One: The Tie
The contemporary art show was like an oasis in the barren desert of MTV monoculture in Odessa. Faced with the rare possibility of meeting interesting people, I was determined to make a good impression. I wore a beige jacket, a white shirt and a thin blue tie. The excitement of the exhibition only increased when I met the German curator - she was gorgeous, fascinating, one of the most attractive people I had ever met. The artist from Kiev complimented me, noting that I had ‘that sixties look’. The German curator asked how I usually greeted missionaries to this outpost and asked if I also had an explorer’s helmet. Our relationship followed much the same path during its brief yet exhilarating existence.
Two: The Painting
Harry painted for fun, although, if he was to be honest with himself, he would concede that he considered himself to be something of a talent. He used his paintings as props in his pursuit of women in various countries. 59 years old with a bushy mustache, a mouth like a graveyard and a loud, friendly and somewhat ostentatious manner, he was very proud to give me this painting. Due to an unfortunate set of circumstances it remains un-hung.
Three: The Wedding Dress
Following a whirlwind romance spanning little time but spanning space between Middle Europe and the Balkans, I was engaged to be married. While much thought was put into the details of the wedding, no dress was purchased, no church or hall was booked and no speeches were given.
Four: The Black Shoes
What is he capable of? I was first struck by this thought upon encountering his footwear; these seem like the shoes of a man who could enter in the dead of night with a steady and unrelenting gait, unconcerned about the noise he is making.
Five: The Red Shoe
While summering in Barcelona I fell in love with a girl who ran with a different crowd. In a desperate attempt to catch up, I wasted an entire afternoon scouring the shops for ‘entry ticket’ clothing. Upon arriving at a party that evening I realized that I had made a mistake – my normally impeccable taste had misfired, presumably as a result of the temporary digestive disorder caused by her. Each red shoe only drew attention to my status as an outsider. When asked, I confessed that I bought them to fit in and thankfully Sadie took pity on me, finding this to be a sweet gesture, if somewhat misguided. We were inseparable for the next week.
.
Six: The Coffee Cup
Although the ambassador’s receptions were noted in society for their host’s exquisite taste, this evening – to celebrate the start of the British EU Presidency - had been organized by his wife. While the Macedonian Anthem, a rousing number, was well-received by the assembled dignitaries, the rendition of God Save The Queen by a well-meaning, though humorless, young diplomat met with considerably less success. Hope, excitement followed by confusion and boredom. The Presidency was much the same. I look on this coffee cup as a souvenir of an amusing evening.
Seven: The Plate
To celebrate our graduation from high school and as a last collective act before dispersing to various universities 18 of my closest friends and I took a holiday in Greece. Sand, sun, sea and sex. All that had been promised came to us in those two glorious weeks of freedom. However, the highlight of our fortnight in the sun was the evening of ‘local culture’. Traditional music and food was followed by the obligitory plate smashing. Presiding over this kitsch fest, ‘Les Animateurs’ encouraged us to smash plates on each other as well as on the floor. In a somewhat inebriated state I failed to spot the difference between the smashable plates and the dinner plates nearly rendering unconscious a young girl I rather fancied. Although rarely mentioned in the advice columns of magazines, this method of seduction proved highly successful.
Eight: The Bathrobe
In something of a fug from the previous evening, I finally managed to summon the energy to take a shower. I dragged myself away from the cricket on television, collected the towel and trudged up the stairs. There was a roar from the crowd – a wicket? I surprised myself by dashing back down, abandoning the towel on the way. By coincidence, my housemate was just returning home. I heard the key turn in the lock and convinced that any relationship conducted in close proximity is based on the retention of something of a private sphere and the maintenance of certain secrets, I raced through the kitchen and up the stairs. As I scampered away, I protested my innocence, affirming that I definitely hadn’t been doing that. In future, a bathrobe such as this one may prove useful.
Nine to Thirteen: The Letters
We found letters 1-3 when we moved into the apartment. Who was he, this guy who had left open cans of goulash around the place and who was content for socks to compete for space with his porn collection? He had left in a hurry, leaving behind a slew of items ranging from the worthless to the valuable. Between the terrible art and the artistic pretensions of ‘Blonde Babes’ nestled some more surprising finds: Bank statements, certificates and love letters. Who is P? Who is the girl in the picture? Why did he leave?
Letters 4 and 5 are more self explanatory
Fourteen: The Bucket
Proudly wearing new white shoes that I had purchased for the summer season, I turned too fast spilling the better part of a large glass of Red wine on them. Despite assurances that this added character to them, I was not convinced that it improved the look. The next day, disregarding the advice of a friend, I soaked the shoes in soapy water in this bucket. The bucket remained on the terrace for 3 weeks.
Fifteen: The Bed
This bed is a dying bed, not a deathbed. After tonight it will be discarded for a newer, bigger model.
Sixteen: The Sheet
Lie down and pull the sheet up and over and think fondly. I have often done so in this bed.
Seventeen: The Black Phone:
This phone did not work for 12 days. During this time I was forced to communicate face-to-face and I became a better neighbour. Although glad to fix the problem, I regrets that it is now working.
Eighteen: The TV Guide
We don’t like to watch tv but we like to watch the tv tower.
Nineteen: The Razor
I was trying to do my bit for the environment by no longer using disposable or replaceable razors. I purchased this cutthroat from a brick-a-brack*. As he made the sale, the owner of the store appeared remarkably unconcerned about the fate of his daughter who had been hospitalized that day. The razor has never been sharp enough to shave with..
Twenty: The Polaroid:
It sounded too good to be true. My friend assured me that it was possible to go over the falls in a barrel, although she warned that such pleasure would not come cheap and did involve a considerable element of danger. Having run with the bulls in Pamplona and not usually being one to shirk a challenge, I resolved to do it. When we arrived in Niagara, I was surprised that it was less natural beauty and more Bad Vegas, replete with casinos, freak shows, houses of horror, fudge factories. This only reinforced my impression that it would be possible to ride the falls in a barrel. When I inquired of Irina exactly how much it cost, she and David began laughing. I realized that I had been tricked. We ate at Denny’s.
Twenty One: The Blonde Wig
I have only worn a blond wig once. I started the evening in high spirits, boosted by the thrill of cross-dressing and thinking that, actually, I looked pretty good. In the end I simply looked like a roughed-up hooker.
