I wake up smiling, with kisses on my lips. Many kisses, along the path, in the garden, on the roof, lying, sitting, walking, melting. Alone. The roof top reveals a treasure map of pillows and sheets but strangely empty. As is my bed.
Your friend said I was rather hot and he had certainly never met me before, although we had also engaged in dog down on many occasions. Interesting what make up and scent will do for a lady. Your friend continued that I should give you 'a go' as you are just so flexible. This had certainly been part of the package but not the winning deal. You just seemed so kind and Scorpio mysterious, as they are want to be. The mating dance continued. You fetched drinks. We talked. The world dissolved around us. The kiss.
Hershey Melty Kisses. Unfolding, Unraveling. Melty. Gravity.
We stagger from the party as if shot. As if injured from a hunt. Leaving pieces of us behind.
A moonlit graveyard with views of the ocean beckons. We roll to our positions and kiss and kiss and kiss. Finding. Losing. Escaping. Dreaming.
The magic is interspersed with the practicalities. 'So tomorrow begins with banana pancakes' say I. 'I think we can accommodate that' says he. 'I hope we can enjoy the scenery' say I. I've made certain allowances for that' says he. The Lantau escapade stretches out in front of us. A beautiful unravelling thread into the future.
We stumble to my house. Blind with kisses. Grabbing pillows from the bedroom. Flinging ourselves to the roof. Discarded ragdolls. There is no moon tonight. Enveloped in the night. Wrapped up tightly in the nights heavy sheets and our own arms.
And as I bend and dissolve and become and disappear, you utter the words. 'I'm sorry. I can't do this.'
A if in a play, I amuse myself with a new script. “I suppose banana pancakes are out of the question?'
You say sorry to yourself more than to me. We have changed stories and are no longer performing on the same stage.
I wake up with a bed strewn with pillows, curling like a cat, at the memories of what did and the thoughts of what could.
To be continued...
Saturday 14 November 2009
Wednesday 7 October 2009
Apple wisdoms
“life will break you.
nobody can protect you from that,
and living alone won’t either,
for solitude will also break you with its yearnings.
you have to love.
you have to feel.
it is the reason you are here on earth.
you are here to risk your heart.
you are here to be swallowed up.
and when it happens that you are broken,
or betrayed,
or left,
or hurt,
or death brushes near,
let yourself sit by an apple tree
and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps,
wasting their sweetness.
tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.”
- louise erdrich, the painted drum, p. 247
nobody can protect you from that,
and living alone won’t either,
for solitude will also break you with its yearnings.
you have to love.
you have to feel.
it is the reason you are here on earth.
you are here to risk your heart.
you are here to be swallowed up.
and when it happens that you are broken,
or betrayed,
or left,
or hurt,
or death brushes near,
let yourself sit by an apple tree
and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps,
wasting their sweetness.
tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.”
- louise erdrich, the painted drum, p. 247
Tuesday 25 August 2009
Sharing the Love
Just wanted to introduce you to my two favourite artistic muses at the moment (damn those superior Eurasian genetics at play!).
Ms Holly Suan Gray - http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=home#/album.php?aid=101010&id=608370118
Mr Jeff Hahn - http://jeffhahn.blogspot.com/
Browse and marvel at the gorgeousnesses of their visions.
They make me sigh and believe in fairytales.
Enjoy.
x
Ms Holly Suan Gray - http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=home#/album.php?aid=101010&id=608370118
Mr Jeff Hahn - http://jeffhahn.blogspot.com/
Browse and marvel at the gorgeousnesses of their visions.
They make me sigh and believe in fairytales.
Enjoy.
x
Sunday 23 August 2009
We are the champions - Queen
"I've paid my dues
Time after time
I've done my sentence
But committed no crime
And bad mistakes
I've made a few
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face
But I've come through"
Sorry Dominique, I know quotes at the beginning of anything are a slack way to explain what you're thinking without using any literary skill - but I feel a little song lyric sets up a wibble rather nicely :)
So it is eight weeks on and I completed my mofo bootcamp!!!! Wooohooo.
It has gone fast and there have been many glaring changes to my life and several that will ripple onwards for some time. Here are the few that catapult to mind immediately:
1. I get a hangover after two glasses of wine - proving that sobriety. does indeed. bite. Hypothesis proven :)
2. I've gone down a dress size.
3. Normal pants fall down.
4. My arms, shoulders and legs are showing muscle definition.
5. When I'm looking in my fridge for tasty nibbles I approach in a dogdown fashion with beautiful bendiness.
6. I cut all my hair off and got lots of nice compliments.
7. I haven't been out on a Saturday night for two months.
8. I run a lap of the footie pitch in 1 minute.
9. I plank without putting my back out.
10. I finally went to see a physio who is helping me with my back problems.
Looking back at notes I scribbled down in my blog, I was freaking terrified that first Saturday night before the whole terror of Bootcamp began. It was just something I had never envisioned myself doing. I'm just not that alpha-winner type. I like to mooch about smelling the flowers rather than whizzing about getting there faster. The fact my body is built for comfort and not speed (where does that come from, I have been hearing it for as long as I can remember?!) meant that bootcamp was not for me. Bootcamp was for people with chiselled abs who received a strange perverted joy whenever someone screamed at them. My abs have been sculpted, using cake icing, no chisels required and if someone shouts at me I become strangely quiet and plot their downfall. Anyhew, I was doing it.
I imagined everyone else would be mega fit and that I would vomit. This is what I blogged of my new comrades of Boot:
"And then I saw them, the first few boot types entering the court and walking towards me (I clearly resembled a 'booter' due to my trainers and apprehension). One larger man, one slender man, and a woman who looked like she already ran ultra-marathons.... A cheerleader type replete with ponytail came next, then another fellow fashioning an Ed Hardy T-shirt. Then the Boot Camp Leader herself... Dora, the yoga teacher..."
This was the reason I was able to complete the course and do so happily and bouncily - Dora.
For some reason, I had imagined Bootcamp to be recreations of the exercise scenes from Officer and a Gentleman, with Richard Gere. I guess this was the first time I saw someone be forced to perform the indignity of a push up while being shouted at. Yoga teachers tend not to be too much into abusing their students, as they have the concepts of mind, body and spirit which need to work in unity for any success at all. So long as I tried my best, I was applauded. So long as I sweated and grimaced then smiled, all was well.
For the first few weeks of Bootcamp, I eagerly checked my progress. Did I do an extra star jump? Leap higher up footie nets? Run further? Skip faster? But by the end that didn't feel so necessary. The fact is there were consistent warm weather warnings, so 30 minutes of any kind of movement in the still hot air outside left you feeling like Lawrence of Arabia staggering about seeing mirages of cool water. The simple fact that your body could now actually perform the feats that seemed impossible at the beginning was good enough. So we were effectively slowed down by the oppressive heat which led to us feeling more drained once inside. Luckily, a great ipod selection of music would always help us get up on our TRX systems and make sure everything hurt and we were in fact hobbling by 10am of the same day. Thank God the heat cancelled those wheelbarrows, as it turned out that I have a dysfunctional lumbar/pelvic thing going on (hehe) which explains why so many exercises have proved so painful in the past. Praise the Lord for Bootcamp, as without all this exercise, I would not have forced myself to seek out a physio in the first place.
Of course it wasn't just the two hour exercise on Sunday mornings that made so many changes in my appearance. The fact you KNOW the bootcamp is going to hurt you, means you feel most inclined to get fitter during the week. This meant yoga on Mondays and Wednesday, pilates on Tuesdays and TRX on Thursdays, all at Dora's Island Life Gym, and all under her watchful eye so she could help with any exercises you struggled with to ensure you were pushing yourself without hurting yourself. That's one of the joys of this little Lamma gym, classes often only have 3 or 4 people in, so you really do get a personal training service for an relatively tiny financial outlay.
As I noted in my blog - for the second bootcamp:
"In fact, there were only 5 of us. Mr Ed Hardy T-shirt was there, but had been out on the piss all week so had done zero exercise and felt rough. Little Miss Ultramarathon was there and whizzing around the activities in a sporty person type fashion. Herman the Incredible Shrinking Man was there doing his thing, as was the 19 year old uber-ripped Keira Knightley doppelganger. So we all got that little bit extra attention from Dora, our Trainer."
We ended our final bootcamp with 5.
Herman (our editor), Adrian (husband of Liz the ab slayer), Elissa (the physio professor), Lydia (ripped sleepy doctor chick) and me.
Five very different types of people. All very pleased with themselves.
I leave you with another lazy lyric that I think rather sums up who should get their arses to a bootcamp near them:
"Big ones, small ones, some a big as your head"
I hear the next one starts in a month, and will be by moonlight... leading us neatly up to the 10K run I've signed up for at Disney in November?
Strange, strange world
Exhausting just thinking about it!
x
Time after time
I've done my sentence
But committed no crime
And bad mistakes
I've made a few
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face
But I've come through"
Sorry Dominique, I know quotes at the beginning of anything are a slack way to explain what you're thinking without using any literary skill - but I feel a little song lyric sets up a wibble rather nicely :)
So it is eight weeks on and I completed my mofo bootcamp!!!! Wooohooo.
It has gone fast and there have been many glaring changes to my life and several that will ripple onwards for some time. Here are the few that catapult to mind immediately:
1. I get a hangover after two glasses of wine - proving that sobriety. does indeed. bite. Hypothesis proven :)
2. I've gone down a dress size.
3. Normal pants fall down.
4. My arms, shoulders and legs are showing muscle definition.
5. When I'm looking in my fridge for tasty nibbles I approach in a dogdown fashion with beautiful bendiness.
6. I cut all my hair off and got lots of nice compliments.
7. I haven't been out on a Saturday night for two months.
8. I run a lap of the footie pitch in 1 minute.
9. I plank without putting my back out.
10. I finally went to see a physio who is helping me with my back problems.
Looking back at notes I scribbled down in my blog, I was freaking terrified that first Saturday night before the whole terror of Bootcamp began. It was just something I had never envisioned myself doing. I'm just not that alpha-winner type. I like to mooch about smelling the flowers rather than whizzing about getting there faster. The fact my body is built for comfort and not speed (where does that come from, I have been hearing it for as long as I can remember?!) meant that bootcamp was not for me. Bootcamp was for people with chiselled abs who received a strange perverted joy whenever someone screamed at them. My abs have been sculpted, using cake icing, no chisels required and if someone shouts at me I become strangely quiet and plot their downfall. Anyhew, I was doing it.
I imagined everyone else would be mega fit and that I would vomit. This is what I blogged of my new comrades of Boot:
"And then I saw them, the first few boot types entering the court and walking towards me (I clearly resembled a 'booter' due to my trainers and apprehension). One larger man, one slender man, and a woman who looked like she already ran ultra-marathons.... A cheerleader type replete with ponytail came next, then another fellow fashioning an Ed Hardy T-shirt. Then the Boot Camp Leader herself... Dora, the yoga teacher..."
This was the reason I was able to complete the course and do so happily and bouncily - Dora.
For some reason, I had imagined Bootcamp to be recreations of the exercise scenes from Officer and a Gentleman, with Richard Gere. I guess this was the first time I saw someone be forced to perform the indignity of a push up while being shouted at. Yoga teachers tend not to be too much into abusing their students, as they have the concepts of mind, body and spirit which need to work in unity for any success at all. So long as I tried my best, I was applauded. So long as I sweated and grimaced then smiled, all was well.
For the first few weeks of Bootcamp, I eagerly checked my progress. Did I do an extra star jump? Leap higher up footie nets? Run further? Skip faster? But by the end that didn't feel so necessary. The fact is there were consistent warm weather warnings, so 30 minutes of any kind of movement in the still hot air outside left you feeling like Lawrence of Arabia staggering about seeing mirages of cool water. The simple fact that your body could now actually perform the feats that seemed impossible at the beginning was good enough. So we were effectively slowed down by the oppressive heat which led to us feeling more drained once inside. Luckily, a great ipod selection of music would always help us get up on our TRX systems and make sure everything hurt and we were in fact hobbling by 10am of the same day. Thank God the heat cancelled those wheelbarrows, as it turned out that I have a dysfunctional lumbar/pelvic thing going on (hehe) which explains why so many exercises have proved so painful in the past. Praise the Lord for Bootcamp, as without all this exercise, I would not have forced myself to seek out a physio in the first place.
Of course it wasn't just the two hour exercise on Sunday mornings that made so many changes in my appearance. The fact you KNOW the bootcamp is going to hurt you, means you feel most inclined to get fitter during the week. This meant yoga on Mondays and Wednesday, pilates on Tuesdays and TRX on Thursdays, all at Dora's Island Life Gym, and all under her watchful eye so she could help with any exercises you struggled with to ensure you were pushing yourself without hurting yourself. That's one of the joys of this little Lamma gym, classes often only have 3 or 4 people in, so you really do get a personal training service for an relatively tiny financial outlay.
As I noted in my blog - for the second bootcamp:
"In fact, there were only 5 of us. Mr Ed Hardy T-shirt was there, but had been out on the piss all week so had done zero exercise and felt rough. Little Miss Ultramarathon was there and whizzing around the activities in a sporty person type fashion. Herman the Incredible Shrinking Man was there doing his thing, as was the 19 year old uber-ripped Keira Knightley doppelganger. So we all got that little bit extra attention from Dora, our Trainer."
We ended our final bootcamp with 5.
Herman (our editor), Adrian (husband of Liz the ab slayer), Elissa (the physio professor), Lydia (ripped sleepy doctor chick) and me.
Five very different types of people. All very pleased with themselves.
I leave you with another lazy lyric that I think rather sums up who should get their arses to a bootcamp near them:
"Big ones, small ones, some a big as your head"
I hear the next one starts in a month, and will be by moonlight... leading us neatly up to the 10K run I've signed up for at Disney in November?
Strange, strange world
Exhausting just thinking about it!
x
Friday 14 August 2009
Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell
Is my new crush's lament.
Florence and the Machine. Her albums Lungs. All written around mythology and the fact she feels things rather more intensely than your average person. She's like Kate Bush in a cocaine haze and ketamine reverie.
I love her. I listen to her album when I wake up, when I go to sleep and as I walk about my Hong Kong life.
Tonight it was an unusually suitable soundtrack.
I outed my new chopped hair and teamed it with panda print mini dress. I went to the comedy club, with my dear friend and ass kicker, Dora Bootcamp and two Dora Devotees from Pure BodyPump.
Of course, as the four women entering the club late, we were swooped upon. Names and statuses were enquired. Maribee had both husband and boyfriend. Dora had husband and baby. Dada had husband. I was the single one. Which is no cause for lament, particularly when with panda dress, new hair and three new friends.
Jamie, the compere, elegantly pointed out that I was from England. White. Female. And therefore fucked. No white guys would go near me. And neither would the Chinese. I would be staying single for some time.
This could seem harsh. But as a stereotype it is amusing. The joke that all white guys go for Chinese girls. And all Chinese guys are not interested in troublesome gwai mui (lady white ghosts). Is not too many million miles away from the truth. But I have lived other lives. Where I spent time with Asian guys and/or White guys, depending upon my moods at the time. I recall turning down a particularly handsome fellow named George a few years ago, as I was only into Chinese men... We all have our phases and times when one route seems the only way.
Suffice to say. I was not insulted by these comments at all.
It did not make me blush. What did, was a white guy sitting behind me shouting out, 'She's hot!'
This has been my first night 'out' in a few months.
Certainly the first time since my sobriety experiment began.
I glowed back to the ferry. Where the 11.30pm was awaiting me. The passengers were suitably relaxed and I had the joys of comments about how fabulous my new look was and how well I looked.
This may sound like my crowning Narcissus moment, due to end in my falling desperately in love with my reflection where I shall surely perish. But this is not my tale, to disdain those who love me and be punished by the Gods with the same treatment.
In the words of Florence
"Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl
Frozen in the headlights...
I wish that I could just be brave
I must become a lion hearted girl"
All very Lewis Caroll I admit
But when my life is turning beautiful
I tend to make exceptionally erroneous choices with my heart
And am determined to be less rabbit and my lion on this occasion!
Rooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrr
*twitchy nose*
xx
Florence and the Machine. Her albums Lungs. All written around mythology and the fact she feels things rather more intensely than your average person. She's like Kate Bush in a cocaine haze and ketamine reverie.
I love her. I listen to her album when I wake up, when I go to sleep and as I walk about my Hong Kong life.
Tonight it was an unusually suitable soundtrack.
I outed my new chopped hair and teamed it with panda print mini dress. I went to the comedy club, with my dear friend and ass kicker, Dora Bootcamp and two Dora Devotees from Pure BodyPump.
Of course, as the four women entering the club late, we were swooped upon. Names and statuses were enquired. Maribee had both husband and boyfriend. Dora had husband and baby. Dada had husband. I was the single one. Which is no cause for lament, particularly when with panda dress, new hair and three new friends.
Jamie, the compere, elegantly pointed out that I was from England. White. Female. And therefore fucked. No white guys would go near me. And neither would the Chinese. I would be staying single for some time.
This could seem harsh. But as a stereotype it is amusing. The joke that all white guys go for Chinese girls. And all Chinese guys are not interested in troublesome gwai mui (lady white ghosts). Is not too many million miles away from the truth. But I have lived other lives. Where I spent time with Asian guys and/or White guys, depending upon my moods at the time. I recall turning down a particularly handsome fellow named George a few years ago, as I was only into Chinese men... We all have our phases and times when one route seems the only way.
Suffice to say. I was not insulted by these comments at all.
It did not make me blush. What did, was a white guy sitting behind me shouting out, 'She's hot!'
This has been my first night 'out' in a few months.
Certainly the first time since my sobriety experiment began.
I glowed back to the ferry. Where the 11.30pm was awaiting me. The passengers were suitably relaxed and I had the joys of comments about how fabulous my new look was and how well I looked.
This may sound like my crowning Narcissus moment, due to end in my falling desperately in love with my reflection where I shall surely perish. But this is not my tale, to disdain those who love me and be punished by the Gods with the same treatment.
In the words of Florence
"Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl
Frozen in the headlights...
I wish that I could just be brave
I must become a lion hearted girl"
All very Lewis Caroll I admit
But when my life is turning beautiful
I tend to make exceptionally erroneous choices with my heart
And am determined to be less rabbit and my lion on this occasion!
Rooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrr
*twitchy nose*
xx
Monday 10 August 2009
SEX
Yes. Sex. That is this evening's musings. I would usually be at yoga round about now, but following a Samson style shedding of my long locks, I met a friend for drinks, and was unable to dog down while tipsy.
I have been growing my hair for 7 years now, it was long, and could be plaited and twirled and flicked but I wanted something new. As a snake sheds its skin. I wanted to shed some of mine.
I took advantage of the Toni and Guy Academy and paid the 25 pounds my mum sweetly sent me for a whole new look. I had full head highlights and a graduated transverse cut, or some such, for the cost of a usual trim.
It is lighter. It is 1920s flapper girl. It reminds me of sexual acceptance at school. I had always been the bookish one. Who boys never noticed. Til I took on my role as Tallulah in the Bugsy Malone musical at school. With a tight corsetted black satin number, boys soon realised I was not so bookish after all. And so Anthony Kelly, who played Knuckles, finally noticed me. Fabulous, furtive fondlings and platonic sounding sleep overs followed.
Following my sobriety journey - fondlings have been somewhat off the menu. As what a role the social lubricant of wine and beer and moijtos and B52s plays in the sexual emancipation of young ladies set astray in Hong Kong, or any other part of this world come to mention it.
So I leave the salon, bounce to the ferry, scribble madly in my journal to the F.E.A.R courtesy of the legendary Ian Brown and manouevre my way home. I feel full and bountiful of Eastern promise. I play my new Florence and the Machine CD. Which is resplendent.
I want a play mate. I have none. So devoured a Haagen Dazs Vanilla and Almonds icecream instead.
I may be bootcamping, and yogaing, and pilating, and TRXing, but without some other outlet... the icecream will win out.
Sobriety bites.
x
I have been growing my hair for 7 years now, it was long, and could be plaited and twirled and flicked but I wanted something new. As a snake sheds its skin. I wanted to shed some of mine.
I took advantage of the Toni and Guy Academy and paid the 25 pounds my mum sweetly sent me for a whole new look. I had full head highlights and a graduated transverse cut, or some such, for the cost of a usual trim.
It is lighter. It is 1920s flapper girl. It reminds me of sexual acceptance at school. I had always been the bookish one. Who boys never noticed. Til I took on my role as Tallulah in the Bugsy Malone musical at school. With a tight corsetted black satin number, boys soon realised I was not so bookish after all. And so Anthony Kelly, who played Knuckles, finally noticed me. Fabulous, furtive fondlings and platonic sounding sleep overs followed.
Following my sobriety journey - fondlings have been somewhat off the menu. As what a role the social lubricant of wine and beer and moijtos and B52s plays in the sexual emancipation of young ladies set astray in Hong Kong, or any other part of this world come to mention it.
So I leave the salon, bounce to the ferry, scribble madly in my journal to the F.E.A.R courtesy of the legendary Ian Brown and manouevre my way home. I feel full and bountiful of Eastern promise. I play my new Florence and the Machine CD. Which is resplendent.
I want a play mate. I have none. So devoured a Haagen Dazs Vanilla and Almonds icecream instead.
I may be bootcamping, and yogaing, and pilating, and TRXing, but without some other outlet... the icecream will win out.
Sobriety bites.
x
Wednesday 5 August 2009
Moons and rabbits and mice oh my!
So it's a big old lunar eclipse this evening. Which helps explain why I'm feeling mad as a March hare!
'The energies of the August 5/6 lunar eclipse are here now. This powerful energetic opening has been felt with increasing intensity in recent weeks. The third in a triad of summer eclipses, this cosmic doorway carries signatures for emotional sensitivity, spiritual knowing, psychic openings and the recognition of latent creative and artistic abilities.'
Emotional sensitivity - check (if you count getting weepy at pictures of other women with babies)
Spiritual knowing - ha - I wish! I suffer from perpetual divine discontent and deep envy of those who worship merrily at church.
Psychic openings - well my familiar has left me SIX decaying mice during this tropical heatwave - so that may some message I am yet to decode?
Recognition of latent creative and artistic abilities - hmmm. maybe. I certainly hope so! It has actually dawned on me that it's all very well changing jobs and countries and homes and various other circumstances (including alcohol consumption), but perhaps I should stop zipping from a to b and back again, and concentrate more on how I spend my time, not with whom or where. I have been encouraged to write since I was a little girl (thanks mum) but have always found some excuse or the other not to engage. Namely that I am a lazy procrastinating flibbertygibbet - who would rather read 5 books then write 5 sentences, which is what I have been doing for my life to date. I was always too busy living to actually bother with the business of recording the happenings. But as I have cut out item after item of my life, I have created the time and space where without writing, I am actually horribly bored. There is nothing for it. I am writing my first story.
I have learnt fabulous fairy stories from Stephanie Meyer of Twilight fame. She went from actually dreaming the story, to writing the story, to finding an agent in six months time? JK Rowling was a single mum scribbling in Edinburgh coffee houses and a lovely friend of mine from Leeds Uni is now published!?!
Enough of procrastination. Enough of wondering what genre? How long? Which characters? Who'll read it? Who'll like it? Enough of reading just one more book, watching one more movie.
The weather is helping with my glorious declarations as the heavens have opened and the rain is tearing down my window panes and rooftop.
I leave you with a quote from F Scott Fitzgerald:
'This is part of the beauty of all literature.
You discover that your longings are universal longings,
That you're not lonely and isolated from anyone.
You belong.'
xx
'The energies of the August 5/6 lunar eclipse are here now. This powerful energetic opening has been felt with increasing intensity in recent weeks. The third in a triad of summer eclipses, this cosmic doorway carries signatures for emotional sensitivity, spiritual knowing, psychic openings and the recognition of latent creative and artistic abilities.'
Emotional sensitivity - check (if you count getting weepy at pictures of other women with babies)
Spiritual knowing - ha - I wish! I suffer from perpetual divine discontent and deep envy of those who worship merrily at church.
Psychic openings - well my familiar has left me SIX decaying mice during this tropical heatwave - so that may some message I am yet to decode?
Recognition of latent creative and artistic abilities - hmmm. maybe. I certainly hope so! It has actually dawned on me that it's all very well changing jobs and countries and homes and various other circumstances (including alcohol consumption), but perhaps I should stop zipping from a to b and back again, and concentrate more on how I spend my time, not with whom or where. I have been encouraged to write since I was a little girl (thanks mum) but have always found some excuse or the other not to engage. Namely that I am a lazy procrastinating flibbertygibbet - who would rather read 5 books then write 5 sentences, which is what I have been doing for my life to date. I was always too busy living to actually bother with the business of recording the happenings. But as I have cut out item after item of my life, I have created the time and space where without writing, I am actually horribly bored. There is nothing for it. I am writing my first story.
I have learnt fabulous fairy stories from Stephanie Meyer of Twilight fame. She went from actually dreaming the story, to writing the story, to finding an agent in six months time? JK Rowling was a single mum scribbling in Edinburgh coffee houses and a lovely friend of mine from Leeds Uni is now published!?!
Enough of procrastination. Enough of wondering what genre? How long? Which characters? Who'll read it? Who'll like it? Enough of reading just one more book, watching one more movie.
The weather is helping with my glorious declarations as the heavens have opened and the rain is tearing down my window panes and rooftop.
I leave you with a quote from F Scott Fitzgerald:
'This is part of the beauty of all literature.
You discover that your longings are universal longings,
That you're not lonely and isolated from anyone.
You belong.'
xx
Sunday 26 July 2009
Alice Through The Looking Glass / Wardrobe
Alice laughed, "There's no use trying," she said, "one can't believe impossible things."
"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
That's the sort of day I had today. It started rather ordinarily. Two weetabix and some skimmed milk. Bootcamp. Which I improved on some fronts and remedialised on others. Muffins and orange ginger juice at The Tattooists. Coffee and eggs with Little Miss Ultramarathon (whose names turns out to be Elissa, and would be more accurately monikered 'The Professor' - as she is the holder of all wisdoms to health and bendiness). Then off to Central to meet one of The Sisters. The Elder. She had been invited to 'Piano and Drinks' in Tai Tam, which sounded suitably incongruous to my experiences of Hong Kong. I was dutifully collected from the ferry terminal in the delicious open topped beamer. We collected flowers, as any good guest ought, then continued to our location.
The route should have given clues as to the rabbit hole we were about to plunge ourselves into. The tropical rains fell. We converted the car to have its roof. The sun shone. We converted the car to be topless. The rains fell. The sun shone. Top on. Top off. Eventually, we arrived at the Station House for the Tai Tam reservoir. The rabbit hole opened. The wardrobe full of coats was entered. And as we entered the house. We were in another world.
Couples and children were sat around the outdoor table, surrounded by Frangipani and rose wine. French men were seated around a solid wood table indoors, surrounded by still life paintings and arch ways to other rooms and inviting gardens. A second room offered leather sofas, carafes of wine and a piano. The house overlooked the sea, with mountains across the water, muffled in clouds. The air was infused with classical music, ranging from Swan Lake to other delightful sounds my education lacks description of. In short. Heaven. This was not Hong Kong. I was in my own personal Narnia.
I was mute. Which is quite rare for me. I clung to The Elder Sister's dress and shuffled behind her, as we kissed French men, women and babies, and found our place to be seated. And so we found our place, around a strong oak table, with artwork about, discussing Zeus, the latest agent provocateur of the art world. We were served salmon and mussels and steak and the finest dessert a woman can dream to believe of - hazelnut mousse, chocolate effects, macaroons and berry juices liberally displayed across the plate. That was just the tip of the iceberg.
The guests were fit for the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. The Club Promoter yet to sleep. The 67 year old artist with his new born son. The Professional Piano Player from Suzie Wongs in Beijing. The dapper eruditely thin older gentleman. The owner of the finest absinthe bar in Hong Kong. Yet it was daytime and curly haired children ran through the rooms, eager to play with their elegant parents.
We moved from dining room, to piano room, to terrace overlooking the sea, to vegetable patch, to outhouses, to badminton courts. Wherever you were, archways and windows showed tell of other activities happening elsewhere. It was a Narnian vision. An Enid Blyton holiday. A rare excursion from my imagination into something with form.
Mr Piano Player was invited to play, and play he did. So very, very beautifully. A professional player, on the host's one day old piano. The little foot pedal velvet pumps were still in place. Michelle My Belle. Night & Day. Girl from Ipanaema. Someday my Prince Will Come. All Jazz style. With percussion accompaniment from a Chinese maestro wearing a pink shirt and leather cap.
The sun began to set.
The elegant became more expressive. The Piano Man had an exotic dance piece played over his head by a woman with very supple joints and strong core, not to mention pelvic floor muscles. She clambored over his body, extending limbs above, below and behind. He barely missed a beat. Another fellow picked up a cow bell, and gave it a rather good seeing too, while singing along. The bathrooms became busy. We left.
I caught my ferry on time.
I walked through the streets of Lamma.
And headed home.
To write this.
And hope I fall through another looking glass soon. The unexpected is so very satisfying.
I retire now, somewhat like the Opiated Caterpillar.
To dream of A Frenchman With A View
xxx
"I daresay you haven't had much practice," said the Queen. "When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
That's the sort of day I had today. It started rather ordinarily. Two weetabix and some skimmed milk. Bootcamp. Which I improved on some fronts and remedialised on others. Muffins and orange ginger juice at The Tattooists. Coffee and eggs with Little Miss Ultramarathon (whose names turns out to be Elissa, and would be more accurately monikered 'The Professor' - as she is the holder of all wisdoms to health and bendiness). Then off to Central to meet one of The Sisters. The Elder. She had been invited to 'Piano and Drinks' in Tai Tam, which sounded suitably incongruous to my experiences of Hong Kong. I was dutifully collected from the ferry terminal in the delicious open topped beamer. We collected flowers, as any good guest ought, then continued to our location.
The route should have given clues as to the rabbit hole we were about to plunge ourselves into. The tropical rains fell. We converted the car to have its roof. The sun shone. We converted the car to be topless. The rains fell. The sun shone. Top on. Top off. Eventually, we arrived at the Station House for the Tai Tam reservoir. The rabbit hole opened. The wardrobe full of coats was entered. And as we entered the house. We were in another world.
Couples and children were sat around the outdoor table, surrounded by Frangipani and rose wine. French men were seated around a solid wood table indoors, surrounded by still life paintings and arch ways to other rooms and inviting gardens. A second room offered leather sofas, carafes of wine and a piano. The house overlooked the sea, with mountains across the water, muffled in clouds. The air was infused with classical music, ranging from Swan Lake to other delightful sounds my education lacks description of. In short. Heaven. This was not Hong Kong. I was in my own personal Narnia.
I was mute. Which is quite rare for me. I clung to The Elder Sister's dress and shuffled behind her, as we kissed French men, women and babies, and found our place to be seated. And so we found our place, around a strong oak table, with artwork about, discussing Zeus, the latest agent provocateur of the art world. We were served salmon and mussels and steak and the finest dessert a woman can dream to believe of - hazelnut mousse, chocolate effects, macaroons and berry juices liberally displayed across the plate. That was just the tip of the iceberg.
The guests were fit for the Mad Hatter's Tea Party. The Club Promoter yet to sleep. The 67 year old artist with his new born son. The Professional Piano Player from Suzie Wongs in Beijing. The dapper eruditely thin older gentleman. The owner of the finest absinthe bar in Hong Kong. Yet it was daytime and curly haired children ran through the rooms, eager to play with their elegant parents.
We moved from dining room, to piano room, to terrace overlooking the sea, to vegetable patch, to outhouses, to badminton courts. Wherever you were, archways and windows showed tell of other activities happening elsewhere. It was a Narnian vision. An Enid Blyton holiday. A rare excursion from my imagination into something with form.
Mr Piano Player was invited to play, and play he did. So very, very beautifully. A professional player, on the host's one day old piano. The little foot pedal velvet pumps were still in place. Michelle My Belle. Night & Day. Girl from Ipanaema. Someday my Prince Will Come. All Jazz style. With percussion accompaniment from a Chinese maestro wearing a pink shirt and leather cap.
The sun began to set.
The elegant became more expressive. The Piano Man had an exotic dance piece played over his head by a woman with very supple joints and strong core, not to mention pelvic floor muscles. She clambored over his body, extending limbs above, below and behind. He barely missed a beat. Another fellow picked up a cow bell, and gave it a rather good seeing too, while singing along. The bathrooms became busy. We left.
I caught my ferry on time.
I walked through the streets of Lamma.
And headed home.
To write this.
And hope I fall through another looking glass soon. The unexpected is so very satisfying.
I retire now, somewhat like the Opiated Caterpillar.
To dream of A Frenchman With A View
xxx
Wednesday 22 July 2009
Just because everything's changing, doesn't mean it's never been this way before
Am feeling most musical and melancholy and wistful, as I said farewell to another friend this evening. Hannah and I sat by Deep Water Bay at Copacabanas, shared the sunset and bid our adieus. We had been friends for 4 years in Hong Kong. I had bumped into her randomly outside Cru on Stauntons and said, 'Erm, excuse me, are you Dan's sister, from Leeds?' I was fairly positive it was her. Seeing as there aren't many six foot amazonians in the Hong Kong populace. I used to hang out with her older brother when 'studying' at Leeds Uni. My best friend, Fiona, used to go out with Nick, who used to live with Dan... and Dan's little sister used to live there. She was a proper grown up. She would go to work when us kids were still going in the lounge. I remember staring up as she loomed down the stairs in all her statuesqueness, dressed for work, as we were dribbling messes on the floor (the hot mess was yet to be invented). That was about as much communication as we'd had until that evening in Soho when we met again. Since then. She has been an amazing friend. An exceptional hostess. And a sea of calm and stability against the rougher seas Hong Kong has had to offer. Next Monday she flies to a new life in Europe where she may graze with creatures who reach as lofty heights as herself, who understand dinner parties don't stop when Soho starts rocking and where she will be expecting a visit from me... as soon as I can afford the bus fare.
The night before had been sober - and involved pilates, which kicked my ass so hard I am almost limping today - there were 8 people in the class this week, as opposed to last week's 2 - so my rolling around on the ball like an uncoordinated teletubbie had to exhibit more control.. dammit - owch!
The night before, after a great yoga class, had seen me off to see my gay family in Central. The boys I lived with for my first three years in Hong Kong, at the farcically apt named 'Escapades' on Elgin Street. If you don't believe me, and live around, check the building name above McSorleys. Of course we retitled it 'Sexcapades' and one day, I shall write the memoir... I digress.... Following the last blog posting, I arrived in somewhat of a blissful state, all exercised and one merging, with my bag of mint and limes and cans of soda to make some virgin cocktails. I thought I was high enough on life. How foolish was I? And with an eclipse just around the corner? The boys announce they have something to show me. And play me the new video of James Morrison and Nelly Furtado - Broken Strings. It is exquisite and I feel emotional as the orchestra soars in the background. They announce they have something else to show me. Cartier tricolour gold and Lithuanian Silver. They got engaged last night. After being together for 8 years. I was the first one to be told. My family.
Blub. Sniffle. Joy. Happiness.
Bubbles for everyone!!!!
Well... two glasses never hurt anyone.
Chin chin
Love love
xxx
PS. Nice eclipse... in my house of fun... which relates to sports and play and sex. Meow!
The night before had been sober - and involved pilates, which kicked my ass so hard I am almost limping today - there were 8 people in the class this week, as opposed to last week's 2 - so my rolling around on the ball like an uncoordinated teletubbie had to exhibit more control.. dammit - owch!
The night before, after a great yoga class, had seen me off to see my gay family in Central. The boys I lived with for my first three years in Hong Kong, at the farcically apt named 'Escapades' on Elgin Street. If you don't believe me, and live around, check the building name above McSorleys. Of course we retitled it 'Sexcapades' and one day, I shall write the memoir... I digress.... Following the last blog posting, I arrived in somewhat of a blissful state, all exercised and one merging, with my bag of mint and limes and cans of soda to make some virgin cocktails. I thought I was high enough on life. How foolish was I? And with an eclipse just around the corner? The boys announce they have something to show me. And play me the new video of James Morrison and Nelly Furtado - Broken Strings. It is exquisite and I feel emotional as the orchestra soars in the background. They announce they have something else to show me. Cartier tricolour gold and Lithuanian Silver. They got engaged last night. After being together for 8 years. I was the first one to be told. My family.
Blub. Sniffle. Joy. Happiness.
Bubbles for everyone!!!!
Well... two glasses never hurt anyone.
Chin chin
Love love
xxx
PS. Nice eclipse... in my house of fun... which relates to sports and play and sex. Meow!
Monday 20 July 2009
Merging with the one - Ram Dass
Sorry to begin with spiritual hocus pocus (which I do love but know upsets a number of folks) - but I am feeling particularly full of joy and found this in a magazine:
''Your ego has all these wants. Your soul only has one want. It wants to get to merge with the Lover. Merge with the One."
Of course, I was pondering this, thinking, yes, 'the one' would be nice to meet 'a one' but in the meanwhile, I am loving spending time with me and some great people. Bootcamp was lovely last Sunday, probably due to the fact I woke up half an hour into it - and only had an hour left when I arrived? I had slept through the first tropical typhoon of the year? Sleeping like a baby. I will have not touched a drop of grog in a month tomorrow? And I am loving it! Strange but true. After bootcamp, I didn't actually need a nap this time, so pottered around the house and went down to the Bookworm for some yummy salad type fare. All the booths were taken, except Little Miss Ultramarathon was sitting in one, so I asked if she minded if I joined. We spent the next two hours having a lovely conversation. She shared my loathing of the wheelbarrow, saying she couldn't do it without her back screaming out and dipping. She then shared that she'd had to sleep for four hours after the first bootcamp. So she's not so dissimilar to me. Well, clearly she still had abs of steel and the ability to run or cycle or swim for maybe ten times as long as me, but still. Common ground found.
The rest of the day was spent reading the entire Sunday Morning Post, a first, as I usually get distracted and enjoying a herbal cigarette... except this herbal cigarette was a bit of a shock to the system. Last month it would have barely touched the sides, but yesterday? Woah. I felt most peculiar and had to go lie down at 11pm....
I awoke this morning at 11am? Having previously spoonfed chunky peanut butter into my face and having peculiar dreams with werewolves and vampires... I shan't share the particulars here :) I sloooped out of bed and met a friend for brunch, then off to Hung Shing Yeh beach for a glorious sunbathe and swim.
The walk over there was redolent with gingerlilies growing alongside the walkways, a jewelled spider twinkled in the sunlight, the sky a blue concoction of turquoises, persians and greys. Blissful. The water was cool and the waves crashed over my body shining in the sunkissed water.
I return now to the Ram Dass article:
"He wasnt just mouthing platitudes; after a lifetime of physical and intellectual vigor, Ram Dass suffered a stroke that left him in a wheelchair and slow of speech. People continued to attend his lectures not to admire glibness or agility but because Ram Dass actually seemed to know what 'merging with the One' felt like. He knew that this mystical sounding process is simply what the soul - or true self, if you prefer - does when we stop interfering."
My father has not been able to talk, other than in a few words here and there since November 2001. But he is so joy filled. I like to think it's because he is finally merging with the One. Moments like today on the beach give me some insight as to where he might be in his head, and it makes me very happy to think I can join him in that same happiness too.
OK. Enough of that. Off to do a bit more yoga, then watch So You Think You Can Dance with my gay family in Central. I shall take some cocktail ingredients and just skip the vodka in mine. Feeling this good is not to be messed with.
Big love
xxx
''Your ego has all these wants. Your soul only has one want. It wants to get to merge with the Lover. Merge with the One."
Of course, I was pondering this, thinking, yes, 'the one' would be nice to meet 'a one' but in the meanwhile, I am loving spending time with me and some great people. Bootcamp was lovely last Sunday, probably due to the fact I woke up half an hour into it - and only had an hour left when I arrived? I had slept through the first tropical typhoon of the year? Sleeping like a baby. I will have not touched a drop of grog in a month tomorrow? And I am loving it! Strange but true. After bootcamp, I didn't actually need a nap this time, so pottered around the house and went down to the Bookworm for some yummy salad type fare. All the booths were taken, except Little Miss Ultramarathon was sitting in one, so I asked if she minded if I joined. We spent the next two hours having a lovely conversation. She shared my loathing of the wheelbarrow, saying she couldn't do it without her back screaming out and dipping. She then shared that she'd had to sleep for four hours after the first bootcamp. So she's not so dissimilar to me. Well, clearly she still had abs of steel and the ability to run or cycle or swim for maybe ten times as long as me, but still. Common ground found.
The rest of the day was spent reading the entire Sunday Morning Post, a first, as I usually get distracted and enjoying a herbal cigarette... except this herbal cigarette was a bit of a shock to the system. Last month it would have barely touched the sides, but yesterday? Woah. I felt most peculiar and had to go lie down at 11pm....
I awoke this morning at 11am? Having previously spoonfed chunky peanut butter into my face and having peculiar dreams with werewolves and vampires... I shan't share the particulars here :) I sloooped out of bed and met a friend for brunch, then off to Hung Shing Yeh beach for a glorious sunbathe and swim.
The walk over there was redolent with gingerlilies growing alongside the walkways, a jewelled spider twinkled in the sunlight, the sky a blue concoction of turquoises, persians and greys. Blissful. The water was cool and the waves crashed over my body shining in the sunkissed water.
I return now to the Ram Dass article:
"He wasnt just mouthing platitudes; after a lifetime of physical and intellectual vigor, Ram Dass suffered a stroke that left him in a wheelchair and slow of speech. People continued to attend his lectures not to admire glibness or agility but because Ram Dass actually seemed to know what 'merging with the One' felt like. He knew that this mystical sounding process is simply what the soul - or true self, if you prefer - does when we stop interfering."
My father has not been able to talk, other than in a few words here and there since November 2001. But he is so joy filled. I like to think it's because he is finally merging with the One. Moments like today on the beach give me some insight as to where he might be in his head, and it makes me very happy to think I can join him in that same happiness too.
OK. Enough of that. Off to do a bit more yoga, then watch So You Think You Can Dance with my gay family in Central. I shall take some cocktail ingredients and just skip the vodka in mine. Feeling this good is not to be messed with.
Big love
xxx
Wednesday 15 July 2009
Macbeth - Hubble, bubble, toil and trouble (not the true quote but it sounds so much better)
Bootcamp 2 was surprisingly enjoyable? Sure, I felt a bit pukey and dizzy at the beginning, but that was more to do with the crazy heat outside and the banana smoothie that my body didn't have time to digest than the death by exercise. In fact, the heat was almost in my favour, as it meant we couldn't be pushed too hard or we'd all pass out.
The wheel barrow was culled - and replaced by the crocodile - which involves writhing along the floor with your elbows and knees out to the side... most natural. I did manage more press ups and box jumps. I doubled my jumping jack/burpee medley but the running distance slowed, I got to tree 5 on the second trip to the helipad (which I hope I can recognise this Sunday).
In fact, there were only 5 of us. Mr Ed Hardy T-shirt was there, but had been out on the piss all week so had done zero exercise and felt rough. Little Miss Ultramarathon was there and whizzing around the activities in a sporty person type fashion. Herman the Incredible Shrinking Man was there doing his thing, as was the 19 year old uber-ripped Keira Knightley doppelganger. So we all got that little bit extra attention from Dora, our Trainer.
We could only spend an hour outside as it was just too darn hot but spent over an hour and a half inside. THe TRX room felt like heaven with its gloriously cooling aircon and pumping tunes courtesy of DJ Anil, who mixes tapes for Dora's Spin classes over at Pure Fitness on the big island. So we lunged and squatted and lay prone and lay supine and pretended to climb the rigging and ride the catamaran and many varieties of fun things to trick one into exercise. We rolled around on the Noddytown bricks a bit more, which was much less painful, and even rather amusing, particularly when humping the giant pink cylinder to smooth out those inner thigh muscles. If I haven't had the giggles in an exercise class I rarely want to go back.
Drama ensued, as our Trainer is an advocate of natural births, and Mr Ed Hardy's wife is pregant and heavily skeptical. The fact that Mrs UltraMarathon specialises in pregnant lady physio meant everyone was weighing in... Certainly not the bootcamp I was envisaging! Much more Earth Mothery.
I bounced away from the class and went home to make magical feasts to keep me sustained for the next few days. I made a giant pot of pea, lettuce and mint soup and panfried some scallops in lemon juice. Alas, the magic was horribly lacking. I had made the same dish using relatively expensive organic items from 360 in Central a few weeks ago and it had been divine. This time the ingredients were from the local supermarket Wellcome. Everything had to be thrown away. It tasted foul! I do suspect this may be in some part due to sobriety and exercise so my body is actually talking to me... this is going to be a pricey business! But well worth it in the end.
Rest of the day was spent sunbathing on my roof and the beach and having a wonderful organic meal at my friend Laurence and Carey's house. Organic. May be pricey. But just tastes so God damn gooood.
Since then there's been yoga, and pilates and swimming. A bit of work inbetween, but when you're teaching teenagers the finer points of feature writing and Twilight plotlines, it doesn't really seem like work as I used to know it.
Still pondering whether to move to Melbourne or South Africa or England next year. Still finding gothic creatures on my second floor stairs - this month has included a giant rat, a teeny tiny bat and a horny toad. All alive and well at first, but tend not to fare so well the next time I see them. I guess I shall have to start rescuing them and taking them outside before the cat or the heat gets to them... But the thought of trying to escort a rat off the premises as it scuttles about is rather hairy.
Off to see Harry Potter this evening, so shall see how they handle their familiars and try and pick up some tips.
Today is Day 26 of the sober!
x
The wheel barrow was culled - and replaced by the crocodile - which involves writhing along the floor with your elbows and knees out to the side... most natural. I did manage more press ups and box jumps. I doubled my jumping jack/burpee medley but the running distance slowed, I got to tree 5 on the second trip to the helipad (which I hope I can recognise this Sunday).
In fact, there were only 5 of us. Mr Ed Hardy T-shirt was there, but had been out on the piss all week so had done zero exercise and felt rough. Little Miss Ultramarathon was there and whizzing around the activities in a sporty person type fashion. Herman the Incredible Shrinking Man was there doing his thing, as was the 19 year old uber-ripped Keira Knightley doppelganger. So we all got that little bit extra attention from Dora, our Trainer.
We could only spend an hour outside as it was just too darn hot but spent over an hour and a half inside. THe TRX room felt like heaven with its gloriously cooling aircon and pumping tunes courtesy of DJ Anil, who mixes tapes for Dora's Spin classes over at Pure Fitness on the big island. So we lunged and squatted and lay prone and lay supine and pretended to climb the rigging and ride the catamaran and many varieties of fun things to trick one into exercise. We rolled around on the Noddytown bricks a bit more, which was much less painful, and even rather amusing, particularly when humping the giant pink cylinder to smooth out those inner thigh muscles. If I haven't had the giggles in an exercise class I rarely want to go back.
Drama ensued, as our Trainer is an advocate of natural births, and Mr Ed Hardy's wife is pregant and heavily skeptical. The fact that Mrs UltraMarathon specialises in pregnant lady physio meant everyone was weighing in... Certainly not the bootcamp I was envisaging! Much more Earth Mothery.
I bounced away from the class and went home to make magical feasts to keep me sustained for the next few days. I made a giant pot of pea, lettuce and mint soup and panfried some scallops in lemon juice. Alas, the magic was horribly lacking. I had made the same dish using relatively expensive organic items from 360 in Central a few weeks ago and it had been divine. This time the ingredients were from the local supermarket Wellcome. Everything had to be thrown away. It tasted foul! I do suspect this may be in some part due to sobriety and exercise so my body is actually talking to me... this is going to be a pricey business! But well worth it in the end.
Rest of the day was spent sunbathing on my roof and the beach and having a wonderful organic meal at my friend Laurence and Carey's house. Organic. May be pricey. But just tastes so God damn gooood.
Since then there's been yoga, and pilates and swimming. A bit of work inbetween, but when you're teaching teenagers the finer points of feature writing and Twilight plotlines, it doesn't really seem like work as I used to know it.
Still pondering whether to move to Melbourne or South Africa or England next year. Still finding gothic creatures on my second floor stairs - this month has included a giant rat, a teeny tiny bat and a horny toad. All alive and well at first, but tend not to fare so well the next time I see them. I guess I shall have to start rescuing them and taking them outside before the cat or the heat gets to them... But the thought of trying to escort a rat off the premises as it scuttles about is rather hairy.
Off to see Harry Potter this evening, so shall see how they handle their familiars and try and pick up some tips.
Today is Day 26 of the sober!
x
Saturday 11 July 2009
Brighton Rock - Hell lay about him in his infancy
Whenever I get the 'mean reds' as Holly Golightly would call them - that line always springs to the forefront of my mind. The words of Graham Greene in the novel I read for GCSE back at All Hallows Catholic High School, a suitably religious text with tales of redemption and salvation.
Not sure why I'm feeling so overly miffed, but as work drew to a close I was feeling distinctly BEER O CLOCK - but seeing as it is only day 21 of sobriety that wasn't really an option. The fact it's bootcamp o clock in 12 hours helped aid my decision. So I flounced off to the Arctic temperatures of Wellcome, purchased fine proteins such as chicken and salmon and scallops, alas, by the time I was back on Lamma Island, I did not feel like cooking - so am smoking my Malborough Lights and skyping my brother and his wife to discuss - "Firemangate."
Firemangate emerged last year, when my mother, a spritely 60 something discovered her next door neighbour was a SINGLE man!!! They have been piffing and poffing ever since. Nearly hooking up but not quite. Surreal instances have included her waving to him as the hot air balloon trip my brother, Paul and I bought her for her 60th sailed over his front garden.... Not a euphemism. He came over for dinner last year and made a pass, my mother politely declined. Yesterday, they spent the day wandering through the Welsh hills, bounding over boulders and tripping the light fantastic through waterfalls. Suffice to say, dearest mama is somewhat smitten and apparently the ball is in her court. He says a fling's on the table if she wants one. It's her call. I learnt this through skype... and has suitably unnerved me. I'll get over it, I think sobriety is turning me into a prude. Hell, I'd love to think I could be having affairs with men twenty years my junior when I'm entering my grandmotherly epoch!
Enough of that. Tomorrow is Bootcamp Two. And this time it's personal! Or rather, this time, I know what I'll be expected to do, which makes me ache just imagining.
So here is the line up - as performed last week:
1. Run/jog from entrance of football pitch to helicopter landing and back with partners, if can't run/jog then walk - 5 minutes non stop.
(Yes, we have a helipad, not so glamorous though - it's used primarily for pregnant ladies whose waters suddenly break or those nibbled by snakes - hold up - that is pretty glam - nice! Last week I jogged which is not running, but not walking so I feel OK - I did there and back and there again - so will aim to get back again this time.)
2. Speed Ladder x 3 patterns, everything twice (6 in total min)
(Quite like this one - you do various moves seen in Bend it Like Beckham training, with a nice dash of aerobics ponying and sashaying which I imagine gay pop music too and get through faster)
3. Push-ups (30 secs), opposite arm leg reach (1 minute each leg)
(I managed 10 last week - haha - anticipate reaching the lofty goal of at least 11 this week, having been to yoga twice since so clearly having superior arm strength after all those down dogs)
4. Box jumps off the bleachers, low impact option, step ups (2 minutes)
(I box jumped 'off the bleachers' - hadn't known what they were til now - in layman's terms, bleachers are... wait for it... steps - but jump up a step and down off a step doesn't sound so bootie I suppose, and wouldn't have gone down so well in Navy Seal training)
5. Wheel barrows across the field / hold plank position on hands as long as possible
(THIS is my nemesis. This is what made sure I attended two yoga classes, and practiced bendy things on my roof this week. Wheel barrows are the devil's jism! They are beyond evil. Not only are you expected to support your entire body and walk on your arms, but you suffer the indignity of some poor soul you've only just met holding your ankles and attempting to assist you! The horror. I got half way across the football pitch - the short way. I intend to pass the half way line tomorrow. You will not have me beat Monsieur Wheelbarrow!)
6. 10 Jump Jacks & 5 Burpee Sequence (2 minutes)
(Ick - this is just after the Barrow of Shame and my strength had left the building, or rather walked off the pitch at this juncture. Jumping Jacks? Fine. Just a tad half-hearted. 'Burpees.' WTF!? Leap in the air, as if attempting to sell some sanitary towel product 'Whaaarrrr Body Form, Body Form for yooouuuu!' then on the ground with your legs leaping back then forward. The name is no mystery. I managed 10 Jumping Jacks and a mighty 5 Burpalots. I shall beat that tomorrow. Oh yes I shall...)
7. Speed ladder x 3 patterns, twice round.
(All good - clearly good in a hobbling sense, but compared to wheelbarrows and burpees... ALL good)
8. Vollyball vertical jump drills (20 each) with partner
(Last week, we all had to do 10, as we were shagged, but 10 from a line across the football pitch, where we were to be lay upon the floor, then jump into action, run across pitch and leap up to the 'bleacher' where our partner was holding up their arm so we could high five them... I really don't have the testosterone for this... My knees and elbows are still a tad bruised from flinging myself to the floor and scrabbling up again... wonder how I'll fare tomorrow :) )
9. W pattern - 2 minutes
(By this point, I think I was hallucinating, at least I wasn't on the floor, in the air, a la burpees and volleyball jumps, so went quite smoothly, you do a human W shape, run back, touch floor, run forward, touch floor - I mooched through 11)
10. Running legs in prone plank - 1 minute
(This is clearly NO time to be attempting to support your body weight with your arm muscles, as they have decided to stop working long ago - lord knows what I did here)
11. Shadowing - 2 minutes partner work
(Partner jumps around, you mirror it. Partner was more dedicated than I, so I copied her tricky moves. My turn. I was done at this point, so wiggled my fingers, stretched and twirled... Which was not smart. Dora, Lady Bootie, came over, and BOTH my partner and myself, had to mirror her. She kicked our asses. Lesson learnt :( )
12. Plank wrestling - 1 minute partner work
(I have NO idea what this means, pretty sure I didn't wrestle a plank)
13. Skip rope - 2 minutes
(First minute's OK, second minute, not so great. We decided to count how many times you trip. I managed 9 - which may sound laughable, however, the fact I managed to raise my arms over my head, and jump in the air at all - is pretty impressive. I feel spent having just typed the ordeal!)
And that, my friends... is the 30 minute agility/cardio conditioning BEFORE the ONE HOUR TRX training inside... well fiddley dee! :)
Last week, we were shown around the equipment and practiced a little - here is what cometh tomorrow:
1. FOAM ROLLER S.M.R (15mins) Total postural release, and core activation
(We did this bit. You roll your bits over a giant blue cylinder which resembles the building blocks of the Town Hall in Noddyville - this hurts, but at least you're lying down)
2. T.R.X Total Body Resistance Exercise with BOSU
Legs sequence, squats, lunges (3mins)
(Ow)
Rotation on feet, standing twist release, standing, oblique rotation, high-5 rotations (3mins)
(More high fives... grrrr... whimper)
Pushing sequence (2mins)
(Could be the new falling over sequence)
BOSU standing (static) balance challenge (1)
(Ah, no, THIS will be the falling over sequence)
Supine sequence
(This sounds nice - and maybe to do with wolves - I shan't google it... ignorance is bliss)
Prone sequence
(Hmm)
Side laying sequence (2 minutes each side)
(Ho hum)
TRX Legs jumping challenge (sprinters start, frog jumps, single leg lunge jumps) 6 mins
(hahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa)
TRX / BOSU Supine (one leg) challenge - 2mins
(The 'challenge' element doesn't make me happy)
TRX / BOSU Prone (one leg) challenge - 2mins
(Ditto)
TRX / BOSU Side laying (one leg) challenge - 2mins
(Vomit)
The end
Well, I don't feel that 'Hulk will Smash' vibe any longer. The visualisation of such chronic exercise has quite calmed me down... I guess I didn't to find solace at the bottom of a glass, the bootie camp has offered salvation enough.
A to the men.
To sleep, perchance to dream of weightless wheelbarrows
xx
Not sure why I'm feeling so overly miffed, but as work drew to a close I was feeling distinctly BEER O CLOCK - but seeing as it is only day 21 of sobriety that wasn't really an option. The fact it's bootcamp o clock in 12 hours helped aid my decision. So I flounced off to the Arctic temperatures of Wellcome, purchased fine proteins such as chicken and salmon and scallops, alas, by the time I was back on Lamma Island, I did not feel like cooking - so am smoking my Malborough Lights and skyping my brother and his wife to discuss - "Firemangate."
Firemangate emerged last year, when my mother, a spritely 60 something discovered her next door neighbour was a SINGLE man!!! They have been piffing and poffing ever since. Nearly hooking up but not quite. Surreal instances have included her waving to him as the hot air balloon trip my brother, Paul and I bought her for her 60th sailed over his front garden.... Not a euphemism. He came over for dinner last year and made a pass, my mother politely declined. Yesterday, they spent the day wandering through the Welsh hills, bounding over boulders and tripping the light fantastic through waterfalls. Suffice to say, dearest mama is somewhat smitten and apparently the ball is in her court. He says a fling's on the table if she wants one. It's her call. I learnt this through skype... and has suitably unnerved me. I'll get over it, I think sobriety is turning me into a prude. Hell, I'd love to think I could be having affairs with men twenty years my junior when I'm entering my grandmotherly epoch!
Enough of that. Tomorrow is Bootcamp Two. And this time it's personal! Or rather, this time, I know what I'll be expected to do, which makes me ache just imagining.
So here is the line up - as performed last week:
1. Run/jog from entrance of football pitch to helicopter landing and back with partners, if can't run/jog then walk - 5 minutes non stop.
(Yes, we have a helipad, not so glamorous though - it's used primarily for pregnant ladies whose waters suddenly break or those nibbled by snakes - hold up - that is pretty glam - nice! Last week I jogged which is not running, but not walking so I feel OK - I did there and back and there again - so will aim to get back again this time.)
2. Speed Ladder x 3 patterns, everything twice (6 in total min)
(Quite like this one - you do various moves seen in Bend it Like Beckham training, with a nice dash of aerobics ponying and sashaying which I imagine gay pop music too and get through faster)
3. Push-ups (30 secs), opposite arm leg reach (1 minute each leg)
(I managed 10 last week - haha - anticipate reaching the lofty goal of at least 11 this week, having been to yoga twice since so clearly having superior arm strength after all those down dogs)
4. Box jumps off the bleachers, low impact option, step ups (2 minutes)
(I box jumped 'off the bleachers' - hadn't known what they were til now - in layman's terms, bleachers are... wait for it... steps - but jump up a step and down off a step doesn't sound so bootie I suppose, and wouldn't have gone down so well in Navy Seal training)
5. Wheel barrows across the field / hold plank position on hands as long as possible
(THIS is my nemesis. This is what made sure I attended two yoga classes, and practiced bendy things on my roof this week. Wheel barrows are the devil's jism! They are beyond evil. Not only are you expected to support your entire body and walk on your arms, but you suffer the indignity of some poor soul you've only just met holding your ankles and attempting to assist you! The horror. I got half way across the football pitch - the short way. I intend to pass the half way line tomorrow. You will not have me beat Monsieur Wheelbarrow!)
6. 10 Jump Jacks & 5 Burpee Sequence (2 minutes)
(Ick - this is just after the Barrow of Shame and my strength had left the building, or rather walked off the pitch at this juncture. Jumping Jacks? Fine. Just a tad half-hearted. 'Burpees.' WTF!? Leap in the air, as if attempting to sell some sanitary towel product 'Whaaarrrr Body Form, Body Form for yooouuuu!' then on the ground with your legs leaping back then forward. The name is no mystery. I managed 10 Jumping Jacks and a mighty 5 Burpalots. I shall beat that tomorrow. Oh yes I shall...)
7. Speed ladder x 3 patterns, twice round.
(All good - clearly good in a hobbling sense, but compared to wheelbarrows and burpees... ALL good)
8. Vollyball vertical jump drills (20 each) with partner
(Last week, we all had to do 10, as we were shagged, but 10 from a line across the football pitch, where we were to be lay upon the floor, then jump into action, run across pitch and leap up to the 'bleacher' where our partner was holding up their arm so we could high five them... I really don't have the testosterone for this... My knees and elbows are still a tad bruised from flinging myself to the floor and scrabbling up again... wonder how I'll fare tomorrow :) )
9. W pattern - 2 minutes
(By this point, I think I was hallucinating, at least I wasn't on the floor, in the air, a la burpees and volleyball jumps, so went quite smoothly, you do a human W shape, run back, touch floor, run forward, touch floor - I mooched through 11)
10. Running legs in prone plank - 1 minute
(This is clearly NO time to be attempting to support your body weight with your arm muscles, as they have decided to stop working long ago - lord knows what I did here)
11. Shadowing - 2 minutes partner work
(Partner jumps around, you mirror it. Partner was more dedicated than I, so I copied her tricky moves. My turn. I was done at this point, so wiggled my fingers, stretched and twirled... Which was not smart. Dora, Lady Bootie, came over, and BOTH my partner and myself, had to mirror her. She kicked our asses. Lesson learnt :( )
12. Plank wrestling - 1 minute partner work
(I have NO idea what this means, pretty sure I didn't wrestle a plank)
13. Skip rope - 2 minutes
(First minute's OK, second minute, not so great. We decided to count how many times you trip. I managed 9 - which may sound laughable, however, the fact I managed to raise my arms over my head, and jump in the air at all - is pretty impressive. I feel spent having just typed the ordeal!)
And that, my friends... is the 30 minute agility/cardio conditioning BEFORE the ONE HOUR TRX training inside... well fiddley dee! :)
Last week, we were shown around the equipment and practiced a little - here is what cometh tomorrow:
1. FOAM ROLLER S.M.R (15mins) Total postural release, and core activation
(We did this bit. You roll your bits over a giant blue cylinder which resembles the building blocks of the Town Hall in Noddyville - this hurts, but at least you're lying down)
2. T.R.X Total Body Resistance Exercise with BOSU
Legs sequence, squats, lunges (3mins)
(Ow)
Rotation on feet, standing twist release, standing, oblique rotation, high-5 rotations (3mins)
(More high fives... grrrr... whimper)
Pushing sequence (2mins)
(Could be the new falling over sequence)
BOSU standing (static) balance challenge (1)
(Ah, no, THIS will be the falling over sequence)
Supine sequence
(This sounds nice - and maybe to do with wolves - I shan't google it... ignorance is bliss)
Prone sequence
(Hmm)
Side laying sequence (2 minutes each side)
(Ho hum)
TRX Legs jumping challenge (sprinters start, frog jumps, single leg lunge jumps) 6 mins
(hahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa)
TRX / BOSU Supine (one leg) challenge - 2mins
(The 'challenge' element doesn't make me happy)
TRX / BOSU Prone (one leg) challenge - 2mins
(Ditto)
TRX / BOSU Side laying (one leg) challenge - 2mins
(Vomit)
The end
Well, I don't feel that 'Hulk will Smash' vibe any longer. The visualisation of such chronic exercise has quite calmed me down... I guess I didn't to find solace at the bottom of a glass, the bootie camp has offered salvation enough.
A to the men.
To sleep, perchance to dream of weightless wheelbarrows
xx
Wednesday 8 July 2009
By George I think she's got it!
So - how was it?
How did it go?
Did I hurl?
Have I bottled it never to return to the evil world of camps and boots?
Well...
I was like a very good boy scout and super well prepared the day before. I ended up going to bed at 9.30pm to try and make sure I got my 8 hours sleep. I woke up at 6, made my sandwich to keep me going, and got to the football court just after 7. I was the first one there. I sat, and sat a bit more, watching the old ladies chat centre court with their wheelie shopping bags. The odd jogger waddled past slapping their white tennis shoes on the hard concrete... but no booters.
And then I saw them, the first few boot types entering the court and walking towards me (I clearly resembled a 'booter' due to my trainers and apprehension). One larger man, one slender man, and a woman who looked like she already ran ultra-marathons.... A cheerleader type replete with ponytail came next, then another fellow fashioning an Ed Hardy T-shirt. Then the Boot Camp Leader herself... Dora, the yoga teacher...
I could see this bootcamp was going to be a lot friendlier than I had envisioned :)
We dutifully filled in our forms. I'm the token type A (blood type - certainly not personality) - so was given commiserations as that killer instinct just isn't really there to force me through the pain. And pain there would be. From 7.30 til 9am outside. Then 9 til 10 inside with TRX loopy things suspended ominously from the ceiling.
But after it all, I felt joyful!
I wasn't ill. I just POWER napped for the rest of the day as my body didn't quite know what had hit it!
The next day, I woke up sore, but not too sore, and proceeded to spend day swimming in sea, and then attending an evening yoga class.
In fact, I must dash, and have another yoga class in 15 minutes.
I do believe the reformation has commenced!
More to follow
xx
How did it go?
Did I hurl?
Have I bottled it never to return to the evil world of camps and boots?
Well...
I was like a very good boy scout and super well prepared the day before. I ended up going to bed at 9.30pm to try and make sure I got my 8 hours sleep. I woke up at 6, made my sandwich to keep me going, and got to the football court just after 7. I was the first one there. I sat, and sat a bit more, watching the old ladies chat centre court with their wheelie shopping bags. The odd jogger waddled past slapping their white tennis shoes on the hard concrete... but no booters.
And then I saw them, the first few boot types entering the court and walking towards me (I clearly resembled a 'booter' due to my trainers and apprehension). One larger man, one slender man, and a woman who looked like she already ran ultra-marathons.... A cheerleader type replete with ponytail came next, then another fellow fashioning an Ed Hardy T-shirt. Then the Boot Camp Leader herself... Dora, the yoga teacher...
I could see this bootcamp was going to be a lot friendlier than I had envisioned :)
We dutifully filled in our forms. I'm the token type A (blood type - certainly not personality) - so was given commiserations as that killer instinct just isn't really there to force me through the pain. And pain there would be. From 7.30 til 9am outside. Then 9 til 10 inside with TRX loopy things suspended ominously from the ceiling.
But after it all, I felt joyful!
I wasn't ill. I just POWER napped for the rest of the day as my body didn't quite know what had hit it!
The next day, I woke up sore, but not too sore, and proceeded to spend day swimming in sea, and then attending an evening yoga class.
In fact, I must dash, and have another yoga class in 15 minutes.
I do believe the reformation has commenced!
More to follow
xx
Saturday 4 July 2009
The Tale of Two Cities: It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done
"You may think you’re physically fit now, but can you:
Swim 500 yards using breast and/or side stroke in 12minutes and 30 seconds, rest for 10minutes, then,
Do 42 pushups in two minutes, rest for two minutes, then
Do 50 sit ups in two minutes, rest for two minutes, then
Do eight pull-ups, rest for 10 minutes, then
Run 1.5 miles wearing boots and pants in 11minutes and 30 seconds?"
Erm... no! These are the questions I am asked at the top of my Bootcamp form. The one that begins at 7am tomorrow. The one I am wondering whether: a. everyone will look like characters from High School Musical and merrily show off their jazz hands throughout the whole performance as it is so easy, or b. i will vomit, or c. i will vomit and the jazzhanders will point and laugh.
Apparenly the Bootcamp readies you up to try out for the Navy Seals? My heavily moustached Irish Uncle Alan was one of these people, and behind his smiling Irish eyes was the look that he knew more than one way to kill a man. This was his level of fitness? I always imagined our similarities would end with the ole blue eyes, but no, I shall be taking orders like a man, and not asking my trainer to be a little more polite when he asks me to drop and give them twenty...
Wrist or knee braces are recommended if there are any issues in these areas. I have never owned such a garment, as have never tried to see what my body can do. The most energetic I've been in the past few years is whooping it up to gay pop at some Morning Party in Causeway Bay. Perhaps I will own braces by next week?
My clothes ought to be made of sweat-wicking technologies... Nope. Not sure I've needed that before either, well, perhaps it has been needed, but I wasn't overly aware the stuff existed. In lieu of such items, bring a change of clothes, as the first 30 minutes is spent outside, before the hour inside.
Next I am told I ought to drink cold water, so should use an Aluminium canister to keep the temperature just right. I clearly don't have one of those, but having spoken to a friend who commented that if you drink before you starjump the likelihood of vomitting does increase, I am going to stick to sipping from a regular bottle of bonaqua - the CocaCola of waters, and choose less hydration over more vomit.
"Exercise or not, we should be drinking enough water to never experience thrust."
Thrust? Pass.
"NUTRITION: Eat a hearty meal 3-4 hours before bed the night before, get at least 8hours uninterrupted sleep the night before all BOOTCAMP sessions, get up early to make yourself an easily digestible breakfast, high carbs, high protein…"
So I have to be there at 7, thankfully the gym is only a five minute walk from my house, but still, that means breakfast at 6am, so asleep at 10pm, with that hearty meal at 7pm. I had pesto pasta with the vegetable of champions (peas) at 8pm so that's kinda OK, and I have taken it on good authority to have a peanut butter and banana sandwich for breakfast... at 6am... before jumping up and down...
Or Lord.
Twill all be done in twelve hours time.
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done"
Good night
x
Swim 500 yards using breast and/or side stroke in 12minutes and 30 seconds, rest for 10minutes, then,
Do 42 pushups in two minutes, rest for two minutes, then
Do 50 sit ups in two minutes, rest for two minutes, then
Do eight pull-ups, rest for 10 minutes, then
Run 1.5 miles wearing boots and pants in 11minutes and 30 seconds?"
Erm... no! These are the questions I am asked at the top of my Bootcamp form. The one that begins at 7am tomorrow. The one I am wondering whether: a. everyone will look like characters from High School Musical and merrily show off their jazz hands throughout the whole performance as it is so easy, or b. i will vomit, or c. i will vomit and the jazzhanders will point and laugh.
Apparenly the Bootcamp readies you up to try out for the Navy Seals? My heavily moustached Irish Uncle Alan was one of these people, and behind his smiling Irish eyes was the look that he knew more than one way to kill a man. This was his level of fitness? I always imagined our similarities would end with the ole blue eyes, but no, I shall be taking orders like a man, and not asking my trainer to be a little more polite when he asks me to drop and give them twenty...
Wrist or knee braces are recommended if there are any issues in these areas. I have never owned such a garment, as have never tried to see what my body can do. The most energetic I've been in the past few years is whooping it up to gay pop at some Morning Party in Causeway Bay. Perhaps I will own braces by next week?
My clothes ought to be made of sweat-wicking technologies... Nope. Not sure I've needed that before either, well, perhaps it has been needed, but I wasn't overly aware the stuff existed. In lieu of such items, bring a change of clothes, as the first 30 minutes is spent outside, before the hour inside.
Next I am told I ought to drink cold water, so should use an Aluminium canister to keep the temperature just right. I clearly don't have one of those, but having spoken to a friend who commented that if you drink before you starjump the likelihood of vomitting does increase, I am going to stick to sipping from a regular bottle of bonaqua - the CocaCola of waters, and choose less hydration over more vomit.
"Exercise or not, we should be drinking enough water to never experience thrust."
Thrust? Pass.
"NUTRITION: Eat a hearty meal 3-4 hours before bed the night before, get at least 8hours uninterrupted sleep the night before all BOOTCAMP sessions, get up early to make yourself an easily digestible breakfast, high carbs, high protein…"
So I have to be there at 7, thankfully the gym is only a five minute walk from my house, but still, that means breakfast at 6am, so asleep at 10pm, with that hearty meal at 7pm. I had pesto pasta with the vegetable of champions (peas) at 8pm so that's kinda OK, and I have taken it on good authority to have a peanut butter and banana sandwich for breakfast... at 6am... before jumping up and down...
Or Lord.
Twill all be done in twelve hours time.
"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done"
Good night
x
Friday 3 July 2009
Jiminy Cricket: Now you see the world is full of temptations
Hello and welcome to the chronicles of a girl beginning to explore Hong Kong as a sober person. This is the road less travelled. A fairly quiet road, with not so many dramatic stories on a Wednesday morning at work, having not slept the night before, nor found their own bed, but a road that I am mooching along at this time. It is leading to a lot more clarity, many more insights - and hopefully the ability to act on them rather than drink another bottle of wine and purportedly deal with it in the morrow!
I have given up alcohol many times during the seven years I have lived in Hong Kong. The first was after my very first Chinese New Year here, when I fell into a plot akin to Fear and Loathing in Soho (or Drop, Homebase, Escapades and Propaganda - more of that to come). I needed The Priory, but seeing as Thailand was just a hop, skip and a jump away, off I went to the Sanctuary, for full body cleansing. I returned glowing and joyous and gleefully ran to the nearest 7-Eleven to tox up with my friends. This process went on loop for a time, til I decided a better idea was to live on a desert island, just outside Hong Kong, where I would be pure and white as the driven snow. Haha! As anyone who has visited Lamma after dark knows... that is not the natural progression. Lamma by day is a land of seafood restaurants and beach accessories, Lamma by night is more Pleasure Island in Pinocchio but without the cherubic cartoonery.
Which in a wonderfully brief fashion leads us to here. I was hoping to find religion, as then I could have a clear set of dos and don'ts and still imbibe merrily on church wines... but in lieu of such salvation, sobriety seems to be the next step, as I struggle with saying no at the best of times. So in the great words of Jiminy Cricket - 'And always let your conscience be your guide!'
I would appear to have a malevolent cicada, rather than sprightly grasshopper on my back however... as my first substantial sober act is to....
Sign up for an eight week Bootcamp, that starts at 7am every Sunday morning...
I shall be offering hilarious photographs and more information as the process develops (thanks for great idea Toko - and great encouragement other folks!)
Til the morrow
x
I have given up alcohol many times during the seven years I have lived in Hong Kong. The first was after my very first Chinese New Year here, when I fell into a plot akin to Fear and Loathing in Soho (or Drop, Homebase, Escapades and Propaganda - more of that to come). I needed The Priory, but seeing as Thailand was just a hop, skip and a jump away, off I went to the Sanctuary, for full body cleansing. I returned glowing and joyous and gleefully ran to the nearest 7-Eleven to tox up with my friends. This process went on loop for a time, til I decided a better idea was to live on a desert island, just outside Hong Kong, where I would be pure and white as the driven snow. Haha! As anyone who has visited Lamma after dark knows... that is not the natural progression. Lamma by day is a land of seafood restaurants and beach accessories, Lamma by night is more Pleasure Island in Pinocchio but without the cherubic cartoonery.
Which in a wonderfully brief fashion leads us to here. I was hoping to find religion, as then I could have a clear set of dos and don'ts and still imbibe merrily on church wines... but in lieu of such salvation, sobriety seems to be the next step, as I struggle with saying no at the best of times. So in the great words of Jiminy Cricket - 'And always let your conscience be your guide!'
I would appear to have a malevolent cicada, rather than sprightly grasshopper on my back however... as my first substantial sober act is to....
Sign up for an eight week Bootcamp, that starts at 7am every Sunday morning...
I shall be offering hilarious photographs and more information as the process develops (thanks for great idea Toko - and great encouragement other folks!)
Til the morrow
x
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
