Saturday, January 28, 2006


He brushed her hair, removing strands floating in her face, he patted her waistcoat. She was very still. He adjusted her collar, peered in her eyes, and gently brushed her hair again, fixing her fringe so that her eyes showed. He buttoned her shirt, and stroked her nose. She still stood poised, and now perfect.
She was Zara's new clothes mannequin, all plaster and plastic, and he a simple floor manager... but it was the most tender scene I had seen in a long time.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006


Dear All
(who still check in despite the recent drought, and for that, I thank thee),

A simple announcement:
I have at long last found a job.
Not just a job, but a satisfying wonderful experience-to-be, and an answer to my year and a half of struggling in this Goddamn designer-infested city.
Not any ol'job that I could've done in Beirut, but a job for which my stay in London makes worthwhile. A job that is, as yet, inexistent in Beirut, and which I will ultimately re-import back to the homeland (if I sound arrogant, I do apologize).
Not any Dr.Health, not any psycho-boss, not any " non-paid :-( " exploitative mini-companies...
I am officially designer within an established magazine, part of the small yet efficient team. It took me 6 months of flirting on and off, 6 months of popping in, 6 months of "have a good vacation!", 6 months of slaving for free (yet enjoying it all the while, I must admit)... 6 months! 6 x 31=186 days of 'hanging around'. Ouf. Feels immensly good...
I congratulate myself, and do give myself a firm and amical pat on the back. Well done, me. Well done...

Sunday, January 22, 2006


I feel tragically empty, and little things irritate and turn my owl-head into obsessive mania.
Like my 'space' key on the keyboard: it squeaks lightly when I press it, and I know it is a conspiracy to make my quest for balance quasi-impossible. And the fact that I have a blue haze on my screen that no amout of calibration can make disappear. And my 'acharnement' to buy those Pantone books on eBay, always being outbid by some anonymous ****head from Devon, or Putney, or Strafofooajdjfha-shire... The remnants of Blue-Tak on my pristine new room walls cause glitches in my brain. The sound of mutated pigeons gloating at my window at 6.00am, the squashed dog shit on the corner pavement, and the smell of my own cigarette fumes that I can't seem to cut down on! And there's never any soup left at Cofee@ when I want some!! The squeaking! The squeaking of the Space bar!!! UGHHHHHH!!!
Ouf. Did not help that I have added yet another design job to my list, with the little PS that goes "unfortunately, it is not paid ;-("... I run a design charity. Jolly me. How do people envisage buying cars? Or sofas, or microwaves, for that matter? Let alone a chandelier for £785?
I feel empty, and it is quite disturbing.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Good to Be Back

God, that trip to Spitalfields Church feels like years ago!

In the past month, I've been to Beirut and back, celebrated a hectic and very drunk Xmas, as well as an origami-filled home New Year's, designed a whole magazine for £250 instead of £4000, moved flat for the 5th time in a year and a half -after the mice found me again-, and am now starting on a the design of a new magazine where I am paid, wait for it... zilch.

Basically, I lasted two months in Spitalfields. My flatmates ended up being worse than the cockroaches or mice of Bethnal Green, with moulding food in the kitchen and hairballs in every corner of the tortuous Amsterdam-type house. And they were very big fans of the heating system, which turned my tiny room into a sauna by 3am. The last straw came with yet another mouse roaming in the kitchen; and knowing that there was as much food on the floor as there was in the cupboards, there'd be a new civilisation within 2 weeks. It was all a sweaty, vomit-inducing experience that I am happy to close the chapter on...

I feel immense gratitude when my feet get cold in my new room.

It's good to be back in London, where business is yet again slow, and the skies grey, and cheek-pinching family members of the 13th degree are far, far away...