Category: Connection

A Week of Niblings

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While there are many parents who may dread the summer holidays, I actually love it because – gratefully childfree – I get to be Super Fun Aunt Mimi and hang out with my gorgeous Niblings while my sister is at work.

At nine and seven her children are at the brilliant age of engaging intelligence and curiosity, with a huge amount of energy and enough independence to clear the table, tidy away games, create treasure maps and manage their own ablutions. This past week has been an utterly exhausting but wonderfully rewarding week of lessons for all three of us:

  • If you get them to choose their favourite tune to get dressed to, you can have both of them with teeth brushed and ready to go in the three and a half minutes of Ride by Twenty One Pilots.
  • The prepacked trays of sushi in Waitrose are excellent (but wincingly expensive) idea for lunch. Make it educational by watching the chef roll and chop the seaweed wrapped maki rolls.
  • The library is an amazing place for kids – full of cute reading nooks, a table with a chess board, plenty of computers, an imaginatively decorated children’s section and a thousand piece jigsaw in progress for anyone to join in with. We just popped in to see what we could do and ended up there for more than three hours, leaving a very triumphantly completed jigsaw on the table.

  • Sushi can only be left out of the fridge for two hours.
  • The walk back to Waitrose for a second attempt at a food-poison free lunch will induce a significant amount of whiny protest. 
  • The helpful orange line on the Strava map helps motivate them to keep moving (and running around in massive circles if you need a bit of that too). 
  • Now the boy is 9 years old, he refuses to hold hands with a grown up when crossing the road, but will hold his little sister’s hand so you can still manage a fully attached crossing.
  • The ‘Shadow bus’ is an unbelievably annoying game in which they both try to ‘ride’ your shadow on the pavement, which is all very fun and manageable until the sun is directly behind you. Try not swear at that point.
  • It takes 51 of the girl’s hiccups to walk across the park, not the measly 30 that I had guessed. 
  • Materteral means ‘Pertaining to, or in the manner of, an aunt.’
  • Make a visit to a cafe more interesting by getting the kids to write the TripAdvisor review.
  • A small errand at Timpsons can become an exciting adventure in which the kids choose the design of the new key and watch the lovely man take a ‘photocopy’ of the old one. 
  • Take great care in agreeing who will use the new key upon arrival home because being the second person to open the door once they key has already been used DOESN’T COUNT Aunt Mimi! 
  • Jigsaw races. Such a genius idea. Get two equally sized puzzles, create sufficient space for both and set each child puzzling against each other. 500 pieces each takes a splendidly focused three hours. 
  • Kenilworth Castle provides a whole day’s worth of energetic and educational entertainment. We were told stories by a lady dressed as a bear (with her ragged staff), explored the red stony ruins, ate English Heritage cake, ran among the gorgeous gardens, watched the cute little partridges and spent an animated hour in the games room of the gatehouse compete with an exact replica Minecraft version of the castle, plenty of royal fancy dress options (for adults too) and a royal ‘guess who’ (in which I was momentarily alarmed to see a KING CNUT’ in a children’s game). 
  • There is a free dice app you can download in case a game is missing its dice (the boy will find it on your phone for you).
  • Most Studio Ghibli films are weirdly unsettling – what the actual fuck is going on in Spirited Away? – but Totoro is safe.
  • The kids love hanging up the laundry as a team, with Donovan’s ‘I love my shirt’ as an appropriately enjoyable soundtrack. 
  • There is a magic and wonder that creeps back into your adult mind while hanging out with children, and you will share in their curious exploration of important matters like how much a live pig would cost (£60 in fact), your nephew’s favourite bone on his body (collarbone naturally), how long it takes buddlia buds to bloom, the exact height of a castle wall, if there is such a thing as a pescavegan (there is now), how long a nettle sting lasts, why Merlin didn’t just tell Arthur that Gwinevere was under a spell when she kissed that other guy, and how much of the dining room would be taken up by a walrus.
  • Hand sanitiser is a good thumb-sucking deterrent. 
  • Children don’t understand that adventures can only begin once Aunt Mimi has had coffee. Try to gulp one down before they wake up.
  • By far one of the most adventurous and satisfying activities you can do with a nine and seven year old on a rainy day indoors is make a mini action movie on your phone, complete with villain (in a Halloween costume), dungeon (the garage), evil weapon (a lava lamp) and quest to find the kidnapped sister (sprints around the garden). Allow half an hour for arguing about plot and casting, three hours for filming multiple takes around the house (including a lunch scene crow-barred into the plot to make full use of toast and cheese time), two hours of editing with all three of us huddled (and arguing) around the laptop and six minutes to beam at the excitement and pride in everyone’s faces as we played it for their parents.
  • You will spend all day looking forward to 5pm when the parents will return but you’ll find you don’t really want to stop hanging out with your amazing niblings and will curl up watching cartoons with them instead of taking the nap you have needed all day. 
  • Do not think you can do anything else during a week of childcare. You might receive a text message at 9am and realise you still haven’t replied at 11pm, once dinner and bedtime and tidying up is complete, and you also won’t really care. 
  • You will be joyously surprised by just how much your heart can spill over with a fascinatingly intense and beautifully energising unconditional love for two small and miraculous humans. 

Discovering I do love Download after all

Published on by MLeave a comment

Wednesday

In the final chapter of my month of adventures (which could optimistically be called ‘Swim, Jump, Rock’) I have joined my love Iorwerth for his annual pilgrimage to the mecca of Rock and Metal, and we have now arrived at Download Festival in Donington Park.

If you know me at all you will understand that five days of heavy metal music is not normally my thing, but it is so incredibly important to my other half that I went with him last year, and discovered I actually enjoyed it. So when he excitedly got tickets for this year, of course I said yes.

Car packed with food, wet weather gear and a range of rock T-shirts, we set off early this morning and he got more and more excited as we got further north.  Our Planet Rock radio DJ got people to send in their recommendations for Download essentials – bunting for the tent, earplugs, sunhat, gaffa tape, wellies – as we joined the thousands of people descending on Donigton.

Here’s where I feel like a bit of a fraud. We aren’t camping. We don’t even have a hut. He tried to book a simple cabin (knowing that five nights in a tent would be a bit much for me) but the only accommodation left was a Rock Block, a half shipping container transformed into an ensuite bedroom, which is an obscene amount of luxury for a music festival. At the time of booking I had a stable job so even though the price was ridiculous, I decided it was worth it to spend some quality time with him and experience this whole other world and some exploratory new music.

So as everyone else wrangles with crowded car parks and constructs their tents, we have picked up our keys (and an inexplicable Download garden gnome each) and settled into our cosy little metal home, complete with bunk bed, plug sockets for his mini fridge and kettle, and our own glorious shower and toilet. So lovely, so lucky, but such an insane amount of money. For something that is not exactly my passion. When the usual eager day one question of ‘Who are you looking forward to seeing?’ was asked by our Rock Block neighbours, I realised with a bit of dismay that I am a shit Downloader as there are only three bands on the line-up that I even know I like – Skindred, Evanescence and Placebo – so I have the fun challenge of having to get my ticket price worth of value here with something other than just the music, since I’m struggling to justify a couple months’ rent on a forty bands that I don’t even have on Spotify.

Grateful for there being no rain in the forecast, for Iorwerth’s excellent organisation and experience, and for the many packets of cupasoup, couscous and porridge he has packed (as well as oat milk for my coffee) so we don’t need to spend one more penny here on food.

Thursday

It is good. The weather is lovely, people are so friendly. We wandered round the ‘village’ full of stalls selling food, clothes and jewellery to the many people in a variety of black, studded and ripped clothes. I bought a little top from the Oxfam shop in order to not be the frumpiest person here. And now we sit in our middle aged people camping chairs half way up the main stage field while Mr Van Halen junior sings. I do not hate this music so I’m all cool. I also absolutely love watching the people.

There is clearly a uniform for Download, which is largely black, with accents of red, and as much skull, death and blood imagery as possible. Band names and festival tops are worn as badges of pride and connection, and shirts with clever/offensive/blasphemous slogans are welcomed.

‘Who’s awesome? Not you, you’re a cunt.’

‘I’m not an expert but I have watched a number of YouTube videos’ (with a chainsaw image)

‘Satan Sucks. Jesus Swallows.’

Hair should be either jet black or any range of vibrant pink, green, blue or red. For the ladies, a tight corset or gorgeous black bra with a tiny skirt or shorts that show as much beautifully uninhibited flesh as possible and black fishnets down to heavy clomping boots is the exemplary standard, with any variety of meticulous dark makeup and an assortment of chains, studs, bars and bracelets. For the men, if you want to veer from the standard black rock T-shirt, you are welcome to go topless (from huge sunburned beer bellies to golden tattooed torsos) but the most points are awarded for creativity with flowing Jesus robes, Viking armour, a Doc Brown suit, Mario brothers outfits, the yellow wolf in a suit from that Eurovision song, a flock of penguins, a hotdog, or any variety of frilly delicate girly dress. Wedding dresses score very highly, especially when pulled tight over enormous hairy chests and thickly tattooed arms, and you can buy a second hand one from the ‘Random Weird Shit’ shop for £20. There are a lot of kilts. And more tattooed skin that I have ever seen in one place. Sunhats are important, and sold everywhere. The usual designs of yellow smiley faces, marijuana leaves and cookie monsters are complemented by ‘fuck you’ and ‘cunt’ designs which provide a lovely his-and-hers combo. I have forgotten to bring the hat I bought last year so now have a new tenner’s worth of sun protection in black and white hearts, and while the rest of me does not conform to the Download clothing standards, I know that frumpy jeans and trainers are just as welcome here since there seems to be zero judgement at Download.

I would like to do a photo collection of all these awesome individuals, and call it Humans of Download or something, but I’d have to be the kind of person who goes up to strangers and asks to take their picture, and I am not that person. Not yet.

A band called Jinjer is on now and as the ear-bursting opening song starts up people stream towards the stage, flowing past those of us established in our little camping chair islands. A tattooed lady in tight black trousers and croptop roars into the mic with a voice like a horror movie demon. Incredibly impressive. And between songs she says ‘We’re Jinjer from Ukraine!’ The crowd woops in delight. ‘We’re here to express our gratitude to you guys for your love and support. We need your support more than ever. Spread the word!’

A flag insulting a Russian leader waves on glorious sunlit blue and yellow in the crowd. 

We leave Jinjer early and pick our way over people asleep in the sun to the Avalanche stage for the Punk Rock Factory. I can see why this tent is already full: these guys are awesome. Within minutes a couple thousand of us are singing along to a rock version of Mama Mia, followed by a hilarious rendition of Under the Sea. We don’t talk about Bruno and You’re Welcome involve full jumping and singing participation and I’m privileged to witness the spectacular moment a marquee full of tattooed metal heads shout along to the Spongebob Squarepants theme tune. 

The lead singer looks at the crowd and says, ‘Fuck me, so many of you! And people outside! Hello people outside!’

Rolls of trailing toilet paper and an inflatable dingy fly through the air for Let it Go and How Far I’ll go. I’m nearly crying. 

We stay till the last delicious minute and head over elated through growing crowds in the evening sun for Hailstorm, where a beautiful lady screams, ‘Tonight, Download, this is our church and you are our people!’

There’s a scheduling misunderstanding and I realise I have missed Skindred on the other stage. It pisses me off more than it should, and as it gets dark, the cold sets in and I grumpily layer up with hoodie and scarf before Metallica headline the main stage.

The vast crowd goes insane as Mr Metallica says they’re very happy to be playing here for the 9th time and they start off with some incredibly loud growly music. I discover I really don’t like Metallica. I manage to stick around politely for four songs, then give Iorwerth a hug and leave him there, walking sadly back to the block where I realise I’m crying.

This is not my world. Why am I here? I need to make each day worth a lot of money and it just isn’t. Not while I’m unemployed. It doesn’t bode well if my favourite song on day one is a Disney cover. I’m grateful for the weather, for my bed and hot shower. Grateful that we’re at least not pissing away more money on alcohol. Grateful that Metallica is so loud over there that no-one can hear me sobbing onto my £200 a night bunkbed.

And no internet or reception so I can’t even listen to my own music in my earphones. I just want to go home.

Friday

11am. Really not feeling it today. Yesterday the whole place was excited, energised, and as the Metallica man said, ‘It’s the first day, you all smell good still!’ I made some effort yesterday, even wore makeup, was happy to see people, chatted and complemented outfits. Today I don’t want to leave my bed. I’m guessing other people are hungover and tired too and lost the sparkly buzz of day one.

I can hear the northern guys congregating at our neighbour’s porch and I can’t be dealing with smalltalk and smiles so I stay right here.

2pm

‘We are Smash Into Pieces and we are from Sweden!’

The second stage feels more like my place. Iorwerth saved us a good spot at the back of the arena and after a shower and coffee I found some energy and now I’m watching a skinny young guitarist in half a grey hoodie fly kick the air with each beat. ‘In these difficult times we got to stick together! We want to see your hands!’ Woohoo!

I like it when they take photos of the audience, they’re so excited to be here. 

A lazy gap between bands. Nearly fell asleep in my camping chair just now but it’s suddenly getting crowded. A man who nearly steps on my foot says it’s about to get a bit hectic here. 

A backdrop of Elvis with wings has appeared on stage and a huge cheer erupts as a man in a flared black skeleton suit prances onto the stage and starts singing Nirvana’s Scentless Apprentice which transitions into Hound Dog by Elvis. Very clever.

‘We are Elvana from Disgraceland! Who’s seeing us for the first time?’

Iorwerth nudges me and I raise my hand along with a few hundred others. ‘There’s a lot of Elvana virgins!’ says the guitarist.

‘That’s a lot of virgins for the second day of a music festival!’

As the laughter and cheers die down, he says, ‘So Download, you may notice that sometimes I will sound like Matthew McConaughey, sometimes I’ll sound like Nicolas Cage. If you’re lucky I might sound like Kurt Cobain. Most of the time I do not sound like Elvis Presley. Do I give a fuck Download? Do you give a fuck Download? No, then were going to get along just fine.’ And A Little Less Conversation merges seamlessly with Smells Like Teen Spirit and I find I’m laughing and dancing along. 

‘Right then Download, we’re going to see if we can break a world record for the most circle pits during an Elvis song!’

‘Wooooooo!’

‘Not just at the front, I wanna see circle pits right at the back too!’ 

We all look around and laugh at the unlikelihood of any sort of shenanigans back here.

‘Rule number one: Be nice!’

‘Wooooooo!’

 Rule number two: If someone falls over, pick them up and send them on their way.’

‘Woohoooooo!’ 

‘Rule number three: You can do anything – ANYTHING – but don’t you step on my blue suede shoes!’

The dust rises at the front as a variety of human whirlpools spin around in the crowd. Near our spot there’s a very civilised walk in a circle and then the guy behind us moves to a gap to take the arm of another guy. I run over and join in, linking arms and spinning round with alternating strangers in a small circle of country dancing to Blue Suede Shoes. 

Laughing. Elated. Thank you so much Elvana. There’s nothing like some impromptu dancing to snap you out of your festival gloom.

Mr Elvana is pleased with our efforts – ‘Fifteen circle pits and a couple of congas. Are you all gunna conga to Bring Me the Horizon tonight?’

After the enthusiastic commitment from all of us to jump to the last song, the notes of Lithium start up and we all start singing along – ‘I’m so happy, cos today I found my friends…’ Until the music gets cut off. 

What? We keep singing defiantly a cappella while our man on his silent stage looks confused, then apologetic as a crew of about 30 guys in black swarm the stage to start clearing his kit. He bows and his awesome set ends in a confused smattering of applause while people around us shake their heads and say ‘Harsh!’ and Iorwerth checks his watch and accepts, ‘Fair enough, they ran over their time.’

Epica are next, an operatic metal band with huge silver cobras on stage. A lady in a long black dress sings enchanting opera to heavy rock metal and guitarists swish miles of lovely hair all over their faces as they headbang in time.  ‘Download, are you ready to be unleashed?’ she screams. The crowd whoops in response and a man behind me says, ‘Nah, you’re alright love.’ It’s very beautiful but I sit back down for this. The elegant Epica lady finishes off with an instruction to not get sunburned, drink plenty of water and keep rocking. There’s flames and sparks and the cobras are breathing out steam now, very clever. 

The crowd transforms around us as Epica fans leave and Asking Alexandria people arrive. Luminous green hair glows in the sun, sunburned flesh strains against black bra straps, feathers in hats blow in the wind, yellow Picachu ears bob about. A couple of kids are deftly collecting the ubiquitous paper cups into a towering stack that sways through the crowd towards the recycling station.

A man passing us points to Iorwerth’s T-shirt and shouts, ‘Steelhouse Festival!’ and we are instantly bonded in our shared love of a little festival up a Welsh mountain, and joyously invited to join Ian and Mary’s Steelhouse family round the big picnic bench there next month.

By the end of the day I am fully immersed and get all emotional during Evanescence. The sun sets in Queen Amy’s crystal blue eyes as she plays a huge black grand piano, her enchanting voice strong and silky as her glorious black hair blows everywhere along with the red ribbons in her fluttering gothic dress. She’s simply magnificent. Her little sermon towards the end includes the passionate message that, ‘We are all here for each other. Don’t be afraid to speak up for what you believe. There’s a lot of fucking voices here!’

She tells us they love us and thank us for being part of their lives and I join the mass of voices and arms in the air as we sing along to My Immortal. ‘These wounds won’t seem to heal, this pain is just too real, there’s just too much that time can not erase….’ This is worth my whole festival fee, it’s simply glorious. Thank you so much.

Saturday

Enjoying it more today. We start off at the Avalanche tent to see some excited small bands who are overjoyed to be playing Download. I join the immense queue for the ice cream van and surprise Iorwerth with a triple cone. Then back to the block to get changed because why on earth are you wearing jeans woman? It is so hot today. Thousands of people swelter on yellow grass under the fierce sun. Two strangers sit close together in the shade of a single flag, and there is one tree whose shadow is perfectly outlined by huddles of gratefully shaded people.

I worry for the ones who are lying down in the middle of the arena fast asleep in this scorching sun, but I’m pleased for the abundance of sun hats, including the makeshift ones out of a pizza box or beer multipack, or the guy who has cut his jeans in half and fashioned a hat out of one cut off. I’m grateful for the never-ending supply of drinking water and abundance of toilets for this temporary population the size of ten Melkshams. The water doesn’t run out but the queues are growing. Iorwerth went about half an hour ago to refill our water bottles and has still not returned. I’m scanning the crowd for a man in black t-shirt and cowboy hat… yeah that doesn’t help.

Once he returns and we have a small excited singalong to Clutch, I go for a wander and spend 20 minutes getting through the dusty sunburned half naked crowd, past massive queues for ice cream vans and lines of people in the shade of a fence all the way to the Dogtooth stage where a band called Bob Vylan is due to start at 5.20. I’m genuinely only here because of the name. The marquee is already heaving – either due to their reputation or the fact that it’s under shade – and a great cheer erupts as they start up. I can’t see anything but I hear a delicious cockney voice – refreshing among all these American accents – and I am instantly enthralled. 

‘So we will begin as we always do with some light stretching and meditation.’ The tall men in front of me are obediently following some arm stretch movements until Mr Vylan shouts, ‘Mind the gap and please take all your fucking belongings with you!’ to which the place erupts into a pumping grime/hiphop/punk explosion of War On the Northern Line.

I absolutely love it. Between strangers’ shoulders I get a glimpse of my new dreadlocked hero as he rips off his t-shirt and leaps and stamps around the stage delivering some emphatic musical messages about race, inequality and police brutality.

‘We’re not allowed to tell you to mosh pit, or circle of death pit, so please DON’T do that. Especially don’t mosh pit to this one!’ Even here at the edge of the marquee the crowd bounces around and I jump along to the pounding beats.

With slightly less lightheartedness than yesterday’s Elvana, he says ‘Let’s dedicate this next song to that fucker who stole a whole genre of music from a whole people, that fucker Elvis Presley.’ Some people leave at this point but I don’t care as it means I can get closer to the front.

When I return to Iorwerth I am beaming with elation and settle in for Disturbed, where we are treated to some very heavy metal interspersed with mental health awareness messages.

‘Raise your hand if you have suffered from addiction or depression or know someone who has.’ Pretty much every hand is up. ‘Take a look round my friends. You are not alone.’ 

‘Woooooo’

During Placebo I’m so happy. We have a good spot, it’s still warm enough to be wearing my little dress as the sun sets and the iconic voice of Brian Molko starts up and I love him. I turn to Iorwerth and say, ‘I get it now.’ ‘What?’ ‘I get this, I get into the zone. Took me a while but I’m here now.’ Beaming with happiness, finally. Everything is good.

At Metallica’s second set, I’m not crying this time. I’m grinning in delight at how much everyone around me enjoys this. All fists in the air head bobbing unison as they sing along even this far back. 100,000 people are very lucky with this glorious weather. To be able to enjoy your favourite metal band in shorts while the sky turns gradually pink at 9.30 at night. I’m grateful on everyone’s behalf. 

The image of Papa Hetfield, calm and serene as he holds his guitar, fills the immense screens. He looks down at the moshing crowd and says ‘You’re all quite intense.’ Then pauses and smiles. ‘Here’s my dad joke… The fans at Download are in tents.’ After some laughter and cheers he says, ‘Well some are in campers or something else. I don’t know, they gave me a microphone and I can’t help myself.’

I love him. I’m gunna make it through this whole set. It’s better when you’re not freezing and furious. My love just arranged for us to go on the Ferris Wheel as it got dark so we could get a video of the crowd. And as we boarded our little plexiglass pod they played The Unforgiven, the only Metallica song I know I love. And my gorgeous love got a perfect video of it as we were up in the sky above this vast crowd. They also just played Whisky in the Jar which pushed them higher up my list of highlights, and with Enter Sandman I think I am now a Metallica fan. 

Sunday

We are simply cooking here. Sitting out in the main stage in 2pm scorching sun. I have sunscreened my arms but still have a scarf draped over my pink shoulders, as I join in with the right side sunburn that everyone has. There’s not a wisp of a cloud today. Some people huddle under the shade of the towering speakers which offers a crap view but cool shade, while the rest of us sweat and suffer, especially the Slipknot fans in red boiler suits and white masks. I just saw a brown liquid dripping down my shin and wondered in panic if I’m bleeding black coffee, but no, it’s just my sweat mixed with the Download dust. 

I wanted to experience the front of a crowd so got in early today for an excitable Finish band called Blind Channel who looked genuinely over the moon to be playing Download, and kept grinning between angry growly verses and inviting me to loose my fucking mind. Now these Mongolian wonders of the Hu, who are not as chatty, declare their love for Download as we all sit here sweltering. 

‘Thank you! You on fire!’

With a stringed traditional Mongolian instrument and a backing track of horses, the nine of them on stage perform some epic tunes and end with ‘Thank you. We love Download! We are the HU.’ 

It feels like I broke my ears yesterday as they are over sensitive to the insane volume of everything today. So without earplugs (silly woman) I have arranged some redundant earphones to suspend from my hat so I have the option of plugged in or out. And like a child with stringed mittens, I won’t lose them. They are currently firmly in. 

15.36

We have made it to the second stage in time to see five guys in red and black suits and a lot of eye makeup leap onto the stage and introduce themselves with: ‘We are Avatar and we play heavy metal music!’ 

My heat coping strategies are alternating between sitting down in my chair in this crowd, where it’s hot but I expend no energy, or standing up where I get dizzy but can feel the breeze. There are a few promising clouds over there that seem to be the extent of the rain forecast for this evening. Not sure it was a good idea to take part in Rock Fit this morning, but I was determined to get every last minute’s worth of value out of the last day, which included joining in with an excellent aerobics class in the Doghouse Stage at 11am in which a few hundred of us jumped, kicked and punched the air to metal music as instructed by three amazing ladies on stage in red and black fiery leggings.

My love brings me a warm coke which is all they had left. I’m so grateful as I’m weak and dizzy, struggling to bop my head lightly in this heat while both guitarists swing their long hair in powerful circles, hair swishing like a shampoo advert on a loop. My ears hurt so much they actually might be bleeding under my earphones as a screaming Scandinavian in a red and black suit is declaring that ‘Donington belongs to meeeeeee!’ 

‘Download, take care of yourselves, be good to each other and we will see you soon!’ 

And as Avatar’s set ends a delicious fat white cloud arrives at the sun and finally the whole festival is in shade. I was going to give up but I can cope now.

I go for a mission to check out Behemoth on the main stage and while not my kind of band at all, I enjoy the sweaty death metal crowd loving them, and stop to collect a free hug from an excellent man standing in the middle of the path with his arms out. ‘Yey for free hugs!’ he grins as we part with a fist bump. There’s also time for a chat with a Festival Chaplain in the Christian tent. ‘So what do you think about all the Satanic blasphemous rage in the music here?’ I ask a cheerful yellow-t-shirted man. ‘Well it’s really interesting. Everyone’s just here to enjoy the music, and to be honest, it’s the friendliest hundred thousand people I’ve ever met.’ He looks genuinely baffled but absolutely heart-warmed by this fact. ‘I know, right,’ I smile, and head back, past a couple of red boiler suited strangers who bump fists as they pass each other, a man holding a Millennium Falcon made of yellow and white paper cups, and several seated people who move their feet to let me pass.

In between bands the screens fill with messages about keeping hydrated, recycling and understanding consent. And there’s a series of photos of awesome Downloaders with a little quote each about how friendly and welcoming this festival is, or how it’s like coming home, or how there’s no judgement here. ‘Humans of Download,’ of course.

Dinosaur Pile-Up has some technical difficulties that delay their set. Once they get going a frustrated front man says, ‘I hope you enjoy watching us take a shit on stage!’ They still perform some well received energetic tunes under grey clouds and a much appreciated cool breeze that feels like it might contain some rain. I feel the relief of the crowd as the temperature drops a little.

There is half an hour before Ghost, and I challenge myself to make it to the block, collect our waterproofs, have a wee and be back to the second stage by 8pm. However I forget to factor in the 60 or so thousand people other who also feel like a bit of Ghost at about that time and on my return discover that the entire second stage is surrounded by a solid wall of standing rockers several hundred deep. On all sides. And getting deeper the longer I stand there with a panicky sense of separation from my love with no reception. I can’t even see the stage when the music starts, and realise I will be stuck in this crowd of tall men at the edges for the next hour while my chair sits empty deep in the middle. And if it starts to rain I have Iorwerth’s waterproof! Am I brave enough to be one of those people who just pushes straight through a crowd? No. of course not. I do not cause inconvenience. I do not get in people’s way. But hang on, isn’t Download the friendliest festival? Haven’t I moved aside many times to let people past me in the crowd? Am I actually trembling at the thought of this? Didn’t I jump out of a flipping plane last week?

It took me three more songs to find the courage for the five minute obstacle course that was a hundred ‘Sorry!’s, ‘Excuse me’s and ‘Could I just…?’s which I managed with only one foot trodden on – ‘Oh my God I’m so sorry! (from both of us) – and one pink camping chair completely tripped over until, pushing through endless clusters of densely packed humans, I saw Iorwerth’s hat in the crowd up ahead. I arrived, breathless, shaking and jubilant into his baffled arms. In time to discover, with their performance of Mary on a Cross, that I absolutely love Ghost. I took out my earplugs and let the melodious magic fill my soul, singing along to songs I have never heard before, marvelling at the magnificent man in black and white makeup with multiple costume changes on the stage, utterly enamoured by the time he reached his fabulous fiery finale.

With a triumphant ‘Cheers!’ he left the stage, and in an instant the several thousand people around us turned and moved as one flowing mass to the main stage. Not in a rush for the headliners Slipknot, I asked Iorwerth to stand with me for a bit in order to capture the surreal and splendid experience of being a little island (reinforced with two chairs) while a surging tide of happy humans sailed around and past us. I loved the scale of it, the vast endless flow of beautiful people in the growing dusk, thousands of strangers bonded in our shared sunburned affection for sensational Swedish symphonics.

With an appreciation for the furious frenetic frenzy of Slipknot – but no need to spend two hours with them – we make our way through the deliriously happy crowd, where there is jumping, kissing, laughing, singing amid the smell of sunscreen, cider and sweat. I take one last look at the immense sea of awesome people, who now feel like my people, and smile as we head back under festoon lights and a dark pink sky to our little home, with goodnights, thanks and fistbumps for every security guard on the way.

‘See you next year?’

‘Absolutely!’

I JUMPED OUT OF THE SKY!

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(continued from previous post)

After a few minutes watching expert skydivers sail out of the blue and land with crumpling parachutes in the dropzone, the nerves settled into an elated sort of calm. I sent a message to my love. It was 4 in the morning UK time so he wouldn’t see it till it was over but I felt a strong need to contact him. I was going to write out a list of instructions for if I die, but I realised there was only one thing to say. I love you so much. 

Cried again. How simple and wonderful that facing a possible end, all I have is love. 

‘Flight 14,’ someone called, and we all huddled in the waiting room, watching the huge hangar full of equipment, ropes and cool people with bundles of parachute, laughing among themsleves. 

A small polite lady in an NZONE hoodie asked us to empty pockets and remove all jewellery. She gave us keys to lockers and selected a red and black jumpsuit off the rail for each of us to pull over our clothes. 

‘Are you nervous?’ asked an Irish girl. ‘Excited, I think,’ someone said. 

‘Well I feel too calm,’ another girl said. 

‘I know, it’s like unnervingly calm right now. Should be more scared. I think I just can’t comprehend it.’

‘Exactly.’ 

‘Laura!’ called a strong voice. And an instructor in a black dive suit rocked up to claim Laura. ‘You’re coming with me.’ 

We all watched in awe as Laura went off with her man. 

‘Miriam!’ 

‘Yes,’ I said, brave as I could. 

‘Hi, I’m Tim,’ said Tim, and held out a hand to shake. 

‘Hi Tim,’ I said, still with my brave voice on. 

‘Come on over here and we’ll get you kitted out.’

I grinned a goodbye to my flight mates and followed him. 

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. 

‘Alright actually. Excited I think.’

‘That’s what we want to hear. OK just pop your legs through here…great job, and this over your arms. Awesome. Where are you from Miriam?’

He was full of friendly reassuring chats as I got all the kit on, with gloves, goggles on a hat thing, suit all zipped up, harness all secure. Minty fresh breath as he leaned over to tighten the straps. Of course, he gets close to people. Very considerate.

He cleaned the special glasses-friendly goggles thoroughly so I could remain spectacled throughout, looking rubbish but able to see every single detail when I’m up there. 

At that point I realised my anxiety pills in my bag were locked away, and the emergency ones in my back pocket were now inaccessible under all my zipped up suit. 

That’s that decision made for me then. 

‘How many jumps do you do a day?’ I asked as he tightened thick black straps around me. 

‘Seven or eight,’ he said breezily. Most I’ve done is 14 in one day.’ 

‘Wow.’

‘Yeah, Tim’s great,’ said a nearby instructor and they had a laugh about who was a better jumper. ‘Tim has been doing this for years, you’re in good hands,’ he assured me. 

So casual and confident all this chat. Such cool and good looking and capable instructors. What an amazing job. I bet if you jump out the sky for a living you don’t get anxious about things like showing up to a new parkrun or a complex council meeting. 

As we headed back out to the sunny waiting area he asked if I had any questions. 

‘No,’ I beamed, wishing I did. ‘I’m just really grateful, like, because you do this amazing thing of providing lifetime memories for people, and I guess just thank you that I can skydive over these glorious mountains because of you.’ I was gushing. 

‘Oh well its my job,’ he smiled, so calm and nonchalant next to my hyper babbling. 

The five of us 14ers gathered at the briefing area – a little circle of benches outside, where Tim perched in a seat made of a bit of plane and explained the process, the ‘banana pose’ to adopt when it’s time to jump – hold your harness, head back, hips forward, legs curved behind – with the help of a useful illustration board of a banana next to a grinning banana-posing skydiver. 

‘Remember to keep hold of your harness until the instructor taps your shoulder,’ he said, ‘then you can let go and wave to the camera.’ I’ll make a heart with my fingers, I thought optimistically, practicing the shape with my gloved hands. 

With the final adornment of life vest pouches clipped on (since we go over the lake), our instructors took each of us off to a scenic backdrop for our pre-jump interviews, part of the handicam service. I was grinning a lot, I did feel good, but looking at the video now I see there’s weird things happening with my arms and I can not keep still. ‘So, what do you want to tell your friends and family back home?’ he grinned. 

Should have thought about this. I cobbled some sentences together about overcoming fears while inexplicably waving my arms about behind me. 

‘Alright, let’s do this, girl!’ he said. 

As we approached the aircraft – a tiny little toy plane of a thing – he stopped at a screen by the gate and scanned the multicoulted boxes. 

‘OK, Miriam, so it looks like we’re first to jump.’ 

‘Oh shit, why?’ 

‘Probably because you’re doing 12,000 and the others are doing 15,000.

‘Of course, I laughed,’ a surge of fear tightening my stomach. 

‘Alright?’

‘Yep!’ 

Some grins and high fives for the camera and we followed everyone on to the plane. The other pairs were all crammed in, everyone facing the back. A couple of very cool solo guys were also squashed in, wearing mirror shades and all in black. So calm. 

There was one spot left on the floor next to the door and Tim hopped in, with his neat little parachute on his back, and sat down, legs apart. He slapped the floor between his legs and grinned at me.

Right.

I climbed in and took my place, legs out in front. Too scared and stunned to apply any inappropriate context to our sudden closeness. He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up right against him. 

‘Alright,’ he beamed. ‘You OK?’ 

‘Yep,’ I said, because I could still speak at this point. The door was wide open and I was sitting right next to it, looking out at the green grass next to the runway. 

‘Do I hold on to…?’ 

Nothing. Not a thing to hold onto. Except Tm’s leg. Not a seatbelt or safety strap or bar or handle. Just me sitting on the floor between his legs. And he’s not holding on to anything either. The plane revved up and started moving. Fast. Loud. The door was still wide open as we left the speeding away ground and cruised up over the fields. He finally pulled down a thing. A plastic roller shutter flexiplastic wobbly see through thing with a few metal bars. That’s not a fucking door, I thought. We got higher and higher. Over the lake. Fuck it’s immense. So blue, so huge. Jesus this is terrifying. I thought of the little life vest and stared straight ahead to avoid looking at the icy lake. The plane swerved and we all leaned towards the flimsy plastic see through bit of cling film. At which point do I get attached to the man? He hasn’t attached me. I am just a loose unbuckled body sitting on the floor of a tiny plane as it sheers up through the sky over the lake and I have nothing to hold on to. Serious utter terror right now. In the minibus to get here we all had to be seatbelted and now I’m several thousand feet off the ground and not a shred of safety strapping. 

I have no choice but to trust. Tim knows what he’s doing. He does this eight times a day. Just trust him. 

He waves the camera at me. ‘How are you feeling Miriam?’ 

I raise a mute thumbs up as I can’t speak. Fucking hell we are high up. Deep breaths, thank you thank you. Just trust. Just breathe. 

Thank you Dave for paying for this for me, Thank you Jen for encouraging me. Thank you pilot who we all trust with our lives right now. Thank you Tim. Thank you aviation and science and planes and parachutes and thank you thank you thank you. 

He leaned in. ‘It’s going to get a bit bumpy now,’ he shouted. 

I nodded. 

The plane juddered and shook as it nearly scraped the sharp snowy ridges of a snowy peak just below. Over the shoulder of a calm guy to my left I could see magnificent snowy mountains through a safe little window, out of my right side I just saw instant death so I stopped looking. 

‘Isn’t it stunning?!’ he shouted. 

I nodded and stared ahead at the whiteboards and signs attached to the back of the plane. Something about altitide and windspeed. Numbers, rubbed out, written again. Some instructions about clipping in and tying off and not jumping if this and checking conditions of that. 

I don’t want to read safety rules on a laminated sign bluetacked to the back if the plane I’m about to dive out of. I clung to his leg with my left hand – not a shred of awkward – and tried to grip a metal ridge on the windowblind thing. Knowing that neither would provide enough grip if the plane went sideways.

After about 290 minutes (probably 5) Tim hoisted me closer into him and said, ‘Straighten your back now.’ Clip clip. 

Oh thank you heavenly father. We’re attached. 

Clips on my legs, clips on my shoulders. He checked them all, and each of the straps. Thank you, thank you. I could breathe again. 

I could also look out of the window then, at the jagged mountains everywhere. It was surreal to see the Remarkables stretching back so much further than we’re used to. This famous Lord of the Rings backdrop which we only see the smallest edge of, is a whole world of white and grey jagged peaks that continue for miles. There’s clouds now, little white drifts around the horizon. And we’re cruising high above all this. 

He hasn’t done my goggles yet. He must know. He knows, right. Goggles, Tim. Of course he knows. Trust. 

‘OK about one minute to go,’ he shouts. I nod.

‘You OK?’ 

I thumbs up with a mute smile.

‘Hold on to your harness now, good.’ 

My hands grip the straps over my chest.

He arranges my goggles over my glasses, tightening the straps. 

The plane’s engine judders and goes quiet and I know this is it. The plane seems to be still, suspended in the sky. 

Tim rolls open the plane. Blue, grey and white mountains stretch away to the horizon. Cold wind blowing everywhere. 

‘OK, you swing your legs out now,’ he says. 

I don’t need to do much as his swinging takes my legs too. We are sitting on the edge, feet dangling out of the plane in these last few seconds. My head is right back against shoulder, there’s one last grin at the camera and suddenly we’re out.

The plane disappears, the world flips and we’re upside down in the freezing sky surrounded by the roaring rush of the powerful wind. Just us in the vast sky free falling in sun and wind and mountains everywhere. Blue and immense and going on forever – mountains, lake, sky. 

Doesn’t feel like falling. Doesn’t feel like anything I know. Just loud and windy and fuck me I’m in the sky. My mouth wide open staring in awe at the endless ridges of mountains below. The blue lake is like a rock pool between jagged black and white rocks, the scale of things from up here is unbelievable. 

He’s signalling something with his arm and then tapping my shoulder, which I know is the sign for letting go but I can’t. Gripping tight to the harness straps on my chest. Can’t say anything over the roaring rush of wind tearing around us. My face being ripped around my goggles. He taps my shoulder again, I think about letting go but only manage a couple of fingers and shake my head politely, gripping tight. Were still falling through the sky, roaring wind against my burning cheeks and lips. 

He holds out his arm and does a countdown with his gloved fingers – three, two, one and then suddenly whoompphh and we’re pulled up by the huge unfurling red parachute. Oh that’s right, of course. I had forgotton this is the next bit. Gliding gently down. And now he can talk to me. ‘You alright?’ ‘Yes, it’s amaaaaaaazing!!’ 

High five! I finally let go of the harness, and manage an awkward right to right backwards high five/hand hold expression of jubilation. 

He takes off my goggles – wait, what? 

‘Your glasses are OK?’ 

Yeah, actually they are. Wow. This is so gentle. 

And then a pain in my thighs where the straps are digging in. Ow. But wow. The mountains are stunning, now there’s houses in little clusters. And then phhhhwoooooooom and he’s twirling – oh shit my stomach doesn’t like that. Phwoooom in the other direction. 

‘Isn’t it fantastic!?’ ‘Yes!’ 

The huge blue lake curving below us. Where’s my brother’s house? 

Phwoooomph.

Feeling better to not be over the lake. Can’t tell where we’re going to land. Really hope I don’t throw up, that would be embaressing. My mouth is dry and I feel all breathless now.

‘Here, you take control.’

‘No, no…’ 

‘Yeah, you want to feel it!’ 

And he’s placing the yellow handles in my gloved hands and it takes a while for me to get my grip but I get hold and with his help pull us to the right. 

Phwoooomph!

Wow. Swooping and gliding and sailing over the green and blue and beautiful. My stomach only lurches on the turns, this will be fine. Gliding down gently, everything is suddenly so green. He takes over the controls as we get closer. 

There’s a football game in a field over there, some houses getting closer, oh here’s our field full of cones, approaching fast. 

‘Pick up your legs now, grab those handles!’

Yep. 

And as we glide in to the grass, I lift my legs as high as I can, which is hard work even with the leg handles, but in a few seconds I’m sliding to a graceful, elegent stop on my bum. 

And I collapse backwards onto him. 

‘You did it girl!’ He laughs. 

The ground is so gloriously solid. My stomach is still lurching and I worry I might be sick, but it is fine. He unclips me and grins supportively as he records my few trembly grateful words in the camera. I manage a final high five and he says, ‘You did great. Now enjoy the rest of your day Miriam.’

Oh, what, he’s leaving me now? 

‘Thank you Tim, bye.’

I stumbled weakly back to the holding area, pushed a gate and stood there trembling. The lovely lady found me and took off the hood and goggles off. I was shaking so much I could hardly stand up. ‘Can you feel your fingers?’ she asked. ‘Yeah, tingly,’ I realised. But fine. 

‘It’s cold up there,’ she smiled, as she pulled the gloves off my trembling hands. 

Thank you. Thank you. 

I sat on the bench and slowly unzipped the suit while breathing deeply and shaking my head, and then remembered everyone else. Grabbed my locker key, found my phone and ran out to capture the rest of flight 14 landing elegantly in the field. Silhoutted beautiful parachuting humans. Seamless faultless landings. Silent crumpling parachutes. Everyone beaming with elation. 

Back home my brother was frustrated that I paid for the video but when he and Jen set it up on the big screen and we all watched it together – and squealed and laughed and wowed together – he said fair enough, that’s pretty cool. 

I have watched it over and over and it still makes me feel sick with fear. But I am so happy that guy convinced me to pay for it. I was too stunned to appreciate the moment but now I have a 5 minute documentary of the whole life alteringly awesome thing. With zero hearts made with anyone’s fingers but a lot of awestruck massive smiles.

Thank you so much. 

Pre Sky Shakes

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Saturday June 3. 6.30am

Of course I wake up anxious. Before the alarm. I’m scared of both parkrun at 9am and the skydive at 1pm. Hopefully the happy parkrun endorphins will carry me happily to an easy jump this afternoon.

But it’s good to have some feelings. It’s been so very easy and chill these two New Zealand weeks, the scariest thing so far was telling the cafe people they’d forgotten my lunch and then trying not to listen while they all whisper argued about who’s fault it was before the many apologetic offers of cake or extra coffee. I got a rush of actual dread when I realised it had been half an hour and I’d have to say something. 

So, why parkrun? Very much for the achievement and parkrun points and the photo and the Strava to connect me back to Melksham. 

Why skydive? Because after two very easy weeks I want to challenge myself and get out of my comfort zone today. My last full day. And as my New York brother says, what would you regret not doing? 

8. 23am

Sick with anxiety now. Not taking any chill pills. Now have the fear of being a bad person because it says no skydive if you have diarrhoea and of course I’ve had an anxious bathroom this morning, which I  know is not diarrhoea but do I need to declare it with all the associated shame and loose 200 quid today? 

There’s my fear before parkrun. See how I feel in an hour

1214

Parkrun was great. Happy, chatty, confident for a bit. Beautiful lakeside run in Queenstown Gardens and as we all ran past that bit of forest where I’d made a pine cone heart last week, I looked over to see if it was still there. All I could see were two girls taking a photo of something on the ground and as I got closer I saw it was my still perfect heart made of cones. No way! How lovely. With a good time of 31 minutes, and some cheerful chats with the other finishers, I went back home to wait the three hours with the next fear. 

‘Just don’t think about it,’ Dave said dismissively, as if that was an option. Jen, who was mowing the lawn suggested I do some gardening and I gratefully spent two hours weeding before getting ready, which was helpfully distracting. A shower was pretty essential since I would be strapped to stranger soon, and as I stood there in the warm water feeling the dread I remembered the benefits of a cold shower, and managed a couple of minutes stood under icy winter water. The sudden rush of blood was instantly calming and now instead of sick I’m just shaking. No anxiety pill yet but I have four ready in my phone case and four more in my back pocket. 

‘Don’t take those!’ said Dave. 

‘I won’t, I just need them nearby.’ 

‘Just stop thinking about it!’ 

Excited right, not scared. Its a glorious blue sky day, it will be be beautiful up there. 45 seconds freefall.

Dave just said, ‘You want some lunch?’ 

‘No thank you.’ 

‘Haa haa!’ 

Can I just be there now please? 

12.56 at the place.

So scared I’ve reached a place of weird calm. Feel so sick though.

Dave just dropped me off, I was already panicking in the stuck traffic so I jumped out and ran down Shotover Street here to the NZONE shop. Bang on 12.50. 

The place was full. Lady at the desk checked me in and weighed me. ‘Great, just take a seat. There’ll be a briefing at one.’ No need to rush after all. 

13.15. I cried during the briefing video – people tandem jumping, mountains, music, fear. Of course I’m crying, it’s insane. Back to the waiting room and everyone’s queuing up at the desk. I ask the guy next to me what they’re doing. ‘Oh probably booking the video,’ he says.

‘Oh I’m not doing that,’ I say, trying to be cool. ‘That’s just too much.’

‘Yeah it’s expensive, but you’re only gunna do this once,’ he says.

‘Well…’ 

‘Better to have got it than not got it and regret it,’ he says, knowingly. So I reluctantly queue up and it takes two attempts to type my PIN with all this trembling. 

Mini achievement. I come back and show the guy my receipt. ‘Did it!’ I grin. ‘Well done.’ 

Then there’s a roll call from the desk – ‘Thomas, 15,000 feet with handicam.’ Yep! 

‘Choi, 9,000 feet, no handicam.’ Yes. 

‘Miriam, 12,000 feet with handicam.’ Yep.

I do a quick facebook post because I have a sudden need to tell everyone I love them. 

1.25 Now in the bus going up the mountain. Feel better since I’m surrounded by 20 calm people. It is contagious. We’re sailing along at the foot of the Remarkables. Just stunning. Thank you. 

Here’s my deal with muself. The 100 quid for the video is worth it in exchange for not drinking for the rest of June. I don’t need alcohol because look at how brave I am. 

14.08

At the dropzone. So chill now. Our bus load of 20 is split into three flights and we wait our turn. I sit at a picnic table in the sunshine, a couple of girls play giant chess over there and parachuting people sail out of the blue sky under huge red and white canopies and land onto the flat green field in front of us. That’ll be me in a bit.

Just now, once the queue for the toilets had cleared I took my turn for a nervous visit – third time today – and met Maeve, who, with the phrase, ‘Are you nervous?’ became my instant anxiety buddy. Succinct life stories revealed that two weeks ago she decided leave Australia, applied for a job in New Zealand and took a four year contract here at 18 years old. ‘Wow. You’re an inspiration,’ I said. ‘Well people think I’m wild,’ she laughed. ‘No, that’s brilliant, whole new life ahead of you. Starting with jumping out of a plane!’

They called flight 13 and she said, ‘Thanks for chatting, I feel a lot calmer now.’

‘I know, me too. Enjoy!’

I’m surrounded by brave people. 

My flight is 14 and now instead of scared im excited. It is by far the most beautiful day of my two weeks here. Crystal clear skies, pristine white mountaintops. Perfect day to be in this huge blue sky. Flight 12 just took off, the little white plane sailing off over the lake. 13 are getting kitted out and we’ll be next. Thank you for the beautiful setting, the gorgeous sunshine, the ample toilets here and the cheeky sign in the cubicle saying ‘Now you’ve dropped off the kids let us drop you out of a plane.’ 

18.18. It is done. Still shaking. There was the initial excited oh my god I did it, and then for the last three hours I still feel crunched up with anxiety. It’s like a delayed reaction because it was too fucking insane to process at the time. 

I JUMPED OUT OF THE SKY!!! 40 seconds of freefall with the wind and sky and mountains all over the place and fuck me I’m in the sky.

It was utterly amazing. So glad I did it. Worth every penny and more. My decision to not drink for the rest of the month has gone straight out the window immediately as Dave hands me a beer as soon as I’m home. 

‘You need a drink after that!’

Yes I do. And will write up the full detailed adventure tomorrow 🙂

Beautiful Rain

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Because Dave and Jen are the most incredible hosts, they arranged an overnight adventure to Makarora for us yesterday. Jen found a gorgeous little dog friendly place called Wild Earth Lodge about two hours away in the valley of Mount Aspiring National Park, and after a much appreciated lunch in Wanaka – warmed by an outside heater with dogs lazing under our table and sparrows helping themselves to my veggie-burger – we headed north. The growing dark clouds turned into heavy cold rain lashing the windscreen as Dave drove along the immense Lakes Hawea and Wanaka. Mini waterfalls gushed rain-swollen torrents between rocky edges of mountain and the grey slopes on the far side of the lake disappeared into the thick mists of dense rainfall. 

We arrived just before dark, grinning at the owner Pete as we pulled up. 

‘What are you doing?!’ he shouted through the window, ‘coming out here on a night like this!’ 

‘It’s just rain,’ we laughed.’ We’ve got coats.’ 

He shook his head disbelieving at us. ‘We’re going to get our asses kicked tonight!’ 

He led us to the most amazing little lodge, already toasty warm with the log burner, overlooking the immense valley slopes just visable in the growing darkness. As we gratefully carried our bags in he showed us how everything worked. ‘Logs and kindling here, and you’ll want to boil the jug already for when the power goes out!’ 

‘Not a problem,’ we grinned.

We were ready for a cosy night in playing cards and drinking wine, but we had not expected the most terrific four hour mountain-echoing thunderstorm. It rolled and rumbled all night with great flashes of pink lightning that floodlit the immense valley around us. The power stayed on, but we turned out the lights so we could enjoy the spectacular light show. 

The dogs were not fans, and after each dazzling flash, I reached for Haki to hold her close in anticipation of the booming rumble to follow. She was a little shaky, and stayed very close, but didn’t complain for the four hours of meteorological ass-kicking we were dazzled by. 

The next morning, as I emerged from my room to see the glorious valley shining green and blue in the morning sun, Haki leapt off the sofa and came straight to me, pressing herself close against my legs. 

‘You alright love?’ I said. 

She stayed there quietly, calmly, pushing her whole weight against me. 

‘Yes, we all survived the night darling, we’re all still here.’ 

I am not a dog person at all, but I have grown incredibly fond of this one. 

With two more stunning walks added to my Strava – one along the sparkling Makarora River and one through the drippy dense jungle of the Blue Pools – we headed back to Queenstown, elated and rejuvenated from our gorgeous Mount Aspiring adventures. 

The lakes were pristine blue on our return journey, and the mountians lush green with trees and ferns. I gazed out of the window in awe of the magnificence of New Zealand, grateful for the many mountains, rivers and forests I have explored in my short time here. It’s been such an easy and relaxed trip, and while I have had some great time for reflection and planning, there hasn’t really been any real challenges. I haven’t done much in the way of personal growth or mental clarity, and I’m leaving on Sunday.

‘Are there any plans for tomorrow?’ I asked as we sailed past another breathtakingly blue view of Lake Hawea. 

‘Not really,’ said Dave. 

‘Well I’m thinking of jumping out of a plane or something,’ I said breezily, just to see what they’d say. 

‘Yeah, do it,’ said Dave. 

‘Really?’ 

‘Yeah if there’s space,’ said Jen.

‘Well I don’t have reception here so I’ll have a look when we get home and then maybe…’

‘There’s spaces on the 11am, 1pm and 2pm,’ said Jen, on her phone. 

‘What, you’re already…? ‘ 

‘Yeah, just book it.’

And that was that. Dave gave me his card, they suggested we pay the full $399 for the higher altitude – there’s much more free fall – but not the $170 for the camera package because it’s ridiculous money and I don’t need to prove this to anyone except myself. 

And so if the weather stays like this I will be skydiving from 12,000 feet tomorrow.

Lessons:

*New Zealand is just as stunning in rainstorms as well as pristine sunshine

*Even when the bridge at the Blue Pools is closed, the walk through the sun-dappled jungle to get to the closed bridge is truly gorgeous, do that anyway

*On walking adventures, carry sanitiser and loo roll for the numerous well-maintained long-drop public toilets

*The annual rainfall in the South Island decreases one inch per mile the further you travel from the west coast, because the western mountains drink all the rain out of the clouds as they arrive

*The further west you go the more lush and green the jungly forests are, which Dave prefers to the brown ‘tussocky shit’ of Wanaka

*There is a fence covered in a mass of colourful bras near Cardrona (called Bradrona, naturally) where a donation can be made to New Zealand Breast Cancer Foundation. If you’re organised you might even have a spare bra to add to it

*You can skydive in Queenstown from any age over 6, if you weigh more than 115kg they will do their best but might be tricky, and you can wear your glasses under the goggles! 

*The dread fear about skydiving will start when you get the confirmation email telling you how brave you are. 

Goodbye Thailand

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Saturday 20th. 11.30am

Thailand is so hard without my brother. Everything is confusing and nothing makes any sense at all. I’m sitting at the taxi place crying and crying. Fucking hell. Just feel so ignored and dismissed. After all the love and welcoming and friendliness, this morning there was such confusion about the bags, the timings, the check out. It just seemed so unbelievably hard and like no-one wanted to solve it.

And now I’m sat at the taxi place and they tell me to wait by the empty taxi and I would like to go and get my boat now please. And the sweat runs down my back in rivers like the tears on my face. 

And I lost my water! Bloody hell. My litre bottle for the journey, in all the confusion I put it down and now have none. And I’ve just cried half a litre out my face. 

Jesus woman. What is this. 

Here’s a funny thing, when I cry, my eyebrows hurt. Like a row of tingly little stinging pains spring up along my eyebrows as soon as I crease up in tears. What is that about?

And my injuries now include bramble scratch (where I moved to the side of the jungle road to avoid a huge vehicle and got great bruising stabs to my leg), muscle ache in my arms from either swimming or gardening, and the stupidly avoidable life jacket rash, which is it’s own special kind of soreness until it meets with mosquito spray which is another new world of pain. 

And now there’s three taxis just sitting here. The drivers chat to each other. I’ve been sat here for 15 minutes. When does a taxi go please? I think you have to have my brother’s energy to cope with Thailand. I don’t and I can’t right now. I would really like to get in one of these now please. 

17.04. Airport. 

Oh wow the exhausted headachy sadness of it all. I look at the immaculate beautiful people in the airport, the shiny clean floors and walls and perfect flowers and I sip my perfectly frothy oat milk cappuccino. I missed this. I guess there is a limit to the amount of barefoot jungle life I can cope with.

So I feel at once comforted and alienated at the airport. I’m aware I look scruffy, I’m sitting on the floor, having changed into my comfy jeans and trainers with Starbucks crumbs around me and a mix of suncream, sweat and failed makeup on my face. 

But something has changed in me. To feel so dismissed by Thailand was really hard. It’s not that they were even rude, they just weren’t as in love with me as they are with my brother. Of course they’re not, I’m just another guest at the hotel. It’s just time to check out. Bye then. Such an irrational torrent of tears.

What is that about? About just being nothing. Meaning nothing. Being no-one. That’s what it is. No purpose, no projects, no significance. No love. And the stupid gardening project I did. They didn’t need that, I needed that. Needed to do something to feel useful. Of course they don’t care. No-one’s interested in my projects cos I’m just another white tourist on the island. Nothing special. No-one really. Which is fine, it’s exactly what I wanted, but wow it set off some unexpected surges of grief.

Why does it matter so much? 

Don’t know but it has knocked me sideways. 

I will explore this further, need to check in now. 

18.36.

‘Do you have a visa for Australia?’

‘No, I’m going to New Zealand.’

‘You will transfer in Sydney so you need a visa.’ She’s looking serious, in her check in desk and uniform. 

‘But I’m a British citizen?’

‘You need a visa.’

Fuck me. 

I started googling it as she consulted with a colleague. I do indeed need a visa. She took my phone out of my hand and found the page for me. ‘You download and apply for visa now and come back.’ 

OK. 

So I sat on the airport floor leaning against a self check in station, took another chill pill, and feeling sick with dread and shame, deleted all the videos of the fire show in my phone so I could download the Australian Embassy App and fill in the application. I could just go home right now I thought. Just let me go home now. I want to go home. I could just fuck all this and buy a new flight and be in Heathrow in 12 hours. 

Have I ever been to court for domestic violence? No, but good question Australia. 

I paid my 20 dollars, clicked submit and stood up to queue before the confirmation had arrived. As I walked over to the desk I heard my phone buzz. There it was. I showed the lady. Great. Boarding pass issued. Done. 

And tears tears tears. Got through security, found a bar and now have a large white wine to cry with. 

Just so lonely, that’s what this is. So alone in the complex journey. I usually love a journey on my own but I’m so unhappy. 

19.57

On the plane. Thank you for a window seat, God above I’m grateful. And no-one next to me thank you Jesus. 

Thank you for the water refill station at gate D4 so I can counteract the alcohol I just downed in one. 

I should be celebrating the awesome near miss just then of getting a visa in 20 minutes, but I have no-one to celebrate with, to talk to about it. Didn’t realise I could be so unhappy after just three days without a friend, partner or sibling. I was looking at all the white people at the airport with a ridiculous longing – will you be my friend? 

No, just tears coursing down my face all over Sivaranupum airport. 

Thank you white wine and pink pills. Feeling OK now. Looking forward to sleeping this whole way. Bangkok – Singapore – Sydney – Queenstown. The cheap traveller’s multistop hand-luggage-only budget adventure. 

I actually clung on to my little travel sheep Jeff earlier, on the boat as we left Samet, like he was my friend. What is that about? And now on this flight, instead of the busy paraphernalia of all my tasks and toys for this flight, I just have water, my phone and my stupid thoughts. 

Lessons:

*Even if you’re just transiting in Sydney you need a visa, you unbelievably unorganised woman. 

*Scoot airlines serves no food! Even on a 7 hour flight you need to order your sustenance from the 12-dollars-a-cake menu on board. 

*They do a bag security check right before the boarding gate so they will empty your water bottle, but don’t worry there’s a refill tap in the corner once you’re through. 

*When your sense of value and identity has been crafted artificially by the many projects and services you provide to a whole town full of people, it will be quite a jarring and unsettling experience to realise that without them, or any substitute, you will suddenly feel like you have no reason to exist. However, an experience of perceived ‘rejection’ is incredibly helpful as it can serve as a useful reminder that it is really time to cultivate that inner sense of self and strength that you asked for, and to stop needing other people to make you feel worthy of love.

Solo Thai times

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Friday 19th, 10.30am

I dried my stupid face and walked through the nighttime Ko Samet. Very soon there was Bananabar, where I sought out the same old lady who had laughed lovingly like a grandma at my brother two days ago. She looked at me confused until she remembered. 

She said, ‘He gone?’

‘Yeah he’s gone now.’

‘And you alone?’

‘Yep.’

‘Good. Now you free!’ She laughed. 

‘I am. And I’m hungry,’ I smiled. 

I sat at a little corner next to a pond full of huge koi, at which point my love messaged me from my allotment in Melksham. He had gone to water the pots for me and sent me a photo of my pond. 

Oh my love, I cried some more, and video called him so we could share ponds. It was lovely. 

After a very generous dinner there, I thought I’d open up my universe to whoever Thailand wanted me to meet but I didn’t have the energy or love for small talk with strangers, so as soon as I saw one, I got a bumpy jeep taxi back. I sat on my own at my familiar bar where there’s no foreigners except me, they were all on the main beach laughing and dancing. I said goodnight to the musicians and the bar staff and they did the lovely two hands bow and said goodnight, and as I walked up the path to my little hut I cried again. Something to do with the love, the leaving, the impending loneliness. 

At my door, the cat Latte sprang in to my room. Yes cat, you can stay. Now my brother’s gone he wants to hang out with me.

It was only 11.30, my earliest night. I was ready to lie awake for hours or wake up several times but suddenly it was 6am. 

Oh no, the dragon! I’d set my alarm for 5.30 to try to spot the massive lizard but today, maybe because it’s Friday, the place was already buzzing with gentle human activity. Sweeping porches, prepping breakfast, swimming in the sunrise. 

As it was the coolest part of the day – about 28 degrees – I got straight onto the gardening project I have volunteered for. They moved the iconic massive heart of straw from the stage to a blank bit of ground next to the welcome path. So I have offered to pretty the area up and have been moving heavy dusty pots of jungle plants to arrange around the heart. Lovely. 

This morning though, I had not yet applied the mosquito spray and oh my god they ate me alive. I moved five pots, sweated five litres and fed five hundred little insects with my blood. Now, having absolutely earned it, I am showered, sprayed to fuck, and enjoying a coffee in the dappled shade of the breakfast bar. 

There’s a fun game to play here, called Guess The Pain. Is it sunburn, mosquito bites, random bruises or surprise acne? Who knows?! Who cares. I’m going snorkeling today so might add any kind of sea related stings to that list. 

11pm

I’m doing it. 

Sitting here trying to socialise. But everyone is tired and on their phones and so I am too. They probabaly don’t want me here but I don’t care. I don’t want to be on my own right now. So I’ll sit here and type away. 

And drink my gin. And ride the awkward. 

How long is it appropriate to stay here in the dark empty bar while two guys are on their phones to girlfriends…. 

I like that there is very little time for ‘appropriate’. There is just what is authentic. 

And I’d rather sit here now. 

But that last gin has made me sleepy.

Or getting up at six, doing heavy gardening and then three hours on a snorkeling boat trip has made me sleepy. 

It was lovely, but actually quite lonely. Me on my own with a boat load of Thai or Japanese couples, they all went bobbing around together and I floated off on my own to look at the fish.

my brother had helped me book my snorkel tour the day before. The tour starts at 2pm so wait on the beach at 1.30 and they’ll pick you up here at Sangthien on the way to the main beach. Wonderful. So I was ready, swimsuit and shorts, towel in the bag, sitting on the beach. Waiting. Of course they’ll be a bit late. By 2pm I thought I’d got the wrong date maybe, I started to fall asleep on the beach. Suddenly an urgent man was peering at me with the receptionist tapping my arm to wake me up. ‘You go with him!’

Of course. 

And suddenly I was on the back of his motorbike, speeding thought the island to the main beach. When there’s only one person at Sangthien they don’t bother bringing the boat round and they send a man on a bike instead, he explained, as we flew through the jungle and hit all the speedbumps hard. On the beach right by Audibar a boat full of annoyed looking people in life vests watched silently as I hopped off the bike, ripped off my shoes and ran through the water to climb on the back of the boat.

I wanted to explain that no-one told me I was at the wrong place, they should have picked me up earlier, sorry for the delay, are we all excited for the fish?

But without a shred of Thai I had no chance.

It was lovely, even though I felt like such an outsider, but I was so proud of myself that I did it. On my own. 

Lessons:

*When going on a snorkelling trip in Ko Samet, don’t bother trying to keep your shoes dry. Everything in the boat will get wet. 

*Wear sleeves or you’ll get a surprisingly painful life vest rash under your arms

*There is a toilet stop on the second island half way through so don’t panic

*Find someone on the boat with a bit of English cos the tour guide likely has zero 

*If there is a guy with an underwater camera, hang around with him cos he knows where the good fish will be. He will also take 609 photos of everyone on the tour and if you’re not nearby there’ll only be two of you 

*Wear some sort of a bracelet or identifying feature so you don’t have to sift through 609 photos on their facebook page wondering which snorkel obscured face is yours. 

*Once you stop trying to control the buoyancy of the life vest, and get over your own Darth Vader breath, it’s really blissful to just completely relax and float face down for ages in the warm tropical water. 

Goodbye my brother

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Thursday 18th

It is my brother’s last day on the island. Tomorrow he flies to Korea for a show that he has been preparing and rehearsing for this week, and I have two more nights on my own in Ko Samet before my flight to New Zealand. I feel so at home here that I’m fine on my own. 

Last night we went to several bars, including to the flourescently graffitied Audibar where the inviting little pots of paint sit on the bar for anyone to add to the thousands of messages, initials and drawings on every available surface. Walls, speakers, tables and the well tanned chests of the many topless Thai men who will oblige. I found a small patch of wall by the door to add my mantra ‘All I know is love’ which does look like touristy cheese I know, but comes from a song by Sivani Mata who helped me reach a place of peace and love that enabled me to let go of a bad thing before. 

The accompanying gin, the warm night breeze and the banging dance tunes meant we were soon dancing on Audi’s beach, while huge illuminated jellyfish twirled and swayed from the trees, happy tourists sipped their luminous cocktails and motorbikes and trucks sailed past with their gleefully shouting occupants. 

It was a very happy night. At one point we were leaving Lima bar and a bottle of beer needing finishing off. ‘Take it,’ the owner said, so I was suddenly that annoying girl on the back of a motorbike, swigging a beer and shouting ‘Fundeeeeeee!’ as we cruised away from the bar. How many rules of England could I break in one moment? I did make my brother stop and look for a glass recycling bin though. 

Bottle properly disposed of, late night noodles purchased, we sailed back thought the dark, with him driving extra slow so he could savour the moment. With him leaving Thailand tomorrow, he was as mesmerised by the beauty of it all as me, and with the warm night air washing over our faces and arms, he marvelled at the beauty of the high jungle either side of the road and the sound of a thousand night creatures chirping and singing and croaking. 

Lessons:

*That alluring fluorescent orange paint that everyone gets creative with on the walls of Audibar does not wash off your hands, clothes or phone case. But that is totally fine 

*Thai people don’t swim in the sea until the sun starts to go down at about 4pm, so you can have an entire bay to yourself most of the day. 

*Sunrise is 6am, and is just glorious over the Sangthien beach, and there is not a single human around. 

*If you see what appears to be a fucking DRAGON leisurely walking along the empty beach at 6am, it is in fact a Thai water lizard and although as big as a deckchair, is not dangerous, but you’d be right to keep your distance because apparently it can bite, or smack you hard with its tail. I was so scared I hid in the empty bar (with a broom for protection) googling ‘massive lizard thailand’ until it disappeared. 

Friday 19th. 6.49pm

My brother is leaving in a minute. He’s just having a last meditation and then we’ll go down to town on the bike and I’ll say goodbye at the pier and then I’ll hang out a bit and get myself a taxi back at some point. Of course I’m scared. And sad. And suddenly lonely. It would be easy to stay here in my little room and – Ooh shall I take an anxiety pill? 

Look, I get to have another bike ride with my brother, I get to wave his boat off the island, and I get to experience Ko Samet at night on my own. Could be awful, could be amazing. Could be just boring. I’ll be fine. 

19.27

Oh my heavenly father the tears. Such a streaming sobbing mess of tears right now. Sitting at the pier on a bench under a streetlight trying to work out what that’s all about. 

Lonely. Very much that. Love for my brother. Loads of that. Grateful. Yeah that’s not what the tears are about. 

I was crying as soon as we got on the bike. He said, ‘You nervous?’ I had to pause to steady my voice. ‘Probably,’ I said. ‘Part sad, part scared’. Voice already cracking.

‘You’ve done so well to overcome your fears,’ he said. ‘I know. I have.’ 

Tears on a bike are great cos the wind just pulls them away from your face as you fly through the night and no-one can see. 

I wanted to take a picture of us, our last bike ride through the Ko Samet darkness, but it wouldn’t capture it. I saw the shadow of us as we went under each streetlight, the shape of us two, him holding his luggage and me holding his shoulder, safe with him, listened to and looked after by him. So relaxed and peaceful, hair blowing, bare tanned arms loving the warm air, orange-paint-spattered trousers rolled up to let the breeze get to my heat swollen mosquito bitten legs. Him with headband holding back sunbleached hair, laptop bag over one shoulder, necklace from mum round his neck. Barefoot, earnest, fearless, my brother. 

Tears tears tears. 

He started talking and I was glad I didn’t need to speak as my face was screwed up in tears. He drove really slow, several bikes overtook us, as he started saying, ‘You need to not settle for even an inch below your greatest dream. You can be whatever you want – don’t say I don’t have faith in myself, that doesn’t make sense.’

‘Uhuh.’

And I don’t want to sound too negative but some of the people that you tell me about, it sounds like they are not great for you, and will hold you back. They won’t understand that you need to do something totally far away from their priorities.’ 

‘Hmm’

‘And you can have wisdom like how to overcome fear or how to cope with anxiety or all these techniques but that’s just tricks to play the game, when really you can step out of it and realise it’s a game. And that you don’t need to play. Reality is more than the tricks of surviving the game. I know I can’t explain it but once you realise it, once you feel it, you will know that’s what I was talking about.’

At the pier a private speedboat was waiting for him, of course. He hugged me and said I love you. I said I love you too – ooh so many tears now – he said, ‘I have enjoyed serving you and seeing you be so brave. I’m very proud of you.’

I wanted to say ‘me too’ but had no voice. He jumped on the boat and as it left the pier he shouted ‘Bye!’ 

‘Bye!’ I tried but it came out broken. 

And his boat disappeared into the dark sea and I have been sitting here for half an hour now crying and typing and catching all my tears in my filthy tank top. No bloody sleeves in Thailand. 

Need to drink a lot of water now, that is very dehydrating.

And here on this empty concrete pier out of Ko Samet, as a bizarre white girl is crying on her own on a bench, someone over there is gently playing a guitar in the darkness. 

Thank you my crazy little brother. You are something magical. It has been a privilege to have a week with you. I hope I remember the wisdom and strength you showed me. 

Yes Woman, Yes Cry

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May 16. 7pm

After another day of doing very little, my brother and I shared fruit smoothies at a nearby resort and returned to Sangthien just after 4. I had plans to meditate, read, write or plan ny life in the hour before sunset. 

But I lay down for a minute and disappeared into a world of tangly dreams and woke up at 6.30. Quickly washing the sunscreen and sweat off my face, I headed to the bar where my brother was just setting up on stage. Good morning, he grinned. And I found a table and ordered my gin. 

And now I sit here, beautiful Thai music filling the evening air, an additional electric fan providing breezes at this part of the bar, waves lapping in the darkness just over there, and I find I’m crying. What’s that about? 

Disappointed in myself for sleeping so much, for not getting done the few things I had to do today. 

But also an inexplicable and surprising sense of homesickness. At which point a familiar guitar chord starts up and my brother’s voice fills the bar with ‘I remember, when we used to sit, in the government yard in Trenchtown…’

And the tears stream down my face as he sings No Woman No Cry. 

A song that I have cried over many times since I fist heard it at 15 years old, in my religious times, my student times, my married times, my difficult recent times. With always a different person, a different sadness, a different purpose. 

And as I sat here with warm Thai breeze blowing through my hair, pink and turquoise lights illuminating the trees overhead, my little brother making music over there, I got a sense of the distance I have come to get here, the many sadnesses and fears that I used to feel, that have all gone, and that everything I think is important now will also be gone. The relief and grief to let each thing, each person, each worry and fear gently drop away, to stand bereft and empty with none of the safety of familiar pain, of work, of people or all the things that I have surrounded myself with to avoid the empty simple existence of me. 

Just me. No purpose, no deadlines, no stress. And without all that I am such a small weak little thing. A childlike soul standing alone and unsupported in a warm Thai breeze. It is both beautiful and scary. And invites more bloody tears. While Thai families eat their shellfish salads and a group of guys laugh and the nimble waiters deliver trays of drinks, I sit on my table on my own, full of gratitude and sadness, that I get a glimpse of letting go. It takes time, which I have given myself. This is only my second full day here, it makes sense that after the blissful touristy excitement of yesterday, that once I was on my own long enough there would be sadness. 

May 17th. 8.30am

And so I drank. We biked to ‘town’ – the couple of streets crammed with shops, street vendors, restaurants and bars under multicoloured lights and flags. The lady at Bananabar scolded my brother for something, laughed at him for something else, then brought us delicious vegan spring rolls and coconut curry and rice. Just magnificent food. And gin. 

On the way back, warm night air swishing through our hair as the motorbike cruised gently through the dark jungle road, every now and then the sound of dance club beats can be heard and then the twirling lights and illuminated stars/hearts/jellyfish come into view to present a beach bar full of lights, music and people as one of the little oases of late night humanity in the dark insectful jungle. Gecko bar, Starlight bar, Naga bar… 

We stopped at Audibar to say hi to the owner Audi, a small topless tattooed man who greeted us with warm sweaty hugs and another gin, which was somehow luminous blue, and had to be downed in one as my brother was late for his 10.30 recording appointment with Magan. 

At Sangthien, without my brother, I joined the staff in the empty bar who were eating their staff meals and drinking rum. They continued their leisurely Thai conversations, and I smiled politely and sipped my rum as they laughed at each other’s jokes. The head waiter’s girlfriend was especially keen to keep topping up my glass, and we had a laugh about how Mao I was. ‘Just a little Mao,’ I protested, ‘Just Tipsy!’. ‘No, you Mao Maaaaak!’ they laughed.

And so the next two hours were spent with a handful of the Santhien family, one bottle of rum and one of brandy, and a lot of Google translate. They spent a while trying to explain what the noises in the night were. Frogs, grasshoppers and a very loud Ka Ka Ka Ka kaaaaaap right in the window above my bed at 4am, which we finally deduced was a Toucan. The lead singer talked about my brother’s tattoo – the Thai words for ‘Live in the Moment’ – and they shared some honest and awestruck opinions about how much they love him. That was nice.

And the drinking and laughing took away my sadness and I gratefully fell asleep just after 2am. 

So now, having woken up in time for the breakfast buffet, I sip my black coffee and eat my toast and vegan spread and watch the sadness return. I accept this is part of the letting go and I am grateful for the time to allow it.

Lessons for today:

*Bike helmets don’t even exist on the island, just roll with it. 

*Buy more mosquito spray. Seriously. 

*When getting on the back of a motorbike, lift your foot VERY high to swing it over, or you’ll whack your ankle on the sticky out metal bit at the back and cause a world of indescribable pain (that your brother finds hilarious). 

*I am not a size medium when buying shorts in Thailand. Everyone here is tiny, I’m clearly a large. 

*Fundeee means goodnight and will be greeted with delightful smiles. FANdee means good girlfriend and will be met with confusion. 

*Relax into the speedbumps and go with the flow. This is a good lesson for life and one I am reminded of many times a day. 

*Our brains are wired for safety, not happiness, so when you feel like going back into familiar safe patterns, know that they are there to protect you from the new thing which might be scary, even if it is the thing that will make you happy.

Grateful for:

Sunscreen

My brother’s effortless motorbike riding

The endless supply of cool drinking water behind the bar to refill bottles

The little lizards that glide around on the walls outside my cabin

The fridge full of vegan snacks my brother brought over from Bangkok

The excellent wifi here

The people in Melksham who lovingly tell me to stop watching Council meetings and to enjoy my tropical adventure here

Taking a while to let go

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May 15. 8.32pm

As it got dark, my brother arranged a short motorbike ride (him barefoot, me holding on and laughing at the lack of a shred of protective gear) to the west side of the island so we could watch the pink sun set fire to the clouds over the sea, before returning to the Sangthien stage for his evening set. The lovely Thai waiters settled me at a table under a palm tree in view of the stage and the sea, with an apple mojito full of rapidly melting ice, as my brother joined the owner on stage with his guitar. 

Framed by a huge ornamental heart made of straw, the stage is draped with fairy lights against a backdrop of the evening sea. Gentle waves wash over the beach as they sing chilled tunes including ‘Feeling Good’ and ‘Everything’s Going to be Alright.’ My brother improvises a song about last night’s storm which kept Magan, the owner, awake checking on the electricity all night. ‘Magan is my man, my man’. After a few more relaxing tunes, I notice a group of young men gathering at one end of the restaurant. A recording of a deep voice (my brother’s with special effects) announces that it is time to turn off the lights for the start of the Fire Show. The leisurely lounge music gives way to a fiery display in which a crew of glorious grinning topless young Cambodians twirl fire around their beautiful bodies to a banging Prodigy-based soundtrack for which my brother provides the energetic drums. The acrobatic young men fling fireballs into the darkness, twirl flaming hoops around themselves, and spin musical rings of light around the restaurant.

They are fucking amazing. I’m torn between trying to capture it on video and experiencing the utter beauty and energy that is so mesmerising and intoxicating that I’m crying with sheer love and joy for it as the pounding bass and drumbeat pulse through my whole being.

The expert waiters dodge the flames as they deliver cocktails and Kai curries to the many guests; a woman with a baby walks through the display nonchalantly.

My brother on the drums shouts to me – ‘They will take a photo of you!’

‘What?!’

‘With the fire, they’ll come to you!’

And sure enough, one glorious fire boy is suddenly spinning a ring of fire right around my face and someone is taking photos up close. 

Zero risk assessments, I absolutely love it. The finale is a series of immense Catherine wheel effects of spinning sprays of sparks that fill the beach below the bar. The energy and beauty is intoxicating and I am brim full of love and gratitude as I settle back at my table with another mojito for the rest of the night. 

In a few hours in Melksham they will choose their new mayor. I wish for this much bliss and love and peace to be in the room when they vote, but I realise I am lucky enough to have bought my ticket out of it, and find all the love of a gorgeous sunny Thai beach resort, a few thousand miles away from the people I care about in Melksham. I know the stress and fear and confusion of it all and I love how far away I am, but sad for those who I love that are still troubled by it. 

I wish I could give everyone a week on this beach, with this deliriously healing and beautiful warm breeze. It is like anger and fear can’t even exist here, the purpose of the whole island is pure bliss. Everyone here is either choosing peace or providing peace. The purpose and values of everyone here is beauty, love, peace and leisure. 

Leisure. Recreation. Re-creation. It takes a few days to undo the heavy complex tangly web of duties, jobs and fears that you might arrive with, but the complete gorgeousness of the place gently teases all that out of you until you are clean and peaceful and your biggest priority is to sit with your feet in the clear lapping water until the sun sinks low enough that it’s time to move on to the next peaceful beautiful place. 

We had our family zoom last night, our weekly intercontinental gathering which this time included the hilarious moment in which Thailand brother, in his separate little zoom box on the screen as always, suddenly knocked on my door and popped into my zoom screen. Oh how we laughed. And then someone noticed my haircut and I said, ‘I know, I’ve got rid of that long boring frumpy look!’ London brother apologised for always calling me frumpy. I said, ‘Well I was, I chose frumpy and boring and safe and good. That was my story.’

‘Yeah you need to work out your new story now.’

‘Maybe it’s scary because your story is actually something absolutely amazing.’

‘You know sometimes we hide our lights because we think it will upset someone.’

‘Oh yeah, you know that quote – our greatest fear is not that we’re rubbish, is that we’re absolutely amazing or something.’

‘Exactly.’

New York brother said, ‘I like to think that I should live each day like I time travelled back in time to change something for the better. You don’t know what it is, but you know you have to do something to make the future better.’

‘Ooh nice.’

Right now I can’t imagine doing anything important, I’m just loving sitting still for a while.

My Thailand brother outlined how he came up with his priorities. For 30 days he meditated for an hour and then wrote down fifteen dreams. Crazy, brave, beautiful uninhibited dreams. Which included things like ‘Own a lion’ or ‘Speak 100 languages.’ At the end of the month, he looked at every day’s list, and although it kept changing, there were some constant themes. And from that he found his five pillars – Music, Love, Friends, Travel and Languages. And then it became clear. If any activity, person, conversation or task isn’t in service of one of these, then it is not a good use of his time. And he won’t do it.

I like that. To be so clear what is important to you that you can easily say no to what is not.

May 16. 7.39am

Thank you for my speech to text facility so I can write while walking along the main road that runs all the way along the skinny island of Ko Samet. In an attempt to get my body onto Thailand time I said goodnight to my brother at midnight and settled down to sleep. I thought that if I happened to be awake at 1am I might tune into the Town Council meeting just to see who was going to be mayor this year. I’m sure it wasn’t a good idea to dip back into my old job and I did feel a ridiculous surge of fear as the opening public session involved the usual criticism – some of it directed to the tasks that were dropped when I left. But I will take this as a benchmark of improvement that I quickly got over it and saw the value in the feedback being articulately but angrily levelled at the council.

I’m glad I was there for the next bit in which the mayor gave a lovely speech about his first year in office and all the brilliant colleagues who had made it good. Because I was on my own with it all I sent a few messages to people in Melksham who might be watching the meeting too, and immediately felt ridiculous to need to reach out from thousands of miles away just to remind people I still care and hope that they still care about me. So I accept that the whole letting go of Melksham project of this adventure is a gentle gradual untangling.

The thing that is ironic about this trip to Thailand is that it is directly because of my recent challenges in Melksham that I am here. My current wander on this road through the magic morning jungle is in response to and rejection of my previous job in Melksham. (Let’s not forget it is also paid for by my savings that I earned from that job). It is because of that place of confusion, stress and obligation that I found the strength to depart to this place of tranquillity, emptiness and peace. 

So I am grateful for the unhappiness and inauthenticity which provided enough contrast to push me to seek the happiness and truth that lands me in a tropical piece of paradise the other side of the world.

Lessons for today:

*Bring Mosquito spray for goodness sake woman. 

*When you pop on to the beach to film the fire show from a clever sideways angle, you need to stand WAY back because those sparks go about 30 metres along the beach. 

*Veggie pad Thai has eggs in it so you will displease the vegan gods with that order. 

*But chicken coconut soup is completely vegan if you ask for it without the chicken (mai kai) 

*If you are in a cabin with huge windows overlooking the main path, remember to close the curtains before taking a shower. Or you will emerge all refreshed and grinning, and suddenly be aware of your unrequested exposure, and have to hurriedly pull the curtains closed. 

*If you hurriedly pull the curtains closed in a Sangthian Resort cabin with too much force, they will fall apart and you will be left with a crumpled pile of curtain and rail that, while hilarious, offers little privacy from the aforementioned  immense windows. 

* That quote I was trying to remember is from Marianne Williamson:

‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? … Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you…And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”