Fiac in Paris to Fabric Anniversary!

'Where there is Love, there is Life'. Ghandi.
Words can play a significant role in our lives, and yet, at times, we say things we don't mean and hear someone's story, in our own interpretation, of our story. We make them wrong, we make them suitable, but in the end, it is our map we are getting into. 
Widen your horizon of thoughts and deeds.    

I took the Eurostar to Paris on Wednesday 17th. Actually, the minicab was late, so I only managed to miss my train, a first for me, but the lady at St Pancreas sweetly changed my ticket to the next one without bargaining. Great start.  
My boarding school buddy Cherylin, who now resides in Canada, had booked me at her hotel off Champs Elysées, where she was staying. Once at Gare du Nord in Paris, I took a cab to the hotel, dumped my suitcase, and carried it to Fiac to meet Ario at the VIP entrance.

Now, how did I meet Ario? Firstly, a year ago at the Middle Eastern Art show, Sotheby's in Bond Street London, we gathered to end our evening after the exhibition at Hakassan's restaurant in Mayfair. Next, we saw each other by chance at PAD the week before in London and last, at the artsy dinner Aisha had given only a few days ago, where I helped him cab his way back to his residence. When I told him I would visit Paris on Wednesday, he offered to take me to FIAC, the International Contemporary Art Fair. This time in Paris, the dark, cloudy afternoon soon became irrelevant when I was met by Ario at the VIP side entrance of the Grand Palais, and we gained access to a vast white hall with a fantastic glass roof, a building with much more to offer than the art it bore inside. The art on show differed from the exhilarating kind that left one speechless or in aspiration, but it was too bland for my liking.

 Grand Palais - fiac

I sometimes feel this way: green and upside down. 
Don't we all?

The Hanging Umbrellas

Paul McCarthy's attention-gripping piece, 'George Bush Copulating a Pig', was overpriced and sold!

The Grand Palais exhibitors

 Is this the direction the world is going?

Pain = Experience

 

It is, however, always interesting to see how the minds have evolved when it comes to art. The works of the old masters have been around for centuries and admired by all, but this new contemporary phase is rarely or barely one to lust for. To observe, yes.
Then again, this is purely a personal opinion.

After circulating the show for a good few hours, a salad break and many introductions to people Ario knew, we headed out to dinner at Mehr's, whom I had never met before. Basically, Arash (whom I had known well and had no idea was in Paris) called Ario while we were touring around Fiac and, upon finding out I was keeping him company had asked Ario to take me to his friend's, where he was treating us to a Lebanese takeaway. We arrived at Mehr's before everyone else, and our charming hostess was more than welcoming; she even offered us a bottle of her homemade compote to take back. Arash arrived with more friends, and the evening was surprisingly excellent. We chatted and laughed till I sadly had to leave at 1:30am for an embassy appointment the following day. I Got to meet more charming residents of Paris, in particular, a wise gentleman who spoke my philosophy: live and let live and make the most of your moments, or they will not return. We clicked in only a few words and said goodbye. 

After an early-ish rise in the morning and attending to my chores, I met up with Didier for lunch, and his friend Éric joined us off the Champs Elysées in an Argentinian restaurant. What luck to find Didier in Paris as he was destined to move to the Far East for a few years on a work mission and had only stayed to collect his visa that same day. The boys dug into a piece of lean meat while I chose a deliciously grilled sea bass. Éric had to leave back to work, so Didier joined me for a walk around the magnificence that surrounded the wide, cobbled street of Champs Elysées, filled with old glamour and refined architecture, with golden statues riding high above tall columns and signs of greatness pouring from every corner one looked.  

Tour Eiffel

Add caption

Street Exhibits. The Fuming King Kong?

Not a red car with a silver key, au contraire

After walking for hours in Fiac the previous afternoon and more that day, my feet could no longer take it in those Prada boots, so I begged my friend to taxi our way to St Germain.
I left Didier in café de la Croix Rouge with Arash, who had joined in wishing him farewell, for a stroll around rue de Grenelle in the rain that followed. I managed to return with only one skirt from Sonia Rykiel.
Even Didier commented: "Haldita, all this time and only One skirt?!"

A text vibrated my mobile phone from Lola, who had arrived at the hotel I was staying at. Had to rush. Saying goodbye to Didier was hard, as goodness knows when or where we will next meet: Europe? China?  

I returned to the hotel in a hurry at almost 7:00pm; it took roughly ten minutes to get ready and unite with Lola, heading to Café Flore, back in St Germain. Who was waiting for us on that pleasant autumn evening at the café but Francine, the statuesque artist I had met previously at Lola's in London? Une coupe de champagne later, the time had come to visit 'the Museum of Everything', set amongst narrow corridors of an old primary school in the heart of St Germain des Près, where Francine had recently been attending yoga classes, now presenting a range of paintings and works of art by untrained and undiscovered artists, insanely exciting music being played and a chichi crowd to add further flavour to this very unusual show of art. The mojitos were flowing past, and the mingling carried on with a delicious range of food laid out on the ground floor, provided by the latest 'derrière' restaurant in Paris.  

The entrance to the Museum of Everything

One of the musicians playing on the stairway

All in all, it was an enchanting start to a long evening. Francine suggested we visit David Lynch's private club, Silencio's, accompanied by Lola and Graça, whom I had just met. The four of us cabbed our way to the distinctively wood-panelled interior where a live band was playing, and smoking was allowed in a room separated by a glass sheet with tree-like branches holding ashtrays inside. We all agreed it is one of the most atmospheric interiors for a club.
No photos were allowed! 
As the band with a lady singer terminated their performance and another lady DJ began playing on stage, we moved around the different rooms, then decided to part and join the creator of the Museum of Everything at a cafè near rue du Bac, which always brings me back special memories.
We chatted to more people and sat at a large table outside the café, as the weather was delightful for a mid-autumn evening.

When the waiter finally managed to kick us all out as the closing hour was well overdue. We, once again, taxied our way to Maxim's Club, which used to be a restaurant of prestige and ball gowns in my mother's time. It now was a shabby-looking space, with no dinner tables in sight and loud music being played on different floors; more like rock and roll and certainly not glamorous in any way. 
While we danced in the first-floor room with a bar at the end, I suddenly felt as if my feet could scream or cry; this was definitely a moment of trauma for them. I really had to get them home to rest. Once more, Lola and I said goodbye to our group's leftovers and left for our hotel at 4:30am. Even the offer of finishing the night at the Baron Club could not tempt us. 
And where did we spend the most time of our evening? Guess ...  In taxis.

The following day, I left the hotel before midday for a spot (maybe more than just one spot) of shopping back to St Germain (next time, I'll get a hotel in this area!) and the first boutique I went to, Sandro's, got stuck in and came back carrying two large bags with a very smiley shop assistant who had established her sale for the day, she was most accommodating.
Finding my way back to Café Flore took a little longer, as there was a selection of shoe shops to visit on the way. Did you get to read my blog post about a poem on a shopping spree? '  
Lola was busy in her 'mobile office'. She waited until my healthy salad niçoise was consumed before heading back to Champs Elysées, where I finally met my old boarding school chum, Cherylin, for an hour of chatter in my hotel room. She left for dinner with her hubby and me and got a text to join Lola and the lovely Gemma at another most unusual setting in Montparnasse. When the taxi left me at the doorstep of an almost empty street, I presumed he must have the wrong address. Still, then Gemma opened the entrance door and led me through a vast, long courtyard, passing glass façades of closed galleries until we got to the end house, in a corner and entered an ample space of what looked like a crisscross between a large living room and a library of a high ceiling. Inside sat a mixed group of about thirty people at a long dinner table and, on one side, the works of K-Narf and Elisa in the form of photos hanging on long white panels against rows of books on wooden shelves. Candles were lit, and dinner was obviously over; it was past ten o'clock, after all. As I sat at the table, a young man began reciting his poem in French; I softly asked Lola: "Is he rapping?"
My young friend seemed surprised by my question and laughingly answered: "You're so old, Haldita! Yes." Haha.
We said our goodbyes to Gemma, hoping to see her sometime soon. This girl had one of the friendliest looks and smiles I had encountered.
As Lola well-put in the words of Paris... Parisians genuinely understand their city's beauty and grandeur and take great pride in it, while most Londoners take their city for granted. 

Saturday morning had arrived sooner than imagined, and Lola headed to Charles de Gaulle airport while I went down for a proper heart-to-heart with my old friend Cherylin, accompanied by her husband. Sitting for hours at the Café de l'Avenue was heart-warming, reminiscing on our past and present and returning to the stories her husband told me of one of my father's wine business back home. With the rain pouring outside, I felt the tears inside, sensing my father's spirit all around me. Great old friends are to be cherished, and to see them through decades, each having gone through our own turmoil of what life brings and sharing our stories are as precious as reading the most invigorating book.

Heading towards Eurostar was my last taxi ride on this trip in Paris, with my half-full suitcase now bursting with the latest number of clothes and shoes the city had to offer. The two-hour twenty-minute train journey passed as fast as the flashes of the scenery outside its windows, and I arrived home in London in time for a hairdressing appointment, followed by a three-hour nap before heading to Fabric for the long night, thirty-two hours of nonstop rave. Malik, whom I had met regularly in the club for many years, came to accompany me on the drive to the club. I am truly blessed with the youngest group of unique, bright and super fabulous friends any woman could experience in a lifetime, and I do not take a minute of my life for granted; sure, I get hurt and upset at times, but God, as I tell everyone...
'Ma vie est ma fantaisie'. 'My life is my fantasy and beyond'.

Once at my favourite table in Fabric, Thomas, who I had bumped into in Frieze and had asked to join us for his birthday celebrations, began the party with a group of his wonderful companions. Bretta, with whom we got well acquainted throughout the night, and Jules, who was most charming in calling me a unicorn' by the early morning hours, were especially enchanting. Sirena arrived just after us, accompanied by a girlfriend and throughout the night, others came to leave their footprints momentarily at our table and some in our hearts. The music was excellent throughout the nine-hour stay, and finally, at 10:30am, Sirena accompanied me for a drive back home. Oh, what a night! I have caught every Fabric Anniversary in the past eight years! And as we discussed with Malik, we have made fabulous friends in this underground brick museum of music. MDAaaamazing.

Another week has passed, and I have had a nasty flu. Surprised? Not.
Many times a day, I look back at my life in the past ten years, and every single time, I shake my head and think: 

"Wow! How surreal a life am I leading? God, I'm truly blessed and grateful. Thank you." 

PAD to Frieze... Life is an Art!

My poetic mood:

Little by little, the tears gathered.

From a world of dreams shattered

To form an ocean.

One more... 

With all the love, I am blessed; everywhere I look

Who needs storage space and places to book

It accumulates in each corner of the world I turn to

Is it Harry, Antoinette? Could it be Renai or Sue?

The globe we live in is a funny place

The wars we create are only a disgrace

Why can't we simply live to be a clown

Don't let anything or anyone let us down

Go to the mountains, a sex show or just a giggle

Smile to God, to the people, make that ass wiggle

Talk nonsense, that's alright, not to be right all the time

What is life? Life without love is not worth a dime.

Then came ...

Laugh at yourself; trust me, you can be funny

It won't cost you anything; it's not all about money

Learning names to impress: Raphael, Monet and Dali

I need to get away; where's better than Bali

'My husband buys me diamonds and cars'. Does that make you happy?

And my model wife's lips will blow. You look like her pappy.

Everyone wants to be Saatchi with millions, and Nigelassima

Where shall we holiday, darling, Amazon, the moon or Lima?

Let your mind flow through your hair in the breeze of the night

Before you know it, the night is gone; here comes the light

Dark or bright outside don't matter; your soul must be lit

Bright with desire yearning, make sure you commit

Be naughty, cheeky, sunny and spread your wings

Life is not about your iPhone and all the pings.

No way... Shall I delete and check?

Oh No, let it be. What the heck.

And this is my contribution as we enter the world of the Arts.

It was a sunny Tuesday last when Ernest texted to see if I cared to join him at PAD, 'where collectors acquire museum quality pieces with a distinct history, eclecticism and connoisseurship with passion and flair'. And that was precisely what I experienced. Well, not buying personally but seeing familiar faces of friends and acquaintances, deep in a shopping mode. These mainly were ladies who lunched and used to spend time shopping for clothes and shoes in the past, and now, the salon was filled with familiar faces of elegant ladies spending their good fortune on fabulous furniture and pieces of art.

Interchangeable lighting through a screen

Mirror Mirror on the wall. Aren't YOU the prettiest of them all?

Infinity Table 2011. Dyed Sycamore, coloured lacquer

The delicately carved Vase

The Love Light! Or so I called it.

PAD at Berkeley Square

Steam_12, 2010. Seat in Walnut. Carved to perfection

I got to see other friends 'en passant'. I said a few hellos before we headed out with Ernest to attend a talk given at his friend Woody's suggestion by a brilliant young man, a charity entrepreneur named Jerry. The event was held at the magnificent building of Chatham House, where global critical analysis of talks takes place.
The thing with these super clever young beings is they speak their bright ideas so fast that it makes it impossible to follow sometimes.  
Or is it me?!
Once the talk ended, Ernest and I grabbed a sushi at Wasabi before heading home.  

Wednesday morning began with my trainer over for some significant stretching, then lunch with Doug and a chat over exchanging computer knowledge as he went through his blog and mentioned how he was encouraged to write it after reading mine. That's just great.
That evening was an artsy sit-down dinner at Aisha's, where Shane joined. I got talking to old friends before heading to the dinner tables, with an addition of a considerable number of unknown faces, soon to become known, and all the new dishes our hostess had, once again, miraculously presented. I was happy as even the salad at Aisha's tasted unique.

Thursday was the first day of the Frieze Art Fair at London's Regents Park. Aisha had arranged for Risha and me to pick up VIP tickets for the event and who would be there but Ernest, accompanied by the fast-moving-talkin super clever Woody. Once again, we walked through the crowds of art lovers, strolling up and down the exhibitors' stands and the pieces of modern works they represented. Again, here are a few that attracted extra attention or came out as better shots.

Entrance to Frieze Art Fair '12 in Regents Park

Aaah! A bed of flowers. Where are the candles?!

The last supper, or is it the first? With Michelin star chef

Gold or Silver? They look like men of knowledge.

A Distinguished Lady, by hans-peter Feldman

The hand which bashes with a stick ... Male. And the one who murders cold-blooded ... Female. Which one bears more guilt?

Chilled in attitude but hot in colour

The distinguished lady with the black eye represented the ladies of a specific background, whose husbands would provide them with the fur coat and the pearl necklace, with hands looking as fragile as though they had never touched a dirty dish, yet looking sad and obviously beaten up.
A woman in a gold cage. How did that make me reflect? Hearing Ernest's description of precisely what I was seeing made it more meaningful as to how many suffer that pain? Yet, stay on.

At the Frieze art fair, I learned something new about myself. 
Ernest and I left Risha and Woody to participate in a survey act. We were each given instructions separately at a stand of 'the creation of a man' to play a role. Mine were:

"You're 28. From a wealthy background, I never worked for a living. You were born in New York. That's right."  The instructor made all this up, and he continued: "You're here to buy art. Also, you've been travelling worldwide and are desperately looking for a man ..."

I cut him out: "Really?! You were doing well there, then. Do I've to be looking for a man? And desperately?"

The man stopped me and said, "This is role play, and your name is Alda."

'Close,' I thought.

The man said: "Basically, you're looking for a man who is knowledgeable in art, who's good-looking and tall, to bear your child by. A man who is kind and considerate."
Apart from the baring child bit, my thoughts were... The man is a fortune teller!

The instructor then disappeared behind a screen and returned with a young-looking boy who seemed rather shy. Oh no. Do I really have to play with this little boy, who was definitely not tall and had no presence?! And yet, I was so ready to get deep into this perfect scene of acting my heart out. Now, I was faced with an expressionless image of a blushing child with the slightest interest and undoubtedly unable to act. Or perhaps it was me, like a deflating balloon, finding no chemistry nor the will to work by; I quickly gave up on the role and returned to my party. Plus, only a few minutes beforehand, I had (yet again) bumped into a tall, dark, handsome stranger who stopped me, in total surprise, to say we had met through a mutual friend. His name, Foudi, was unusual, and he spoke most gently. I could not remember meeting this model-like stranger before, perhaps only briefly. So, I told him:

"Seriously?!" I began, "Since a surgery I recently had, what was left of my short-term memory is now completely gone to zilch."  As my palms touched in a clap to express the words. "And to think that I can't remember meeting such a gorgeous man as you are unforgivable to me."

Foudi smiled and thanked me politely for the compliment. But God, it was true. Then I left in a hurry, telling him we must connect through the mutual friends. Lunch with my Arty buddies, watching my interaction with the stranger from afar, was waiting at the HIX restaurant towards the end of the vast tent.

Risha, Ernest, and Woody were amazed at letting such a tall, dark and h and man get away so fast!  

Risha said: "Haldita! The guy noticed you from behind. I was watching him, and he was so good-looking."

The boys were in agreement. They looked at me in a questioning state: "So, unlike you," Ernest noted. "You let him go just like that."

My face must have borne the look of horror as I realised that even his name, which I had asked at least twice, was lost in my mind.  
He was probably married or taken. 
What is meant to be happens; if it does not occur, it was not meant to be.
Now, if the role-play instructor had returned with a Foudi look-alike, boy, would I have given it my best shot, a performance good enough for the Oscars. But a lame choice meant no show from me. I let the poor boy loose, out of his misery.

And by now, damn. I have actually forgotten what I had learned about myself! I blame it on the anaesthesia during my surgery; my mum would have said, it's the pot.
Oh yes. Through this exercise, it dawned on me that I will only be flexible and act if a situation is to my liking, not the making of a great actress, but hey, a girl can't underestimate her priorities. What caught my attention about Foudi was not a sexual inclination to jump into bed with the guy, not at all; he was so softly spoken and polite; it would be good to make a new friend who is also interested in the arts and could be an excellent gallery-hopping friend.

I also got to see Thomas. The last meeting in Fabric was some years ago at the VIP table during Frieze. He quickly mentioned his birthday on the eve of Fabric's anniversary, which was coming up.  
Then, I caught up briefly with Kenny, with whom we had experienced a fun night at Supperclub. He blamed my joint for losing his mind, and we always laughed at the experience. 
What a socially fun place art can be!  
Going around in our group of four and discussing the pieces on display, whether it was the expressions, colours, and writings that Ernest picked up and read to us or the irony in pieces where a child of five would come up with far better results as the ones displayed in plain.
My first experience at Frieze was one I will definitely repeat in years to come.

The rain was pouring hard outside the white tent of the fair, set amongst the park, and the only way to get home as Ernest and I bid farewell was to take the underground home. It is not something I usually do, so I was not expecting the train ride home to open up all my pores; it was like being in a sauna and taking coats off meant having to put them back on again when leaving, so I chose to sweat my way home.  
Did I go to bed after a long day? Nope. I took the car and drove to Dylan's, where he fed me the best homemade vegetable soup he had prepared earlier. And getting into conversation with him, and Kerry was simply stupendous. It's incredible how the older friends become, the more we understand how the other ticks and enjoy their company merely for what it is, their offer of friendship in hearing you out and speaking their mind without fear of judgement.

Friday was my first pilates class since operation 2012! Perfect.
At night, after a chit-chat over a hairdo with Dez, we continued on to drinks with Kim at Jack's and a conversation about how the past few years since we had last spoken had flown by. The night ended at Heidi and Berto's as she celebrated her birthday and launched her new fur label simultaneously. Goodness, I met more lovely people there, and at Heidi's request, some of us girls went to another room to wear the fur coats and model for the guests in the living room. What did I choose to wear? The bridal fur with its matching headband, which I insisted on sporting, was undoubtedly white. As for the second round, Heidi noticed my choice of her most expensive mink coat. 
"Of course, baby,"  Heidi told me. "Wouldn't expect anything else. You chose the most expensive coat from the collection."

A fun evening ended, and a super day began on Saturday with lunch at one of Princess Diana's old favourite restos: Daphnes, entouragée by Ernest, Daniel, Woody and Jerry, with a short soup-stop by Lola. Indeed, it was a gay lunch, happy in every way, with laughter and an exchange of wild stories. While some politics were being discussed at the beginning of lunch, I managed to update Daniel on some of my adventures waiting to happen.
Then came dinner at another old restaurant the Ex and I often visited when it opened a quarter of a century ago! Le Caprice Sounds ancient when the word century, even if a quarter, fits in, but that's how time disappears; make the most of it, or it will be gone. Baff! Beforehand, Sean had come to me to join Paulina, whom I had met in Hvar, Croatia, on a friend's yacht and chatted till the early morning hours. She was now visiting London with her sister, and the four of us had drinks at Jack's, followed by dinner at Le Caprice restaurant, which had barely changed. No Botox. haha

And Sunday came, the day of rest. Aisha offered to pick me up with Hessa to drive to the countryside again. This time, it was to visit Rossi at his new home set amongst a convent. The place was certainly one of a kind, as is our host, having organised a superb roast of beef with vegetables by his young chef, whose trifle dessert was so delicious, I demolished the layers of custard with fruit compote and jelly, plus the sponge cake at the bottom and a touch of liquor somewhere in between, before Aisha caught me red handed to tell me the desert with butter and custard was out of bounds for me! Ooopsy! It was gone. Nothing left in my cup, not even a crumb!

Monday was an early evening meeting with Doug. My one month of no exercise had been accomplished, and I was ready to break the fast in one of my latest baby pink transparent negligees from Victoria's Secret. After a build-up of fantasy talk and meetings of lunches and chatter, the time had come to put words into action. It is funny how the build-up to meeting someone can be far more exciting than the meeting itself. But for a relationship or even sexual encounters to grow deep, one has to allow time and effort, like a well-cooked meal that sizzles.

One thing I would like to add was meeting Antonia Harman at the beginning of last week, while she channelled yang energy into my being in a six-minute transfer while I simply lay on the bed. She added: "This is like putting energy as a disc into your hard drive. It was uploaded into my system, and apparently, I can channel it now onto others, treating emotional traumas and uncomplicated illnesses. She sweetly baked me a trout and served it with artichoke for lunch. Quite a treat. 

And what awaits for the rest of this week? It is a trip to the wonders of Paris.

Bon Voyage et bonsoir mes amis.
Have a safe trip, and goodnight, my friends.

Love... Love... & The Pre-Raphaelites

'Carry a heart that never hates, a smile that never fades and a touch that never hurts'.

Once again, since I last wrote, a million things have happened!
People have often asked me: "Haldita, where do you get your energy?" And I have had many answers, until recently, I realised... It's "From LOVE".

Last Sunday was dinner at Aisha's. She had asked me to go early and give her instructions on how to make the only thing I can still cook, and even that is once in a blue moon for my parties: my grandma's aubergine soufflé. There was a feast of colourful dishes set on the table for dinner, of which the soufflé was just one. My post-operation diet did not allow for much variety, but the non-fried dishes I could have were as exquisite as the ones I could not and as delicious as the company surrounding the dinner table.

Next came a meeting with Sirena, who had agreed to join me in my new venture, a new business idea. So far, all the ideas to start working again since my separation have failed. In a way, like all the men I have met, but not as many. A test of time and timing. Going through a kind of excruciating pain mentally, as well as physically, could leave one at a loss; a loss of remembering why we are here and how to move on, not to mention how to make the changes necessary to get out of one's dismal situation. It took me three years of therapy and workshops to realise that unless I made the changes needed, life would continue to be the same: unhappy. In complex relationships, instead of thinking, 'How can I get out of this troubled state?', one tends to get wrapped up in a shield of negative thoughts, and it takes courage and know-how to get out. The state of unhappiness will reach a time when you cannot take the pain any longer, till it becomes torturous, and only then comes the time when you will reach out for an answer and a way out. Those times, as far away as they seem, were the best thing that could have happened in my life. The lessons I learned because of it, have made me throw myself into a time of self-discovery and I have learned to love myself and everyone around me; even those who may have hurt or upset me. All this to say, the situation of no work and not having a man in my life is not due to a lack of jobs or men but the fact that I would not settle for anything less than I deserve. A fulfilling job and a man... Who knows about that one?!  

On Tuesday, Ernest asked if I would join him at Tate Britain to see the Pre-Raphaelites exhibition: Victorian Avant-Garde. That French word throws shivers down my spine; the sound of it brings about a 'je ne sais quoi' of coolness. PRB: The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood was formed, and in 1849, a group of seven heartfelt, passionate English painters, poets, and critics burst into the art scene of their era. Their ideas, which mocked tradition, were considered crude and primitive. The contrast between colours, art inspired by music, a new concise and precise approach to nature and love of Shakespearean subject matters made it all a perfect example of Aestheticism and Romanticism.

In 'The Order of Release' 1746 by John Everett Millais 1852-1853, the woman stands strong with a child in hand, giving a release paper to have her husband leaning on her shoulder discharged.

In 'Valentine Rescuing Sylvia from Proteus' 1851, from Shakespeare's last scene in 'The Two Gentlemen of Verona', William Holman Hunt's detailed autumn leaves show the favoured white paint on the faces, hands as well as the garments replace the darkness. It also portrayed intimate relationships and affairs ending in tragedy, non-traditional.

In The Awakening Conscience by Hunt, a mistress rises from her lover's lap, stricken with the realisation of a life misspent, her memory stirred by the music. A beam of light shines through the window to save her. A moment of truth is experienced, with the scene of a sunlit garden behind. Her conscience is awakened; she has been leading a false life. Now, a revelation.

It amused me to see so much emphasis put on the woman's guilt while the lust and the begging eyes of the man, sitting with his mouth half open, go without mention! Then, think, how much has the world changed in time?

Going around room after room was delightful, looking at the paintings in depth and discussing our points of view on the ones that caught our attention with Ernest. The handle on the minutes and hours had passed as a breeze swept us from one hall to another.

Tate Britain - Pre-Raphaelites

Tuesday dinner at Lady Saba's, with the presence of her good old friend Iris, was a bundle of fun. The ladies were telling me stories of their past with celebrities and travel with their gay friends all those years ago. Always a delight.

There were more lunches and dinners till Thursday evening arrived. I felt well rested, and the time had come... to hit town. By the time I was ready, Aisha texted me to meet her and Kristel at Nozomi's bar, where the DJ was playing great tunes, and we mingled amongst the friends already there; it was a wonderful surprise to see Al again on his visit.

By 1:30am, everyone was ready to leave, but it was my first night out (correctly), and Aisha took me to the new Loulou Club opened by one of the partners in Anabel's. Needless to say, in London's posh Mayfair. The decoration was homely and elegant, with a mixture of colour and texture, and the number of rooms we visited, primarily empty by that time of night, was overwhelming. It was like a large house with many living rooms, but the atmosphere seemed cold. We ended up chatting to two chaps in the covered smoking area and managed to scare one of the boys off while the other, Wills, joined us for a nightcap and plenty more laughter, trying to figure out the British way of living. This membership status is the need to belong to a club and mix with the same people.  

We each headed home in the early hours of the morning.

Friday was a day of rest, but when the night came, the meeting was at 8over8 with an old friend from boarding school, Paloma and her cousin, and a ladies' early dinner. After the girls left, I drove to Lawrence's house party in Mayfair, where I got to meet many great boys and a couple of lovely ladies. Fab GG party (Girls and Gays). I am following the doctor's exact orders of a limited diet, no exercise and no sex! No good.  

Then came Saturday, Battle Abbey revisited (my old boarding school), which used to be strictly a girls' school when I attended but is now mixed. Something extraordinary happened to me on that day. It was a beautifully sunny day when I got to Battle after a pleasant one-and-a-half-hour train journey passing through the lush green English countryside. Although those rides back to school were cold and dreary in those days, I could only feel the warmth of the sunshine coming through the window of the almost empty wagon.

Once there, the taxi was waiting outside to take me back to my memory lane from all those decades ago. We walked around the not-so-changed building where King Harold resided in the past and us years later. And what a name for a boarding school, Battle Abbey. It was indeed where the Battle of Hastings took place in 1066 while we went through our own Battle of survival in an environment so far from home. Coming to a foreign school to board was not easy; we were away from all the luxuries life could offer, the lack of love from our family, and, significantly, the language skills. But the discipline we were taught was a lesson that helped us throughout life.  
My best grade of A came for posture! As in how we walked, sticking our heads up as though we were walking with a book on our heads, table manners, and generally being on good behaviour. I found some girls standing outside, behind the science lab, smoking a cigarette in hiding. That made us all laugh. We were still at school.
When my friends in London texted about meeting up for lunch, I wrote in reply:
'I'm in Battle today'. Confusing them slightly in thinking, what am I talking about?

At lunch in the vast library, where the shelves with old books were half empty and the rest filled with new paperbacks, I bumped into Kim, who had befriended me years after separating. We had become inseparable and were like close friends who would tell each other everything, but our friendship had turned sour over time. I am not even going to begin to get into the gossip of who said what or who was right or wrong, as I told her on the train journey back:
"You know Kim, shit happens in life. We drifted apart, and as grown-ups, it's silly to say you did this, I said that, etc. That's for three-year-olds to bicker about, and if we do, then aren't we ever gonna grow up?!"
She gladly agreed with me, and we parted in London with a hug and a smile.
Resolve whatever issue you have with anyone, or it will hunt you in the next life, and let's face it, we could die at any moment in time. Life really ain't worth the hassle. Let bygones be bygones.

Battle Abbey School

The Walls surrounding the Grounds

I actually got home that Saturday afternoon and fell asleep for two hours. Woke up at 20:30 to realise I was late for Jane's birthday party at her home, so pulled myself together and managed to get to the party at my usually fashionably late hour of 22:00. A whole band of musicians was playing various instruments from all over the world, and there was a wonderfully jolly atmosphere in the air. I met a charming artist with whom I had a good long chat whilst sharing a joint. Lola arrived when most guests left and kept me there till 4:00am. At which time, I said goodbye and drove towards Fire in Vauxhall, a club I had not been to before and, as it happened, although Sirena had my name at the door, they said 4:30am was too late to enter and that the guestlist had been closed. I could have probably got my way in, as I was definitely too smartly dressed in my latest NYC look of black leather and fabric trouser suit with a Hermes scarf tied as a bow around my neck but could not be bothered so politely said thank you and drove down to my favourite night spot in the world; fabric. Always think of Plan B.

Instead, I was greeted in the usual super-friendly way that the staff always greeted me: home at last. I was lucky to find Judes as I went to Room One's DJ booth and followed her the whole night from one room to the next, hanging out with DJ Cari Lekebusch, who was refreshingly open-minded and such a delight to talk to, and his friend Florine who was an absolute sweetheart. Plus, everyone else who helps make my nights in this club so memorable. Well, the memory part can be questionable at times! Haha. You may have to be a clubber to get my meaning.

Judes looked at me a couple of times, dancing in the DJ booth in wonder, laughing and saying:
"Look at you. I can't believe you had a gall bladder removed three weeks ago, and you're looking so well for it! Incredible."
We always have a good laugh together. Her text the following day was so touching I had tears in my eyes. What a woman! She called me 'one of the wonders of the world'! Ha-ha.  
I stayed at the club for the afterparty, so when I got out at 10:30am on Sunday, the sun shone bright, and the air was filled with love. Yes. More love. As I drove home in the traffic, the roads were closed because of a marathon now underway. Shoot. It hit me that my girl was running half a marathon in aid of a charity, and I had to go and support her around midday at the finish line. A mother has her duties, even a Party Mum. And so I got home, changed into a tracksuit, and was re-routed to Hyde Park. Only got to bed at 4:00pm! But then, I slept for fourteen glorious hours.

Speaking of bed, it's late. Next week is the report of a week of 'Art in London'.

I would like to leave you with the thought...
Stop trying to control the uncontrollable.
Make Love... Not War.