I swear the mozzies in Obs are hydroponically grown. Those suckers are on a mission. They zone in, drill down and go for the gusher. And, dammit, if they don’t focus on the face every single time. I’m sick of waking up looking like Rocky, with a swollen eye lid and a compulsion to itch like a fevered crack addict. It’s just nasty.
Went to Nia last night. The dwergie, also known as mom or mooma, was keen to see if this esoteric form of exercise would cover her cardio requirements. I thought I’d be laughing. Or at least stifling a giggle or two while I watch women writhe and strut to a bongo drum beat. But I got totally in to it. The stamp and breath and rhythm of moving my body. Not to the cyberpump of sterile gym overlords. But to the celebratory hum of CafÃ© del Mar type sounds and the swish of arms and hair and the thud of naked feet.
Those fekkin’ mozzies are injecting something Obz-like into the old bloodstream I reckon.
The Obz Fest is coming up. Can I face another year of hippies and students and vomit and so called ‘live music’ and dirty footed alternative folk. I have nothing against alternative folk. When I whip out the kaftan, I almost am one. Or dirty feet, for that matter. Mine are frequently. Comes with preferring either a minimum 3 inch heel or nothing at all. But that ingrained dirt of centuries, combined with yellowing toenails, crusted with black rings of unidentifiable filth. And cracked. Under the toes and on the heels. I can’t. I just can’t.
And the heave of sweaty, December heat flesh mixing with the sweet smell of cannabis and turning beer. The wild or blank eyed stares of people drinking to get drunk. Keyed up or dumbed down. I still love it, but only when I’m in the mood. And I’m so often not, these days. If people would just bathe a little more regularly. I knew I was getting old when I watched the Lord of the Rings and my primary thought, when Aragorn was plunged over the cliff into the river, was: ‘at least he’s getting a wash.’ Ja. This is not good.
So, as I scratch absentmindedly at another red bump on my arm, I’m wondering, on this Friday evening. Do I go home for a bath? Or just head out into the night and see where it takes me.