On summer

Rants

Hello summer,

We’ve been waiting for you. We’ve quantified you to the certainty of 30 degrees Celsius and we monitor the weather forecast like hungry wolves. Clouds tomorrow? Saharan dust? Let that not come in the way of your arrival, we beg. But the tell-tale sign arrives overnight, and we don’t even need to check our thermometers to confirm your entrance. Suddenly, hair frizzes up, furniture is coated with a thick film of moisture and we are scooped up in a dense cloud of opaqueness. Humidity heralds your arrival. And instead of a warm welcome, we’re thinking, how could we forget about what you do to us every year?

We get carried away with romantic notions of the Ss: sun, salty sea, seashells, sand. As we slap on our sunscreen with SPF 1,000 under the scorching sun, we soon realize that it’s about time we bought our own beach umbrella because there’s very little hope we’ll ever manage to get the few sunbeds that offer it as option. As we enter the water, we yelp silently, trying to look good as we enter a liquid version of our freezer. Of course it’s refreshing, we fib. “Look at me, I’m diving in, ha ha,” and our heart comes to an abrupt halt before resuming again when we break the surface. “God that felt good!” we say through clenched teeth. Around us, a few hundred others do the same, and we try to ignore the persistent question, as we hit a warm spot while we’re swimming. It’s the currents, we convince ourselves, though we know as we eye the crowd that it’s plain human nature. Oh yes, gross, summer, gross.

Then come plans for traveling and discovering and getting away from worries and people (though the latter, few of us would admit). We make grand plans for escape, and monitor prices closely before booking on the day when unexpectedly, prices rise, dammit. We buy travel guides and optimistically keep them on the coffee table, hoping that we’ll pick them up before the trip. We make our budget so that we never keep it, and come back with empty pockets and ticket stubs that we’re not sure whether to keep as souvenirs or throw out. As for our peace of mind? No room for that, surely, with the stress of seeing all the sights, avoiding all the touristy places and getting our value for money. Going back to work no longer seems like a bad idea, actually.

And when we start to take at least three showers a day, we remember why it is that you stink summer. We are gullible people, we like to live life in postcards that say “Wish you were here!” or go to work dancing to summer beats, sipping on mojitos. But when you arrive, you bring with you the unbearable heat, those long long days, that need filling. So we venture out to coffeeshops more, we go out at nights, because we wear denial on our sleeves, and by the end of it, we come out of August broke and in despair. We wait for the first rain eagerly, and monitor thermometers for temperature fluctuations. We are people of routine and we work in this cycle.

For now, in early June, all I have to say is “Welcome back.” By the end of it, we’ll hate you, that’s a promise.

plain bananas x

Bedridden

Musings

The pathetic sum of my vacation thus far:

  • Tissues: On box number 3 currently.
  • Pills: A great variety. Have had Ponstan for fever, Panadol extra, some basic flu-related ones and the mandatory sore throat lozenges.
  • Thermometer: A useless one that keeps pointing out I have hypothermia when I don’t.
  • Sleep: I have forgotten state of wakefulness.
  • Tea: I sleep too much to drink it.
  • Food: What is food again?
  • Dreary English weather: Non-existent. Like a bad joke, it’s sunny every goddamn day.
  • Farnham: I know the way to Sainsbury’s, but otherwise since I’m home all day I might as well be anywhere.
  • Beads: 0

A visit to the doctor today is inevitable. Would you believe that I’m actually looking forward to that?

You give me fever

Jewelry, Musings

The week is off with thermometer in hand, cold compresses and sickness soup just when I was to say good riddance to winter. I’m not the one sick (yet), but something tells me to hold for the symptoms to appear on Friday, before I fly out to my sister because I know that life is not without a sense of sadistic brouhaha.

As I did my best trying to fruitlessly alleviate any form of discomfort the fever may have been causing my sick boyfriend, I didn’t for a second convince myself that I was making much of a difference. Between making soup, hydrating and keeping him company, I managed to make two new pairs of earrings that I’ve posted on flickr. I’m sharing one of those pictures here, because it is actually taken from inside my not-completely wrecked journal.

Chewed and digested

Chewed and digested

Credit for the chewing goes to The Little Anorak Girl’s illustrator, who couldn’t help getting his teeth into it. Thanks J.

As promised, I’m posting another picture from the Pink Milk Vintage photo-shoot. This is one of my favourites, and simply love the whole scene. The jacket is too elegant for words. Go ahead, chew on this yourself:

Hang on to this

Hang on to this