Joy's mum likes to pack a snack whenever she leaves the house,in fact she never leaves home without one. It all innocently started when she had an appointment at her doctors and Joy suggested she take a little something to nibble on, as she predicted the wait would be long. The whole thing took on a life of its own and now her mum is permanently packing food and I don't mean a little box of Sundried Raisins...the range is extensive and has included cans of soft drinks and she has actually showed up at her daughters with a piece of Jerk chicken:
"Mum! I have food here! What will people think? Poor thing they don't feed her?!"
Food always tastes better the next day,it must be outstanding after a trip around the block.
Joy is my hairdresser in London and the best when it comes to hair relaxing at" Junior Green salon" in Knightsbridge...Anyway, we were chatting away on our favourite subject: reality tv when we turned to the Kardashian sisters; my mind went positively blank when it came to one of their names:Obviously there is Kim,who can forget her or her ass-ets....Khloe,the big scary one who can eat her sisters for breakfast.....and.... what is her name?The one with the baby??? Koriander?.....Karburator??....Kourtney!
Phew.
I went into Gant in search for a shirt for my Dad. One would think that this would be a straightforward endeavour,find the size and pay. Not when you are faced with "Regular fit" and "Easy fit" both in 3XL... what could possibly be the difference at this point in size? The subtle difference between: tent like and tent? I decided to seek council with the Asian salesman on the floor:
"Excuse me? My dad is a robust man and needs a 3 XL but what should I go with : regular or easy fit?"
"Aah! He have big belly...Regulah is fine."
"But what is the difference?"
"Regulah,Madam,Regulah."
Easy fit is anybodies guess at this point...seriously.
We met up with my dear friend R, also in London, at La Duree in what actually feels like downtown Jeddah but is in fact....Harrods. We were discussing celebrity sightings,who saw who and when...and she told us that she had just returned from "active stalking duty". Who was her prey? The diminutive dynamo Simon Cowell and the beaver perched on his head otherwise known as a haircut...Oh and his permanent fiancee Mezghan who was being dragged by the hand across the busy ground floor in Harrods on sky high heels...so let us say she skated across most of the carpeting.What struck R. as strange...and surprisingly it wasn't his haircut...was that neither one of them was wearing a coat (London was bloody freezing over last weekend) and that Mezghan was sporting open toe shoes and a sleeveless dress. I guess celebrities have a whole other tolerance to weather....they must swallow anti freeze by the gallon before they face the public in next summer's collection.
R. went into stalk mode by proxy,knowing that her cousin N. who is mad about all things Simon , needed to be called immediately. As luck would have it the stealth like missile N, also in Harrods, was already hot on his trail as R. soon noticed when she called and could hear her reply from behind her shoulder. They both proceeded to follow the Simonator around the Food Halls noting all the gaping mouths and fellow shoppers crying out "Simon! "
R. soon tired of it all and left N. to it and went about her business . She had just finished her purchase and was making her way out when who was heading towards her? Simon Cowell in full throttle mode,still dragging his tottering fiancee.... and just seen behind the sparks emanating from Mezghan's heels was the dedicated N:
"Are you stalking to me?"
"So how is your dad doing?" asked R. as we sipped tepid tea and continued our catch up session as the Middle East continued to pour in through the doors.
"Pfff! He refused to go see his doctor today and made us cancel his appointment.He has been having problems with his memory and sometimes gets confused as to whether it is night or day when getting up from his nap."
"So! Leave him alone,poor guy! Even I get confused when I wake up from a long nap and wonder where the hell I am!"
On to Peter Jones and the hunt for AAA batteries: Obviously at 4.30pm on a Friday there wasn't a sales person in sight...other than in the make up and perfume department,where they are all huddled like pigeons billing and cooing over each other while thrusting perfume in your face at break neck speed.They must train at the Gunslinger School of Open War Fare tactics, because there aim is perfect and you need to dodge them like bullets...
I finally found someone who was bending so low and acting busy in the feeble attempt to be rendered invisible:
"Hello! I can't seem to find any batteries."
"We have sold out,Madam."
"You have sold out of ALL batteries?!"
Back to Harrods for the light bulbs not found in Peter Jones:
"Can I help you Madam?"
"Yes please.Do you sell light bulbs? I can't see any."
"Which ones are you looking for....Aah,sorry Madam,we are completely sold out."
!!!****??**
At the BA check in desk in Terminal 5,I look over at a passenger checking in at a desk beside me:
"Hello Sir. Where are you flying to this afternoon?"
"I am on flight 66 to Los Angeles."
"Ok then,let me check..." Tap tappity tap:
" Erm sir?... That flight took off this morning.... at 10.45am."
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