I’ve been in a great mood since we got back from holiday. The much-needed break and sunshine rejuvenated me like nothing else could’ve. I’ve also been busier than a one-armed paper hanger but in a good, productive way. Getting life back to normal took a few days — the mountains of laundry that needed to be done; the webcams with family overseas; uploading photos; ringing and meeting up with friends; reading and responding to emails…it always takes more time than one thinks!
I also had an article to write for The F Word, a UK-based feminist online magazine and blog, for which I’d agreed to write a feature article by the 30th. I didn’t start on it until the 28th (I blame my mother for passing on the procrastination gene — thanks, Mom!) but I just could not get it flowing. It wasn’t that the words wouldn’t come at all, just that there were too many. I’d write one paragraph that went in a certain direction but then the next would spin off into a completely different zone. The subject was such that I could’ve done a lot with it but I had to narrow my focus and, for the life of me, it wasn’t coming easily. I suppose because it’s a subject of interest to me I felt more emotionally involved. But I got it done and it’s up now, for anyone interested in having a gander.
We also found out that we’ll be exchanging contracts on our new home next week, with a completion date of Friday 21st September. In three weeks’ time I will be the owner of a 3-bedroom house with a garden. Holy shit, bat boy! I’m staring to freak out a little bit. It’s also very exciting though. I finally get to buy furniture! And paint walls! And do whatever the hell I want to the place! I could knock down a wall or paint it lime green or put an army of gnomes in my garden. Mmmwahahahahaha!
The sproglet has awoken so I must go for now, but regular posts will resume this week, I promise.
Apologies for the long absence and horrifying lack of posts for the past two weeks, but I’ve been away on holiday and just got back late on Friday night. I actually could’ve posted a couple of things from the hotel but honestly, I just didn’t want to. I only got online twice, each time for no more than 10 minutes. I didn’t read any newspapers, didn’t visit any news sites or my regularly-visited forums or blogs and didn’t email family with ongoing news of our time in Greece. I wanted a technology-free vacation and didn’t want to discuss, read or even think about current events, which is lately otherwise known as Bad Things Happening To Children and Bad Things Happening In War. I had enough of both in the book I took with me to finish, What Is The What by Dave Eggers, which I wrote a bit about earlier.
As expected from my glowing review when only halfway through this hardback, I loved it. It made me smile, it made me wince, made me cry and, ultimately, made me truly care. The tears streaming down my face when I slowly closed the cover and watched the title words blur and fade were ones of happiness at finding such an amazing and inspiring book, of anger and sadness at the state of the situation in Sudan and of helplessness, as I wished with every fiber of my being that I could do something to help heal those injured souls and broken bodies. That this goes on still absolutely astounds and sickens me. That I was on holiday on a Greek island, laying by a pristine swimming pool and going out to eat every night while entire families, villages and swathes of people, entire tribes and populations, are being destroyed sickened me as well. First world guilt is a powerful, ugly thing sometimes, though I know that it is that same guilt that often inspires people like you and me into action. I can only hope that this sticks with me and that somehow, in some way, I will be able to do something infinitesimal, something minute and hardly significant — but still something — to help someone who has been caught up in this terrible tragedy. Perhaps the technology I avoided on holiday will be the key to raising awareness, who knows. It will either kill us or save us, that’s for sure.
Before you think my entire stay in the beautiful island of Crete was completely shrouded in the darkness of death and guilt, let me just say that I actually had a great time. I didn’t do anything exciting, didn’t explore any ancient ruins or go on any diving excursions, didn’t drive to scenic spots for fabulous views (though every view I saw along the way was utterly gorgeous), didn’t visit nightclubs or five-star dining establishments, I just relaxed and read. Swimming, eating, drinking, reading, minimal walking — these were the main components of my time there, and I loved every precious minute of it. It’s exactly what I went there to do and it’s exactly what I did. The sweet bliss of nothingness was what I needed and craved, before everything gets busy and crazy and swept up in the real world again.
This holiday confirmed for me why I adore the Greek islands (well, at least the two I’ve now been to) — the food is excellent, absolutely delicious, the people are friendly and efficient, the lifestyle is so relaxed that I felt as if I should float horizontally and the island itself is breathtaking. I will definitely be going back there again, after I’ve visited a few other places previously unseen. I highly recommend it.
The Greek wedding was as expected — huge, fun, full of life, and traditional. No plate smashing, to my great disappointment, but plenty of Rakki, my new favourite drink (they put it on the tables in carafes as a matter of course — how wonderful is that?!), Greek dancing (which us non-Greeks managed to pick up a tiny bit and had great fun doing so) and yummy food. There were indoor fireworks in the venue, which overlooked the bay and was partially open air. With 450 people in attendance, it was like being in a concert hall or theatre. The sea of faces went on for what seemed like miles from where we sat at the head table, up above the stage. Amelia was cute as ever, twirling around on the dance floor at one point, between dances, clapping along to the music. And to end on that happy note, here is that tiny dancer herself. More photos of the trip and both weddings will appear in the Photos section in the next day or two.
Wedding and holiday mania have officially taken over my time, wallet and brain. I’ve been running around like a madwoman all week, shopping and running endless errands that need to be done before tomorrow (Tim’s wedding) or Tuesday (the day we leave for Crete).
I had a hell of a time finding a dress to wear but I finally got a gorgeous one from Monsoon yesterday and then accessorised it beautifully with a pair of heels, a pashmina, earrings, a bracelet and a bag. All in the space of an hour and a half. Damn, I’m good. Well, damn Sara and I are good — what else are friends for if not helping you in a shopping emergency in a limited space of time? She stood patiently outside the dressing room and dutifully zipped, unzipped, got different sizes, found matching pash, held my bags while I tried on shoes, and ran ahead to the next store to get in the queue while I finished paying at another.
The reason that shopping had become an emergency is because of a phone call Paul received on Wednesday night. Tim, whose wedding reception we were set to attend on Saturday evening (ceremony for family only) phoned to ask if Paul would be his stand-in best man. His brother came down with the mumps (adults get the mumps?!) and couldn’t come to the wedding for fear of infecting everyone else. Did you know that mumps in an adult can cause sterility? Hey, I suppose if you’re looking for long-term birth control…I could give you his number and you could go lick the inside of his cheek or something.
Anyway, so Paul is now best man which means we’re going to the small, intimate ceremony at 11am, which means I can’t really wear my black evening dress and fire engine red lipstick. Well, I could, but I’d feel a bit like the proverbial whore in church. Besides which, I’d already been told that I can’t wear black to the Greek wedding next week so I needed a new dress for that one too. Kill two birds with one stone and all that. It’s expensive, this wedding business, especially destination ones. New outfit, suit for Paul, travel cot for Amelia, swimsuits, a myriad of toiletries and sun lotions, sun hat, etc…the amount of things needed to go on a beach holiday and attend a wedding seem to be something resembling a bottomless pit.
I spent last night helping Paul write his best man’s speech, which he has had two nights to work on. Poor guy. I think what he’s written is pretty good so far and I’m sure he’ll do fine, but it must be nerve-wracking to write and perform a speech at such short notice. And he’s not exactly the most comfortable of public speakers, let me tell you. He tends to cross his arms over himself protectively, mumble and talk reallyreallyquickly. He’s gotten better over the years though, after much prodding and pushing from me and a bit of Dutch courage beforehand. Here’s hoping it’s a success.
In other news, I am officially a wuss. I am dreading the thought of being in hot weather in Greece and long for the perfect 25 degrees Celsius (77F) that it is in the UK right now. It’s freakin’ 35 in Crete this week (95F) and expected to reach 39 (102F) while we’re there. Ga-reat. Nothing says happy holiday like skin cancer and sunstroke. I’m going to die, I just know it. My lily-white skin and delicate sensibilities have been used to the mild, cloudy, will-it-ever-stop-fucking-raining weather of this damn island and is not prepared for the hot as hell, shadeless and thankless, does-this-place-actually-sit-ON-the-sun’s surface, lovely little Greek island.
Also, I’m feeling slightly grumpy and apprehensive about having a kid with us for the first time on a beach holiday. Who the hell is going to watch her while I sit in a sun lounger for hours one end, reading novels and taking part in the thrice-daily happy hour? When I went to Mexico a few years ago, I was on a first name basis with the poolside cocktail waiters by the end of the first day. To this day, I still make the sign of the cross and mutter a prayer for Juan and Guillermo when I have a frozen drink. Gracias, mi hermanos.
Oh, and also? Next time I go on holiday with Paul and his family, we are going somewhere where I am not the only person who doesn’t speak a lick of the language. We go to France, they all speak French in varying degrees. We go to Greece and I’m the only one who doesn’t speak a word. Next time we’re going to Spain or Argentina or something. Then I’ll show them! I’ll use my mediocre, halting Spanish to order eggs and rice and ask where the bathrooms are and then point in their faces and go “Ha! Suckerrrrrrs! I speaky Spanish and you don’t, la la la la la la!” Ha. That’ll learn ‘em.
I leave you with this Imogen Heap song which, apparently, has a bunch of dorks’ knickers in a twist as they try to figure out what the lyrics ‘mean.’ Jesus, since when did every song have to mean something, you know? Why can’t it be about nothing, the Jerry Seinfeld of songs? I gave up on decoding lyrics long ago. Just enjoy the music!
I’m reading a fantastic book at the moment, called What Is The What, by Dave Eggers. I am about 1/3 of the way through this sufficiently lengthy hardback tome and am thoroughly engrossed. Last night, as I sat with my curled hand hot under my chin, aching from the weight of supporting my head which leaned over the pages at such an angle that I could devour more and more words at an optimal speed, I got the Good Book Goosebumps. If you’re a reader, you know what I mean. It’s when a book suddenly passes your expectations (if you had any at all) and seeps ever-so-slowly-yet-maddeningly-quickly into your heart, like honey spilling from a jar lifted haphazardly by a child. Suddenly, you eat, sleep and breathe this book. The words keep coming and coming, yet your appetite for them increases with each flick of the page.
Ooh, and don’t you just love books with those natural fibre, hewn-edged pages the color of buttermilk? The kind that are thick but not stiff like legal paper, and uniquely bound without seeming like it would fall apart? I just love reading these kinds of books. They’re a physical pleasure to place my hands upon. This must be what it feels like for a geriatric pervert to get his hands on a ripe, juicy, teenage ass. Yes, books are my porn.
In fact, that is a good analogy for my relationship with books. Like some are with matters of the flesh, I am obsessed with those of the page. If I could, I would sit in various locations throughout my day or week, depending on the weather, reading a newspaper, book, magazine or essay. Short stories? Bring it. Poetry? Love it. Egocentric ramblings of the blogging masses? My bloodline.
If books could be injected, ingested or inhaled, like a drug, I’d be the Pete Doherty of the literary world. And if I were a writer’s work, I’d apparently be the stuff that Dorothy Parker writes about, according to this quiz.
That may just be the best, most succinct description of me I’ve ever heard — urbane, witty boozehound. Yep, that pretty much sums it up. Dorothy, you know me so well.
I took The Noble Child to Westminster on Friday to meet Paul for lunch alongside the river. Then, after he’d gone back to work, we walked along South Bank watching the street performers. I had a cheeky Cornetto while I browsed the South Bank Book Market and then we headed back to Waterloo to catch the train home. The weather was perfect, warm and breezy but not too humid. Finally, we get a taste of summer.
Then on Saturday morning, we took Amelia to a cool playground down the road from the in-laws’ house. We played on more equipment than Amelia did, I think!
It was an incredibly warm and sunny weekend here in the UK, which made quite a change from the previous 3 months of rain, cool temps and cloud cover. It put me in such a good mood, I don’t think I’ve felt this happy over an entire weekend in a looooong time. The sun brings out the good in me.
This week will be spent preparing for our holiday to Crete next week. We’ll be gone from the 14th to the 24th so I’m afraid that blogging will be non-existent for that period of time. I’ve just discovered that the ancient plumbing system doesn’t allow for toilet paper to be flushed down the loo, you have to keep it in a separate container and take this out each day instead of flushing anything. So I think it’s fair to say that there won’t be much in the way of internet access there either.
Oh, and can I just say how fucking incredible the sales are at the moment? I’ve gotten more bargains in the last week than I think I ever have (bar my charity-shopping student days). Sunglasses for £7, a long-sleeve top for £8, a dress (from Monsoon no less!) for £13….it’s like the gods want me to go shopping. At least that’s what I keep telling Paul. Sucker.
