no need to travel all the way to amsterdam, boys and girls... i've got what you're looking for right here in london!

i've been in london two weeks and i now have a job and a place to live. the job was a bit of a saga, but let's not go there. suffice to say that i have a lovely secretary job in town, licking the bootheels of yet another senior executive.

my room is fabulous though, and i am so excited to have my own space. there was no lightglobe in my room when i got here, so i went down the street to get one (along with some essential food items- god, i am in love the off-license!! they are all so cute and friendly. and did i mention convenient?! so convenient!) I picked one that said "firestorm" on the packet, not really thinking anything of it. but now, as i type this under the red glare, i wonder if i perhaps should have paid more attention to that "firestorm" at the time of purchase. but nah... the benefits outweigh the cons. after all- now i have my very own red light district!

who needs a mayoral election with a poll like this?!

before i left melbourne, my friends had started to warn the men in bars off me. no sooner did i start talking to a man, one of my friends would walk up and say to him, "mate, she's not worth it. i mean, i know she's hot* but she's gonna take notes on your sexual prowess just so she can slag you off in her blog in a derogatory fashion. walk away now, and you can save yourself the humiliation. trust me on this one."

so you can imagine my fabulous surprise when i received an e-mail from a blog reader asking me out on a date. he actually reads my blog, he must know the consequences, and he's still up for it. rather courageous really. but still- courage isn't everything and i'm in desperate need of advice. should i or shouldn't i ? cast your vote now!

*okay, i might have made up the "she's hot" bit. but hey, i'm the author, i've got artistic license

when i want your opinion, i'll tell it to you

i was told that people wouldn't want to talk to me in london. that strangers on the tube would lift their paper, rather than make eye-contact with me. sadly, it's not true. they all want to talk to me.

a man in camden tries very hard to get me to come into his shop:
him: try on a hat! i have many nice hats!
*i try on some hats, seeing that he will not be discouraged*
him: oh, you are so beautiful!
me: *more than a hint of sarcasm* wow, you know all the right things to say, don't you?
him: oh, you really are beautiful. you have such a great smile.
me: umm... thanks
him: you look so great in that hat
me: ermm... yeah, i'm not so sure
him: we should have a drink sometime
me: *trying to leave the store and becoming increasingly scared* umm... i'll think about it
him: where are you going?
me: i have to meet my friend
him: oh they can wait.
me: *seeing that i am not going to escape* umm... i have to go now, but i'll come back if i decide to go out with you
him: oh, but i'm not here all the time. just give me your number
me: umm... no, i don't think so. i really have to go *runs out of the stall as fast as i can*

at a coat stall, i go to try on a coat:
me: umm... how about this coat? can i try it on?
him: yes, of course. you are very beautiful, this coat will look great.
*i am wary after the last experience, so i say nothing. i take my jacket off so that i can try on the coat*
him: whoa! you have a nice.... size.
me: *gives him a look* i'm sorry?
him: you have a nice size.
in hindsight, it seems obvious that he was referring to my rack, but at the time i was just in shock. hey, i'm naive. needless to say, i didn't buy the coat

yesterday i was wandering around the streets of angel and happened to be wearing my beret:
him: hey, her beret is better than mine!
me: *looks around to see the other beret. it is pink. it is crap.*
him: hey, can i get a photo
me: umm... okay, sure.
him: *puts his arm around me whilst his friend takes a photo*
me: *laughs at strangeness of this situation*
him: *lifts his leg up across me for a better photo*
me: uhh... is that enough
him: no, one more. lift your leg up
me: *lifts leg*
him: picks me up off the ground for the picture
me: *wearing a short skirt and is quite sure that the whole of angel just got a very good look at my knickers*

you learn something new every day

it is my first london job interview and, even though it is only with a recrutiment agency, i feel the need to look my very best. i wear a charcoal suit with a blue pinstripe, a neat black top, and tasteful stilettos. i pull my hair back into a french roll, hiding the hideous knotty mess that it is.

but underneath that slick, corporate look is a bad-girl dying to be let out. as a concession to her, i wear a bright red suspender belt to hold up my stockings.

i walk out the door feeling sexy and secretive. it is very windy outside. when i get to the main road i receive a number of whistles. i no longer feel secretive.

honest to god! it even says so on wikipedia

for the last few weeks, prior to my arrival in london, A1 has been trying to get me used to the uk vocabulary: shagging, snogging, plonker, trousers (not pants), flip flops (not thongs), rubbish, proper, etc. i was glad to find a reason to piss myself laughing at him:

A1: they even call them cabriolets over here, instead of convertibles
me: umm.... are you serious?
A1: yeah, why?
me: darling, i hate to tell you but cabriolets are actually different to convertibles.

i must be the only woman in the world to have had to explain the difference to a male. score 1 for feminism.

i am quite the subject-matter expert these days

obviously i had a number of reasons to be excited about coming to london, but one of the lesser reasons was the excitement about sleeping in an actual bed. yet, when i got to A1's house, it was to discover that his bed was absolutely shit. houses are let fully furnished in london and the bed had come with the room when he moved in. and it was really crap. i mean, really crap.

so it was on my second day in london that we went bed shopping. A1 had a recommendation about a store in swiss cottage so we caught the bus (double-decker, no less) across and tried every bed in the store. as it turns out it was lucky i was there:

A1: *choosing a bed frame* i think i like this one
me: errmmm... how are you gonna tie anyone to that?
A1: oh. ummm... well about this one? it has bed knobs
me: yeah, it's okay if you have ropes and you do tight knots but if you wanna use handcuffs you can just lift 'em over the knobs so it's a bit shit
A1: oh. how about this one?
me: yeah, well you can't tie ankles on that one.
A1: oh.

A1: my room's pretty small so i think i should get the smaller mattress
me: no, that's a really shit idea
*the salesperson shows us the small mattress again so A1 can see how small it really is*
me: seriously babe, this is too small
A1: but what if i wanna get a bigger desk?
me: don't get a bigger desk. this bed is gonna fit fuck all. i mean, what if you wanna fuck a fat chick?
A1: yeah, it might fit two people, but not three.
me: now you're talking my language

*we're standing at the counter, ready to purchase a frame (with a convenient decorative wave in the headboard that means you can slide rope or handcuffs through) and the larger sized mattress*
A1: so, star... you wanna buy me a bed?
me: *gets out credit card* (after all, i will have to sleep in it too. in the sort-term, at least)

as we're leaving the store A1 says: wow, i couldn't have done that without you. and it's true- he couldn't have.

mystery solved

after the extensive lugging around of my carry-on baggage, my shoulders are exceptionally sore. A1 offers to give me a massage, which we both know is just an excuse for him to get my clothes off. but i accept because my shoulders really are killing me.

as he slides his hands down my back he feels a rough sore spot.

him: what's this?
me: oh, yeah i noticed i have a sore there, but i don't know what from.
him: *slides my t-shirt up to inspect further* i think that's a friction sore, star

i think back to vsg's floor a few nights ago. he is right. it's carpet burn.

god will zap you

i did manage to finally get my suitcase down to a respectable weight. the only problem was, my carry-on luggage was ridiculously heavy. in addition to my laptop, i also had about 10kgs in a sports bag (boots, books, various other items that wouldn't fit into my suitcase.)

the check in story:

check-in woman: you know you can only take 7kgs on board right?
me: oh... ummm... okay... [of course i knew that]
woman: so... are those two bags together less than 7kgs?
me: oh umm... yeah... i guess
woman: okay, go through

i couldn't believe my luck. i was sure i didn't have any good karma left after my shameful exit from my most recent employer.

three-quarters of an hour later i kissed my family goodbye and it hit me. karma had gotten me after all. you see, for the sin of lying about my luggage weight, i was forced to carry my ridiculously foolish amount of luggage through four airports. from tullamarine, to kingsford (from domestic to international), through changi when we stopped over, and at heathrow from one end of the terminal to the other.

fucking karma.

a burning bush will do nicely

i'm pretty sure i've mentioned it before, but i listen to my ipod on shuffle all songs, pretty much all the time. not only is my music completely crazy, but, by the special power of ipod random generation, i am sent secret messages.

you see, i believe that whatever song is playing on my ipod when i first press "next" in the morning, is a portent from god- a sign, if you will. examples:

• just the other day, i was walking down the street to "today" by smashing pumpkins. sure enough, i had a very good day.
• on my way out to a night on the town i listened to "the look" by roxette. i was on fire all night

so you see, it really does work. today, being my last day in melbourne, i was desperate to know what song was going to come up on my ipod. you can imagine the anti-climax i felt when i got air supply's "all out of love". i was wondering desperately what it was going to mean for most of the day.

but by midnight it had become startlingly clear: vsg never came to say goodbye.

quick, it's the paparazzi!

it is my second last night in melbourne and i am spending some quality time with my ma. i am taking her to the opera at the arts centre. it is on southbank right next to the offices of the job that i have just quit*. anyway, the proximity is making me nervous and i am extremely concerned that i am going to see someone that works there.

i take my hair out and arrange it in front of my face. i fervently wish for a hat and some big sunglasses. i stare at the ground intently. i feel very mature. i walk across the bridge to southbank.

*the quitting went well, by the way- or at least, as well is it can go when you have to lie through your teeth and you're a really crap liar. i sent a very dodgy e-mail on sunday, received a call from them first thing on monday, lamely said that i absolutely loved the job [which was true!] but that my relative was sick overseas and i had to go care for them. [not so true. i was kind of put on the spot since they called me and it was the first thing that came into my head.] even though i am clearly the dodgiest liar in the world i am feeling so much better that it is all over with.

booty-babe or booty-biatch?

i receive a call from vsg:

"yeah, i'll be home in 15 minutes, but i'll only be home for about an hour and a half so do you want to come?"

i'm pretty sure that this makes me his bitch.

i want my porn back, so i go anyway. plus i am desperate for anal.

we spend the first 20 minutes having energy-intensive, fabulous sex. we lie on the floor of the living room for a while, both absolutely spent. we get up and stare blankly at each other. we are both thinking exactly the same thing: "fuck, what will we do for the next hour and ten minutes?"

my fan club is only open to a-listers

i told you he acted like he was 19. trusting to the tried and true formula (and probably also because he has no imagination), he waits the obligatory three days before texting me:

mb: hi, it's mansion boy* from the weekend. do you want to catch up sometime before you leave?
[now, i really only have a few days left, so it's going to be difficult, plus- did i mention he was absolute rubbish in bed?]
me: which mansion boy from the weekend?

if that's enough to deter him, today i get more messages:

mb: would you like to come over for dinner?

i decline to respond, as i am having dinner with the fam. not even an hour later i get a phone call from an unknown landline: it is mb. i offer a vague apology, tell him i am already having dinner with fam and then try to fob him off with a non-specific promise of catching up another time.

mb: oh no, that's fine, i understand. tomorrow i'm free till 1pm, and then after 3pm so hopefully that will suit you.
me: uhhh... okay, i'll uhhh... keep that in mind
mb: okay sure. yeah. yup. okay, well i'll speak to you then.
me: okay, must run. ciao.

an hour later i get another text message:

mb: you can come over after dinner if you like

*obv, he uses his real name here, but i like to protect the innocent. especially when i'm bagging the shit out of them. i'm just thoughtful like that.

and people think my life is bad...

today, i get the following message from A1:

my life is a porno. a really fucking hot porno. wish you here to join in. i reckon she's up for anything...!

isn't he sweet to think of me?

knew i'd get there someday

when i first started jemima, it was with a clear set of subject matter guidelines: i was a secretary, and i would blog only about my work and secretaryness. i would srupulously avoid becoming a tacky sex blogger.

two years later, i decide to set up a blog about moving to london. and what do i become? wait for it... a tacky sex blogger.

but thanks for reading anyway, kids =) you all rock.

see you monday!

why, yes. yes, i do feel like a complete whore. they even put on welcome drinks for me. and they did this thing where everyone sits around and does the quiz out of the newspaper! how cool are they?!

and even if that guy from finance does look me up and down like i'm lunch, i still wish i could go back on monday like i've promised i will.

i am riddled with self-loathing and still trawling for an escape route. i've only got two more days to come up with the perfect plan. preferably one with a flawless execution strategy. suggestions, anyone?

i have a confession to make

i applied for a contract job a few weeks back. i went for an interview with the agency and hey, they may have asked me if i was looking for long-term work, and i may have glossed over that part of the interview.

two weeks later, they have given me a job and it's going swimmingly. but i have a secret: i have to leave at the end of the week. i've been in the job four days and they have spent three of those training me. tomorrow i will have to quit. i am wracked with guilt, and they know none of it.

you see... it all just got a bit out of hand. it wasn't really my fault. i applied for a contract job. it's clearly not my fault that they really saw it as a permananet job, now is it??

so come monday, i have to quit. (after all, i only have seven sleeps till i leave and i'm guessing that london might be pusing the "working frome home" definition just a little too far.) at first i considered getting myself fired. after all, i've got lots of experience at that. but i'm forced to admit that getting fired in five days is beyond even my considerable skills.

so how do i quit? i am the world's very worst liar, so i have no choice but to to do it over the phone. i shall wring my hands, affect a choking sob and tell the best untruth i can think of. but what will it be? here's the best i've got:

1. my mother's uncle has passed away overseas. we need to present ourselves overseas in order to claim our inheritance.
2. i don't like the job (this would be an absolute lie [so vastly different to my grandmother dying]. the people are fabulous and i have told everyone who asks how much i love the job)
3. my father's grandmother has passed away overseas and i need to go and sort out her estate. i am the family member with the least ties to melbourne so i am the one who is going

i know- they're all completely crap. be sure to e-mail me if you've got anything better.

idiot!

i really want to go to the video store, but now i can't because vsg will think i am going to see him. damn it!

plus, i really really want an icecream, and i will have to walk past his flat to get to the 7 eleven. double damn!

i should have thought of this earlier.

hermes briefcase, cartier top links...

i have upgraded!! this morning i woke up in a mansion to porn, an orgasm, and a marble white bathroom (in that order.)

it all comes at a price though: the sex was very average:

we get back to his place and i take my clothes off. i start to take off his, pushing him back onto his beautiful bed.

him: you don't mess around, do you?
me: ermm... you've just come past my place in a cab to pick me up at 3 in the morning. was that for some other reason?
him: oh... ummm....

at first i thought it was a case of "big cock, big money- i don't need to bother in the bedroom" but looking back i'm not so sure. it was like having sex with a 19 year old--no idea what he was doing... rough, nasty and wanting me to keep my voice down in case his mummy heard. then again, maybe he was just nervous-i hear i have that effect on men.

the orgasm was diy, and i even supplied the porn myself. still, it was the best wake up call i've had since last week. and for the perks (ie: he has a bed and it's a step up from vsg's), i was certainly not complaining. but let's just say i haven't wiped vsg out of my schedule just yet.

pr0n

the problem with sharing your porn collection with someone is that they always want to claim it for their own. every relationship i've ever had, i've emerged sans porn. and since vsg is enjoying my dvd a little too much (not to mention, it's still at his house), i can see the writing on the wall.

so on my way to cocktail hour, i slip into club x. k and i look at every dvd on the private wall (gold private is on sale for $49.95). i am torn between cadillac highway (a girl moves to los vegas to meet her porn king uncle and is subsequently visited by elvis' ghost) and tropic island (girls go to an island and have sex.) in the end i go for cadillac highway because i fancy a bit of storyline. and did i mention it has elvis in it?!

i really really wanted to ask the shop keeper whether it was "the best he had." i'm almost positive that they keep the hard stuff in a locked box under the counter. after all, this is melbourne- not canberra. alas, i am soft. or perhaps just shy.... nah, can't be that.

why didn't i think of it sooner?

i have had an epiphany!!!!

video store guy has a bed! and it's only five doors down the road!

i am never sleeping on the couch again.

p.s. i checked and he hates romance. he doesn't even like to wine and dine. which is perfectly fine with me.
p.p.s. pity he's not as good as rg@osg.
p.p.p.s i can kill you with my brain

gone with the wind or aliens III??

we had arranged to meet up to watch movies (read: to have sex), but there were no specific details set. i hadn't heard from him and wondered how keen he was- i decided to text him:

me: so what movies are we gonna watch?
him: you, me, doesn't matter what we watch. something stimulating
me: i am sure i have something stimulating i can bring...
him: ermmm... ugghhh... gee... nothing much i else i wanna do to you, ahhh... i mean with you, watch movies with you [seriously, can you work out what that means?! i couldn't]
me: what?! so do you wanna watch porn with me or not?
him: i'm out to dinner right now, but i'll be home (10 doors down) in about an hour- call you then
me: are you saying you want me to come over tonight?!
him (an hour later): home now. love to see you x. wanna come round?

i walk down the street with my laptop and porn under my arm (as i'm just classy like that). i don't leave till the next morning.

i have scored the video store guy's phone number!!!

damn it i forgot to ask him about his penchant for romance films...

i got my beret back though

i offered him everything: porn, sex, dress-ups, the penthouse suite on my credit card. he gracefully declined.

clearly i've got a bit of a way to go before i'm as good at oral sex as he is.