Depressing reading

Posted on September 18, 2008 by Helena

I have just finished a book called Burned Alive by a woman called Souad. She was a teenager when her brother-in-law poured petrol over her head and set fire to her. Her crime was serious in “honour” killing terms among Palestinians; she was pregnant. But every year hundreds of women are murdered for just looking at a man, or sometimes doing nothing wrong at all.

About to be stoned In Saudi Arabia a couple of weeks ago a girl was stabbed to death by her father who caught her looking at a Christian website. I assume he is still walking free.

The beginning of Souad’s book is one of the most compelling I have ever read. She describes how she walks, quickly and with her eyes on the ground, so as not to risk anyone accusing her of illicit behaviour, such as eye contact with a man, which would lead to her being branded a charmuta (a whore) and certain death.

When she is in hospital a few months after the burning, rescued by a woman working for an organisation called SURGIR, she sees nurses talking openly to doctors. “I won’t be seeing them tomorrow,” she thinks to herself. On the West Bank, where she comes from, they would be killed for less.

It seems incredible that these medieval atrocities still go on. But they do. Souad is only a few years older than me. In Afghanistan today a woman dies in childbirth every 30 minutes and 80% are forced into marriage.

Souad describes the plight of women as worse than animals. She tells how her mother used to suffocate new-born girls. Now she feels revulsion at this, but at one stage she felt they were better off dead.

Olivia & Bea I think many things when I look at my lovely, free, happy, noisy, clever little girls. But after reading Burned Alive my most pressing thought was that I am happy they will never suffer the kind of opression many women all over the world suffer. And that they will never allow themselves to be treated worse than an animal. And that their life expectancy is more than 44 years (average for a woman in Afghanistan) and that life for them is a series of adventures and happy events, not just fear, terror, hunger, enforced ignorance and horror.

Pink nail varnish and other routes to happiness

Posted on August 27, 2008 by Helena

Jonny During the rugby world cup last year I had an idea for a book called ‘How to seduce Jonny Wilkinson and other routes to happiness’. It was a book looking at what makes women happy, how we can be happier and so on.

Obviously I have no idea how to seduce Jonny Wilkinson (short of dressing up as a rugby ball and hurling myself over some posts) but that was to be what publishers call the “narrative arc”. On my quest to eternal happiness I would set out to achieve what most of the females (and some males) in England wanted to do at the time.

My agent didn’t like it. I mean she liked the idea, but she doesn’t fancy Jonny Wilkinson. So we opted for something that perhaps more women can relate to; pink nail varnish. And this morning I realised how right she was (although the book never did get written, the publisher didn’t like the idea, or pink nail varnish).

I sat on my bed after two weeks of interrupted nights due to the mosque outside my window, around me the children wailed, and fought, and argued and yelled. I reflected on the previous day when I had spent all my time trying to secure a flat that fell through at the last minute. I thought about the day ahead when I would have to find some way of keeping the children from murdering each other and all the horrible admin chores I need to get to grips with but just can’t muster up the energy to begin.

In my hand I had a bottle of pink nail varnish. ‘Violet’ it is called, from M&S since you ask. Slowly I opened the lid and began to paint my nails. The glossy, fuscia pink (more than violet) colour slid onto my toe-nails effortlessly, like a lump of melting butter on a piece of warm toast. I finished one nail and was pleased with the result. The children came and yelled at me.

“Go away please,” I said, Zen-like, without even looking up from my shiny toes. “I am painting my nails.”

Miraculously they did go away. I painted the remaining nails. At the end of it, I felt so much better. And my nails looked so much chirpier than before. Which I guess might be part of the reason why I felt better.

Whatever, I am happy, and I have not even met Jonny Wilkinson.

My favourite time of year

Posted on June 28, 2008 by Helena

It’s that time of year again, Wimbledon time, which means I get to put pictures of Marat Safin on my blog, oh joy! Last night he played an incredible match – we were all literally on the edge of our seats. Except Bea who declared the whole thing “boring” and Safin “ugly”. He was playing an Italian I had never heard of called Seppi and we witnessed some of the best tennis I have ever seen. They went on until after 9pm, I can’t imagine how they could see anything.

Marat

This year for the first time ever women are being paid the same as men at Wimbledon. This strikes me as hugely unfair. They don’t do as much work. They play three sets, not five, and they’re simply not as entertaining or as good as the men. I totally support their demands to be treated as equals, but being paid the same to play less is not equal.

Back to the bag saga – I am pleased to report that it was stolen by a thief with appallingly bad taste. My gorgeous Montegrappa is safe, as is my collection of Chanel and Laura Mercier lip glosses bar one, which I assume they dropped. They also left my wallet, my Smythson passport cover (with passport inside) and my credit cards, now even more useless than they were before as they’ve all been cancelled.

The only thing missing was the cash and my sunglasses. Imagine the depression when I had to go and buy another pair…..I am now the proud owner of the latest “tendance” as they call it here, a pair of Tom Ford’s which are extremely Jackie O and rather more chic than my missing ones. Every cloud, eh?

But I shall be removing them briefly to get a good look at Safin on Monday.

Style guru

Posted on May 29, 2008 by Helena

Pink is the new black... Yes, it’s official, I am a style guru. Not only did a member of the Tatler Magazine staff try to steal my red fake croc handbag at my book launch, but I am now being PAID to talk about trends and what motivates women to stay thin, pretty, fashionable etc.

I had an email from a lady at a big advertising agency in New York who had read the US edition of Two Lipsticks inviting me to a dinner discussion in Paris. “As someone who not only spots trends but sets them as well, we are hoping to tap into your insight”.

As well they might. At the time I was reading the email I was in the process of setting a trend I expect you all to follow. I was sitting in my office, naked, on a pink towel, waiting for my fake tan to dry. How trendy is that?

The problem though with being labelled a trend-spotter and setter is that I now have a reputation to live up to. What the hell do I wear to this event? I don’t want the assembled trendies to out-trend me. Oh the pressure. At least I have a new Chanel lip-gloss, bought for me on mother’s day by Rupert.

If all else fails I can wear that and the fake tan and emulate the original imperial fashionista.

Forever Zen

Posted on May 4, 2008 by Helena

In To Hell in High Heels I say that if the book becomes a best-seller I will retire to the Clinique La Prairie in Switzerland. I have changed my mind. I will come to Renew Retreats instead.

We are on day four and all is going swimmingly. The ladies are being constantly pampered, sleeping, chatting, or doing sun-salutes all over the place. Everyone seems incredibly happy and even my friend Carla likes them all, which is unusual for her as she normally loathes everyone. They are a great bunch; a mix of journalists (this being the first one) and real clients who couldn’t be nicer. It’s a little like a house party but with more yoga and massages than most.

I was extremely nervous before they all arrived. In fact I was nervous when they arrived and for the first few hours, but they settled in well (and I became calmer) and apart from signing one of my books to the wrong person I haven’t done anything too stupid. But there were many times when I wondered why on earth I ever thought I could run a spa retreat.

Now, seeing them glowing and relaxed after four days, I feel happy and proud. I am also glowing and relaxed and I have been wondering if it’s possible to live in this zen-like state at all times. I suppose without a cook, a yoga teacher, a beautician and a masseuse it would be tricky. But my hope is that I can take at least some of this feeling with me when I go back to real life tomorrow.

My friend and yogi Anna went to the chemist yesterday and said it felt odd carrying a handbag. Here all we carry are our yoga mats and cups of green tea. We are about to do the morning yoga session in the sun on the lawn. Then it’s time for breakfast and Tina’s talk on anti-ageing and nutrition. Julie my friend and cook will arrive to prepare a delicious lunch. This afternoon we will loll around the lawn in the sun. I feel rather like Emma in the Jane Austen book of the same name who “lived in the world with very little to distress or vex her”. It’s a very nice feeling.

The fuzzy end of the lollipop

Posted on March 3, 2008 by Helena

Sugar Yes more evidence, if any more evidence was needed, that women get what Sugar in the film Some Like it Hot calls “the fuzzy end of the lollipop”.

Rupert was reading a blog today on The Guardian website by a thirty-seven-year-old man who was complaining that he feels old. Yesterday was Rupert’s birthday, he was forty-six, so imagine how irritated he was by this. But he was cheered up by one comment.

“The only solution is younger and younger women,” read the comment. “Follow the French method for calculating her ideal age – half your own plus seven – this makes you just right for a 25 to 26 year-old. Feeling better?”

So where does that leave women? Hanging out with old gits is where it leaves us. According to this method only men over the age of 70 will give me a second look. Great. That’s something to look forward to.

It was Mother’s Day yesterday in England. Here in France it went largely unnoticed but I would like to share two thoughts on mothering with you.

One is a quote by a woman who said: “I was going to be the ideal mother but was too busy bringing up my children.” The other is from Ines de la Fressange, French supermodel and, since her husband’s sudden death a year ago, a single mother. “You may not be the perfect mother,” she told me. “But you are the best mother for your children.”

Tweaks for a better life

Posted on February 22, 2008 by Helena

So the international conspiracy to keep me awake goes on. The perpetrators will stop at nothing. Now they have a gang of highly-trained mice that at 5.30am every morning scuttle back and forth across the roof. It sounds like there are 50 of them racing to get to a big piece of Emmental.

Of course that hour when the rest of the house sleeps (damn them) is horribly lonely. I lie there worrying about everything and anything. This morning I worried about my new spa retreat. ‘What on earth do I know about spa retreats?’ I asked myself as the mice reached the finishing line. ‘Who do I think I am? I have been to plenty of spas, but what the hell do I know?’

Unable to get back to sleep I got out of bed and into the tree pose. This is one of the poses our spa yogi Anna taught us on our dry-run a few days ago. Since then I have found it indispensable. First and foremost when you need calming down this is ideal. Got an email that makes you want to punch your computer? Stand up, lift one leg and balance against the other leg just below your groin. Stretch your arms up and breeeaaaaathe. Stand like this for a few seconds before doing the same on the other side. After that sit down and the email will seem irrelevant. The other thing the tree pose is excellent for is calming the children down.

Yesterday all three of them decided to start a fight (thankfully only with each other) in the supermarket. Did I yell and holler like every other mother in the middle of the school holidays? Nooooo. I did the tree pose. Right there, in the middle of the shop-floor. It sure as hell shut the children up.

So as I was standing there at 5.45 this morning in said tree pose I realised that my spa has already been a success. Among other things I have learnt how to relax when I most need to, I have learnt that eating Wild Alaskan Salmon makes my skin glow and I have learnt how to walk like a supermodel. And that was just after a day and a half. Now what I want to do is share all this and more with other women.

The other good thing about the spa retreat is that there will be no mice there to keep me awake. And even if the international conspiracy comes up with something else, I will be able to outwit it by standing on one leg and breathing serenely.

Good cop, bad cop

Posted on January 22, 2008 by Helena

So Chic! I have just had my first meeting in French. It was a lunch in an Italian restaurant in St Germain with the French publisher of Two Lipsticks and a Lover and the hottest publicist in Paris, hired by the publisher to promote the book.

I was of course terrified. First of all what do you wear to a meeting with two Parisian women? Then there was the question of if I could make myself understood in French or if they would laugh at my pronunciation and non-existant grammar.

My publisher, called Karine, was sweet as you like. Young, pretty, kind, charming, attentive. The publicist was just like one of those perfect French women I write about in the book. She was thin, elegant, dressed in black with perfect red lipstick. I suddenly felt dowdy, although she was kind enough to notice that my top was Emporio Armani (handed down from my aunt in the days when she used to speak to me) and told me I was “tres elegante“.

This did put me at ease to a certain extent, but did not detract from the fact that she was scarily reminiscent of Meryl Streep in The Devil wears Prada. I am sure she is the hottest publicist in Paris, who would dare to say no to her? Not me, that’s for sure. I expected her to say “that’s all” at any moment and dismiss me.

So here I am on the train bound for home with Elle, Marie-Claire, Liberation and Le Monde to read. And I have promised to speak French to my children.

“If you can’t express yourself in March when the book comes out it will be a catastrophe,” she told me.

The reading list I can cope with, but can you imagine the derison from my children as I tell them to pick up their toys or do their homework in French? They will be able to disobey me constantly, telling me they didn’t understand what I was saying. So no change there.

After my good cop, bad cop encounter I had a photo session. I stood on busy Parisian shopping streets, craning my neck to see what bargains I was missing out on, as a photographer took pictures of me for the book jacket. So another fantasy (that of being a model) has become reality – not a bad start to the year.

A tale of two women

Posted on January 6, 2008 by Helena

As Hillary Clinton gets bitter in a televised TV debate with Barack Obama, the singer Amy Winehouse is frolicking on a beach in the Caribbean with her ex-boyfriend. Who do you think does more to further the cause of women?

Hillary

Most would probably say Hillary. She was (and some may say still is) likely to become the first ever female president of the US. She strides around making important speeches and leaves men quaking in her wake. Amy, on the other hand, is a drug addict lunatic with a husband in jail and more tattoos than David Beckham.

My view is that women like Hillary do more damage to women’s causes than men do. She has become worse than a man. She is more aggressive, more strident and totally charmless. Just because you’re in a position of power, there’s no need to give up being a warm and attractive (even sexy) person. Her husband certainly didn’t. Here in France we saw a similar change (although not nearly as bad) in Segolene Royal. In the end Sarko outpolled her among women, as Obama has just done to Hillary in the US.

Amy may be flawed and faithless. But she is pure woman. She is talented and successful and behaving badly. In her song You Know I’m No Good she says “Upstairs in bed with my ex boy, he’s in a place but I can’t get joy”. This may all have changed now.

Amy

But the point is that women are not fooled by a woman trying to be a man. That’s not what we want when we talk about the first female president. We want a first WOMAN president, not some pastiche of a man whom we hate on sight. If Hillary were a touch more like Amy (or even Bill) we would like her a lot more, chinks and all.

Are you a goer?

Posted on December 23, 2007 by Helena

“Are you a goer?” I overheard a man asking at a party the other evening. The man posing the question was my husband. The person he was addressing was my friend and business partner Mary. I agree that with her tight red dress and hair curly as kale she was looking particularly festive, but I did wonder if this question were appropriate. My normal response would have been to flirt outrageously with the best-looking man in the room, but as our kind hosts were gay, all the good-looking men were looking for equally good-looking men, and not wasting so much as a glance in my direction. I resolved to ask Rupert about this comment on the way home.

Party scene “I heard you ask Mary if she was a goer?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I know it looks bad. But there is a perfectly good explanation. I was explaining to her my theory of parties. Parties are made up of two kinds of people: those who want to go home early and those who want to stay late. The problem is, they are normally married to each other, which leads to aggravation. So what I wanted to know from Mary was this: are you a stayer or are you a goer?”

Hmm. Neat explanation. Or perhaps I am getting very French in my suspicions. Here we are all agog at the news of the liaison between Carla Bruni and Sarko. She clearly is a goer. When she decided that she must have Raphael Enthoven, a philosopher, it was of little concern to her that a) he was married and b) she, Carla, was living with Raphael’s father at the time. Along with the usual conquests such as Mick Jagger (while he was married to Jerry Hall) and Eric Clapton, she also dated Francois Fillon, the French prime minister. This is probably not the first occasion that the French president and prime minister have shared the same squeeze, but it’s definitely the first time that the French public have been made aware of it. While we haven’t been at too many parties this season – Rupert and I shared an office lunch – no streamers, no dancing, very little snogging – we have been invited to Christmas Eve with our wine-making friends Jean-Claude and Alexandra in their chateau. Nervous as we are about the police and their breathalysers, I phoned Jean-Claude to ask him what time we should book a taxi for.

I was already quite nervous about this: according to one friend, the French go first to Midnight Mass, then party on afterwards. As a girl who likes to be in bed by ten o’clock at the latest, this is disheartening news. Jean-Claude suggested various times for the taxi, then said:

“It’s all too complicated. You must stay.”

So, it’s official. Rupert and I are both stayers. Although he points out that perhaps it is possible to be a goer and a stayer. I will question him further on this issue. In the meantime Merry Christmas!