Sex, lies and rinsing guys

21st of July

That’s so unfair! Why did I have to bump into her today of all days! Although, to be fair, no make up, hair in a bun and sweaty track suit bottoms is my trademark look most days. So I doubt tomorrow would be any different. Lydia. We used to work together about four years ago. There was another girl with us Tammy. We were three partners in crime: lunchtime gossip, nights out, etc. We were paid monthly, which basically meant a weekend of fun and shopping and then teeth on the shelf. Once finishing our 2d bottle of JD we came to the conclusion that what we were paid (national minimum +1£ for every hour if you were on time) was simply not enough for any decent life. Stupid me decided to ask for overtime. The girls were a lot more creative.
Tammy suddenly realised that she was completely wasting her life in that place. So in the space of a week she handed in her notice, moved in with her on and off boyfriend and enrolled at a business course at college, for which his mum paid.
And Lydia turned her attention to amazon, Facebook, BBM and twitter. And became a rinser. A rinser is usually a young woman who gets expensive gifts or money from rich men in return for her precious company. Sex is never on the cards. Most of the time the girls don’t even meet the men they rinse, it’s all done via Internet. So, basically, all you do is set up a profile on one of the social networks. Look desirable, sound sweet. Go to Harrods, take a pic of yourself wearing Jimmy Choo’s, post it with something like: “Oh, they were so lovely, what a pity, I couldn’t afford them. Some other lucky girl will have them!” Cross your fingers and hopefully the postman will be ringing your bell soon. Don’t forget to create some wish lists (e.g. amazon) and link them to your profile. (You don’t want to get something in the wrong size or colour. They are only men at the end of the day).
I remember telling both girls not to do it. It was morally wrong to allow poor mother to pay for your education when there was 99.9% chance you were not going to be with her son. And you knew it. And that asking men for money or gifts was just another form of prostitution. It’s like cheating. You don’t have to have sex to cheat. A kiss, a lunch which you are going to keep secret from your partner is already wrong. I told them it was not worth it, and that they would regret it in the future.
That was four years ago. Soon after that my visa expired and I had to leave my job. Gradually we lost touch. Until today. Walking home through Regent’s park I bumped into Lydia. She looked like something from the cover of a magazine. Long blond hair, new breasts, little black dress. She was lovely but her cage fighter of a boyfriend did give me a once over. He probably found it hard to understand that somebody like her could have ever crossed paths with somebody like me. And Tammy? She graduated, dumped her boyfriend and now works as a manager for a building company. And she never repaid the money.
So was I wrong? May be. Am I jealous? Yes, I am. Do I regret not doing the same. No. There’s nothing stopping me really. But, do I actually want some strange old men who clearly have a problem to buy me gifts? Do I want them to look at my half naked pictures? Usually I feel like throwing up every time a customer at work or one of my colleagues calls me darling or baby, etc. I believe that words should mean something and this is how you address somebody you have any sort of affection for, not strangers. Would I feel better about it if there was some financial reward. Or worse?
Call me stupid but I still believe that if something is offered it does not mean that it’s ok to take it. One day I will have a family. How will i feel if my children find out about my past? Ashamed, most likely. And my husband? Will he respect me? And what’s even more frightening having gotten used to such expensive lifestyle will I ever be able to give it up? Life is fair in its funny way. We all make our choices and somewhere down the line we all will have to face the music


Learning professional ballet

4th of July
I’m learning ballet. My teacher is one of my best friends. Her name is Lynn. We met about a year ago. Initially she was a friend of a friend and I paid her to take a professional ballet class and tell me the names of all the moves, so that I can learn them (I’ve got a DVD) and do the class myself later. What for? Well, I do have a reason and it is absolutely yam yam.
She liked my plan, but then she asked what level ballet classes I usually did. The answer that i didn’t do ballet was obviously the wrong one . I think I should say that Lynne does not have a sense of humour. When any normal person would just laugh, she instead goes all pale and quiet. But I didn’t know her very well back then, so I thought she was going to faint or sth and I went to guide her to the sofa. At that moment she clocked pointe shoes on my feet. I’m not quite sure as to what happened next. Only she jumped up and darted forward, but tripped over the hole in carpet and fell. It all happened so quickly that I didn’t even have a chance to react. But my neighbour’s cat who until then was peacefully sleeping on top of the wardrobe did. He probably thought that dogs were taking over and he had only seconds to save his life and that gave him the right to completely disregard the open box of washing powder and lovely wine glasses which were on top of the same wardrobe. In seconds my tiny room became something between Winter Wonderland ( washing powder) and minefield (broken glass). “Are you sure he’s not gay” – came the voice from the floor. After that we simply had to become best friends.
Professional ballet is actually quite hard. I’m ok with the steps but all the extensions definitely ruin my fun. You see you have to be very flexible which I’m not. And the only answer to that is years and years of training. I even went to Holland and Barrett and asked for a supplement to improve flexibility. But apparently such does not exist. Although eventually I did manage to come up with some cheats. They will not get you down into splits but may make the experience less painful.

1. Take a hot bath with Epsom salt, which is known to relax the muscles. It is also rumoured to concur cellulite, so it’s a win win.

2. Fish oils and magnesium supplements. There is a magnesium oil spray (Holland and Barrett) which is absolutely brilliant. But steel yourself. If your body is lacking this mineral you’ll be dancing like on hot coals.

3. Drink this: apple cider vinegar and honey mixed with hot water. Tastes horrible, but desperate times – desperate measures

4. Apply Deep Heat cream before class.

5. Practicing splits on the carpet, put two thin books underneath your feet and slide down.

Ballet time. It’s Cabriole today. Absolutely yam yam.

I’m paying the price every single day

It is the 3d of July 2014 and I’m on my way to work. I’m very scared. My mum has cancer and it’s bad. Will I lose her?
I’m not the daughter she would like to have and I’m not the daughter she deserves. I’m a fat coach potato with two missing teeth. Even though I went to uni I don’t have a career. Instead I make coffees and wait the tables. So much for expensive education and Chanel make up. Kids, lay off your parents. Latest trainers, phones, bags, etc will not get you very far. School will not last forever. There is an end to your suffering. Learn to work your asses off and make the best of what you’ve got. Otherwise you are risking to turn into me. Because in a strange way Life is fair. You do know that more often than not the most popular (=most horrible) girls at school end up with three kids by three different men by the time they are twenty? And you can take my word for it that scrubbing someone’s vomit off the floor is not much fun either. So, don’t be so shallow and work. So shall I. My stop.

Unemployment through the eyes of an illegal immigrant


, ,

Staff required
In capital letters
Fluent English
Training provided
Please, please,
It’s been three weeks by now
Double shifts
And I’ve got lessons

I know they don’t pay much
It’s only national minimum
Still, it’s a start
It will let you get by
Sure better than to sit on benefits

Red haired girl is outside again
So, mother’s pleas fell on deaf ears
17- can’t bring her home by force
Yet, too young to make grown up decisions

I usually see her at the end of my shit
When she comes to use the bathroom
She washes her hair,
Brushes her teeth
If I’m not busy
I talk to her then

I ask her how much she gets per night
She shrugs her shoulders,
Says it’s always different
If it’s quiet – about £35
Friday and Saturday can be £150

– What do you spend the money on?
– Food and fags, shelter, some clothes
– Why did you leave? Alone, on the streets…
– I’m not alone. I’ve got a boyfriend

Her boyfriend I know
Last week he came
Brought three iPhones, one blackberry
He used to sit on the streets all day
Now picks pockets, deals drugs
Sure, better than family

I’m not very nice,
Sometimes even rude
Take your food, pay and go
Don’t tell me it’s raining
Your pleas will leave me unmoved
Not paid overtime
If it’s too cold
Stay at home then

But even my cold, tired heart
Went out to the weeping woman
– Darling, please, come home
– I will if you by me iPad
– We don’t have the money…
– Go away then

So she did as her eldest of three
Chose to sit on the streets
Asking strangers for pennies
£150 a night – not bad
It’s what I get per week
I am an illegal immigrant

Staff required
In capital letters
Fluent English
Training provided
Where are you, Unemployment?
It’s been three weeks now
Double shifts
And I’ve got lessons

Illegal #immigrant defending Theresa May


, , ,

To whom it may concern

Hello. I’m sorry, I can’t tell you my real name, will only introduce myself as Storyteller. Being in the country illegally I don’t have it easy. I have a £4.25 ph job which I can loose any day and my room is so small that if I sit on the bed and lean forward I can actually touch the opposite wall with my head. Besides, despite the fact that I have two degrees and had never done anyone any harm I still have to answer to people who spell “coke” as “cock” and consider me spoilt goods only because I’m a white girl in a short skirt and don’t pray.

Considering all of the above you must understand that there isn’t much love lost between me and the Home Office, so I’m quite an unlikely defender of Theresa May, but some of you are being beyond unfair.
She isn’t trying to make Brits stateless. The amendment is aimed at terrorist suspects.

They are not protesters or rebels. Protesters are people with posters and rebels oppose the government in an open conflict. Terrorist suspects are people with bombs, money and extreme views. Their intended victims are innocent people going about their everyday lives.

As a person living below radar I see and hear things you won’t. I meet people with whom my path would have never crossed otherwise.

They don’t plan to bomb the country, don’t get me wrong. But they still scare me. Why? Because they don’t question things. They don’t think. They just quote the Quran.

For example, they oppose gay relationships because in the Quran it is said not to take your partner from behind. It’s not allowed. I asked if blow job was allowed. The person looked at me blankly and then said he was going to ask the sheikh. Apparently it’s not. Then I asked what happens if his son is gay. He said he’d kill him

With people I know it’s either black or white, there’s no room for interpretation. You are either with us or against us. Period. And I’m not attacking religion, I’m just trying to give you an insight into different mentality. Such people can go very far. Sometimes you have to be tough. Being nice and understanding may get you six feet under.

A person does not wake up one morning a terror suspect. Such suspicions do not materialise out of thin air. It’s usually a result of months of surveillance. And a group of people peacefully discussing religion will never be considered terrorists.

As for the law abiding citizens, you have absolutely nothing to fear. I seriously doubt Home Office will waste time and money trying to make you stateless.

So, please, let’s be sensible and stop screaming Human Rights at every opportunity.

As for Theresa May, she’s a politician and not Father Christmas. She’s not supposed to be all that cuddly and adorable




“Go home” van



I came alone
I knew no one
Had no place to stay
A teenage girl
An only child
In love
No common sense,
Just dreams of fame

I grew up fast.
How could I not?
I worked for twenty quid a day
Two plates I found so hard to wash at home?
Turned into hundreds,
Plus cups, forks, trays…
I learned to cook and
Mop the floors
Sold papers in the rain.
Took someone else’s kids to school,
Slept on the floor…
All that –
Just so that I could stay

But worst of all was silent phone
And quiet, empty evenings
I shared rooms but not my thoughts
No one had time to hear them
They saved the money
I did not
Spent all on dancing lessons
They blamed the country
I loved it
We didn’t get on
They left me talk to kettles

And friends I made were hard to keep
Nights out, lunches
I could never make it
They went on holidays
I couldn’t afford
They felt neglected,
Left me

But that was many years ago
I am in my late twenties
It’s only coming back because
I saw a van last night
Its message left me breathless
“Go home” it said or “face arrest”
Like this in black and white, but madam
What if your life is different shades of grey?
And doesn’t fit the pattern?

I’m in the wrong and probably should,
Just not today
Because tomorrow
I said I’d help a friend with tax return
She’s done so much for me
I’d never let her down.
How could I?

Straight after that at 3pm
I’m taking train to Ealing Broadway
Got partner class and pointe that day,
Then company
I wrote the script
We are rehearsing.

I also need the weekend still
There’re some people
That confuse me
I didn’t think they knew my name
But seems they do
It’s quite amusing
“Forgot your place, dumb little girl?”
I heard female voice on my left
“Don’t bother. You want the same man”
Someone laughed before I could react
And here I am
A smile in place
But trembling all from head to toe
I never said
How did they guess?
What do I do now?
He can never know

I also can’t just quit and go
My job, although trust me
That would be sweet
To take my bag,
Walk out the door
Forget it all like awful dream
But if not me
Then someone else
The greedy bastard never closes
The other girl can’t work my shift
Every morning she’s in college

They don’t pay much
It will take time
Before they find another victim
A week or two, may be a month
Can I have this long?
Please, madam
Then I will see him

One more hello
And kiss good bye
So innocent and simple
Some people are so wonderful
You’ll sell your soul
Just to be near them

“You’ll still be here, right?” He asked
“I’ll try” I said
His question left me breathless
Stupid patterns
“Go home”, “Get out”, “Criminal”
In black and white
You screamed at me
But I’m home already, madam





Spread your wings
Flew away
Good luck and see you later
A girl in a silk dress
Liberty is her name
There was time I
Couldn’t keep her
So I sent her away

Liberty – a song, a tale, a living
Liberty – the end and new beginning
Liberty – past lost its grip
Liberty – come back to me

Starry night
Silent moon
I’ll sing you a tune
I didn’t mean forever
When I closed the door
But September wind
It broke my heart
Didn’t want you no more


When I was twelve I lost somebody I loved very much in a car crash. There were lots of unanswered questions and people started saying that it wasn’t an accident. I vowed to find out the truth. Only I so desperately wanted it all to be a mistake that I let myself first hope and then believe that it really was one. I convinced myself that the crash was staged; the people were alive and would come back. And I found proof. The thing is when you look really really hard for something, when it’s on your mind both when you go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning, eventually you will find it. It became my prison.

I always had pocket money. For months I’d been saving for a pair of white wedged trainers and then one day I did something rather stupid. Don’t even know how such strange idea came into my head, but I took all the money, went out and bought a big white teddy bear. I left it outside my front door for my mum to find. I claimed I had no idea how it got there but dropped hints that only one person could have bought it for me. I even told my friends. I still don’t know if they believed me or just chose not to say anything because they loved me. I wasn’t crazy and I didn’t mean any harm. I just thought that if I pretended she was still alive and others believed she was still alive, she’d still be a part of my life and not just history. There were many more toys like that. Years later I gave them all to charity. Even now I still can’t say with absolute clarity that it was an accident, but the police say it was. And maybe we should leave it at that. Just wish that everyone finally stopped talking.


Illegal immigrant’s blues

With honest labour, dear Sir
How much a girl can earn?
Enough to pay her kip, my Lord
But not enough for her to stay.
It’s not enough to see friends smile,
It’s not enough to walk the streets.
It’s not enough for peace of mind…
A criminal!
I’m playing game if hide and seek.

And if you catch me

Will you, please, find me a cell big and square
Where I can stretch my dancing feet?
I’ll dance for yours and Her Majesty’s pleasure.
I’ll sing a song –
My heart wrote words to it

I scrub the floors for a dime
You wouldn’t want my job
For porn I watch I pay myself
And wouldn’t dream of second home.
I give my sets to older ladies,
Have never begged, don’t loot the streets
Have never claimed a thing in benefits
Still criminal!
I’m playing game of hide and seek

And when you catch me

Will you, please, find me a cell big and square
Where I can stretch my dancing feet?
I’ll dance for yours and Her Majesty’s pleasure.
I’ll sing a song –
My heart wrote words to it

So, dear Sir or Madam
Will you, please, listen to my song
I never meant to be a criminal
My heart called me away from home





Time to sleep
I’ll wake up early tomorrow
I’m too tired
So baby goodnight
I’ll be strong
I’ll be calm
I’ll be better tomorrow
Tonight I’m in love
And I will fall asleep in love

Time to sleep
It will be new day tomorrow
I’ll let you go
But now goodnight
I’ll pretend you’re mine
There’s still time till tomorrow
Tonight I’m in love
And I will fall asleep in love

Tomorrow will be time to forget you
Tomorrow I will fall out of love
Tomorrow you will leave
And I will let you
Tomorrow will be time for good bye
Tomorrow will be time for awkward silence
But tomorrow is eight lives away
Tomorrow we’ll exchange timid smiles
Tomorrow baby
But it’s still today

Time to sleep
It will be new life tomorrow
I’m too tired
So baby goodnight
I’ll be strong , I’ll be calm
I’ll be better tomorrow
Tonight I’m in love
And I will fall asleep in love

We’ve been together for three years. He was my first serious boyfriend, although looking back I must admit that we were more like a pair of teenagers let loose. We’d sleep till noon, have pizza for breakfast and ice cream and wine for lunch. Too lazy to do the laundry at the end of each week we’d buy new sheets and throw away the old ones. Same went for socks, tights and other items which were not too expensive to replace. And we partied a lot. For him it was a way of life, for me – something new. I didn’t know about the drugs at first. He never smoked in front of me and never offered anything to me either. Besides, he wasn’t a skeleton with greasy hair. He had lots of friends and was fun to be around. So at first drugs made him even more exciting. But then I realized I loved him and it changed everything. It made me scared. What if he overdosed? What if he got drunk behind the wheel? What if he passed out in his own vomit and suffocated? What if he mixed drugs and alcohol and his heart gave out? The list went on and on. Twice he went into rehab but the result was only temporary.

Once we had a rare night in. I made dinner and he was supposed to do the washing up. The evening was so ordinary and so absolutely lovely. After we’d eaten I went into the lounge and was trying to find something on the telly when I heard him call me back. And there he was my boyfriend. His hand palm down on the table, knife sticking out of it. And he seemed extremely pleased with himself. In the next twenty minutes as I rang 999 and was trying to explain that my boyfriend pinned himself to the table for absolutely no reason and was quite happy that way, I realised something. I wasn’t his girlfriend any more. I was his mother, his minder, big sister, best friend, but not his girlfriend. And I simply couldn’t see a man in him either.

I wrote this song when I made a decision to leave, even though I still loved him.

Funny mood




Funny mood

Funny mood, midnight time
Stubborn hope, funny life
Funny choice, one way road
Puppy love slowed my growth
Her voice will keep me company
And I’m not so afraid
Cold weather will make me hurry
So I won’t be late
Left behind quiet home
To walk alone in the rain
Do we live where belong?
How did I end this way?
Funny colours, shades of blue
Baby’s eyes – so beautiful
Got in them a hint of green
Can’t resist come loss or win
Long gone my precious sweet sixteen
When I knew you’d be mine
Alone I’m left to roam the streets
Are you out tonight?
Left behind quiet home
To walk alone in the rain
Do we live where belong?
How did I end this way?

It was my flatmate’s 30th birthday and instead of throwing a party his girlfriend bought tickets for everybody to see Chicago. Only they choose the day when I had to work till eight, and the musical started at 8.15. I didn’t mind not going, but they called me ungrateful, said that I should either swap my shift or phone in sick. I got angry and stormed out. Stupidly went for a late night walk around Lewisham wearing a short skirt. I intended to have a couple of drinks, but had no ID and they threw me out. I had no choice but to get some take away and go home. On my way back a man started talking to me. He seemed harmless but he wasn’t. Luckily I managed to run away. Got home barefoot, with blood all over my top and leaves in my hair. My roommate and her boyfriend were in the corridor saying good bye. They saw me but didn’t say anything. I quickly went into the bathroom. By the time I managed to convince myself that everything was fine and no damage had been done the house was quiet. Everyone was asleep. The following morning my flatmates asked me why I scattered my make up all over the driveway when the dustbins were just round the corner.

That year they decided to spend New Year’s Eve at home. I was more than welcome, but I simply couldn’t stay. So I bought a ridiculously expensive dress and lied that I had tickets to see Elton John. Outside there were so many people, all going to Embankment to watch fireworks. And it seemed I was the only one on my own. It was very cold and even rained for a bit, and I had to work the following morning. But the fireworks were still wonderful . And as the clock struck twelve I promised myself that next year I would have real friends.