Apologies to my dear readers for dropping out of sight for a while. I have been busy juggling invoices and chasing up payments. Apparently, the concept of paying people after they have supplied you with goods or services is one that is alien to some companies, as any SME owner can attest. I actually stopped chasing up one particular payment because I was feeling myself losing neurones by the minute; if a discussion begins to make you wonder if you are insane, take my advice- walk away. Don’t even get me started on the Kafkaesque discussion with my bank- that was another level of crazy altogether. The problem with all this is that of course it trickles down the chain so you then have to make your suppliers wait for payment. And on and on, down a Dantesque spiral into hell.

However, I was immensely cheered up as the whole farrago of nonsense reminded me of a favourite Sir Walter Alexander Raleigh (no, not that Walter Raleigh: The Glaswegian academic) poem:

I wish I loved the Human Race;
I wish I loved its silly face;
I wish I liked the way it walks;
I wish I liked the way it talks;
And when I’m introduced to one,
I wish I thought “What Jolly Fun!”

That’s a picture of good ole Walter up there, full of the joys of spring. Even that picture alone is enough to make me smile. He’s said to have composed the poem after a garden party. I know just how he felt – who hasn’t visited that particular circle of hell? (There goes my social life….) Even better still, my awesome niece Arix brought me back some Goldfish crackers (Cheddar flavour!) and peach liquorice from sunny Texas. What a gal- a good deed in a dark world, fo’ reals. In that spirit, I have included pictures of some eye-achingly beautiful interiors and things which ought to brighten your day. That Lindsey Adelman pendant is boss- am I right or am I right? Meanwhile, Illegitimi non carborundum, as the Romans most emphatically did not say. Have a terrific day.

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Back in London after working away from home for a couple of weeks. I can’t tell you how glad I am to be back in London. My return trip was a nightmarish cap on the whole enterprise. The zip on my suitcase broke an hour before I was due to check in, at 8.30 am on a Sunday in Guernsey. No, Guernsey does not operate as a 24/7 destination. Much panic and wielding of pliers and screwdrivers and tape ensued (thanks Viesturs, God bless you) and I made it to the airport.

‘The flight to Gatwick has been delayed by eight hours. No, it’s not cancelled (!), just delayed, so we won’t be offering compensation. We can fly you to Stansted but you will have to arrange and pay for your own way to London, seeing as the flight is only delayed not cancelled. Oh, your luggage is 1.9 kilos overweight so I will have to charge you £24, or you will have to remove something from it. Yes, I can see the zip is broken and that you have taped around the suitcase so you may be unable to close it if you reopen it. Yes, I can also see that you have no hand luggage but that is irrelevant, as is the fact that we have just delayed your flight by 8 hours. You owe us £24′

Not a single word of apology for the delay. Just in the nick of time, I remembered that I had been joking with one of my colleagues Clarisse that my sole aim was to get through the week without punching anyone in the face, what with the Christianity malarkey and all. Phew! Mind you, technically, Sunday is the start of another week………. 🙂

I was reading the paper on the 2-hour coach trip to Victoria, and it was full of accounts of horrible things, as usual. Having witnessed some prime examples of treacherous villainy and utterly despicable behaviour recently, I started thinking about how difficult it can be to remember that a billion and one random acts of kindness occur all over this planet every single day. It is impossible to completely avoid the more psychopathic elements masquerading as human beings amongst us (as the late, great Fela dubbed them- animals in human cloth), but my advice is, once you’ve identified them, minimize your contact as much as possible. Abhor evil, cleave to the good, as the Good Book says. It is a great world, chock-full of excellent people and many wonders. In this spirit of joie de vivre, I have included pictures of fab hotels to dream of staying in, and some frivolously beautiful things to brighten your bank holiday. May all your journeys be smooth and your week full of grace. And no, I did not open my case or pay the airline £24 because, what the hell!

Having spent quite a bit of my time with crazy Latvians who have been teaching me Russian songs from children’s cartoons (All hail Aiga), I leave you with the poem Ludmilla, by Ernest.W. Thiele. Ciao ciao.

Ludmilla, the Soviet lassie,

Has many a notch in her gun;

She thinks it a trifle to pick up a rifle

And blow out the brains of a Hun.

If cartridges happen to fail her,

She’s equally expert with steel;

She uses a dagger to cut off the swagger

Of ev’ry Hilterian heel.

 

The Finns and Rumanians dread her;                                              

Their leader has only to cry;                                                              

‘Ach, here comes Ludmilla, the demon guerilla.’                                

And back to their bases they fly.                                         

Contrariwise, Russians adore her-                                                       

The gal with the gat in her gown;              

From Omsk to Tiflis the redoubtable miss

Is toasted by country and town.

 

But where is the Muscovite hero                                                          

Would venture Ludmilla to date?                                                         

Her great reputation for swift liquidation                                            

Would make her a perilous mate.                                                              

One man, and one only is worthy;                                                             

I move , Mr Chief Commissar-                

And the motion is carried- that she shall be married                         

To Ivan Skavinky Skavar.

(Photos: Laser-cut interior design panels, Private Residence; Verandah restaurant; La Reserve hotel, Paris;Buchanan hotel, San Francisco; Sculpture by Pascal Haudressy; Matteo Cibic table)