Holiday blues

While planning for our annual Christmas holiday, I was sent a link by a friend to the “perfect destination”.

And it did look perfect. The crisp white beaches, the turquoise waters, the couple in the advertisement running around laughing (who actually does that?). 

But then I found myself panicking. 

No bars. A handful of restaurants and the odd shop.  A total population on par with the amount of people in my office building.

Uh oh.

Here was a virtually secluded island with nothing to do besides alternate between lying by the ocean and the pool all day, every day. And I was scared. 

“That’s the point”, my friend soothed when I worriedly told her my concerns. “It’s one of those relaxing, isolated getaways where it’s just you and your partner, and there’s nothing to do each day but bask in each other’s company and watch the waves. No iphones, no laptops, no one to talk to but each other.” 

She may as well have said we'd be chained together in a four by four prison cell.

This is going to sound terrible because I love my partner more than anything else – but there’s no way I could last two weeks with just the two of us and the ocean and nothing else in between. 

Sure, I could happily do a few days. Maybe five if I’ve got a good book on me. But after a week, cabin (or resort) fever inevitably creeps up. 

There’s day after day stretching ahead of you, where the limited amount of things to do means the schedule always runs like this: breakfast, pool, sex, lunch, beach, sex, run around laughing – and this takes us to the next day, where it all starts again.  

You’ve probably guessed it already, but I am one of those people who constantly needs to be doing things.

When I’m not doing things, I’m making a list of things to do. 

In short, I am a control freak. Can control freaks relax? Sure they can. Just not on a deserted island.

I need atmosphere, people, music, shops and new restaurants to try together.  I simply can’t have every day the same on a holiday...or I go a bit nuts. 

I’m sure you’re all thinking I need to see a therapist or pull my head out of my ass...but I’m not alone. This has happened to (fictional character, cough) Miranda from Sex and the City.  

On her honeymoon in a cabin in the wilderness somewhere, with no TV and her mobile battery dead, Miranda and her husband are cuddled in bed. 

“Mm this is nice,” he says. 

“Yeah it is,” she agrees. 

After about thirty seconds she asks: “Now what do we do?”

Not content with staring into eachother's eyes all day, Miranda, like me, found it difficult to adjust to doing absolutely nothing.

I’m sure we’ll figure out a happy medium for our holiday, a place that’s somewhere in between New York and nobody-knows-it-because-it’s-miles-from-anywhere. 

In the meantime, I’ve got my list-writing pen poised and ready to go. 

Are you the same? Can you happily do nothing on your holidays?

Shopping envy

I went shopping with my boyfriend recently. And I must admit: the experience left me stunned, shocked and more than a little envious.

Let me put this into context. This man almost never enters a shopping mall. Yet on a bright autumn Saturday, when his old jeans had finally had it, he decided he needed to get a few things.

So he did. He bought ten items in the space of an hour. Everything he needed on his list – and strictly nothing more. Two pairs of shoes, a handful of shirts, a few ties, a pair of jeans and a jacket.

His winter wardrobe, sorted – all in the time it usually takes me to get lunch.

There wasn't any groaning or moaning or demanding to know opinions. 

He knew what he wanted and didn’t get distracted by anything else. Me on the other hand  – well it’s a little different.

I can go two hours and still not find the one thing I need. Of course, I’ve bought three other things I noticed along the way that I didn’t need, but somehow, I still can’t find anything on my mental list.

And even if I do, there’s endless hours of scrutinising, analysing, comparing, and asking for opinions that comes into play.

Shopping for me is that bittersweet, classic mixture of pleasure and pain – the pleasure when you finally find something you need that looks good outweighs the five hours of pain you endured trying, and failing, to find it and being stuck in a florescent change room staring back at your cellulite.

Oh how I envy men with their typical ensemble of jeans, a top and perhaps a scarf or jacket if they’re getting a bit out-there.

There’s so much more women are dealing with as our fashion changes by the minute – fur vests, leather trousers, skirts, poo catcher pants, cropped blazers, skinny legs, high cut shorts, bandage dresses....I’m exhausted just thinking about it. It’s a minefield.

“Done and dusted for another year,” my boy said smugly, carrying his bags as we walked out of the mall and I seethed silently.

Men, you don’t know how good you have it sometimes. Although, I’ll still choose getting to wear heels anytime.  

The Modern Paparazzi

Recently on one of my favourite sites, Mamamia, there was a post on Photo Nazis.Or snapaholics, if you will.

You know the ones, who at every outing must document every single moment, from the ice-cream they ate to the movie they saw to the paint drying on the wall. And it doesn’t just have to be by photo. It can be by a status update or a check in.

You’re familiar with these people right? Perhaps you’re one of them yourself.

I’m torn on this, you see.

On the one hand, I can’t stand people must constantly tag themselves at the gym, or the movies, or their bed at home. I simply don’t see the need for endless documenting on pointless occasions, other than these people want to show off a little.

BUT – and that’s a big but – I am also kind of thankful for Photo Nazis, and here’s why.

I have a terrible short term memory. I can remember what colour top I was wearing at my fifth birthday, but I cannot for the life of me remember what I did last week, or a month ago, or this year. What have I been doing? A quick check of Facebook is all I need, where my Photo Nazis have been furiously snapping away, at various events from weddings to dinners to lunches at KFC. It means I can look back and go “ah – that’s what I was doing last weekend.”

From that timeline I suppose I can piece together moments of my life. Whether they are significant moments, is another matter.

My only issue is that I want to make sure people are living in the moment rather than missing out because they’re too busy documenting it and making sure they look cool and interesting on Facebook.

I sometimes look fondly back on photos of my grandparents when they were my age; only taken on very special occasions and now locked in precious gold frames rather than a disc or on a social media site.

I doubt I’ll keep the photos of me eating lunch or seeing a movie. But the ones I do have, of very special occasions, I will keep forever and am thankful for. 

Cooking, anyone?

“I love to cook,” she said. “It just relaxes me, as soon as I turn on a pot or pan I can feel all my worries ease away.”

That’s my friend talking – not me, obviously.

As she tells me this I’m picturing my kitchen at home whenever I cook – me, red faced, in a dirty apron surrounded by cookbooks, spilt food, and a thousand pots and pans boiling all at the same time. Relaxing? Not for me. I relax when I’m at a restaurant, eating food – not when I’m cooking it.

But lately I’ve been on this project to be a good cook. I thought it would be easy enough; but it’s an uphill battle, and it aint getting any less steeper. Just putting on a cute apron is unfortunately not enough to say “I’m the next Masterchef.”

Last night, for instance, I tried to make salmon in the oven, for something different. After ten minutes I smelt burning, and after fifteen it was on fire and I was hurriedly trying to put it out.

All in all, not the best start to my cooking venture.

I will keep you posted as I continue this challenge; but in the meantime, if you have any fail proof recipes, send them my way and I’ll try and see if I can not burn the house down when I try them.