It isn’t night, it’s 4.30 ish, so this one isn’t really nocturnal, but what does that matter. I slept for a few short hours last night and I’m totally bushed now, and my mind is feeling pretty unplugged. I thought I’d catch 40 winks before the tackling Dinner then Fashion Week, later, but there is a child next door who has hurt itself, or something, and is screaming in a way that makes me want to put it out of it’s misery.
I don’t dare have a cup of coffee, because I’ve tackled that in an earlier blog, although, tomorrow is Saturday, so…………no, I can’t I’ll be a nutcase if I don’t sleep again tonight. But then, I don’t have an appointment tomorrow and it’s Saturday, so I can read in bed all day and sleep as I choose and get up late. How am I going to get through tonight with any modicum of good humour and charm? Cancel? Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t cancel. Impossible. I will find another wind. It’ll be my 6th or 7th today.
Besides, I can’t sleep all day tomorrow. I have to do my duty in the ‘Feeding Dieter Initiative”. In fact, I could do that now.
Fashion is actually quite frightening. When you see a group of girls and their hair is all similar because this is the way of fashion, and they all have similar shoes and similar dresses and bags, and there is this uniformity about them, this conformity – I find that very frightening. I find the absence of individuality and personal expression frightening. It’s like they are channelled.
Or you see a group of friends and they’re all blond with shoulder length hair. They’re all a similar height. They terrify me. They move in groups. They’re like the Children of the Corn, they’re going to wipe out all of us who are not dedicated wearers of the six inch heeled gladiator shoe and the pussy pelmet that passes for a dress, and don’t have ruler-straight shoulder length blond hair, and are shorter than them, or fatter. They remind me of that Chinese proverb “the nail that sticks out will be hammered down’. But, actually, in all fairness, the nails that stick out, some of them really need to be hammered down. I mean people show up wearing some incomprehensible crimes of fashion.
I need a safety pin and I can’t find one. I know they’re all over the house, in drawers. I’ve seen them. Shit. This is soooo irritating. I’m going out to dinner with a friend, and I’m going to meet a friend of hers and I want to make a good first impression. No, I’m not planning to pull. It’s not like that, but one always needs to make a favourable first impression on new people, most especially new male people, even if one isn’t pulling. – Let us not pretend! I will be fiddling with this damn belt all night if I don’t pin it into place. I’ll do it later.
Going to get food for the “Feed Deiter Initiative”. The man must eat. The ‘Feed Deiter Initiative” is one of those things that wakes me up to the fact that there are so many people in the world who are so much nicer than I am. I would never have thought to do this, but I will participate as atonement for not being as nice as some of my friends. – although I do comfort myself with the knowledge that I’m a lot nicer than others.
Is there a word that can adequately express the sense of complete dread and mortification that I feel when I am late? It’s those Swiss. They ruined me for being late. Was I late last night? Or, was I late? I was so late. My favourable first impression went for a total burton.
I was doing my good deed. I was preparing food for Dieter, and I looked up and I was already 45mins late, and I wasn’t looking elegant. I was in jeans and a camie, with my hair piled up in a silly bun on top of my head, like a big cherry on top of a cake, and I didn’t have any make up on and I tried to call, but, of course, she wasn’t answering her phone. So, what to do? After screaming in complete panic, and spinning, grab a cardy and head for the door. I had to leave the cherry on the head, do what little I could with powder and lippie at the traffic lights, but I didn’t have a red in my make up bag. Red lippie solves everything. I will never be without one again. Isn’t it when you’re that late that every other car on the road is strolling along as if they have nowhere to go and all day to get there?
Was it just a couple of people at the table when I got there? No, it was a party of about 10, and Tselane was the late one. I was over an hour late, by then. I was more than an hour late with hardly any make up on, wearing jeans, camie, cardie and flat shoes with a stupid f-ing bun on top of my head. Ouch! I could die just thinking about it. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I had to leave early. Fashion Week. I am still cringing. Rushed home, threw on heels and a lovely shirt, some red lippie and ran.
Fashion Week. What can I say? It was chaos. I suppose that’s the kind of buzz that the people want. It certainly was a buzz. I was so tired I was wired by then. People were so nice to me. Thula came out to say hello. Imagine, he has a show, and he took time to come say hello. That was so wonderful. One of the organisers appointed someone to make sure I got a front row seat. That was so nice, because there was no seating reserved, it was everyone for themselves and God for us all. It was a lovely show. Thula Sindi, Wow! I don’t think I have a lot of his dresses. One or two, but I’ll definitely get more. I want that full skirt. Loved it! Good clothing is about construction, isn’t it? His clothes are put together with such close attention to detail. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I loved it. And Theo was there, which was lovely. She must come over to dinner before she returns to London. I shall cook something!