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Things I like

Here are some things I like about Bangladesh:

1. A Buddhist monk asked me if I were “single or double?” I am currently starting a petition to force all dating sites to adopt this nomenclature. 

2. The room service waiter. “You are English. I can tell because you are tall and beautiful. It’s very likeable.” (My little sister snorted behind us but I ignored her).

3. The local diet coke is called RC. (Try saying it out loud. My sister and I like to say to the waiter who brings it, “she’s the RC”. Simple pleasures).

And here is something I don’t:

1. When you order room service, they also give you diet advice. “Three portions of French fries please.” “No, two. Two is enough.”

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Travels with my Mother

I’m currently on holiday with my Mother. So far, she has fallen head over heels for the hose that stands by every Bangladeshi toilet. “It’s so clean and fresh! I simply must install one in London. You can get them in London, you know. I asked, when I saw them in Qatar. Yes, they’re in Qatar too! Isn’t it fabulous! I must talk to our designer”. There are so many things I’d like to say to this. She has also taken it upon herself to verbally sensor the adverts she sees. “It’s a Muslim country! Why are the girls showing their hair? This is much too racy.” (It’s a shampoo advert). Today, we went on a private tour. My Mother used this opportunity to respond to all of our guide’s polite questions with impenetrable moral dilemmas. “You like Bangladesh?” “I came to Bangladesh not expecting much, but since I have been here I have been greatly surprised at the pleasure this trip has afforded me. I am concerned, however, that your women swim fully clothed, and that learning to swim seems to be a privilege only for the rich. There is also an alarming amount of corruption here, which must be anathema to a flourishing economy. Do you feel these issues are holding Bangladesh back?” “You like my country?”

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Multitasking

I don’t want to boast, but I’m good at lots of things. I can make very nice scrambled eggs (the key is to whisk them briskly in the bowl first, and have a much hotter pan than you think), I can usually get a least two more servings of toothpaste out at the very end of the tube, I can read really fast (no, honestly. It’s very annoying when I’m reading the Metro over someone’s shoulder and they take so long to turn the page). I also have an encyclopaedic knowledge of celebrity relationships. What I’m really saying is that I’m doing ok. I mean sometimes when I’m reading a book I like to put my finger under the words, but that’s just sensible. There are lots of words on the page! (Yes, I read very important, serious books. There are no pictures). I actually think grown-ups are much too quick to dismiss the skills they learnt in Prep school. Only an idiot would stop sewing name-tapes into their jumpers. Nightclub cloakrooms are treacherous places. You need all the back-up you can get. The money I’ve saved by putting my gloves on string is impressive. Also, I look very suave when I have to take off a glove to send a text. I must admit, this cool nonchalance whilst multitasking (wearing glove and using phone) does not come naturally to me. I hate multitasking. I have learnt, however, some key rules:

1. Do not eat near water. I’m not talking about a dinner in the Gaucho overlooking the river, I’m talking about eating a sandwich in the bath. Or having a snack bar in the sauna. No good. I’ve tried several times, and can say with some certainty that it is unwise.

2. Do not paint your toenails whilst placing your foot on a magazine. You know, to protect the carpet. There is something oddly compelling about magazines. Even if you’ve read them before. They’re just so shiny. Anyway, there’s a time to learn about this year’s must-have clutch purse, and a time to paint your toenails. These are not the same times.

3. Do not have phone calls whilst watching tv. For a start, everyone can tell. It’s the 3 second pause before you react to what they’re saying. Also, I recently found myself accidentally ‘borrowing’ from the movie plot when my caller asked what I’d been up to. Seeing as I was watching ‘Blade’, it was not entirely convincing.

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First impressions

I don’t know why people place such importance on first impressions. The first time I meet somebody new what I’m mostly thinking is, “does this person realise how funny I am?” If it looks like they haven’t, I like to point it out. “Yeah, that was me, I know- that joke was ridiculously funny and apt. I mean, it comes pretty naturally to me, to be honest. I’m extremely funny.” I just don’t like initial meetings to be awkward. I like to put people at ease (I’m a nice person). Plus I think it’s good to be honest and up-front. “Yes, of course I’d like to be friends. But no, your jokes are not as good as mine. In fact, sometimes when I laugh at your jokes I’m just re-playing an earlier quip of my own. Oh, also I might not have that much time to hang out as I actually have a lot of other friends. However at dinner parties that I can attend I will regale you with stories of parties you weren’t invited to. And have seconds.”

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Uncomfortably close

I had an odd experience on a recent flight. The air stewardess, who had been impeccably polite to me (though I felt she did not make a thorough enough examination of the kitchen for extra food) was short tempered and exasperated with the chap opposite. She asked him if he had any rubbish, and when he shook his head, ignored him, leant across sighing and removed a biscuit wrapper. I mean, to her, perhaps that wrapper was rubbish but he had clearly stated that to him it wasn’t. It was quite a nice wrapper, I thought, shiny and a good size. It had come with a rather thick chocolate biscuit in it. I had assumed it was two biscuits so spent a minute or so trying to wrench them apart. I then spent another minute trying to work out what to do with all the chocolate smeared across my hands. Anyway, the air stewardess didn’t reprimand me for this at all which led me to believe that something was going on between her and the gentleman opposite me. Or at least something between her and the biscuit wrapper. When I say something was going, I’m not talking about anything naughty. It was more as if he had stuck his foot in the aisle one two many times, or looked disbelieving when she told him there was no extra food (there’s always extra food! If I had been allowed in the kitchen I could have sniffed it out in a minute). Anyway, the air stewardesses’ annoyance had created a curious intimacy between herself and this passenger. Initially, I was jealous. People are always keener to find extra food for those they know. (I would just like to clarify that in my opinion food distribution on planes is done all wrong. Firstly, they take ages to get a drink in your hand. That’s the first rule of opening people. At my grandparent’s house it is often quite difficult to unload your car because of the drink in your hand. I’m not saying that’s the ideal, but it’s certainly better than the drought that happens every time you board a plane. I’ve done some research on this. Even in First Class, they only give you non-alcoholic beverages until long after you take off. Secondly, after they finally get you a drink they then start the interminable business of bringing round the first meal. I’m always asleep! I can’t remember the last time I had breakfast and lunch on a plane. I’m helping their margins! I do not want to do that. I always wake up starving in time for the ‘snack’ which as we saw with the grossly fat biscuit, is often confusing. If I ran an airline, I would welcome guests on board with a drink. I bet all those fusses over window seats and putting your luggage in the overhead locker would subside. Then I would let everyone sleep quietly for 3-4 hours, and then I’d bring round the food. Perfect. I’d also give out the snack as people left the plane-because the queues at passport control are only getting worse). Anyway, I kept a close eye on this gentleman opposite and he did not seem to get any extra food. Here are some people you should not get too close to:

1. The waiter. You might think this would be great and that you’ll get good service. In reality, because they know you you’ll probably get much worse service, and you’re obligated to tip.

2. The dentist. They are going to try and talk to you while you’ve got all that paraphernalia in your mouth. Just messy.

3. The hairdresser. I’m not great at multitasking personally, but if your hairdresser is engaged in a really interesting and salacious conversation with you, her attention is not going to be fully on your hair. Probably the back will suffer. And by the time they hold that mirror up it’ll all be too late. (I always like to use that mirror to see the other people behind me – I’m not sure I really care what my hair looks like opposite my face, I mean, its only people walking behind me who will see it. And they’re probably acolytes. Or stalkers. I don’t think they deserve to look at great hair).

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Coffee and pajamas

I don’t drink coffee, (I know, how incurably odd) but I am still a huge fan of coffee adverts. Well, not those ones where the camera zooms in lovingly on the individual beans and all you see is a disembodied hand rifling through them, but those adverts which are inevitably set in Italy or Spain, and feature endless sunlight and beautiful bronzed models. Where they wake up and are sharing the same set of pajamas. I don’t care about the coffee- I just want to enter this wonderful world where no-one steals all the duvet or rolls onto your side snoring. Although there’s no way in hell I’m letting someone else wear my pajama bottoms. If I think about it carefully, it’s a bold move to still be buying full pajama suits. I mean, obviously the coffee boyfriend gets away with it because he’s only ever seen wearing the bottom half, but he did still buy the whole suit. Where did he even go to buy it? Did he ask his accountant for recommendations? Did he explain carefully to the salesguy that the jacket was always going to be casually slung, adorably over-sized, on his slender girlfriend? Or do you think when the camera’s not rolling he makes her fend for herself and buttons up cozily? I’m concerned. There’s something faintly alarming about a person who wants to wear a pajama suit to bed. It’s all very Mark Darcy. That’s probably why they don’t tussle with the duvet. He initially measures out an equal allocation of duvet coverage and then sleeps perfectly still. (I find people who sleep still highly disquieting. I’m always peering over them to check they’re still alive. They find this disquieting). I suppose what I’m trying to say is there’s something fishy about the coffee boyfriend. And that it’s hard to trust a man who still buys full pajama suits. If I were coffee girlfriend those pajama suits would be the first thing to go. Obviously I wouldn’t make the poor chap sit around drinking coffee naked though (that’d be a whole different type of advert). May I suggest the following:

The Gap, £12.99

http://www.gap.com/browse/product.do?cid=45461&vid=1&pid=838883

They have fishes on them! You could buy blue bedsheets and pretend to be swimming in the sea! You don’t even need to go away. You’re getting a beach holiday for £12.99.

Paul Smith, £46

http://www.paulsmith.co.uk/shop/paul-smith-mens-underwear-sleepwear-388/category.html?filter=true&pageNo=1&type=com.othercommerce.paulsmith.shop.model.ProductTag-L-139

I don’t even care that these are nearly fifty pounds. They will in fact pay for themselves in all the Christmas/ Elf themed adventures you are sure to have whilst wearing them. Who can put a price on joy?

Ralph Lauren, £100

http://www.ralphlauren.co.uk/product/index.jsp?productId=4314021&cp=3979761.3989711.4668771&ab=ln_men_accessories_underwear,sleepwe

There are two things I like about this dressing gown. One, the uncompromising arrogance of the model wearing it. “I came to the board meeting in my dressing gown? Of course I did. Idiot.” Two, the excessively large Polo insignia. Who needs to be branded in their dressing gown? I love it.

Ps. I know where the coffee boyfriend gets his pajama suits. Derek Rose, prices starting from £135. It’s exactly what you’d imagine.

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Appropriateness

The key take-away for me from Tara Palmer-Tompkinson’s book is that one must wear neutral, preferably beige tones when flying in a private jet. This makes sure you don’t clash with the decor. Recently, I was having a little trouble with my iPod. So I popped off to that enormous Apple store on Regents street and started chatting to a nice boy there. He might have been nice, certainly, but helpful he was not. Obviously I tried to be as polite as possible, but really, if this is Jobs’ idea of well-trained staff then the iPad 3 is going to be a shambles. It was when I asked which charger I would need to buy and he looked at me blankly that I took to staring at him with a disapproving frown. While doing so, I took the time to look at him from head to toe (so he could really feel the full force of my growing disdain). Just happened to notice then that his blue t-shirt was missing the crucial white apple logo that all the other employees wore so proudly. I decided the least awkward thing to do would be to back away from this helpful civilian silently (though still frowning menacingly). If only Tara had written something about not wearing the same colour t-shirts as the employees.

Do not fret though, because I have taken something from this incident. I have bought the same gym kit as the female personal trainers at my gym. I simply cannot wait for other gymgoers to approach me earnestly with their training questions. I’ll probably have a fairly robust client list by next week.

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Egregious enthusiasm cont.

2. No longer shall people find me insisting that there’s really ‘no need at all’ for them to come visit/ bring gifts/ celebrate my birthday. I shall hereforth be adopting an entirely different approach, and Miss Piggy-stylee devoting most of the upcoming 365 days to myself. I would like, in fact, to take this opportunity to invite you all to this weekend’s ‘At Home’ event- entry only on production of food/ salacious gossip/ carefully worded ode to me/some toilet roll (yesterday’s guests seem to have devoured it)

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Egregious enthusiasm

I have a terrible habit of seeming enthusiastic when I’m not. “Would you like to help me move?” “Oh golly, that’d be tremendously fun. We can dress up in white overalls and wear bandanas*. Brilliant. Let me just cancel my movie premiere champagne reception” (well, watching those who are going to it on my tv whilst drinking some warm cava, but still great fun). As an unhelpful counter to this excessive enthusiasm I am decidedly and deliberately unenthusiastic about things I’m really rather keen on. “Just thought I’d pop by with some ice cold champagne and a home-baked chicken pie. Is that ok?” “Oh gosh, really? Do you absolutely have to? I don’t mean to be rude but there’s really no need. I’m actually pretty stuffed- just ate all the ends of the loaves that had accumulated over the last month. Afraid there’s nothing left for you, sorry. Probably better to come another time.” Luckily I don’t have long to gnash my teeth in despair as am usually pretty tired from all the moving. However, the times they are a-changing. Last night I had a splendid set of visitors who simply barrelled into my flat ignoring my feeble protests, laden with food and well-thought out critiques of this season’s Apprentice. I have resolved to change. This is what people must now expect:

1. Surly refusal to help anyone in any matter whatsoever. Lifts for those with broken legs? The walk will do wonders for your upper arms. You’ll be mistaken for Michelle in no time. Gosh- I should probably insist that they attribute thier enviable new body to me. I could be the new Matt Roberts. Or that scary woman who does Madonna and Gwenny.

*I get confused between painting and moving.

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Don’t make a fuss

Like most well brought up English people, I would do anything not to ‘make a fuss’. No, really, anything. I recently had flu, and stumbled out of work early to crawl into a taxi. The taxi driver had a penchant for Enrique Inglesias. On repeat. At high volume. I imagine most people (well, Americans) would have politely asked him to turn the music down. I opted to conduct an entirely fictitious telephone conversation, where I pretended loudly that I ‘just simply couldn’t hear’ the other person. Enrique continued on unfazed by my excessive acting. Desperate not to be rumbled, I continued to talk to my non-existent ‘friend’ for the rest of the journey. I got quite into it by the end, and was happily chatting away to myself (while Enrique offered to be my hero in the background)

Well, that was reasonably odd, but I did realise I might very well have some kind of problem when during a recent A&E visit (where I arrived in a fair amount of pain, and in need of pretty immediate medical assistance) I insisted a woman who ‘felt a bit funny’ moved ahead of me in the admittance queue. And the doctor definitely looked at me oddly when I apologised for ‘making such a fuss’ as she asked for a further consult. It was when I asked the nurse if there was ‘anything I could do to help’ that they moved me to the front of the admittance queue. All I want to say in my defence is that the nurse looked very busy- and I’m sure under instructions I could administer IV fluids to those who needed them. Even attached to my own IV drip. (Which I obviously apologised profusely for needing). I think we should remember that if hospitals were filled with patients with my condition (overwhelming aversion to ‘making a fuss’), then there would be no bed shortage problem at all. Everyone would be continually hopping out of their own bed to offer it to a neighbour. Whilst apologising, obviously.

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