Cateyes, Venice, USA

Happy 2008 ladies.

I know, I’ve been a bit slack lately and haven’t given an update for a while. What is it that John Lennon once said? “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” Somewhere buried in those words is my apology for being away for so long.

One thing I haven’t given up on though is training for the LA marathon. I’m still pounding the streets of Marina Del Rey, Venice and Santa Monica – on my own and with my running group. It’s fun. It’s amazing how much a group of women can discuss while running say…um…20 miles.




You know you have a problem when you’re hanging out of your kitchen cupboard, teaspoon in one hand, jar of Nutella in the other, licking the silverware like it’s a lollypop dipped in chocolate. You don’t even have the decency to sit down to pretend you’re having a civilised snack! You’re just scooping. It’s a ritual. Like a gravedigger shovelling dirt you do it without thinking.

I’m anaemic. No, I’m not a hypochondriac – which is what my manager said I was today. I’m genuinely tired, pooped, exhausted, cream-crackered, bloody knackered!!! I’m too tired to eat properly. Too tired to go the gym, to socialise or watch my favourite TV shows. Hell, I’m too tired for sex!

Let’s put this into perspective. My love life – or lack there of – has been as barren as the Sahara recently. (There are guys out there who like me but I’m not into them. You know how that goes…) And this week I’m being pursued by someone I ‘dated’ ever so briefly at the beginning of the year and I’ve had to turn him down not once but TWICE!!!! TWICE because I’m too tired to even think about doing an Olivia Newton-John and getting physical with anyone.

My boy, My boyMy boy, My boyMy boy, My boy
God broke the mould when he created Elvis Aaron Presley. (Well, not exactly. Elvis had a twin brother, Jesse Garon, who was stillborn. But, I digress.)
He had everything a rock star is meant to have before the term was even created. He broke the rules by being a white boy who sang ‘race’ music. He horrified middle-class parents up and down America by gyrating his hips and making teenage girls sweat.
Why, it wasn’t civilised. Good Christian boys just didn’t do…that.


OK, I know what people say about him. And I have to admit I’ve cracked a few jokes myself. But tonight, David Beckham you made Marissa Danielle Charles proud.
Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t been sucked into the madness. I, like many of you I’m sure, am fed up of hearing about ‘the Beckhams’. It’s ‘David and Victoria this’ and ‘Posh Spice that’. You can’t get away from them!
If it’s bad for you, trust me, it’s ten times worse for me. You see, I’m a journalist. To most people I’m the worst kind of journalist. Yes, I’m a member of the gutter press, aka known as the ‘tabloid news’.

Marissa, Marisse, M, Ris, Rissa, Ressa, Maris or Mar are all names that I’ve been called. I answer to all of them. But, until I was about seven people who met me for the first time would call me ‘cateyes’.
You see, I’ve got green eyes. That’s not unusual I know. But because I’m a black girl it was always noted. Ever since childhood I’ve had people pick through my family tree, questioning me, trying to find out where I got these green eyes from. The answer is I don’t know.
What I do know is this; for the first time in 31 years I feel comfortable with the nickname. I think that’s because I’m getting to a place where I’m comfortable with myself.