Thursday, 26 May 2011

"If you can't change your life, change your wallpaper"

I am currently decorating my flat and have had my mother helping me the last few days. Every home decor or interior design programme and magazine would be grateful for my mothers input, she'd be right up there between Kelly Hoppen and Laurence Llewelyn Bowen, caught between both of their monstrous hair dont's and even more enormous egos. I grew up in a house of ever changing walls and with a mother of ever changing hairstyles. When I was about nine years old my best friend came to stay and asked me in total wonderment if my mum was a punk (I think she may have been rocking a purple crop at the time).When I was a few years older I asked my mum why she had to decorate the house every six weeks and she replied very softly "darling, if you can't change your life the least you can do is change your wallpaper" which is probably not the best thing to say to a gullible, pre-pubescent boy with an abnormal interest in interior design.

Whereas most of my friends mothers could be found sitting around drinking tea and gossipping, my mother was normally up a ladder painting or at a sewing machine making sofa covers. My childhood was full of bold colours, regency furniture and scatter cushions, so it's no wonder I turned out rather dramatic. I think my formative years were probably spent under a heady spell of paint fumes and wood glue, which may account for the fact that I am the only one in my family under 6ft tall (but my hair does always have a high gloss).

Care always had to be taken in the house as you never knew what had been freshly painted or what had been recently modified and my mother would give you no warning, she used to find it amusing if you sat down on a chair and stuck to it or if you sat down on a chair and fell through it. I once drank a glass full of milk and ended up being rushed to hospital as it was the white spirit that my mother had been soaking her paint brushes in. Coming home from school was always exciting because I never knew how the house would be arranged or what theme we would be working from that month. Carpets were laid and then ripped up, floor boards were restored and painted, rugs were either animal skin or shag pile. I actually thought we had been burgled once and the house had been vandalised with spray paint, but no, my mum had been experimenting. Some nights the house would be candle light and romantic, at other times bathed in a red sultry glow or alight like a gypsy fun fair. The one thing that really amazes me is I never got the disco ball I was hoping for.

As soon as my mother gained access to power tools I knew there would be trouble.Every time "Changing Rooms" finished it was like waiting for Jack Nicholson in The Shining to arrive. The legs were sawn off the dining table to give the house a more "Japanese feel"( although we were still served fish fingers and mash, never sushi & miso) and then when that fad had passed it had to be replaced with a full on country kitchen. We went from Zen to Midsummer Murders in a week.
It wasn't only the kitchen that felt the edge of my mothers chainsaw, my dad came home from work to find she had removed the bannisters and stair rail and was in the process of taking down a wall to make the living room "more open plan". Luckily she never managed to take a sledge hammer to any of the supporting walls of the house.We used to find it hilarious when my grandparents came to stay and had to gingerly make their way up and down the stairs for fear of tumbling over the side and onto the floorboards below. In fact, the more I think of it, the house became like a fun fair ride, you never knew what to expect or what each room would hold.

I don't want to give the impression that anything was done cheaply or without much thought, my mother just had very eclectic and ever changing taste. One of the first men I ever dated was a psychiatric nurse ( I think he thought I was a good case study) and the first night he came to pick me up he said  "who ever does the decorating in your house has some interesting issues". My mum thought this was hilarious, I never saw the guy again.

I've written this post while waiting for the paint to dry on my walls. My mum helped me choose the colour and she really listened to me when I said how I wanted the flat to look - this is a woman who doesn't believe in "tester" pots of paint. She left a couple of hours ago and said "the flat looks lovely darling, you've got such an eye for colour".
Which stung like she'd just slapped me across the face. In case you're wondering what paint I chose? "Antique White" and it's on every single wall in the flat.

Sunday, 22 May 2011

End of the world postponed due to lack of ticket sales . . .

The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was check to see if I was dead and I wasn't, hence I'm now writing this post. I'm guessing Harold Camping the leader of the Family Radio network and crazy old fool who started this talk is still alive too, as will be his 200 million followers. I would think with that many believers a few are actually riding the death train right now and the ones they have left behind are seething with jealously or terrified that they were not godly enough in the first place.
I didn't really fall for the whole "Rapture" thing, maybe because Mr Camping predicted that it would happen in 1994 and also because he said that after he ascended to heaven he would not be giving any interviews. Well, I guess he wouldn't be, I can't see any of the "This Morning" or the "Loose Women" presenters still being able to read an autocue in hell.

I really wonder why so many religious groups make their followers believe in and yearn for an after life? Why spend all your time in this one looking forward to the next? I just don't get it. Is it not better to live for today and enjoy what you've got rather than always thinking there is something better coming after? I understand this train of thought if you're 6 years old and you have a ton of birthday presents to unwrap or if you're a premiership footballer with a harem full of hookers but I seriously do not understand living this life as a means to a beginning of another one.

I also did not get what time zone the Almighty was working from anyway. Was it EST? GMT? Was he working around the Pacific rim? I thought the original time was supposed to be 6pm yesterday evening? Once that had passed I decided to give the man above a little longer, just incase his watch was slow or he'd had a heavy night and was taking an afternoon siesta. Maybe he had a spot of dusting to do (he was expecting millions of visitors after all) or the velvet rope hadn't arrived to let the godly in and keep the riff raff out. I waited for almost an hour before I even bothered to start unpacking all the crap I was taking with me. If I'm going somewhere I've never been before and it's going to be paradise you bet I'm taking a different T shirt to wear for dinner every night. I was also really hoping that the departure lounge would be a lot like the Virgin upperclass one at Heathrow. If you've never been you can drink as many bloody marys as you like, get your hair cut, have a spray tan, play some pool and even get a little buggy to take you to the gate. In my dreams, God does look an awful lot like Richard Branson. Whatever he looks like and whatever the reason he's being awfully tardy with armageddon. If there is a God surely he's up there dancing to the beat of his own drum anyway? I wouldn't give any warning as to when I decided to redecorate or rearrange the furniture, it's no ones business but my own.

I read yesterday that Harold Camping is worth £77m, that's a huge amount of money to go shopping with in the afterlife and I haven't read anything about him donating any of his wealth to help people in this one. If he has a direct line to God then why hasn't Oprah? I think I'd be more inclined to believe Ms Winfrey if she suddenly came on air and said we were all about to face hellfire and damnation. Maybe she does know something? Isn't she about to retire after 25 years?

In the meantime I'll just sit here and wait for the headless horsemen to come and get me.I might not even bother brushing my teeth today, or even try tidying the flat just incase old Harold is right. I seriously don't think Mr Camping knows a thing about when our time's up, he's now saying it may be in October? I'll edge my bets with Nostradamus and Hollywood who both predict the world will end in 2012, which will really piss anyone off who managed to get tickets for the Olympics but oh my god, it will make for one hell of a closing ceremony.

Thursday, 19 May 2011

Why every serial killer should own a Kindle . . .

I officially hate the Kindle, I think it's obscene, ugly and morally wrong. Normally these are the first three things I look for when thinking about what makes a really great night out but when I want to read a book I want that book to be a thing of beauty. I want to hold it in my hands and caress it.I want to feel it's girth ( in my book, this also constitutes a great night out) and with the Kindle you don't get any girth, all you get is an ugly, flat screen that lights up. Something that a few years ago I would have probably loved to have served a drink and sniffed cocaine from.

 I also think the Kindle is a threat to public safety. A complete lunatic could be hiding within a Kindle, not literally but I will explain. Books tell a lot about a persons character and none more so than when you've gone home with a one night stand.When you find yourself drunk and half dressed in some strangers house it's always a good idea when they go the bathroom to "freshen up" or if they go to the kitchen to fix a drink to quickly have a look through their reading material (failing that ALWAYS check every available drawer, even if you have to prise it open). If someone has a lot of showbiz biographies then you've definitely gone home with an impressionable teenage girl or a very shallow gay man. If they have a lot of political matter then you've gone home with someone who's going to be utterly useless in bed or a suicide bomber (only one of these will end up with a really big bang). If you find there a lot of self help manuals and books about naked rugby players then you'll be rolling around in Egyptian cotton sheets with a divorcee (or again, a gay man) but if you find any of the following titles: "Men who Mutilate" "How to dispose of a body in ten easy steps" "Feeding your cat with human remains" or any biography of a Spice Girl then pick up your panties and run for the hills because you're going to be staying a lot longer than it takes to cook breakfast in the morning. You don't have these fail safe serial killer spot checks with a Kindle, who knows what's lurking behind that shiny screen?

A real book is also a great place to hide your money or jewellery. Buy something thick, heavy and boring that you know no one will ever want to read (like the Bible) or something that's written by someone thick, heavy and can't read (Kerry Katona's biography is a good place to start) and hollow out the inside of the book. You can then place cash, diamonds, drugs, car keys, even your false teeth inside and no one will even think to open that book because of the horror they imagine lurks between those pages. The reason I know about this is because many years ago one of friends went home with a man who had a bookcase beside his bed, while the guy went to the bathroom to "freshen up" my friend decided to put my afore mentioned "serial killer check" to the test. He took a book from the bookcase,opened it up and inside was a huge wad of cash. The serial killer test can also be an amazing way of finding out if your one night stand could become a potential new (and very rich) boyfriend. 15 years later, these two are still going strong. I have no idea what the book was but like I said, if you're hiding valuables make sure it's something no one will ever want to read otherwise you'll find yourself in a long term relationship.

Books are great for so many things, not only for opening and expanding the mind but also for propping open doors and standing on top of when you need to dust around the top of your wall mounted TV. They are also great for pretending you haven't seen someone, have you ever tried to hide behind a Kindle? A book will not run out of power and it doesn't have any real danger of being stolen from you (unless it's got pictures of naked people in it). I would never advise taking your Kindle out of your handbag on a night bus through Brixton or Hackney however much you may be engrossed in your reading material. Books can also be great for crime fighting or fending off an attack, a hard back can be just as effective as an uppercut, where as throwing your Kindle at someone is really just counter productive.

The Kindle also makes me worry about the furniture industry, imagine if Ikea stopped selling "Billy Book Cases"? Or if the Western world had no want for the ones already purchased? That's a whole lot of cheap wood to get rid of and I don't think Noah is going to need another ark any time soon. I guess at this moment the "greener" amongst you may think that the Kindle is actually stopping the killing of trees and minimising the destruction of the rain forest. The delicate ecological balance of the world may be put right by this wonder of hand held technology, who knows? Maybe there will be no need for paper, we will all have our E - books? Just remember where the Kindle came from and who supplies it - Amazon and that's a circle of life right there.

Saturday, 14 May 2011

Sex workers & suicide bombers - a career choice?

When you are looking for a job I have realised only three things really matter: What time do you have to get up? What do you have to wear? How much are you being paid? The great thing about being self employed is that you are in charge of all three.Today I got up at 10am, I'm currently in my underwear and I'm not being paid but two out of three isn't that bad. Choosing a career instead of just a job can be frustrating, time consuming and can really mess with your social life, it's exactly like smoking crack.
If you're lucky, it's all mapped out, paid for and secured (Prince William). Sometimes our parents decide for us (Prince William / Kate Middleton), other times our older sister decides for us ( I bet we will never see Pippa & James Middleton working the till in Aldi).

What your mum and dad may have wanted for you may not be what is best for you.One of my best friends got sent away by her parents to train to be a ballerina at 8 years old, her parents sacrificed a lot to pay for her to attend ballet school until the age of 16 and she only really saw them at weekends and school holidays. Roughly 25 years later, in a rustic farm house in the north of France I watched as my friend stripped to her bra and knickers and fuelled by red wine and anger pirouetted around the kitchen in front of the same horrified parents  screaming "look what your money got you, I bet you're proud now". I found it hilarious at the time but what is funnier is that this beautiful, lithe ballerina is now a school teacher (albeit one who constantly has her hair in a bun and wears a shrug at all times). She works  in one of Britain's biggest comprehensives teaching IT skills - that's a huge leap for even the most trained of ballerinas and she's still the best dancer I know.

Not everyone has to study to have a fabulous career, take the world renowned fashion designer Susan Boyle and the international singing star and "hairy angel" Victoria Beckham. Sometimes the stars are aligned and everything just falls into place. Sometimes if you're really lucky the stars are aligned and you fall into someone else's place. Gold digging as a career choice is much the same now as it was in the 1800's, it can be lucrative, dangerous and has a pretty short shelf life. Once you've found your pot of gold you can bet there will be a 100 other gold diggers with their eyes on your prize.I sincerely believe that talent always precedes luck but if that's really the case then how come I've never got lucky?
Prostitution as a long term career is not really viable, at some point your bottom is going to fall out of the business. It may however be the only job where your client is going to put a lot more in than they are ever going to take out. I think working on a chatline is probably a better option as it fulfil's the main job hunting criteria: you can get up when you want, you can wear what you want and you know exactly what you are getting paid. If a client wants you to breathe heavy then just do a spot of dusting, if they have "special interests" just switch on the Dyson and leave them to it.

I know this is going to be controversial but it kind of fascinates me how exactly someone becomes a suicide bomber, again it could fulfil my three most important job search queries: You know you only have to get up the next time someone calls a Holy Jihad. You can wear exactly what you like, it's not like it matters if it has a few holes or you haven't rinsed out your underwear and you will be paid with eternal riches and salvation. You just have to wait until the you get to the other side to collect your pay check.
In the meantime I think I'll just happily keep blogging away on here, in my underwear, not getting paid.

Tuesday, 10 May 2011

Sexual health clinic etiquette . . .

I struggled with my conscience for at least 5 seconds before I began this post and then I thought "what the hell, I'll write it anyway". In this age of reality TV stars, bare all confessions, kiss and tells and twitters, nothing is sacred and nothing has to be private anymore, not even what you do with your privates. God knows I want and need an audience and everybody knows that SEX sells but this post isn't exactly about sex more about where you should go if you've been having copious amounts of it. Whenever I've been for my sexual health MOT I approach it as if I was going to a job interview. I always make sure I look as presentable as possible, professional but never slutty.Although sometimes if you answer the doctors questions honestly, he'll realise that your behaviour is akin to that of a professional slut anyway. I always take a book, something lightweight and controversial, if you live in South East London take a Jackie Collins.If you live in Fulham take a Jilly Cooper - it shows you can read but you're also up for a bit of a slap and tickle. Never, ever take anything political, most of the people in the waiting room may be getting bad news so they don't need to be reminded what a state the country is in and most importantly, always wear some thing you can easily drop to the floor or pull above your head. You don't want to have to strip totally naked in one of those tiny little cubicles where your arse touches one wall and your nose can touch the other.

Depending on where your clinic is it might be advisable to bring a packed lunch.If it's a walk in clinic for gay men and it's based in Soho you're probably best advised to bring a microwave and some ready meals.God knows what time you're going to get out of there. In fact, I'd take a change of clothes, a word search magazine and one of those portable DVD players. Sometimes, if you do get a bit bored waiting you could always strike up a conversation with someone else in the waiting room, although it's probably not best to begin with "Hi, what are you in for?" or "I've got a family size pot of Activia in my bag, would you like some?" In fact, I'd advise against any kind of flirting, eye contact or brushing up against each other in these places, remember what got you there in the first place? Also, could you really imagine going out with someone you met at an STD clinic? You may as well just say you met each other at a sex club during it's quiet period.

Once you're in the consulting room and in (literally) the Dr's hands, I'd still advise acting professional at all times. I try and behave as if I was in a library and remain mute at all times, I only open my mouth if he needs to take a swab. Sometimes the Dr may try to make light of the situation which is always a tricky thing to deal with. I once said to the doctor "excuse me Dr, are you taking the piss?" to which he replied "not yet, you do that yourself in this little cup and then leave it in the hatch behind the door". I will never live that down. Hopefully, all your results will come back fine. Sometimes you have to wait a week and the clinic will text you, which means you spend the whole week  feverishly (actually, if you have a fever you should go back & get tested again) waiting to see if it's good or bad news. I love that sexual health clinics have a "don't call us, we'll call you" attitude. It makes it seem a little more lighthearted, like I've just been for an audition for Annie and I'm waiting to see if I got the part. You must always take as much free stuff as you can in these places. Do not worry if you look like a slut or a sex junkie just because you emptied the whole drawer full of condoms into your bag, you're being responsible and you should be applauded for this, at least you wont catch the clap.

 Lastly, please be aware if you're listening to your ipod and your music is loud you need to have a relevant playlist. Do not play anything that could be mistaken as a sexual invitation, an admission of guilt, any kind of funeral music or anything that has the lyric "love is a burning sensation, far beyond imagination" (there is such a song, I forget who by). Now, you should be good to go and remember, this is one of the only tests in life you didn't have to study for - Happy Testing!

Sunday, 8 May 2011

The Sunday Times Rich List . . .

I love the Sunday Times Rich List, I believe it brings the country together like a Royal Wedding, from council estates to country piles I bet that list has been examined thoroughly today. I could not find one newsagent with a copy in central London and had to resort to scouring petrol garages in rough areas of South East London until I finally managed to get my hands on one at 8pm this evening.

 The list transcends age, colour, sex & class barriers, not just for the people in it but for the rest of us who are gleaming information from it. The Times circulation must go sky high when they advertise this list.
Just imagine the number of ambitious, nubile young women ( & men) chomping at the bit waiting for a new husband / sugar daddy / kiss & tell story? Scouring the list is so much easier than internet dating, your conquests name, business, wealth and if you're lucky photograph is right there in front of you, all you need to do now is start stalking. I'm sure there are a ton of city boys looking for colleagues, bosses & hedge fund managers to aspire to as there will be the same amount of people just looking for someone to send a begging letter to. You can just hear the new security gates being fitted, alarms being triggered and attack dogs being trained once those on the list realise that every burglar / wannabe kidnapper and lunatic has an actual sales figure to put against their name. I'm sure there are a thousand accountants frantically searching for off shore tax havens for clients who've just realised they have been outed as having rather more than they said they had.

You can also check which star sign is most popular amongst the super rich = Gemini is top (thank you Jesus) while Scorpio is bottom (must take note for future partners). We all really want to see where David and Victoria have landed this year, are his feet still making more money than her "stealing, sketching & stitching" skills? I always like to check just how much of Elton Johns wealth David Furnish should make off with should that new baby bring on a marital breakdown and Catherine Zeta may be bi-polar but I'm sure £180 million in the bank should cushion any blow that a mouth full of valium cannot reach. One of the funniest things to read is how The Times categorises the list: "Millionaires from divorce", "The richest dragons" and my personal favourite "Britain's richest Asians"???! I'd like to meet the person that tops an amalgamation of all three please?

 The thing I find most fun is to see if there are any people on the list I have: worked with, slept with, taken drugs with, bought clothes from (maybe not literally but from their stores) or accidentally knocked a glass of champagne over and I have to say there are at least ten in this years list. I'm not naming names as I'm busy writing begging letters. Lastly, there is a reason The Sunday Times publish this list at the end of Spring/ start of Summer and it's nothing to do with the financial year. Imagine just how depressing it would be to read about everybody who is a million times richer than you when it's cold, dark & miserable outside and your huddled around your one bar electric fire with a "cup a soup"? I suggest you get your list, get a high lighter, mark your top five and then get out there, with as little clothes on as possible and get your man / woman / near death millionaire because according to The Sunday Times Rich List, they've never had it so good.

Saturday, 7 May 2011

Little Mr Popular . . . .

Writing the blog is easy, promoting it, trying to get people to read it and then trying to get them to promote it is like riding a prize poodle amongst a race full of thorough bred horses.I know I can run but the finish line is so far ahead of me and I can't see further than the horses arse in front of me. Even getting friends and family to sign up to it is like asking them for money to pay for a crack habit. Most of my begging has been done over the phone or online so they haven't seen the crazed look in my eyes. Thank god none of them wanted to skype or they would have seen me fidgeting, sweating, clawing at my arms and gurning, just waiting for that next fix, that next person to say "ok, I'll follow you".

 I've never really cared about being popular, i'm pretty solitary but this blog has got me more jumpy than a virgin in a slasher movie. I need people to follow me like Adele needs heartbreak to write a song and at the minute it just isn't happening. 10 followers in two days is not enough to get rid of this terrible insecurity I'm feeling. It's a big leap from Facebook (where my friends are in the hundred's) to having just double figures here. I'm now worried that maybe my Facebook friends are not my real friends (like any sane person would have over 10 real friends anyway).

I am trying to stay sane and the way I'm doing this is by pretending that the blog is my "difficult second album" and I'm actually a post teen pop star. I've lost the baby fat and cuteness, gone from blonde to brunette and I'm now co-producing. I've just spent some time out in LA trying to find my sound . . . like I say, this is how I'm staying "sane" and keeping on top of the blog. I have a figure in mind that I want to get to and until I get there I won't give up, harassing, stalking & threatening people. I did a half marathon a couple of years ago and took on the fund raising with such vigour that I was prepared to take my wheelchair bound neighbour down to the post office to withdraw his pension just so he could sponsor me "so what if you can't eat this week, I'm running 13.1 miles on Sunday now give me that money". I realise that I need to relax and let word of mouth take my blog where it needs to go, but I've already gone viral, I'm feeling pretty cranky and 10 followers just isn't doing it for me . . .

Friday, 6 May 2011

Relaunch or Season Finale?

I have a friend who works "in television" so when we meet almost every sentence is littered with TV 'talk" - he plans his day and meeting of friends like he's working out a schedule for a TV channel, and a major one at that, not one of more obscure satellite ones, not as political as "Al Jazeera" more like "E" or 'Living" so our meetings always end up being more eye brow than high brow.

 I've started to realise that he thinks of his friends as TV shows, some are breakfast, some daytime and a few are "prime time". He is adept at working his friends to suit his mood, the weather, his outfit and so talented that when you do actually meet him you feel like you really want to conduct an interview with him. I normally find myself asking inane questions and stroking his monstrous ego, never really talking about me but becoming more and more engrossed in how he takes his coffee, who he's dating, who he's wearing, what's his next big project. It's normally only after he's gone that I realise he has never left an autograph on any of the bills we've incurred, he comes, he eats, he dazzles, he leaves and I pick up the bill.

I've also started to notice a distinct slide in my ratings. I've always been prime time evening entertainment but today got moved to an early afternoon slot and not a good one either - I was in that no mans land between Loose Women and Murder She Wrote, the sort of time when Meals On Wheels gets delivered. I have a feeling there maybe a younger, fresher version of me on the friendship horizon and I'm starting to feel like I'm about to get bumped from the chat show sofa. His phone rang a couple of times and he answered it so furtively that I could totally picture myself being moved from the news room to the late night weather forecast. I guess the biggest clue to how he thinks of me is this, when I asked when he's free again he said " I don't know, I can't decide if today was your relaunch or season finale" . . . .

Thursday, 5 May 2011

Searching for beauty in Selfridges & The Wallace Collection . . .

Normally, in times of stress, disappointment, trouble or boredom I'll run straight into Selfridges and lose myself for a couple of hours wandering from floor to floor, trying stuff on, rubbing stuff on my face, spraying stuff over myself and then end up in the food hall actually stuffing my face with cake, sushi, pie & anything else I can get my paws on. Today I thought I'd try something different so I trotted straight past Selfridges and into the Wallace collection - if you haven't been then go, especially if you grew up in the early 1980's and had a mother with a penchant for flock wall paper, cherubs & reproduction French furniture. I finally realised what my mum had been modelling our council house on all along and she had actually done a pretty good job. My childhood house would have fitted snugly into just one of the rooms but I did really feel I'd been transported back in time to my mothers living room, it had just been "pimped" a little. Anyway, that's all I can really say about the Wallace collection because after 10 minutes I ran straight back down the baroque staircase, out of the door, down the street and into Selfridges where I spent the next hour trying stuff on, rubbing stuff on my face, spraying stuff over  . . . . . . . . You know how this ends.

My thoughts on the referendum . . . .

My thoughts on the referendum . . . .

If I was in a beauty contest & I was a dead cert sure bet  to win & I'd starved myself for weeks, been primped, poked & prodded, moisturised, lotioned, potioned, toned, tanned & teased to within an inch of my life in preparation for it and I found out at the last minute I was beaten by some moose with a moustache & calves like a shot putter I'd be furious - how could this happen? Well, the pageant is using a new voting system where your 2nd & 3rd choices count. Some of the judges thought it may be fun to put hefty the cow as 2nd choice, some of the other judges are getting on in years, visually impaired and thought she was a stunner, others just didn't give their 2nd & 3rd choices much thought and ticked any old box (literally) so she gets in, takes the crown, sash & flowers & all I'm left with is an eating disorder and some false eye lashes. Which is why, for the sake of beauty, I'm voting no in the referendum.


Time to panic, not picnic.

here goes my first foray into blogging - as you can tell, (by the look of it, not the content) it's a naive, clumsy, unsophisticated leap into the unknown - which for someone nearing 40 is not a bad thing. It's good to still feel naive, unsophisticated & clumsy at my age.
Some background about me? I'm forty by the end of May, I've had an amazing career followed by a dead end job, I've had a few relationships, only one that really counts, I've had some wonderful adventures all over the world,I've been published a couple of times, I named a fragrance for an American preppy company that earned them $190 million  ( and still selling ) I've had some non evasive surgery and I've been arrested . . . .twice.
Looking at the above it looks like I haven't achieved much . . .which is why three months ago I left my partner after three years and two months ago I left my job. I've started to think that if you're not changing things then you're not really living. Reinvention is fine at 20, makes perfect sense at 30, is risky at 35 and most probably insane, irresponsible and unlikely at 40 but here goes . . .