The End of the Anglo-Cyprian Relationship

So it’s definitely over with the Anglo-Cyprian, even though it never really started to begin with!
‘Why don’t you come and spend time in my gorgeous 1.5 million villa by the sea?’ she cooed.
‘Why are you trying to impress me?’ I asked.
‘Oops, sorry. Old habits die hard.’
‘So who were you trying to impress before?’
She didn’t reply.

The conversation continues...
‘So what do you do now?’ I asked.
‘Now, I’m talking with you.’
‘I mean work wise’ I said bluntly as if I were giving and interview.
‘We had this discussion before’ she said.
‘We did? Was it asleep? I don’t remember. So what do you do?’
‘I used to own a night club in London…’
‘No now! What do you do now?’ I said getting angry.
‘Yes! Yes! I’m getting to that. Now, I am a property developer sometimes…’
‘Sometimes?’ I asked.
‘Generally I take some time out, go to the gym, get my hair done, get my nails done to look good for you.’ She showed me her nails. She didn’t get them done. She got them overdone. Like over-cooked and burnt stew.

'So we should get together and then if we get along again we should spend time in my house.'

'So basically you're going to audition me?'

'No, not at all...' she started.

'It's not going to work. I don' think our personalities will match. I'm leaving.'

'But...'

And with that, I got up and left her alone to return to her 1.5 million apartment.

But was it 1.5 million Euros, Yen or Turkish Lira? I'll go with the third option!

You gotta love the French

Only the French would print books like this... you gotta love them!

Check out Charles Bremner's blog on the times for more info.
http://timescorrespondents.typepad.com/charles_bremner/2008/07/france-studies.html

DJ Mean!

Earlier on, I mentioned a scary radio DJ on an English-speaking station who should have been a bouncer, or a prison-guard or a dictator. What’s more the DJ was a woman and scared me senseless over the air-waves!
I was driving to work, half-asleep and bored and was not paying attention until she began talking about Sienna Miller and the man she dumped. His name began with I. I believe. As she explained the situation her tone not only got more aggressive but she really began insulting him, all this at 6.30 in the morning. Her rant went a little like this.

‘So Sienna Miller dumped you. And you wrote a song about it! Get over it mate! Don’t put your song on an album! No one wants to know. She’s a good-looking bird. You’re an ugly bloke. You had your fun. Get over it. Don’t be a loser! You’re an ugly man, get yourself an ugly bird, one that you deserve and shut your whining… we are not interested… who cares… you minger.’

By the time she finished a full 45 minutes had passed and I was practically in tears! Imagine how the guy would have felt if he had heard this!

And then she began telling us about her band (that had like one and a half songs) and needed a name! It was a five-piece and she was the only woman (no surprise there). I can hardly see her wanting to join the Pussycat Dolls. Anyway so our DJ-friend was telling the world about her band and its member, of which the other guys all had names such as Biff, Eyeball, Skinny Jake and Graham! And she was asking the listeners to come up with a name for her band. She continued…

‘So we have a few names. Scuzz-Bucket, Burnt Skin and Reservoir Dogs. So please call through if you come up with anything!’
I like Reservoir Dogs. If they battled it out with the Pussycat Dolls, who do you think would win?
I want to call her… but I’m too scared. What if she dumped me as a listener?

Sountrack to the Summer?

With the summer now in full swing, it is evident that you need a good soundtrack. Especially if you live and work in Nicosia which is full of traffic 24/7, which means you need to have some music in your car! Now in my car, I have a tape player (retro) and a radio that only has frequencies between 7.00-8.90 I think, or something like that. Well you get the message. The reason for this is that, although my car is German, it has come via Japan. And so is a Japanese radio. When I first heard the term ‘Japanese Radio’ I thought of funky Japanese pop by bands with big hair o calm tranquil mountain music you would play on Mount Fiji or the Kill Bill soundtrack. Of course it is nothing like this!

But no… Instead I have a tape player which I use to hear Hebrew phrases from a cassette (even more retro) in order not to forget the language or I listen to whatever stations I can find between 7-something and 8-something. Oh joy!

In Nicosia half the stations are in Turkish. I have listen to so much of it now that I know the singers so well I could easily get a job as a TV presenter on MTV Turkey!
In Limassol I get BFBS with the scariest DJ (another blog post)
And on the highway, I get my favourite! Two or three Israeli radio stations! My favourite station is ‘Boker Tov Israel’, which mean ‘Good Morning Israel’. I listen to it intently not that I understand much except some words like ‘but’ ‘shalom’ and ‘Israel.’ But I pretend to myself (alone in the car) that I am getting the low down of the news in Israel.

Love is patient, love is kind

As this blog is so superficial, I decided to add a little reality to it. Here, below, is one of my favourite excerpt from the Bible. I think it's beautiful!

Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.I
t is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
I Corinthians 13:4-8

Les Francais? Ils ne sont pas romantique? C'est pas vrai!

So I went on a date the other week. She deserved a 9 out of 10. I would have given her a perfect 10, but that number is reserved for the mother of my children. So a 9 is a very respectable number indeed. My date was French, from the (14eme arrondissement de Paris), a year or two (or three) older than me, she worked in financne, was sporty but not in a manish way and liked wine. It was my dream date. She was smart, confident … I was planning to propose to her half-way through our second drink.

Except I didn’t. Not because I got cold feet. Not because we didn’t get started on our second drink but because she didn’t want a relationship.
‘No. I’m not romantic’ she said to me, sipping her drink.
‘Qu’est-ce que c’est?’ I said half-joking, half-shocked. ‘You’re French and you are not romantic?
She giggled and shook her head. ‘Non. Je suis 0% romantique’ and drank some more red wine.
Throughout the night she told me about her four relationships, with… all successful to an extend but none as successful as her career. And then she decontrcucted them to me as if giving a presentation, before concluding with the reasons why she did not want a relationship. Ending with her telling me again ‘not romantic.’

If she was more perceptibe she would have seen that, I myself was romantic. Taking her to this restaurant, ordering the best food and wine, looking like a gentleman rather than a slob in a tie, and speaking French. You try going over your irregular French verbs in the pluperfect tense, before going on a date and tell me that that is not romantic! C’est pas vrai!

And the night continued…
‘I had a good time tonight’ she began. ‘Would you like to…’ she said as we were leaving the restaurant.
I wanted to… but I declined. I couldn’t believe that I decline such an amazing offer from such a gorgeous woman. But why bother? Why become more involved, even if for an evening, with someone who is not interested in a relationship and then yearn for them. Better, decline, keep your value (I am no piece of mean after all) and retain that elusive image of yourself. And the fact that you made yourself unavailable only increase their interest in you and your stocks soar! She works in finance, surely she would know that.

She was upset, but had that French devil-may-care attitude. She pouted, smiled, and kissed me on the check. If anything I would have wanted to keep her in my life, as a friend. Better as a confidant than anything passing. And women like that don’t come along often. But neither do I. And so we had to part way, wondering what could have been in b –her, and in life – me.
Moral of the story. Even if you have a conversation with a French woman, about French wine… in French, it doesn’t mean they’ll like you for anything more than the role they want you to play.

The search for the one… continues…

10 things they never tell you about living in Nicosia

1- There is no sea or beach… but a Mall next to a forest!

2- They say the traffic is so bad that the word Nicosia has become synonymous to the word traffic. When you say ‘I’m in Nicosia’ what you really mean is; ‘I’m in traffic.’

3- Shopping is the sport of Nicosia, the way sunbathing is the main sport in Limassol

4- The occupation is more of an abstract idea in Limassol, whereas in Nicosia, you are actually in the divided city and politics is everywhere.

5- The Turkish flag on Pentadaktylos, is a nuisance and an offence but I use to it orientate myself in the city, as I always get lost.

6- Nicosia has better coffee shops than anywhere in Cyprus

7- There are 8 areas to Nicosia the City: Nicosia, Strovolo, Anglanzia, Engomi, Agios Dometios, Lakatamia, Latsia and Geri. But did you know that the Presidential Palace is geographically in Strovolo but placed in the Nicosia Municipality. Strovolo is actually larger than Nicosia itself and resembles a jungle.

8- The clubs in Nicosia are in apartment blocks. Floor 2: Lawyer’s office. Floor 3: Versus!

9- In Limassol we have the zoo filled with animals. In Nicosia we have Zoo filled with party-animals!

10- It’s our nation’s capital, and wherever you are from, even Limassol like me… you should respect it! After all, where else can you find a city filled with corrupt politicians and civil servants?