 'love' all around the atmosphere.
'The guy' whose friends were responsible for the earlier shandy incident came up to me to say Amelia was sitting at the front of the room, under the parachute with our coats and added: "Hope I made up a little for my friends' foolish behaviour."
Aaaaahh. Now, that was sweet. I had washed my face and forgotten the incident by then. I rushed to get my coat from Amelie as soon as the music stopped and ran out of the place to find a taxi.
It was 6am. The dilemma was, should I go to Fabric (my Saturday hangout), where Ricardo Villalobos was bound to start playing his funky music or go home for some rest before my lunch date with Chuck that day? Decisions, decisions. Then again, I thought he had yet to text me the day before about our meeting, knowing from experience it likely would not happen. But even if I went to Fabric, I would get a few hours of sleep later in the morning and still make it to lunch late. As I have done so on many occasions.
My strong instinct got the better of me, and I hailed a cab and ordered:
"Fabric, please."
I arrived, told by Chris, the superb lighting director of room 1, that Ricardo had just begun playing. At my favourite table, I was greeted by the familiar faces of friends I had made there. Gabi and her flatmate were a bundle of fun to mingle with. Accompanied by Judes, we did some DJ booth, and by 8:30am, I decided to take the load off my Prada boots (big mistake to wear, but I had so many varied events to attend that evening) and retired on a small two-seater leather sofa in the staff smoking room. Every half hour, a newcomer took their seat next to me; we would chat, and they moved on to be replaced by another. The tall, good-looking 22-year-old Thierry landed next to me quickly. We began talking and having a few laughs; the naughty French boy asked me specific questions, which somewhat puzzled me. The room was getting busier as the morning went on, and more familiar faces showed up through the entrance. I was beginning to get concerned about finding a way to stand up on my tired legs and make my way home when Chuck's text said it was his turn to cancel and that he could not make our lunch date due to the flu.
Immensely relieved, I eventually stood up, declaring the time to go home. It was 10:15am, after all! As I left the basement room to go up the many stairs and fetch my coat to leave, I noticed Thierry standing behind me. Looking up at him, I asked whether he was leaving, and he mentioned being tired. So, in his native language, I questioned:
"Where are you going now?"
"Well, Haldita," he answered in that sweet French, "Going home with you!"
"Going home with me?!" I exclaimed with a cheeky smile.
And on that note, we left the club.
Learning from experience makes me a wise woman.
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