Friday, November 29


“Dear Margot, I trust this message finds you in good health and happiness. My book on early capitalism has recently been published and is very successful. I’m still working as a professor in Vienna, something I never expected and am quite pleased with. My wife and I recently made a trip to the Canary Islands, where we rented a small cottage near the beach. It gave me time to start a new book, work on my lectures, and prepare a presentation on the early trading days of tea, which I will give next week in Norway. My wife and my publisher are very enthusiastic about my new projects, and life in Vienna sort of feels natural. I recently bought a huge villa close to my old university, which will give us the opportunity to meet in private, and I also look forward to retiring there. I feel very comfortable with you, Margot, and I don’t just say this to anyone. I do hope your feelings for me are equally passionate as my feelings for you. Since I will give a lecture on the Rise of Western Capitalism on Friday, I was hoping you could meet me at 9.00 am for a coffee. Unfortunately I will not have time for lunch or dinner, since I am meeting some female students from Amsterdam, who seem very interested in my views on early Capitalism. Being an important professor is not always easy, and very demanding, especially since I travel so much. Well, Margot, I think of you often and send you love, hugs and kisses. Without further notice I assume we will see each other for coffee on Friday at 9.00. Kisses and more kisses, The Very Important Professor.” At 9.00 on a random Friday someone was having coffee alone.

Saturday, November 23


A few months ago I went out with David, a friend of a friend of a friend. David was handsome and Irish, born in Dublin, but was now living here for work. We went out for a drink and talked about books, movies and life in general. I must say there was something about David, a mixture of arrogance and pride which made him almost irresistible.
He asked if I liked Southern Comfort, and kept on buying me huge glasses, as if more alcohol would set me free. When it was time to go home he told me that he had ‘a special friend’, an interior designer who was currently living in London, he was still very much in love with her. He told me that if I looked for peace and stability (“like any woman,” he added) I would never find it with him. After a few more glasses of Southern Comfort he admitted his true feelings: “Margot, darling, I’d like to give you a good f*ck, I’d like to feel your wet pussy, and I’d love to come all over you.”  
I left the bar by myself, feeling drunk and confused, not sure what to reply. His accent had been charming. And you can’t say he wasn't clear.

Sunday, November 17


On Friday I went to visit a new gym, located above our local supermarket. Visiting this gym was something I had been planning to do for a while, especially since I’d been feeling slightly out of shape. Inside the gym a tall young man was standing behind a large counter. He was wearing blue shorts and a white T-shirt, an outfit which was supposed to be trendy, and introduced himself as Jean-Pierre. “So your name is Margot?” he asked gently, while looking at my breasts. Jean-Pierre had a small beard, the kind of beard which used to be fashionable, but was now considered mainstream. In any case it didn’t do much for his face. He gave me a tour of their venue, perhaps hoping I would sign up straight away. Upstairs was a room full of treadmills and stationary bicycles. People were cycling and sweating in front of a large television screen. I wondered why they didn’t prefer to cycle outdoors, where the miles they made would actually get them somewhere. When I left Jean-Marc I imagined myself biking aimlessly in the rain.

Friday, November 8


Ever since the book market crashed, it seems to be fashionable to write about doing something special during a year. These books are almost like reality shows, they’re true stories and apparently appeal to what one wants to read. There is a book called ‘The Year of Living Biblically’ and ‘The Year of Saying Yes’, about a woman who says yes to anyone and anything. I bought the book ‘The Year of Living Biblically’ but haven’t finished reading it yet. It seems to be mainly about strange diets and facial hair. As for The Year of Saying Yes: more people have done this, so I thought about writing ‘The Year of saying No’, but something tells me it will mainly take place inside the house. There’s a book about living without the internet for a year, and how amazing and old-fashioned it is to write real letters using envelopes. Then there’s blogger Julie Powell, who cooked all of Julia’s Childs recipes during a year, which turned into a movie starring Meryl Streep. So I’m contemplating what to do next year. Since my family wants me to find a husband, it could be the year of dating older men. Or maybe they should be younger, I haven’t decided that yet.

Friday, November 1


Yesterday I had lunch with a friend, who took me to a brand new fancy restaurant. I didn't expect to go anywhere fancy, so I entered the restaurant wearing sneakers and jeans, and carrying a huge yellow shopping bag.
The bag contained four tins of cat food and a blue hat. I tried to walk like owning a huge yellow shopping bag was very trendy and fashionable, soon big department stores would be selling them at exorbitant prices, I was the first person to introduce this fashion to the ignorant crowd. Luckily I wasn't wearing the hat. My friend ordered a French club sandwich, I ordered risotto with poached eggs, spinach and mushrooms, all covered in a sauce of wine. We talked about my cat, who had bladder inflammation, the joys of work and commuting, trips we were planning to make but hadn't made yet, a gift she recently received. When I left the restaurant I felt slightly tipsy. The risotto had done the trick.