Forbrydelsen and other Scandinavian-like Distractions

Dear Reader,

December is a real drag. I hate the necessity for more money that the lead up to Christmas entails. In many ways, I hate Christmas. I like fairy lights, candles and sparkly things, so I'm not entirely sure why this is. I think I mostly hate it for its focus on family instead of friends. Family may well be lovely (or not) in their own way, but we CHOOSE our friends, often for the very fact that they are nothing like our family, and it's a shame that at Christmas, they have the same duties to see their families, so it's impossible to meet up.

But enough about Christmas. The thing that I've been obsessed with since discovering a free Netflix trial opportunity, is catching up on what everyone with a brain in the UK has already seen, namely "Forbrydelsen". That Danish series with the woman I was once compared to by some Danish directors, Sofie Gråbøl, who was once (unbelievable though it is now...) known as an actress playing really emotional roles. Having been out of the country with no access to BBC4, I hadn't been able to see it before now. And now I'm hooked. Which is funny, because though I'm learning lots of Danish, via reminders of Swedish and the general similarities, I'm also being dragged down emotionally at a time when I'm really struggling with the lack of light in this country. It's not a great combination really. I suppose it makes me really grateful for the tiny, rare, moments of mirth in the show. A little joke about the Swedes or a little dig at the politician who freely admits he's slept with half of Copenhagen, "only half?" says Lund, in a rare moment of playfulness, suddenly becomes a precious gem in an otherwise stark, hopeless and loveless atmosphere.

I still can't get used to the fact that the sun can't be bothered to get up before 8am, which is making me sleepy and sluggish, moody and irritable and not very efficient. I've got to get things together and get myself out of this country as soon as possible.

Yours strugglingly,
Ms Platform Edge.X

Pankrác

Dear Kind (and possibly slightly insane or at least, quirky and unusual) Reader,

I must confess I am struggling today. I don't know why it is that some days, no matter how hard I try or how much effort I make to list all the things I'm grateful for and lucky to have, I still find myself feeling utterly despondent if not downright unhappy. As I walked across the sprawlingly dull, industrial and grey dual carriageway to get to the offices of my meet-ees today, I felt that I was almost as cursed and trapped as those who've travelled to Pankrác before me. (It houses a well-known prison.) The remaining grit on the pavement and yet no snow, the grey clouds and blustery cold and damp wind, the necessity to carry an umbrella that Prague rarely used to entail and above all the drudgery of the book I have to work from in order to deliver the appropriate meeting content, was all just too much.

I tried, I really did try, to focus on the positive things that I am organising and hoping will come to fruition but they somehow seemed so distant, so irrelevant that it only served to just about avert the tears that were otherwise threatening to roll down my cheeks. Which reminds me; I need to buy more tissues. We've run out.

Last night the cowboy noticed my lack of communication with him and my general unhappy mood and rather than being kind and offering affection, he stood in the doorway of the room I'm using as an office, and moaned, "what's up with you?" in Czech, which roughly comes out as ,,co Ti je?" and complained later on that I hadn't been nice to him. He did so by employing that old passive-aggressive tactic of saying, "So that's all I'm getting is it? No talking to me or being nice to me, just sitting and working. Well, thank you. THANK YOU." It wasn't even his usual Eeyore-ness, but had moved on to his also rather common aggressive tone and irritated glance before slamming the door behind him.

I sat and wondered what it was he had actually expected of me yesterday. If he wanted affection, why didn't he come up to me to offer it? If he wanted kind words, why didn't he start out with them? And if he'd wanted me to be in a better mood, why didn't he offer me a cup of tea instead of words of disgust? I have learnt not to expect these things because expectation is just pre-meditated disappointment. On the other hand, the cowboy did say only the other day that we should be able to make each other happy at least a little bit. And he's right. We should. But we seem to be losing that rather-limited-in-the-first-place kind of skill.

And the reason I spent all evening at the computer was because I was doing everything I could do to drum up some more meet-ees and thus more income, followed by lesson planning after doing aerobics, putting some washing on, having a shower and conducting a couple of meetings on Skype. All of which have yet to show any financial reward. The cowboy kindly pointed out a while ago that perhaps my aerobics wasn't having the desired effect either, of lessening the size of my bottom and thighs. But this is his desired effect. Hence why I got yet another tube of cellulite-"eradicating" cream (that I don't like because it smells funny and feels sticky) for Christmas this year. (However, one of my friends cheered me up when I told her about this by retorting, "Is he gay?!")

In the meantime, I'm having to practise mind over matter about my dwindling bank account both here and in the UK, as the bank here has regular charges for things that no bank in the UK would charge for unless you had a business account and the UK account is going down bit by bit because there's a student loan to pay off and musician's union subs to pay and no income whatsoever until former meet-ees get off their comfy sofas and re-book some meetings.

Still, I have taken the bold step of booking my flights to the UK. I shall escape this place for a couple of weeks at least and hope I can find somewhere to quietly read in a corner of my friend's flat and recover from this perpetual hustling for clients and their cash for a little while. I'm so exhausted already. But I've just started reading Brendon Burchard's, "The Charge" and I'm hoping to hone in on some effective strategies to get re-energised and get some important work done that he may outline for me. In the meantime, I keep reaching for the 'Rum-Kokos' chocolates I got myself because they are weird and chocolate-y in a sugary way and that almost makes me joyful in itself.

And with that, I must get myself off to bed. It's somehow, despite involving only two meetings, been a really long day...

'Night, 'night,

Love,

Your friend on the edge of the platform.X

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..and other thoughts on the passage of time...

The snow has arrived in earnest today. (Compare the other morning-

to this morning) -

It's just as well I found my snowboots from the cupboard in the cowboy's flat this morning. I can't believe I still don't have enough money saved up to move out anytime soon. What with the cost of now paying social security and health insurance, the ongoing battle with the internet company who still want to charge me for the internet in my flat that I no longer live in and the cost of not only buying Christmas presents but the postage to send stuff to the US and UK (the postage is almost always at least as much as the presents were, if not more) I am no where near having three months' rent saved up. I'm close to having one month, but that's one month's rent according to what the rent in an equivalent place would be now. Which is about 2,000Kč more, at least.

I have to factor in that from now on I may as well add a further 3,000Kč as rent as well, because that's roughly the cost of the health insurance and social security payments, so the outlook isn't good for being able to move out. And at the same time, I know I need to move out, to do the cowboy the courtesy of having his flat back to have other women come to at some point because if he really wants to have children, he's going to need to start looking around for a new girlfriend. And this country is really cruel when it comes to ageism. Once you've hit 40, people seem to assume that's your life pretty much sewn up. If you're a parent by then, then that's all your life will entail until retirement. And by the time you're 60, well, forget having any purpose to your life. You may as well lie in the grave and wait for death.

I must admit I'm getting really tired of this attitude and I feel really sorry for those who truly feel bound by it. I'm grateful that my interpretation of getting older has a bit more fun involved.  This was/is my plan anyway, sod what the Czechs think (or anyone else for that matter):

List of things to do in each decade of my life (skipping the childhood bits, which are mostly awful because someone else's always making decisions for you):

20s - Find out all the shitty things that happen in life like not getting the career you want, nor a suitable partner, and get over them quickly because you're still young.

30s - Go through ill-advised mini-midlife crisis and then realise you've got plenty of time to screw up loads more stuff than just career and relationships so you may as well give up on those and get on with learning new stuff. Become dynamically "you" in a stronger, more self-assured way than ever before. Play gigs with a wild disregard for industry 'standards' and just wear what you want and sing whichever songs take your fancy and write cryptic things on social media sites in an 'anti-popularity contest' approach to music marketing. Don't have children because there are about 1,560 reasons why not to and you'll thank yourself when you reach 45 and don't have to live with a teenager as a result. Enjoy the fun of being able to travel and have time to write and read books anyway.

40s - Show everyone what a sexy, hip and happening woman you can be in your 40s when you have the advantage of not having children to deal with and start buying vastly expensive dresses and make up because now's not the time to go for cheap products or materials anymore. But as Simone de Beauvoir put it, there's no need to stop dying your hair blonde, wearing a bikini or flirting with deserving men.

50s - Time to show the world what it really means to be 'une femme d'un certain âge' and write a novel or memoir full of deeply moving insight and wisdom and, of course, acerbic wit. And have a hedonistically blissful love affair in between writing your books and playing your grand piano that your lover donated you. Wear incredibly sexy knee-length black boots and red lipstick all the time. Even when you're shopping in M&S. Infact, especially when you're shopping in M&S.

60s - Write vehemently about politics in opinion columns in newspapers and with the kind of venom that divides people instantly and don't give a shit about it because you've hit the wise old age of 60 and you will NOT apologise to anyone. Go on 'Newsnight' and 'Any Questions?' as a well-known pundit who can be relied upon to be entertaining just because you're so appallingly outspoken and it makes for great TV.

70s - Show how fit and flexible you still are because you never stopped doing aerobics and pilates and amaze people with your freakish strength and youthful demeanour. Pinch men's bottoms in department stores just to show'em who's boss and enjoy being totally irreverent.

80s - Maybe snuggle up now and then with a blanket on your knees as well as a few thick jumpers on, because you're allowed to get a bit cold at this age. Still write achingly moving and pertinent prose though and develop a hot toddy routine involving brandy or rum. Forget to get the piano tuned now and then because you haven't noticed how off-pitch it is, due to diminished hearing ability. Oops.

90s - Write poetry just to piss off a few more people while you still can. Then curl up with a cat and snooze every lunchtime. And be grateful for every day that you wake up and find out you're still alive. It's another day in which to wander about in eccentric clothes and annoy people by pretending to be deaf. Or maybe you actually are deaf. You can't remember.

The end. 

(I think.)

Single Person Behaviour (Part Deux)

I'm so thrilled at having this time to myself I can't get over how wonderful it is!  I therefore had to create a second part to my previous post. I had a somewhat unfortunate start to the day in that I was woken up by period pain, even though that shouldn't be happening for at least another 5 days so I had to take some painkillers right away but that kind of gave me a good excuse to have a longer lie-in as compensation. Snuggling up with a hot water bottle always feels cosy even when the reason for making a hot water bottle was the pain that came unexpectedly. I am so lucky that I kept a good lot of magazines out and in bags instead of boxes because that means I've been able to plaster the bed with them and browse, read and lounge about looking at pictures avidly. I'm feeling a bit mournful about all the lovely old copies of Vogue I had to get rid of before I even moved to this country though because I had some great ones, mostly bought for half-price at the second-hand exchange bookshop on Notting Hill on Pembridge Road. Oh how I miss that shop...But I did keep a whole bunch of pages from my favourite editions including a few Paris Vogues, and I'm glad I've had a chance to look through those. Nothing like covering the bed with fashion pictures and mini-articles (zoom in on the middle left of the photo) on people like Daniel Auteuil.

I have also continued my practising of new make-up techniques after educating myself that it's not entirely about the make-up you buy but how you use it, thanks to this Lisa Eldridge video in particular. But I amazingly found that I already had one of the lipsticks she mentioned - the 'New Black' no17 one! Which is exactly the dark shade I most wanted - yay! I vainly took a few pictures of myself (how shameful is that?) using PhotoBooth on my Mac (Macs are just so brilliantly full of useful and totally free software!) sporting that very dark red/mauve lipstick. This is where it gets tricky to remain anonymous and show the fruits of my labour...

(Well, it wasn't exactly labour. There are tonnes of other things I've done that are far more creative and took wayyy more work but that I really can't share here as it would indeed be too much of a giveaway. Though I'm pretty sure at this stage the only people reading this are people who know me anyway. (Leave a comment and prove me wrong if that's not the case!) 

I enjoyed my lie-in today and I made a terribly unhealthy cooked breakfast (but not exactly a totally English cooked breakfast) of eggs, baked beans, mushrooms and Czech spicy sausages, with a mug of coffee. It was rather yummy. And I can't tell you how delightful it was to realise there's so much less washing up to do even after making something as messy as a cooked breakfast when there's only one person's washing up to do! Wow - it only took about 15 minutes!

The other thing I have been doing is trying for the life of me to come up with a good present for my sister's birthday. It's the big 'three - oh' and I want to get her something special, but anything good and something I'd feel pleased as punch to get her is out of my price range and is something I've failed to get for myself and yet have always wanted. Such as a proper silk camisole or chemise like this or a sumptuously sparkly handbag like this. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever be able to a) make her proud of me that I can actually afford to buy her something really special for once and b) if I'll ever be able to have any of these things myself. I suppose while even copies of Vogue are out of my price range, I have an amazon wishlist that I still can't even afford to get any of, and I've declined to buy ice-cream this weekend because I couldn't afford that as well as a bottle of wine and salmon, I can safely assume the answer may well be 'no'. I really want to turn this around. My sister deserves some luxury for once.

She is the epitome of the brilliant bargain-hunter where I aspire to be more Parisian and spend a lot on something that will truly last and do me well for being better quality (but usually I can only manage this by buying it when it's already 10 years old from a charity shop) so she has a revolving list of items in her wardrobe that she gets rid of on a regular basis because she buys from Primark, H&M and Kohls. She's got it down to a fine art to get my Mum or Dad to buy things for her while she's seen that they're on sale and has built up a remarkable range of clothes on this basis. I just wish I could treat her to something she would never want to replace.

Heigh-ho. Time for some more old pages from Vogue perusing (and in this pile is one of the pages of photos that inspired my main music pic for social media and google use for my music work at the moment. I had such fun working with the Russian Countess on that shoot - I wonder if you can guess which one...)

and a huge amount of denial about the fact that tomorrow the Cowboy is coming back and tonight I have to deal with a meet-ee on Skype and that that damned expensive festivity - Christmas - is not far off and I'm possibly more broke than when I first started out as a student. I'll find a way to get through it somehow but I just wish I could at least be doing it all on my own, in a flat of my own, with my keyboard set-up in a space befitting it and enough money to buy myself at least one treat, if nothing else, as a means of celebrating getting so much done on my websites all by myself from working out stuff from free training videos.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained

I won a small battle this evening.  It may not mean I will win the overall war (not that there is one) but, this mini victory alone has taught me a lot.  That 'Christmas Bonus' idea has not fallen by the wayside.  Let me give you the back-story:

Recently, one of my friends posted on the dreaded f***book (as someone once called it) that he had got a Christmas bonus this year.  And I posted back, "I gotta get me one of those!"  And that gave me the idea of putting a 'Christmas Bonus' box on my table at meetings to see if meet-ees might want to contribute, in the same way that office workers get Christmas bonuses, so that I too, as a self-employed person could have a little bit of money to go towards a nice Christmas.  (Or at least help to cover the cost of losing money due to cancellations and people taking time off for Christmas.)

So I have been drafting an email to send to all my meet-ees to explain what this box on my table is all about and more generally, to thank them for coming to meetings with me and wish them a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.  In the spirit of 'Thanksgiving', I thought that it would be a nice way of introducing the idea that it's possible for people like me to get some kind of tip, if they think I've helped them this year, in the same way waiters and waitresses get tips.

So I got my good friend to help me translate it into Czech, knowing full well this isn't a Czech way of doing things at all.  It's just not done.  It's not 'Vogue', if you know what I mean.  And even though she thought it a little bit strange, she read my email in English and concluded that she thought it was brilliant.  She said she loved the line, "if you like my work, please feel free to give whatever amount you feel is appropriate."  And she kindly translated all of it.  She said she would be very interested to find out what happens.  (Me too.)

So, the real test before sending out emails came when I told the architect about this idea.  I knew he would be totally against it.  And initially he was.  "It's strange," he said, "it's not a Czech habit".  To which my response was, "It's not a British habit to learn Czech, and dedicate oneself to learning foreign languages but that's what I've been doing."  How limiting it would be if we all had to stick to the acceptable habits of the country we were born in.  Surely the whole point of my meetings is to inspire people about a different culture and open a door to a different way of seeing and doing things?

The architect required more convincing.  "You're going to ask them for more money? It's like begging on the street or something!" he said.  So I read him the email verbatim, about how I appreciate my meet-ees speaking English with me, I appreciate the opportunity to work with them and in that spirit, they should feel free to give whatever they feel appropriate.  But there's no obligation so if they'd rather not, that's absolutely fine.  There was a chink in his armour for a moment.  I reiterated that I was thanking them and wishing them a Merry Christmas.  I also reiterated that office workers get Christmas bonuses, so it's not a totally unheard of concept.  He began to crack.  

Eventually, the penny dropped.  This isn't an evil thing to do.  It isn't begging.  It isn't asking for too much without having given anything, it is just a slightly strange idea from an even stranger person.  No-one has to feel bad about it, because I'm not going to talk about it in meetings, and it's absolutely fine for meet-ees not to say a word about the email and pretend the box isn't even there.

As my grandma used to say, "nothing ventured, nothing gained."  What have I got to lose?  At the end of our conversation, the architect apologised and said, "actually, I think it's a good idea."  Those of you who've never even spoken to a Czech person will have no concept of the enormity of the impasse I just overcame with that one, but take it from me, that was a HUGE turn-around in attitude in one conversation.  And if I just won over the equivalent of an old-fashioned working class bloke with an "I ain't no charity case!"-type attitude, then anything's possible.  They may have tried to instill a 'don't get ideas above your station' attitude in me when I was growing up in a not dissimilar world to his, but, hell, maybe this is an idea below my station.  To quote a very famous, old film, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

Unfinished things, spoils and debris

There are so many things I'm trying to get right, but can't.  Here's one of them:

I'm feeling the fear of the imminent return to form of a punishing routine.  I want to gather all of the Christmas and New Year debris and spoils and put them in a pile and hold them tightly, lest such comfort and I get parted and sent in different directions.

But I'll take a picture of them and put them here instead:

Ah, that's better.