Sunday, 6 March 2011


I went to a wedding last night. A perfect wedding in the English countryside. I usually prefer funerals, I know the beginning, the middle and the end and I like the idea of being dead and I am not depressed, anymore than anybody else.  I just like to have as much fun as possible and get through this strange thing called life.
However last night I saw hope and the possibility of success.  Success in the shape of normality.  Surprise surprise.  My girlfriend is the perfect wife and hostess. Perfect in every way. Good taste and good behaviour.  In the group I was always seen  as the naughty/funny one, the one who did her own thing, the one who was brave.  I often feel an outsider yet I am happy that way, it makes me feel free.  My girlfriend loves the beauty of tradition, the beauty of being normal yet she is not.  She has panache too and last night I wanted to join the gang.
The wedding was in a pretty Wiltshire village, with white flowers and candlelight, the vicar was funny and witty. The wedding dress was the perfect virginal cream, very well cut, with embroidery. The bride, my pretend god daughter, was beautiful and looked from another time. The bridesmaids smiled angelically  with cream dresses and cream roses in their hair. The bride and groom sang, swapped rings and looked adoringly at each other, it made me nostalgic for something I have never had.
Perhaps I could find an Englishman who did not 'mump' off me, but had the foresight to be bigger than just this small Island. It is a difficult find.  I was sitting at dinner and the man next to me said "Have you ever gone out with an Englishman, are they all foreign" I thought about that last night as I drove home.  I thought to myself why have I always preferred men from other countries, usually France?. Well firstly I have not had so many men, I was married for 20 years to a Swede, the Englishman I did marry was too Etonian and that had left marks on his personality that did not suit him.  Other than that I went out briefly and not really with another Englishman that lolled around too much and another one that had about ten women as pets. The best relationships I have ever had, have been with the French.  Actually I like artistic, well read, brilliant men that are difficult to find in any country, let alone here.  But the french seem to see me a different way.  A petite Marilyn.  They don't buttonhole me, they let me be free. They ask no questions. They have good taste, they smell good.  They like delicious food.  The don't control me as they don't quite know me, but its true they have yet to marry me.
So perhaps I should look within these shores for a man that I know the beginning the middle and end, perhaps I will  find happiness in an English country village, where everyone knows each others business.  but I somehow doubt it.  Now I am off to Paris to the fashion shows and may be will return to buy the perfect country house and settle down. Thank goodness it all seems a long way from the superficiality of bizarre friendships and stories in Los Angeles, where you are seen as a stalker if you leave a message or try to have a friend, the sun feels good on my back there, the problem is you have to watch out for the dagger and  after all the English country church is calling.

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