Monday
Yet another dream comes crashing down. I wasn’t on the guest list for Lauren Sanchez’s hen party. Jeff Bezos’ fiancée, along with her close-knit group of brown-haired friends, is currently recovering from a lavish £500,000 bash.
They took a private champagne boat down the Seine (or was it up? I suppose I shouldn’t pretend I was there again).
If you’re somebody like a Kardashian, Eva Longoria, or Katy Perry—guests at the event—you might naturally be more sociable than the average person. But still, it’s amusing to picture the moment the fancy invitation showed up in the mailbox. I imagine the response was pretty universal: a muttered “What on earth does Bridezilla want now?”, a reluctant search for a suitcase, and some undergarments tossed in, followed by a firm resolution never to do this again.
Tuesday
And now, the latest drama involving Gwyneth Paltrow’s infamous candle. You know the one—it launched in 2020 on her lifestyle site and is cheekily named “This Candle Smells Like My Vagina,” retailing for a cool $75.
Really, the questions that pop into my head from five years ago are endlessly amusing: Does it actually smell like her? Or is it meant to evoke some deeper essence? Is there even a distinctive smell to a vagina? Why would anyone want to fill their home with that scent? Plus, who ensured that the aroma was spot-on? I can’t help but wonder—they must have been quite invested in making sure it didn’t end in a scandal. It’s funny how these puzzles just linger in my mind, yet I strangely don’t want answers.
Wednesday
Today, we explored one of London’s oldest stained windows. Although it appears to be glass, it’s actually a 15th-century cow horn, carefully shaved to translucent perfection. This sits in the Great Hall of Guildhall, and it definitely warrants a quick visit. Descending into a medieval cellar dating back to at least the 13th century—and perhaps even the 11th—you can see a ditch at the base of the columns, evidence of horses kicking it for centuries.
The art gallery is worth a stop, too. You might want to bring along a drink or two. Keep an eye out for the enormous royal emblem salvaged from St. Michael Basschaw Church, demolished around 1897. Just tread carefully—there’s an odd collection of Margaret Thatcher statues nearby. Then head down an eight-meter staircase beneath the city to see the ruins of a Roman amphitheater, which was uncovered during construction of an underground parking facility.
I found myself pretending to be friends with my late father. It’s odd; I feel an inherited connection that puts me apart from the rest of my family.
Thursday
In discussions about preserving what enriches our culture, there’s been some alarming news: semicolons face extinction. Twenty years ago, they appeared in writing about once every 205 words. Now, it’s down to one in 390. Surprising how often people identify as users, yet this trend seems alarming.
What will you do when they’re gone? What then, when a pause is needed that’s between a comma and a full stop? How can you connect two clauses while maintaining clarity? It’s a disconcerting thought. We must find a way to preserve these little marks, just like we cherish historical sites, for future generations’ appreciation and learning.
Friday
As the week wraps up, it’s mom’s cooking turn again. She primarily survives on diesel, but every now and then, she craves proper nutrients. Dad used to handle all the meals, but he stopped a few years back after he passed. So, every Friday, she gives me a ring (and my sister sometimes gets a bit overwhelmed trying to call her).
“Did you say I should add salt to my pasta?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what gives it flavor.”
“Do I have to do it?”
“Not really. The pasta’s fine without it, just a bit bland.”
“If I’m going to boil water.”
“Yes. Yes, if you’re boiling water. But it would definitely be a more enjoyable experience if you salted it.”
“That sounds like a hassle.”
“But really, it’s just a pinch of salt in a pot of water. Most people do it without even thinking.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“You do that.”
And now, I’m off to shop for a whistle.
