I just got back from my London trip and have not had a chance to blogwalking until today, and I found out that I am tagged by Rima to reveal the 10 Things I hate about myself. So far I’ve got 5 London-related things and I’d post them now, and the rest of the 5 things will have to wait until I find things that I really, really hate about myself!
1. I hate the fact that I have to pay something that is not worthy
Every time I tell people that I went to The Ivy, people couldn’t believe it. The place is famous for being so hard to get into and we could wait for weeks, even months, to get a table, unless you’re Victoria Beckham. The paparazzi are often camped outside waiting to snatch a shot of celebrities. So we thought we were lucky to be able to eat at one of the most prestigious restaurants in London.
But it was horrendous. Everyone from the doorman – who wore a penguin suit and a magician hat – to the waiters were snotty. The lamb gave me stomach ache for the whole next day and I lost 1 kilo as an instant result (tip: if you want to lose weight, go to the Ivy and ask for their virus contaminated lamb). When the bill came each of us grudgingly forked out the notes from our purses, intentionally left no tip. If only we realised that we are not obliged to pay the service charge, we would have asked them to scrap it off of our bill. I had to pay the food that I can’t remember how it tasted (sans the stomach bug) that cost the same as two-persons-dinner-plus-Barolo-wine-at-Scusa Jakarta.
But it will be a good story to tell.
A bloody expensive good story.
2. I hate the fact that sometimes I am so tensed
After the second dinner on Saturday we had to walk to Soho and the girls saw rickshaws passed by and decided to ride them. “Come, on,” they said, “it would be fun!”. I shook my head and said I’d rather walk. I couldn’t imagine myself arriving at the bar with a rickshaw. But everybody jumped in and I had no choice. It’s nine girls in three rickshaws and everybody was laughing and screaming and most of the time I wanted to bury my head and hoped that no one saw me – which was silly since no one knows me in London! – especially when the three cute rickshaw drivers decided to race against each other. But before we arrived I realise that this was fun and I shouldn’t be embarrassed, it’s a silly funny thing we do and why did I care whether I arrive with a rickshaw or by foot at the bar?
3. I hate the fact that I like nice things and those nice things are usually expensive – and I couldn’t afford them
Some people can go shopping everyday and come back with lots of junks that will go out of date in a matter of months. I’d rather buy one thing at a time that I could wear forever. Sadly the “one thing” thing usually cost me several months salary. I keep saying it’s silly, that I’m just another victim of brand-brainwash and glitzy glossy adverts, but just looking at the fine works and luxurious small details and I’m melted again. I held Marc Jacobs bag and wondered if I do really need a black bag. I stroked the Louboutin pumps, thinking whether I should pay £400 for a pair of shoes. I spent three hours on the furniture department at Harrods, touching, caressing, absorbing every single detail, brand, material, finishes, joins, installation method, and of course, price.
4. I hate myself when I’m taking things too easily
Just because I have been to London doesn’t mean I remember everything. But I was too cocky, probably because I’ve spent so much time looking at the London map, or talking about London, or especially because I got home safe from Heathrow without making any mistake. So I left the map at home, and jumped into the tube and headed to the city. Only to realise that after hours of walking back and forth Oxford Street, I couldn’t find the bloody Bond Street station to go back home. My map in iphone wasn’t reliable, it worked sometimes but most of the time it didn’t, so I asked the security guard at Banana Republic (which is not in Oxford Street) and he was babbling about there’s no such Bond Street station (huh?) but he knows that Bond Street exists. He pointed at a direction in the air and I walked towards it, and found the station. The next day I forgot about the map again, but I stopped by at the local newsagent and bought one. Stupid.
5. I hate being a subject of lust by an old man
And it happens a lot. I was stopped once in the middle of the street in Aberdeen by a man old enough to be my great grandfather, and after praising the sun he said I was the most beautiful creature he’d seen. He then asked if I’m married and whether my husband was offshore, and how unlucky he was being too late to meet me. With so many gorgeous men living in London, I thought at least this time there will be one normal young bloke who would flirt with me. Alas, the garden keeper at Kensington Palace, when feeding the cute squirrels, turned to me and asked where I’m from. When I said Scotland he was surprised and wondered why I live there. I told him I’m married to a Scotsman and he said I should’ve married a Welsh instead. He, of course, is from Wales. Pushing 70 and feeding squirrels. Bye! (note to self: should check if I install some old man magnet on my head).
The guy at the Ivy was a bit younger, albeit the white hair. We were leaving the restaurant and passing his table. He looked directly at my barely covered chest and when realised I caught his wandering eyes, he looked back at me and grinned widely without showing any shame at all. The poor blond woman next to him didn’t realise that her man’s eyes were fixated on my chest. Ugh.
That’s it so far. I can’t promise you I’d be back with another 5, but I’m trying….