A 32 Hour Day

Written on the floor
Of Borders Bookstore
Buchanan Street


My hair's been a real prick today: rough and totally misbehaving - turning in random directions, curving strangely, resisting the hairbrush ... (and therefore treated with my weapon of choice: a serious dose of leave in conditioner and a glossing straighter). As on most MTDs (mortifying hair days), I use the iron to curl rather than straighten (because my hair's normally -when well behaved- poker straight so its nice to have an extra boost sometimes).

Meeting Max at the Starbucks here in about 10 minutes.

We shopped our butts off today! Oasis. Next. Zara. Monsoon. Primark. Yup, right across the board.
2 pairs of jeans (1 stonewashed, boyfriend style, 1 skinny), 1 red lace shrug, purple tights (for my demin minis- I'm in a city where retro and neon is often very wearable in small doses :)), red sweatpants for running, silver ballet shoes, open toes red stilettos (for some reason, I can only walk comfortably in them!), dark brown knee high boots, the usual little black dress with a twist, a dark brown leather jacket (the cold will start soon, we kept telling ourselves), and several racerbacks thrown in for good measure.

How satisfying is that!?

For those 4 hours I pretty much forgot I have a flat to find, tickets to book, a life to steer, a relationship to mend, a dissertation to begin (and finish in the next 3 weeks), world hungry, dirty politics, media corrosion, the whole shabang. Like a long, slow, not-explosive-but-intensely-satisfying-and-all-consuming orgasm.

Then I changed from the shorts and sweats of the morning to skinny jeans and a racerback in the Borders loo. (Ofcourse, I could post a clearer picture of the logo and the building itself- like this one- but you have got to see how beautiful this city is...can be).Max is there now.

An Indian gentleman and his 'young adult' son com up the escalator, look at the literature books on the shelf in front of me. Dad is not happy with this boy
Theek bhi hai lekin mushkil bhi hai
He tells his son sternly. The stubbled 22 year old frowns into the books in his hand pretending its not him that man is talking to.

The most amazing thing is, it's only 10:23 am! We haven't seen the face of mid-morning Glasgow in 3 months.

Yes, we were up all night. Chilling at The Sage's hut discussing life, love, politics, journalistic ethics, grisly scenes off the forensic lab, journalistic horror stories, the importance of matching shoes, the end of a year in this flat, potential girlfriend/boyfriend candidates, the works.

8 hours and endless rounds of Tekkan on Playstation, Boxing on the Wii, and endless glasses of water, lemon spritzers, sherry, Oasis, and orange juice later we realise its 6.30 am, go for a morning run. Shower. Change. Breakfast at Pret a Manger. The Sage goes home to sleep and Max and I head out to hit the shops at the only time in the day when there are not ques.

Tomorrow I meet my ex and one of my bestest friends in the whole world... It's more complex than it sounds in that line, but in a nutshell this is it... Any way I think all relationships are complex if you look at them in a certain way and incredibly simple if looked at in another way. for me, it is incredibly simple in the sense that nothing in it threatens our sense of love and comfort and friendship. So I guess what I'm saying is, in return for that, I'll put up with any complications. Update coming soon.