Thursday, 4 February 2016


I decided to go back down memory lane and visit Paris, for many reasons, one to see a producer regarding the film I am doing about Egon Schiele and his world, The Cardinal and the Nun with writer Lyall Watson and to jog my broken brain cells awake, I am all for healing these days.

Visiting places I love but sadly did not see the people, I hold close to my heart, Paris is depressed,  Body Guards stand at every door and like any large City people come and go.  I visited Chantal Thomass's atelier on Rue Saint Honore, trying on lingerie, remembering seducing whilst wearing her well cut corsets. I walked to the beautiful Rodin Museum to relive the romance of Camille Claudel and Rodin, whose magnificent sculptures in Saint Germain are one of my greatest pleasures to see. I bought tissue wrapped lilac and pink roses for an 80 year old friend from 64 Rue de Longchamp, all florists are wonderful in Paris but here I bought flowers from my apartment.  I stayed in Hotel Costes where the smell of the bedrooms, took me back to romances I had from 1995 up until three or four years ago, when I shut the door of my beloved studio at Rue Mechain, the atelier of  artist,Tamara de Lempicka. I want to go back and live again the thoughts I had, but they are far away and in my memory bank, with only a few good emails and a tea set with some rings to prove they existed at all.

Instead I visited the men on Tinder and discovered that Tinderella lives in a big computer with a wicked step Mother who looks like Caitlin Jenner.  My "in box" inundated with mice who were in fact bigs rats, but just a bit further away. There was no Prince, as Caitlin turned the tomcat into the handsome Prince 25 years ago. The tomcat turned round to her and the first question he asked was, as he kissed her beautiful collagen lips, "Don't you wish you hadn't  doctored  me twenty years ago?" Despite pressing 'enter' it is not going to make any difference. This is how I feel about Tinder this week. Real life romances cannot be found on these average sites, they are found on trains, cinemas, and living unexpected moments.
I just clicked on three different profiles, two men and woman because I like to feel up with the times, only  to reveal that when I went to meet them all, they were and looked like the same person.  I knew I liked the same type but this seemed absurd? I was assured that it/her/him only liked to be called Wendy at week ends. I was confused  because although I live most of the time in an Ivory tower, I enjoy my days in a dungeon where people look happiest.
In the dark corners I hear "Don't be mean darling, please hit me again, after all it's my turn this week"
The profiles I get sent look like ugly "Russian" girl sites where the men and women lie in bed with fish heads all over themselves, trying to play the part of  'Siren' out of Greek mythology, as they lure the ships to crash onto rocks, they comb and cover their hair and beautiful bodies. with shells, turning their bodies into waves.
Can't wait for tomorrow and remember I am the witch with the bucket of water.
I am all modern now, I now know what LGBT's are, drinking my GT with a BLT, so its sealed with SWALK, TULIP, and BURMA.
I was lucky enough to get tickets for the Automobile show on the Eurostar falling in love with cars belonging to Edith Piaf and lusting after a Ferrari with a price of thirty five million. There are real men there who tinker with their parts, not strip down an entire car leaving bits all over the drawing room rather than a sociopath who takes the bits out of a woman's head, and there are always a couple of screws left, a couple of nuts in the room and the brain left altered forever. I was a Bugatti and now I am just an Aston Martin, although in perfect condition, with almost one careful owner.  Its not what is wrong with you, it is who is wrong with you.
On the subject of dating whether it is meeting at the bus stop, grinder tinder etc. Some details should not be told.
There are some straight men left, there is a popular belief that on the sliding scale is some kind of shade of grey not black and white. I celebrate all my gay friends, the clothes, the hairstyles etc, but as a hot blooded female I would like to find a hot blooded male. There is not problem with any genetic structure, I would like to meet my handsome Prince, actually a duke at the very least. Just a word of advice boys, You can tell the boys about the girls, but don't tell the girls about the boys as we do not want to hear it.
I was able to forget the passion I had in the long Summers when the wives leave their husbands during their vacations and the husband's relive a fantasy or two, the girls, well they get by with a gift or two, except for me, an English girl who was naive enough to have some feelings left. Smelling the oil and leather of the historical cars was comparable to the signature smell at Costes Hotel, only new and ready to be explored.

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