7 Star Rules and Regulations...

Its 7.24pm and I am rushing through the doors of the Burj al Arab, it was surprisingly easy to get across the rampart and penetrate the sail, as the 35 minute booking process had somewhat led me to believe that it would be a tad more difficult. Being a girl who likes to do as she is told, I am clad in a very non Maxine like mini dress, and heels, and yes I like to think I somewhat resemble a girl. I arrived in a taxi, determined to enjoy some form of cocktail in the Sky View bar. I was delighted to open my own door, close my own door and walk across the cobbles in the heat without the aid of anyone at all. It would have been awful of me to expect the doorman to open my door, for two reasons, 1) he would have had to walk away from the cold air and 2) it was after all a Dubai taxi and not an Aston Martin. My fault entirely. In and half way up the escalators I finally get a nod from someone, having been utterly ignored by the date and rose water wielding girls because I eschewed the rotating doors for the side doors.

Standing waiting for my partner in crime to arrive, I remembered how much I love the Burj Al Arab, and unbeknownst to all the staff there I know more about the building than any of them. So when one of the guest services staff casually informs me that the fountain I stand beside is really amazing. I smile and ask why, the answer left me rooted to the spot ; ‘Because it goes really high sometimes when a VIP comes, hopefully one will come tonight and you might see it’.  Then smiled and wandered off leaving me wondering how he could have failed to know, that the man who designed the entire set of waterworld the film had designed that very ‘fountain’, that it was actually called the Hypershooter, and that it was able to play in time to music, that if need be it could shoot water up to the tips of the golden arches above my head every 6 minutes if it needed to. That when it did ‘shoot’ what was so remarkable was that it didn’t splash the floor on its way down. I stood smiling, wondering why he had been so delighted to share a piece on information with me that was entirely useless, and if I hadn’t have known better, left me thinking ‘well that’s not very good’. I daren’t even think about whether he knew that the ‘fountain’ was indeed intrinsically linked to the water feature in the lobby, or at the entrance, and I think the air fire and water link may well have astounded him. I wont even begin to discuss the type of flooring surrounding the hypershooter, and the clever way it had been laid. That may have resulted in me being removed from the Burj.

En route upstairs in the panoramic lifts, my hair do took a bit of a battering thanks to the distinct lack of AC, but the welcome was just as warm as the airless lift. We were escorted to our table, and regardless of the reservation being in my name, so began the evening of calling my friend Mr. Redding, when he is neither my brother nor my father nor my husband. The mistake can be understood once, granted, but it gets a bit wearing after time. The view is as always spectacular, and the service lovely. We were welcomed by the manager, and despite saying we didn’t want to look at the Al Mahara menu’s were presented with them. Turned out to be a great touch, and the ease of which our bill was transferred downstairs and the genuine smiles of all the staff are what makes Al Muntaha a fantastic place. Skyview bar I love. I especially love their blue cheese and cheese quiche. Genius.

Al Mahara, having had so much conversation about the dress code it was a shame that it wasn’t being upheld by all the diners that evening, and the evening wouldn’t have been quite the same without the family next to us who took photos of each meal, each course and every fish in the tank, the click of that camera became quite the accompaniment. The manager was obviously quite liberal with his ‘discretion’ that evening. The most used phrase of the evening had to be ‘sorry for interrupting …’ I don’t think I have ever had so many waiters enquire as to if we are having a nice time before. I was tempted at this point to create a sticker for my dinner date with his name on it, in an effort to get the staff to talk to each other and let them know that calling him Mr. Redding was going to elicit me sighing and telling them for the 3^rd time that I was Miss Redding and he was not actually a Redding. Something which may seem a little pedantic, but in this day and age, discretion should be top of the list at a 7 star hotel. Thankfully I am not an undercover spy or indeed having an affair, or cheating on a non-existent husband, so it all it caused was mild amusement rather than an international incident, although it would have been great if I wielded enough power to have gone that route. The food itself was great. What I wanted to have was food I wasn’t going to get anywhere else, the kind of food that leaves you raving about it, you know the heaven on a plate, how on earth did you do that kind of food. A great example is the black cod in Zuma. I can see you all nodding, or the roast pork in Gary Rhodes mezzanine, bliss indeed, or the ribs in Billy blues, or the fish and chips at the Rivington, all the things that make you smile and forget everything else. The fish and chips in the Rivington can literally make me forget anything else except them and how cold my wine is. The food in the burj was great. Very nice indeed. Well mine was, I can report back that my opposites plate was cleaned both times, although as he had Lamb I cannot comment (hate the stuff) although it did look raw enough that a good vet could get it back on its feet without too much hassle. Having asked for it medium, the response was that it was ‘painted’.  The wine was exceptional, 10 brownie points to J for choosing wisely and a million brownie points to the Burj for actually serving it cold enough to stop me having to ask for ice cubes and reveal my peasant like attitude to wine.

We retired to the Juna bar for drinks, which revealed one of the worlds worst designed bars, watching our waiter have to duck into a 2 foot hole in order to bring our drinks was highly amusing for us, but less amusing for him. I do hope that Jumeirah pays for his chiropractor.  A few classic whiskies and a few more freezing cold glasses of wine and we called it a night.

I have to say it was a great night, but that I have to say in all honesty that is down to the company, the kind of company that means you could have fun whether you are in the Burj or in an cardboard box. The key things we learned were that :

-          You too can have Al Mahara style menus at home by popping to Dragon Mart and buying the same oyster shells for 5 dhs a go.

-          The submarine is never mentioned when it is being ‘serviced’.

-          That one day I want to be able to order a 5000dhs martini.

-          That dwarves were involved with the design of the Juna Bar

-          Moray Eels are ace at hiding and the Fish tank is not the same without Wally

-          You have to have your restaurant on its own island in order to charge those kind of prices

-          If you are having a special occasion be sure to go to the Burj, they ask you at every opportunity if it’s a special day for either of you, but don’t plan any surprises

-          The ‘taxis’ to take you home are ace, they make you feel very special and aren’t really very much more in cost than a dubai taxi, quality move BAA.

The Burj Al Arab was once the pinnacle of modern cuisine and luxury and I went expecting it to blow me away as it always has throughout my time here, I adore the Burj, I love it, I stick up for it, and I believe it is great. However in the Dubai we now live in that has restaurants that are of such high quality, and that has upped its levels of service, the Burj has remained the same. Whether this is a good thing or not remains to be seen. For me though, the Burj as the place to go to experience something you cant get anywhere else is a myth. The Burj is a place to go and look, because you will never see anything like it anywhere else, the carpets, the gold, the attention to detail, the opulence, the luxury, the downright arrogance of the building makes me smile. If only the restaurants were the same.

Is It Time For Something Drastic ?

Being as far from an adrenaline junkie as you can get, I sometimes wonder about myself. Then I wonder about that statement, and realise its bollocks. You dont need to be addicted to fast cars, diving with sharks and a permanent need to try and kill yourself to be addicted to adrenaline. You can be addicted to different kind of high. I recently discussed life in general with a new friend, we were comparing things we had done that we consdier noteworthy, interesting or extreme and so on and so forth. At the end of the conversation he looked at me, and said 'ok, we get it, you win every time, what a hell of a life you have'.

It got me thinking, I would never bunjee jump, because thats for mentalists, and I cant dive because everytime someone puts a mask on me and puts me under the water I hyperventilate and cry. That in my head made me fairly wimpy. Then I realised that not many people can say they went to the North Pole, not many people have crawled on their hands and knees through a glacier in the pitch dark, little to no-one I know has stood at the bottom of a slippery icy tunnel to the outside of a cave and believed they might not make it up without needing to call in the helicopters. The actual number of people who have done that is two, me and the woman who stood behind me and literally willed me out the top. I have detoxed in Thailand (mild in comparison) for 7 days, of fasting and colonics. I sit at my desk and wonder what next ? What should I be doing next to push the limits ? It makes me think that alot of my achievements in life come from pushing boundaries, and testing limits. My limits, other peoples, mostly mine.

It also makes me think what next ? What next indeed, half of me is done and wants to go lie on a beach and drink cocktails, the other half of me wants to do more, do something that isnt about me potentially. The North Pole was about Breast Cancer, but when I got there I realised it was about me, it was about something I needed to do for myself. Yes thats all very deep and reflecty, however it wasnt designed to be. But if you put me and my own thoughts in a room together with nothing else to do for 8 hours a day, you do tend to reflect. Thoughts bounce around the inside of your head until they bump into each other and you end up with an epiphany of sorts. I tried to drown out the incessant chatter with music, but -32 degrees tends to fuck with the electrics somewhat. My brain wiring as well as my iPod. Again the fasting I did was for my body, but it ended up being about my mind too. A clear out indeed.

So it seems that the clutter of my life, and the millions of thoughts that are thought, stored, spoken, deleted, saved, shared on a daily basis need me to take myself away from it and push myself to the limits in order to be able to come together at their own pace and form actual coherent ideas. It seems that some of my thoughts were designed to hook up and then reveal their point to me, but in order for that to happen I need to be not looking. If that makes sense.

I think that I shall refrain from anything drastic this year, potentially the Science Festival is enough to tick that box for me for 2011.

Cliche's, Over Estimating and Finding Someone Like You...

Its been an interesting few weeks, and I have been painfully reminded recently that life is not simple, it isnt easy and sometimes it isnt nice. However in a cliche to end all cliches, life is what you make of it. 

To the beginning and a jaunt to the UK, to spend time with the girl I refer to as my big sister, I do this not as a throw away term but because sometimes in life you meet people that go further than friendship, that have a place in your heart that makes them family. I have heard the phrase ‘friends are the family you choose for yourself’ over and over again my whole life. I have always questioned it, because given the chance I would pick my own family ten times over, well my immediate family anyway. I always wondered what it meant until I met Rachael. I have a brother, who is my world, who proves that blood is thicker than water and who I would lay down my life for without question or hesitation. You are supposed to be able to be yourself with your family in a way that you cant with anyone else, ever. Another great phrase just re-iterates that ; ‘Maxine you are my family, this means I will ALWAYS love you, but I wont always like you’. It took me many years to understand that sentiment. I strive to find that with friends, and in relationships. Understanding that you cant like someone every minute of every day, you are going to be annoyed, irritated etc but that love remains, and trying to remember that. I digress.

Rachael came along, and stole a little piece of all the Reddings hearts. She is dear to us all for different reasons. To me I gained a sister, one that I can swap shoes with, who I can laugh til we have to pull the car over with, that I can cry with, that I can tell anything too because she loves me, and would never judge, and because I feel the same about her as I do about my family, I would protect her with everything I possibly could, with anything I have. I can be in her kitchen making dinner and I can be at a black tie function and it makes no difference.  So I went to the UK to spend time with her, and drink endless bottles of wine, laugh until even we hurt and cry and gossip and laugh some more.

Aside from Rachael though, there was another important part of the trip. Michael Ball. The months had stretched interminably and then it was there, mere days away. You can imagine my distress the day before to hear that the 4 tickets I had bought for my mother, auntie and Rachael had not been delivered seamlessly as promised. Indeed there were 2 tickets only and not even in the post code of where we were supposed to be sitting. Cue major tantrum. Believe me there was much foot stamping, flicking of hair and shouting. That  was just at the laptop. Help was delivered to me in the form of the great man himself. Michael Ball via the power of twitter alerted the evil puppet masters that are ticketmaster to my plight, and within nanoseconds the worlds campest man, don’t think I am exaggerating here, think Paul O Grady melded with Boy George and a dash of Alan Carr thrown in for good measure, rang me to reassure me.

Reassured but with no physical tickets, at 2.00pm on the day of the show, I head off to do the only thing appropriate at that moment, have afternoon tea at the Carlton. With champagne. More phone calls from the worlds campest man and still no tickets, and we are rapidly approaching the actual show, I now have two new pairs of Louboutins to choose from, Rachael is incoming with great speed from work and I am thinking I may need to breathe into a brown paper bag at some point soon.  More Tweets, more ranty phone calls and Matthew (worlds campest man aka WCM) has rung to say he is working on it, my front row tickets are a thing of the past, some evil bastard has them and I won’t be getting them back, however I am within 2 seats of where I should have been. Now WCM just has to get these 4 little beauties to my hand prior to the show. WCM enquires as to how much I actually love Michael Ball as he is very impressed at the level of detail in which I have quizzed him, and how many managers he has telling him to ensure I am fixed. I assume he meant in regard to tickets, but who actually knows.

Tickets received, Louboutins on I went and promptly had the best night of my life. That is not blowing it out of any proportion whatsoever. I cried, I laughed and I sang my little heart out, much to the joy of the people behind me, if you have ever heard me sing you will sympathise with them.  I have spent 2 years trying to find a song that meant so much to me emotionally, and for many reasons which I will not share with you all, after all some things should remain precious (this one isn’t its just painful) I couldn’t remember the title, I searched everywhere for it to no avail, and then there he was, my hero singing the song, better than I have ever heard it sung. I cried buckets. He followed it with my Mother and Fathers song, cue more tears from a usually non emotional Maxine. It was amazing, and worth every frantic phone call, penny, tear and laugh. He was magical and that’s why I will always defend him, every person in the Royal Albert Hall felt like they had met him personally by the end of the show. My thanks have to go to Matthew, the worlds campest man, he is also a bit of a hero in his own camp way.

I spent the next night in London with some awesome people, having a night that ranged from the extreme, 23 pound vodkas, to the hilarious, Gay Eastenders cast members trying to impress me and Simon, to the genuinely awesome, meeting Sayed finally and chin wagging on my favourite subject for quite some time. To the expensive, 400 quid leather jackets which you just HAVE to have. I adore London when you can afford to enjoy it, that sounds arrogant and showy offy, but London is best enjoyed from the back seat of a black cab.

Back to Newmarket and the Sofa or more accurately the wine bar, and there began and ended my trip to see my Sister.

Being back is always difficult, back to work on a project that for the first time in a long time is proving difficult to harness, tricky to beat into Maxine style submission, and having spent weeks not being able to get up the interest or passion for it, it has beaten me to a place where I now need to get it right because I am downright furious. I will show it, and them, and it will be amazing, and I envisage weeks more of nasty facebook ranting, shouting at my friends and family about it, and then it will be over, it will have been achieved, and hopefully done well. Then I can breathe a sigh of relief and get back to normal.

I lost my Grandmother this week, which is something that I wont delve into, as some things are not for public discussion  I believe, however I will say that it makes you look at your family, and you do imagine what life will be like without them. I have learned that even my creative mind cant do it. There is no where in my mind that I can dream a world that doesn’t have my family in it. They are moving into my apartment block soon, and I am the luckiest girl alive to have them so close by, but with 4 floors between us, so I can have a 5 minute arrival warning !!

In the midst of all of that I have my lovely Victory Heights Family Dinny looking after me, trying to ensure that the sparkles are back in my life and I am smiling. They succeed every time they pick up the phone, or send me to a rat infested hotel with practically no booze for a weekend away. I have had a strange year so far, and its already July, some new things that creep up on you and surprise you, some things you thought you wanted and when you get them you don’t anymore, and the things that you find you can wait for, because without being sure, you feel they may be important.

I think that on the route to my 30^th birthday I may have finally learned to keep some things to myself, and not expect people to behave the same way you do, but that when they do you should enjoy it, and treasure it.

Because notes are invisible....

I have been told, repeatedly that 'notes' on facebook are not the place for writing. People constantly ask me about my love of music and where it came from, what I believe in etc. So this is an old blog, transferred here for easy reading purposes .... Enjoy, hopefully.

This last month has been a learning curve. Learning that some people view music without passion, which I have had to learn to just accept without understanding. That is a concept that is as alien to me as to why people like U2. That however is a different story. Music for me is tied into passion. Music is memories and reminders, and music is life and love and tears and laughter. Everything in my life has some kind of relationship to music. Those who know me, know that nothing is better to me than live music, add an impossibly cold glass of Sauvignon to the mix and I will literally be smiling from ear to ear (that is a good note for potential date ideas).

I find it is damn near impossible (unless you are sticking pins in your eyes, and that would be a tad drastic) to be unhappy when faced with good live music. I can chart my life by music. I blame my Mother and Father, my father slightly more if I had to be fair because he fed my ‘habit’ as a youngster, giving me shiny LP’s of people like Hall and Oates, Buddy Holly, Alexander O Neil and Tom Jones to name but a few. He also managed to pass on an uncanny ability to pick a winner out of a bag of rubbish, we can see a hit at 20 paces. It may or may not be the only one your band is going to have, but a hit it will be. If you haven’t heard of it, I can bet you money right here and now that you go listen to it and you will hear a hit too. Living in a box, by living in a box. Classic song. Will forever remind me of Papa T. He also taught me to love all kinds of music. One minute we can listen to Luther Vandross, and then flip over and throw some ACDC into the mix. My Father still does it to this day. He pointed out Flo Rida to me months before I had heard of him. He pronounced an unknown black singer as a potential up and coming, and so Toni Braxton was born. He took me to see Tom Jones when I was 8 years old, he forked out money for me to see Alexander O Neil, the Buddy Show, Luther Vandross to name but a few, he spent a small fortune in the name of teaching his little girl to love music as much as him and my mum do. It was money well spent. Not only is live music my love, it is my work and my escape. How lucky am I ?

My mother on the other hand taught me to be fearless in my appreciation of talent. I can hear a good voice, or spot a talented musician with a blindfold on. That’s her doing. She taught me to see talent in any shape or form and not be scared to love it. I have spent my life being annoyed by people who ‘conform’. I have been to see Michael Bolton numerous times, I would sell my liver (if anyone would have it) and quite possibly my left hand to go and see Michael Ball again, once just wasn’t enough. I say this out loud, to people and they are stunned. How can someone who works in ‘music’ dare say that she loves Michael Ball. That’s embarrassing. Really ? I find it more embarrassing that you so called music lovers and artists cannot see the talent that one man has. To have been the Phantom of the Opera, to have been Andrew Lloyd Webbers darling, to have been our Eurovision hope, to have over 10 albums that have sold into the millions. To have possibly one of the best voices of our time (acknowledged by king of cool Simon Cowell), is that embarrassing ? Because he doesn’t fit into what is ‘cool’. Amy Winehouse thinks he is the coolest guy alive. Does that make him a little cooler ? I hope the answer is no, because she to me is everything that is wrong with the music industry, in one woman. 

I have been taught by Mama bear to watch those DVDs of mine and be proud of the fact I adore his voice. I said out loud that Brandon Flowers cant actually sing, people look at me like I just committed a crime. Madonna, one of the most successful artists alive. Cant sing. Talented ? Yes, vocally ? Nope. I admire her for her ability but not for her voice. I look at people like the sugababes and feel sick. I look at local talent (yes you guys at players and all of you who I champion) and could cry that you aren’t seen. Talent. That’s the key. Someone asked me what music I like and I asked a friend how the hell do I answer that. He said its simple in your case, if you didn’t write it yourself, play it yourself or sing it yourself I am not interested. Talent. Its what it always comes back to, like a fat kid to cupcakes and like a dog to a bone. Talent. This is why I cant stand Mick Jagger. He has the ‘it’ factor but the bloke cant sing. Rod Stewart another shining example of a man with ‘something’ but not talent.

Music is a mixture, for me it charts progress and memories. Today for example in a quest for artists I have been playing on my iTunes and also on youtube.

David Grey, flipped me right back to an apartment in London, sitting on a yellow sofa waiting for my then boyfriend to come home from work on my first night visiting him. Makes me happy (even though he was a douche) because it was a beautiful day, and a great glass of wine and I was super happy.

Train, drops of Jupiter, takes me back to being one of the first people to ever play them on the radio in the UAE, sat in a studio, earphones on, overlooking the back of Sheikh zayed road at one of my first ever evening shows, feeling nervous and happy to be a radio DJ at last.

Rob Thomas : 3am, I was 17. I had just met my first real love and I used to play this and it drove him insane, reminds me of laughing at him in one of our rare moments outside of his restaurant.

Toto – Rosanna – Smokey bar, wooden floors, short hair and my first taste of live band music and this song takes me to the night my mum requested this. My boyfriend played it and she loved him almost as much as me that night. My mum had her 2 best friends with her and we laughed and danced and laughed and danced. Awesome memory.

Oasis – Champagne Supernova – Amie Gibbons house, her bedroom, getting ready to begin one of our many many adventures. We listened to it religiously and although I am not the biggest Oasis fan this song transports me back to being a happy teenager with my best friend. There is a lot of music that takes me back to Amie, nirvana puts me in a maroon blazer standing in our form lines listening to on shared ear plugs. Its raining men takes me to a hilarious drunken night in a bar called strawberry moon, the list goes on.

Robbie Williams, Jesus in a camper van, directly to Nathalie Cockaynes old apartment, do not pass go and do not collect 200 dhs. Weirdly hearing him doesn’t take me to the concert, it takes me to her flat, Vodka and cranberry juice and hoi sin chicken pizzas.

This is my point, you don’t have a lot of control over what music does to you. It can move you in a million ways, your feet, your voice, your heart.

It can make people laugh, cry, fall in love, fight. Its magic, it should be treat as such.

It’s a multibillion dollar industry. Don’t become part of the wheel. Love whatever moves you, regardless of what it is. Don’t be afraid of music and don’t be afraid of what people may think. Try new things, listen to others ideas of ‘great’ before you dismiss it, you never know you just might make a discovery. I did, I hated Jazz all my life until I sat on a cold stone floor, tired and grumpy in the middle of New Orleans in order to ‘humour’ my man. I will be eternally grateful that I did. He gave me a gift that night that is very precious, a memory, and some of the best music I have ever heard played, he reminded me to push my limits and because of that a whole host of music takes me right back to him and what he taught me about music, at the age of 25 when I thought I couldn’t learn anymore.

My Father is still learning and listening and my Mum is still not caring (her pan pipes CD is testament to this) and my brother is still trying to get me to love Oasis. Keep pushing, keep exploring, but always remain true to the memories, they like to be visited now and again.

Fox Hunting, Prime Ministers and Lawyers..

Funnily enough, all things that were on my agenda as a child. I asked someone the other day what they had wanted to be when they grew up, I got a wry smile and a great answer. We forget, we forget the dreams we had as children, the dreams we had when we literally believed we could do anything at all, and that our mums and dads wore super hero outfits under their normal clothes (I still believe that). I wanted to be all sorts when I was little, depending upon the day, and the activity I was doing.

One thing ran the entire course of my life and that was to be a singer, as we all know, I am not, some of you are thanking god, and my Mother is shaking her head and saying 'you could be, if you tried'. Mothers, they are the best. However when I think back to some of my wishes its kind of funny to see what my little crazy mind thought back then.

My first big cause in life, and we all know I have had many many 'causes' that I get passionate about, was Fox Hunting. I came across it thanks to my horses, and in school we were asked to write about something that means alot to us. I put pen to paper to explain my horror and sadness at Fox Hunting. Dont worry at this point, I am not going to don a bunch of leaves, and start waving a placard whilst scaring horses, thats not my style. As much as I would like to hit a few of the huntsmen on the head with said placard. The pen is mightier than the saboteur and so I wrote off to my local paper, safe in the knowledge that this would ensure that they would print my letter and I would make a difference. I was 10. My belief in the world was utterly unshakeable, even though the irony was lost on me. The world would do the right thing, even though here I was campaigning against something I believed was wrong. Go figure, my 10 year old self couldnt see it. Then again, my 10 year old self couldnt see much past horses and well, horses. The newspaper did want to print my letter, they in fact rang my home to speak to me about it, and this is the part where I get to think my 10 year old self was a clever little smart ass, they also thought I was an adult. Yes indeed.

That started my desire to be a politician, I did concede that I would have to be a politician first and then of course I would be Prime Minister. Natural upgrade of course, I would be the obvious choice. I may have to wait a few years, but my first act would be to ban Fox Hunting. I never really thought much further than that, I have to be honest. My next act was to write a poem about Fox Hunting, that will show them. God my 10 year old self was awesome and fairly ridiculous.

I got a little older, and realised that potentially being the Prime Minister would be fairly hard work, note I still didnt see this as being out of my grasp, and if the truth be known, I still now believe if that had been the road I had chosen I would have made an awesome Prime Minister, with much better hair than any of them to date, thats a fact. I then moved naturally on to becoming a Lawyer. That was the next step. Not because I was interested in the nitty gritty details of law, or of justice, but because I believed that I would make unbelievably brilliant closing statements, and that all my cases would be won because no jury could possibly rule against me and my superior oratory skills. It was then pointed out to me that I was not American, that I also wasnt on TV and that being a Lawyer was possibly the hardest job ever. This put me off somewhat, not the hard work, but the lack of being able to stalk around a court and be fabulous.

I went on to various desires throughout that time, TV presenter, all round famous person, teacher amongst others, all of them really just came back to one thing, I liked to talk, and I liked it when people listened to me. Quite simple. Therefore Radio was the place for me. Why hadnt I thought of that before.

Really though, we should all spend a moment and try to remember what we wanted to be, back then when we had no troubles or worries and our dream job wasnt based on degrees, how clever we were or how much money we needed, when we could have done ANYTHING, what did we choose ?

I never even dreamed I would do what I do now, and yet this is my dream job....

Metallic Nails, Being yourself and Ladder Climbing

Having not got the best ability in the world to only think of one thing at a time. Think Billy Conolly and his ability to wander off topic and then come back with unerring accuracy, then lose the unerring accuracy and voila,  you have something similar, minus the scottish accent and beard, to me. Keep the swearing, definately. I have tried, somewhat unsuccesfully to stop swearing. I have learned to say the F word less, although it can sometimes be a knee jerk reaction. There is something familiar about it, something in a swear word that conveys what it is you are trying to say, sometimes 'oops' or 'damn it' just dont cut it. A good well timed 'F*ck Off' can just be deeply satisfying. Not when its in the wrong moment though. Not when your boss has just asked you to do something and you respond with "are you having a f*cking laugh?'. Thats when you need to go put a dirham in the swear box, and also brush up on your ass kissing techniques, or your CV writing skills. Aside from swearing, I have had a few thoughts this weekend. Namely whilst having my nails done (just call me Jumeirah Jane), and a couple of people I know said wasnt I too old for metallic tin foil colour nails ?. This gave me pause for thought, and the answer is a little complicated. No. No I am not 'too old' is there such a thing. Dont stress, this isnt the moment when I start banging on about age, and you are as old as you feel etc, because there are certain things you just shouldnt do after a certain age :

See through shoes, on second thoughts, these should never be worn, scratch that. Unless you are a MEGA star, dont wear mini skirts, ever. After 19 wearing Doc Martens with a smart outfit just makes you look like an out of work student, and never ever wear a thong on the beach. Ever. Its never good, unless you are J-Lo, and even then, they make me feel a little ill. Boob tubes are questionable, as are any kind of lame hot pants. However my nails do not fall into that category as yet, if I want to have nails that reflect the surface of the sun, then I will. If I want my nails to resemble the stuff we wrap turkey in, then that is my own damn choice, and while I like it, it will continue to happen. End of conversation. Plus I love them and they make me smile, and I have the classy version (if that is indeed at all possible).  Its about the importance of being yourself when it comes down to it, and more importantly quite liking yourself. I have a theory that no one else is going to like you if you dont like yourself, notice I said like, not love. There are FAR too many people in this country that cant walk past a mirror without giving themselves a thumbs up and a quick eyebrow raise to reaffirm their awesomeness.

I like me, there is plenty I dislike, but plenty I like, and I like my desire to have silver nails, also I dont care as I am turning old this year, and intend to stay as young feeling as possible. If this makes me behave like Katy Perry in the nail arena, then I care not.

I was considering a quick paragraph on the pitfalls of people cosying up to you for who you are and what you can achieve on their behalf. I then decided that whilst it may make me a bad judge of character, and it may end in tears (it certainly has before) I wont change my attitude to the people in my world. I wont question you, I wont look at you and question why you are in my life. This I promise. I promise I will do everything in my (limited) power to be the best friend I can be. I may fail, it has been known to happen. I will not wonder about your motivation, I will assume that your presence, however fleeting or permanent in my life is down to you and I having a connection because we have found something in one another that we like, and by that I dont mean roladexes or bank accounts. That will be all on the matter ... I am very blessed with the friends I have in my life, those who are near and those who are far, and I love them for who they are too. Mostly because they are amazing people. Sometimes its for their money and fame but mostly amazing, mostly.

Transatlantic Travels

It has been awhile since I blogged, and I have learned to be ok with that. I cant just write on demand because I have to have something to say. Right now I have nothing specific to say, its just that writing sometimes makes me feel better. Bit like music, but I’ve had to really cast my net far today to find the solace I needed in music. I have finally landed on Country music, you can laugh, but every now and then my soul needs some twanging guitar and cowboy boots in order to feel better. Its been a odd couple of weeks.

I knew that saying goodbye to a friend would be painful, but consoled myself with thoughts that I would still have phone, email carrier pigeons etc and that in this day and age a little distance isnt the end of the world. Turns out I talk bollocks, not that this is news to anyone at all. Way harder than I thought it would be. Living in the UAE you get used to people coming and going, and therefore learn to make friends fast and learn to say goodbye fast. It’s a transient place, and it becomes a way of life, you end up with friends all over the globe and that’s a good thing. Every now and again though, when you least expect it someone comes along that you never expected, with no warning and it’s instant. That person is unique, that’s when its impossible to replace.

Snoop Dogg was one of the most interesting shows I have ever worked on, in terms of working with a different kind of tour party, in so many ways. In the middle of all this, I find myself standing in the lobby of a hotel watching history walk towards me, not looking a day different for 6 years of not seeing them. No matter how you move on or change, there are something’s in this world that remain constant, chocolate will always soothe the soul, shoes will always make a girl smile, especially if they have red soles, and some people  will always look good in a suit and make you smile so big you think your jaw will never stop aching. I left the hotel feeling very odd. My world in 2 weeks has had a fairly major shift in focus, and that makes you think. The pondering I will keep to myself, as we all know how I can ramble and these thoughts so far make about as much sense as Charlie Sheen, slightly less if truth were to be told, and just without the drugs, porn stars and warlock talk.

I have been refusing to entertain a birthday this year as I do not want to turn 30, I rephrase that, didn’t want to turn 30. I have decided to stop being childish, if I am going to be 30 I should behave like a grown up. I realized that by not throwing a party in normal Maxine style just actually makes me one of ‘those’ 30 year olds. So with renewed optimism and a slightly scaled down event streak, due to chronic fatigue am going to celebrate my birthday in the manner in which it should be. Surrounded by friends, and drinking Champagne. I will however refrain from sending out the invites just yet, it is after all only May and well I get to be 29 for another glorious 3 months.

I am going to attack the rest of this year in the style of which I am proud of. I will reclaim my social status, and I will reclaim my hold on my sense of being. My kitchen is woefully underused this year, and the new cooker I bought in order to aid me with my mega cooking sessions still sits unplugged in. I am very fond of the old one, however cooking for 12 with only 1 working ring on the stove top can prove a little dicey at times. All is well with one chef, but add Mother Chef into the equation and there are just not enough electric rings to go round.

On other fronts, things are changing, noticeably my front, and rear.  I have dropped a few kilos and as such am now facing the dreaded task of the wardrobe over haul, the easy bit has been done, I have bought new clothes, interims as they are called. I then bought another set of interims as the first set got a bit baggy. This is great, a whole new set of underwear (that took some doing I have to add, aided by a surly Philipino lady and a much aggrieved mother). However I have to chuck out all the old stuff. This is going to take some doing. 6 wardrobes full of clothes that I love, but will have to get rid off. Its enough to make a girl cry. Safe to say my shoes all still fit, as do my handbags. Which to be quite frank is neither here nor there as if they didn’t fit, I would wedge tissue paper in them and wear them anyway, such does my love for my shiny feet covers run deep.

It’s been an odd few weeks, and now I am making some life plans, I have some life admin to get through, and then life will undoubtedly throw some new curveball at me and I will have to re-evaluate. Such is life.