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Posts tagged letting the crazy out

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bikini-1
Bikinis are tricky things aren’t they?
Naked in public, essentially, is what we’re looking at here. So what you’re after is something that will give you the confidence to carry that off without giving attention to the voice in your head that tells you you are in a nightmare where you’ve lost all your clothes. A bit like the one when you’re about to step on stage but you don’t know your lines. Or you’re trying to run but the pavement is made of sticky toffee.
So when you find that one, the one that makes you feel that everything is alright. Maybe even a little bit better than alright. That jumping around and actual swimming and, like, a real life good time would be possible in this garment, then hold on to it.
Tell it that you love and treat it right. Never let it go. It is, indeed, a true and fine friend.

Now stop your worrying and get in the pool.

Bikini by Melissa Odabash

targets-1
I am not, I feel I should make clear right from the beginning, pro gun.
I do not think that guns are things that people should have in their houses. I do not think that Oscar Pistorius would have done so much damage (allegedly) if he had only had shouting and throwing things at his disposal. I do think that the idea of arming teachers so that they can protect themselves against potential crazed gunmen in schools is the most ridiculous idea on the planet. Once we start legislating for the loony minority we’ve all lost the plot.
But, this aside, I found myself this morning, staring down the barrel of a rifle and learning to line up my sights on a paper target with tiny numbers on. This, you understand, in the pursuit of happiness. It’s a bit cloudy at the hotel today so a group of us had gathered for a lesson and a little bit of friendly competition with some weapons. As you do. Now really, these are just air rifles but still, it’s quite an intimidating thing to be holding.
Bang.
Good, says the instructor, come down a bit and to the right. He’s obviously assuming I have some sort of control over what I’m doing.
Bang.
Again again.
Bang.
Bang.
Four shots and the card comes back, 29 points puts me in second place and look, I went through the same whole twice. Consistency! Hmmmm, what’s that stirring inside me? Aha, competitive spirit, hello my old friend.
It is the second round and the target is much, much smaller. My temporary excitement about being in second place has long been blown out of the water by much higher scores but still, I’m keen for my next go. Five targets on the square, the instructor calls “Top right” as the one to aim for. Top right? That’s minute. Two shots.
Bang. I’m getting used to the kick back, leaning in more with my shoulder. I am, as they say, “styling it out” rather nicely I feel.
Bang. Bullseye. I’m not even joking. “Professional” says the instructor, his voice heavy with Spanish accent and big brotherish teasing.

Yeah baby, that’s me, fashion sniper. Where do I get me one of these?

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Today has been fun. Today has involved driving an open topped white Saab slightly inappropriately (stay right! stay right!) around a small warm island and laughing a lot. Today was my kind of day.
One of the places we visited was César Manrique’s cactus garden. I am a longtime admirer of Manrique, I love his sense of scale and drama. I do love me some drama. His use of natural light in his home, later made into a Foundation to showcase his work and art collection, is incredible. He made a James Bond lair in a rock and theres just no arguing with that type of genius.
His cactus garden, created in an old quarry, has terraced sides, like an amphitheatre. Inside the amphitheatre, cacti gladiators, the badasses of the plant world, battle with each other for status while bonkers playful elements like that face waterfall up there, show that really, he was just a guy who liked to have fun.
I bet he would have liked my Saab. Now, I’m on the left, right?

Postcard-1

Apologies. I have entirely absented myself, in a Jeffrey Bernard is unwell type fashion, from this site for a whole week. I have, in the words of Withnail, gone on holiday by mistake.

I don’t mean I didn’t know I was going on holiday. I wasn’t kidnapped and bundled into a van with only a large tube of Ambre Solaire for company. I packed a bag, got on a plane, used coins that felt like not real money to pay for a car that felt like an Inception style reflection to get to a hotel, I knew I was coming. I know I’m here. What I wasn’t expecting was the drama of, are you ready? NO WIFI. Nothing doing. They said there was wifi, it’s not a retreat for over internetted types or anything like that (good lord, no) it’s just that it doesn’t work. So that’s no Twitter, no FB, no wiki, for goodness sake. Reception told me it was ‘my device’ but judging by the amount of guests disgruntledly wandering the corridors muttering about passwords, there’s a heck of a lot of people trying to use my device. Anyway, doesn’t matter does it? We’re here now.

So, there now follows a series of short posts, postcards, if you like, that I have written (entirely without fact checking) but not posted this week.

Well, it’s tricky trying to find the right stamp, isn’t it?

Mascara 2013-03-28 (04.47.28-476 PM)
I thought I’d make an attempt at being all fashion and leave off the mascara (so over, it’s all about the new clean, did you not get the memo?) but I’m just not hard enough (and yes, I accept this Lady Fashion, you cruel and fickle mistress). So last week I caved like the wimp I am and bought a nice shiny new one. I’m so loving it (don’t tell Ms Fashion, she’s a bitch when she’s angry) so I’ll share with you the name, Inimitable Intense by Chanel.
Now yes, partly I’m just a sucker for the pretty packaging, partly (oh c’mon, Chanel has the nicest presentation). BUT also it does, as my friend Charlie rightly pointed out, give a very particular look. And that is a look that I like, a little bit sixties, nice and long, a bit rock and roll and doesn’t budge even if you get sweaty. And as discussed, I like to get sweaty. I’m not sure that Hitchcock heroines ever got excited by having a workout, but sometimes my muses get confused and if Tippi Hedren ever did pop down to Pineapple for a dance, I reckon she’d have been wearing this.
So just one problem then, in a couple of days I’m heading to the sunshine (hopefully, fingers crossed) to hang by the pool (double fisted knee slide, I hate Winter and this one is never ending. Ever. Fact.)
So, options here as I see them are
1. Ditch the mascara, go au naturel and on trend and make Missy Fashion happy.
2. Wear it anyway, who cares if it runs in the pool.
3. Put on massive sunglasses and order a large Pina Colada.

Hmmm, what would Tippi do?

Sweat 2013-03-22 (11.00.44-840 AM)
So I’ve been dancing a bit. I told you I would, remember? And honestly, when do I ever lie to you? So yes, the dancing. Now look, I’m not saying I’m ever going to be any good at this thing, but it’s just so…addictive. No, seriously, it’s completely buzz inducingly addictive.
That’s not a word.
I don’t care.
I’m dancing anyway. Here’s why..

1. I’m never going to be any good. Now look, I say this as a positive. I am very focussed on getting better at things in general and it’s really nice to do something that really is just for the journey, not for the result. I know! That’s proper hippy talk. I don’t care, I’m dancing anyway.

2. Because being in a dance class makes me think of this (And I mean actually think of it because I’m old enough to remember it the first time.) How brilliant is Debbie Allen? I want to be her. I want a big stick and I want to ask for payment in sweat with no sense of irony. I know really, that I’m much more like Lori Singer at the end there… “What does that mean?” but hey, I’m dancing anyway.

3. Because it makes me cry OK, this is a little embarrassing. I do get quite frustrated at my own crapness sometimes and I have to go away and (privately, come on) have a little cry. Now yes, you’re right, that may not seem such a positive but I reckon it means that I care and that is a good thing, yes?

4. Because it makes you really really strong Aha! Good evening vanity, I was wondering when you were going to join us. Yes, it gives you abs of steel (is there quite a soft sort of steel? because that might be the variety I have.) Well, OK, nearly abs of steel. Well it allows you to eat pain au chocolate without worry and sort of stretches you out so you look better and stronger.

5. Because my teachers are amazing and every time I watch them move I think yes, try again, even though I’ll never be able to do it like that (see above) it’s just beautiful and inspiring to watch people do what they do best.

So I’m off to sweat today, I have a story that won’t come straight in my mind and it may fall into place while I concentrate (really hard) on something else. I just have to remember not to look in the mirror too much because then I see Intense Concentration Face which truly, ain’t pretty. Black Swan this is not.
But you know what? I’m dancing anyway.

f&f3-1
Ten thousand hours. That’s how long it takes to master a skill, apparently. That’s a lot of practice for sure, but it sounds about right.
Running through some upcoming stories this morning with lovely hairdresser Mark, we were marvelling at how long it takes to become really experienced at your craft. We agreed that we probably had our hours, and then some, on the clock in our respective professions, meaning we were fully entitled to spend an extra half hour working on the skill of having an extra cup of tea before actually doing any proper work.
Ah, procrastination, doncha just love it?

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