Socks

I was quipping to a friend the other day that single women in their 30’s are a bit like socks, the longer a single one floats around, the less likely you are to find its pair.

This is okay because you can always find a use for an odd one, like straining ricotta cheese in the absense of muslin, or polishing windows. Of course if you’ve been alone too long, with the aid of a sock a couple of shirt buttons and a frivolous stitch or two, you can actually make yourself a friend to talk to.

Yes, of course it’s Valentines day, and as usual I was the odd sock out in the office as women staggered upstairs from reception groaning uner the weight of their pink orchid arrangements. Yes they give orchids here. A bit more classy dontcha think? The only time I ever generally get flowers from a suitor is when they have done something wrong. So they always make me suspicious anyway.


Don’t get me wrong, I could have had a date, but I really didn’t fancy getting gropped by the over friendly ikea guy (see previous blog). He is like the polyester sock of the underwear world really. Makes you sweat, you can’t wait to pull it off and prolonged use would probably lead to a fungal infection. My other option was psycho serb who ‘laaaavs’ me and wants to move in with me and ‘do the washing up and clean’ while I work.

Which is why I am currently alone and eating a meal out of a plastic washing up bowl in my flat, in the absence of kitchen equipment, which is still sat at Turkish customs. Given the choice between washing up bowl of salad and my other options…. well who says age does not bring wisdom?


My friend Pavel reported in from Kuwait today, where a group of MP’s are trying to ban Valentine s day under shaira law. Apparently it is a blasphemous commercial holiday that detracts from the values of Islam and encourages inapropriate behaviour like kissing. And yes, in some parts of town the police are raiding shops that contain red or white flowers and shutting them down. And quite right too.

Personally I have always approached Valentine s day wih some trepidation. At school the popular girls would always get a stack of cards. If I got one it was generally from the fat smelly boy in Mrs Stones class because I was the only girl except his mother that would actually talk to him. Bless I wonder how Steven Buckly is? I hope he is a VP at microsoft or something.

It was also generally a gamble when I got back home from a disappointingly empty school desk. My father, being Yorkshire and particularly dour when it came to special occasions, would either forget, or find out halfway through his third pint on his way home when he noticed the ‘two for one Valentines Campari special’ banner behind the bar and would have to rush to the gas station to buy whatever wilted offerings they had left. I think he got better in his later years, but then I guess the fear of a dressing down from a wife and three daughters as well was a bit too much to take.

But fear not. I am not stuck here talking to my socks all the time. Last night I joined a friend and took part in his live online photojournalism course which was excellent and being taught by a man who is three times world press photographer of the year. It’s the first time I have seen an online classroom in action and it was impressive. There were people from all over the world taking part. One guy, from Africa, whose excuse for not doing his homework was that he got shot at when he went outside with his camera.

Tomorrow I am going to a dinner party. And on Saturday I am entertaining some friends from Budapest and hopefully joining the running club. I have a notion to try the Istanbul half marathon this year.

I hit the gym with gusto this week and have formed a friendship with an tattood Aremenian former professional volley ball player and martial artist. And yes ladies, he is.

He’s also a devout Orthadox. But he did invite me to his church last weekend. Was that a date? Or is it like going out with a bunch of mates if the holy trinity is involved? Do I have to buy them popcorn too? Can I have their share of communion wine?

Errm anyway back to the socks and plastic washing up bowl meals for me. Besides, it snowing like hell out there. So much for fiery men and southern climes.