Bittersweet Camomile

After a few postponements, Absentee Boyfriend and I were going out for dinner on Tuesday, only I'd also suggested to international woman of mystery, Racquel, to come over that evening too, indeed, and Sir Leigh, mutual friend, was also joining us. Bung a pork fillet in the oven and toss some veggies around it I thought, it's all about the chat anyway, isn't it? Sir Leigh talked of stuffing, no need I said,  good grief. But he arrived with a melange of black pudding and other fine Irish foodstuffs, of which he is an aficionado and took over the kitchen. I donated an apron. Neighbour blitzed breadcrumbs for him and a very artful presentation resulted.

Dinner a la Sir Leigh

This could catch on, when he arrived ABF decided we'd dine in landladyhouse, and I, thanks to Sir Leigh, felt like I was dining out, such was the extent of his very tasty stuffed pork  and colour co-ordinated vegetable dishes.

There's no such thing as a free dinner in your own house you know, I finished scrubbing pots at 6 the following evening. The thing I remember most amongst all the undoubtedly scintillating conversation, ABF said he didn't like reading about himself in the blog. I might have to axe him. You know, Axe him....

By Thursday I was making progress on my edit and finishing the new Douglas Kennedy book I've to review (whom I've never read read), except I had an afternoon appointment with the recruitment consultant who'd told me there wasn't much call for architectural historians. He regretted saying that and invited me for coffee or lunch, I agreed to coffee, unsure if I could take any more career annihilation, and discovered a lot about the job market I didn't know, mainly I've no chance of getting one unless it's through a personal connection, as my skills are too 'specialised'.  Talent solution its called, and Linkedin is the new free recruitment agency according to him. So that's another project for next week.

Seeing as I'd put on a dress, I went for a pot of camomile tea with an old friend in the Dylan Hotel, someone else who is always flitting in and out of Ireland, let's call him the Scarlet Pimpernel.  He spent most of his time being evasive and typing emails, I can only conclude that it's the type of afternoon tea I can do without and when he left I hobbled out to say hello to some friends in the garden.

Friends, wine and chat, there was nothing for it but to leave the car. The concierge very kindly parked it for me and with the fear of clamping gone, I was home in a taxi and realised I'd left the Douglas Kennedy book, Five Days on the back seat. I'd got to a stage where the story began to hold my interest, when a dramatic twist was taking place on the streets of Boston. In five days this week the world had become well acquinted with the names of its streets and suburbs, where some mother's sons chose evil and we saw it is never far away.

I'd better get back to the Douglas Kennedy, because it's the nearest thing to a job this week.

Flights of Fancy in Praise of Cabin Crew

My ideas come easier if I watch football or something equally bizarre, it's not so much the skill and pace, it's the commentary; sports commentary, especially on radio is a sublime skill. I absolutely loathe golf, but I could listen to the commentators on the Ryder Cup when it was in the K Club as if they were performing a cantata.  I just saw the equaliser in the Barcelona v Paris St Germain match, how very exciting, maybe that's inspiring me to keep this post somewhat international and about teamwork.

Cost Centre # 2 Flying by the Cliffs of Moher with
Baron Von Richter Scale

I'm  part of a crew on a racing boat, I take orders, and get wet and very cold and it's all over in two hours, then we have a pint after dusting ourselves down. If anything goes wrong we blame the equipment or the course. Luckily, I've even got to do some short cruises at the invitation of friends, in warm waters. There is something about being cut off from land that removes life's complications and scrunches them up for a few hours, I think that's why yacht racing is so popular.

I've always thought flying for a living would be a totally glamorous job, despite the fact that the crew have a slew of people in various stages of inebriation and panic attacks to deal with. But you know, on those long hauls, they get to cocktail and shop in New York, Boston, Chicago maybe even Singapore, Shanghai, Sligo-Knock. Or just to pop over to Paris for a night at the opera, London for dinner and back.

I never knew an actual stewardess personally, my ex-husband's ex-wife was one, but I never really knew her and he'd used up all his wanderlust by the time I'd met him, story of my life. Became a stay at home slippers type of man by the time we'd had our boys. Now, I have a real live senior cabin crew girlfriend, it sounds like the next best thing to being in school, with actual exotic destinations and getting paid to boot. I love the idea of Galley FM where all the gossip we don't get down on terrestrial gets scooped in the cloud. That's the real cloud not the i-Cloud.

Racquel doesn't think I write enough bad stuff about myself in this, so here is a confession, I've just cycled to her house to collect duty free cigarettes, have a chat, drink and cycle back uphill in a bit of a wobble. I'm not sure if any of that's illegal, but it felt bad. I think it's ok once it's still bright outside.

Having had years of working for myself, either in track suit at home or Armani suits in a board room, I quite fancy a uniform again, with a badge, I could be designated work hours, somebody else would even check all that for me, meaning the rest of the time was actually free, like not to having to worry about work, whether I'd got my report written and will the client pay, ever.

While it might be too late for me, I think I'll be recommending it to one of my cost centres, there's great fun and serious leadership skills required up there, not to mention diplomacy, patience, humour and all important, manners. Way more serious than you realise as you hide behind your Cara magazine and order that third quarter bottle of merlot. It's more like IMF meets Croke Park and we know what a mess they've made of that on Terrestrial. They could do with some cabin crew skills down here. And by the way, gentlemen, don't tap the stewardess's bottom with your finger when you want more coffee.