What's happening

Having plenty of coffee at the Sliema front is a good thing to start the morning with. If only there weren't so many people jogging. And a bit later then that, the world suddenly seems intent on showing off their baby strollers too, checking the label. As my good friend tells me, even strollers have their own designer labels. I wouldn't know, I don't want to know, and I wonder how my friend knows. It's a he, and a he is never a mummy. The thing is while I am on my seventh coffee and probably my 14th cigarette, I do not know what I look what, I have made the effort, what with it being Sliema and what with my always impeccably dressed friend. But I have a feeling that I am not oozing beauty right now. Oh well the sight of my Cavalli sunglasses are beautiful, that much I know. But it's only that much I know. I feel like a woman in disguise. Only, I'm not and that makes all the difference. True I am not a morning person, but some things are done in natural lighting, and that includes a coffee drinking marathon in one of the chic chic chic places of Sliema while watching plenty of people stuck in traffic jams on their way to work. It's like giving them the finger silently. It's like a la la la here we are in relax mode while all you others have got to go to the office. The office, what a horrible word, I'd never survive in one of those. And no I've never been and I know I wouldn't survive, it's instinct. Although perhaps an office fling would be nice to put on my terrible-enough love CV. I mean it would stand out, because all the others take place elsewhere. And out of nowhere comes the private eye. I call her (yes it's a female eye) THE private eye because there is nobody on this planet in her right mind who does a private investigator's job for free, just for the satisfaction of telling on me. What a woman, she makes you hate her instantly, what with that passe` lipstick on her horrible teeth. And oh the breath, you'd think she was blowing pigs the night before. And my friend, dear dear sweetheart, thinks she might have! And that makes me smile, for the first time this morning. THE private eye doing swine, oh God that's why she's immune to the flu. So that's why she tries to give out vibes of being proper, because she's been in the mud all night? Hilarious. So I brace myself, embrace my friend who gladly gives out his hand anyway, but all the more so just because THE private eye will see that. Ok private eye, you've seen us, now go away. The whole world can see us, we don't care. Thinking of that, a lot of people take a good look at us. At first I thought it was because I was ugly, there's no way my friend is ugly. But the more I covered myself the more it happened. And sitting here almost completely hidden in an Audrey Hepburn hair wrap, people still look. I think we're a good looking couple, just very diverse in occupation but not as in sensitivity. Take our cigarette cases, mine is a cute Betty Boop (yes the child is still inside), his is a sleek gold one with engraved initials which would make you think he could be the Prime Minister. And we talk, incessantly, we talk about boys, about girls, about everything excluding baby strollers. And we've been here for four hours and coffee is going to turn to lunch. I am ignoring my cell phone which is on silent. I am ignoring the urgent texts summoning me to lunch. For today, I've lost my hearing, I'm suddenly very short-sighted. I'm staying put. Here. With my friend. Oh and writer's block is over too.

Stranger still

Another dream. I was back in High School, which, when that means convent school, is nothing very interesting. But this time, I made sure that my comeback to school would be more interesting. I still wore a uniform, how I hated my school uniform. It was a girl's uniform while at the time I already had the body of a woman. This time round though, I my cleavage was very tastily on show, with just a hint of that french lace bra showing. It had the most tasteful Monroe-type skirt. Oh and I wore red heels. A white uniform with red heels. And I sat for lessons feeling on top of the world, because I knew everything already. And somehow we were allowed boyfriends in class, we were allowed to hold hands. And I didn't have one. I had a lot. A very ego-boosting kind of dream. And I kept holding and letting go of all of the boyfriends one by one. Until I had just three left. But two hands. One would have to go. The problem was which one? So I first started judging by intelligence. Then by looks. Then by the love I felt for them. And the love they showed me. And I dumped two. Suddenly two more appeared and I dumped those two. Yes two more, and I ditched those other two. And somehow the nuns were watching looking very pleased at my behaviour. Finally three were left and I couldn't chose. Because one was my dad, one was my twin, the other.... I just had to find another hand somehow to hold them all. In the white uniform, in red heels. Oh and in pillar-box red lipstick, all at a convent school.

Strange

I'm not sure my head is trying to tell me something. But I have been having strange dreams, really strange ones, not associated to the past, or present, and I hope not the future. I remember one dream I had two days ago. Strange dream this. I was in a prison cell, a funny prison cell, not a 10x10, even the cell was strange. It was arched and would have made a nice looking cell were it not for the flaking stone, which meant I was in Malta all right. It didn't feel like it, in the dream I was sure I was living during the French revolution, I even had a basque and petticoat to prove it. So surreal, but then if a dream isn't surreal, what is?! Back to the dream, I kept trying to look out of this barred tiny window but couldn't because it was too high. I was also getting irritated because I was wearing way too much clothes to be able to get out of something which only a cat could get out of. And I remembered my cats in the dream. Yes even they suddenly were living in France and during the revolution. And I thought of stripping down to my undies in a bid to be able to get out of the little window. After all there wasn't anybody about, and the only light came from a candle about to expire. But something held me back. I was too scared that someone might come and find me in my petticoats and kill my cats as punishment. Not kill me, but my cats. Which made it worse. And yet I was in no panic. I just lived in it and quite happily realised that if I kept all my garments on, then I'd be safe. So I just sat down in the arched sell, clad in French costume, with my six cats, and went to sleep. I didn't wake up in a cold sweat. I just woke up lazily checking to see if my cats were still next to me. They weren't. And yet I wasn't in panic. Then I just jumped up, oh God if this was the French revolution there was no Rothmans cigarettes. So I checked, this time in panic. And I found them, had a smoke and woke up the other half not intentionally...... I'm still not sure if he likes such wake up calls...