#but that honour has already been taken in delightful style

[fecklesheckleshacklesschmeckles]

same vibe

[yegarts]

Fantastic Planet Art Installation: Meet Amanda Parer

Few things should come as a surprise this year, but giant illuminated humanoid figures invading the planet could be one of them. Fantastic Planet is that delightful surprise. Created by world-renowned artist Amanda Parer, this monumental public art installation features six impressively massive, ‘humanoid’ inflatables, the tallest of which stands 12 meters high. This spectacle of otherworldliness is part of the Downtown Spark event, a series of free, outdoor exhibits and activities meant to awaken the downtown core and bring it to life throughout March and April. What better way than with an invasion of gentle giants, sent to explore our ‘Fantastic Planet.��� We had the pleasure of chatting with Parer about her inspiration for this exhibit, the importance of shared experiences, and much, much more. Meet Amanda Parer.

The world and our public spaces have changed a lot since you first exhibited Fantastic Planet. After a year of many of us feeling invisible (at least from the waist down), the idea of feeling watched has a heightened layer to it. What does that narrative that add to this exhibit?

Parer: Sociologists may have already known this, but for us lay people, I think that, amongst other things, what the global pandemic has shown us is how being seen and seeing others is a big part of our human experience. It touches on the phrase ‘If a tree falls in the forest but nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ It symbolizes the ineffectiveness of unheard opinions/thoughts. Originally referring to physics, this can also apply to our current group experience. I think as isolation grew longer and so did our connections with people, it became evident that, as a species, we need to see and be in the same space of others, having shared experiences. From this grows our culture and history. To have my artwork, Fantastic Planet, as a focal point for folks to wander out to once again, bleary-eyed to have a (socially safe, of course) shared experience with is an honour, and I thank the Edmonton Arts Council for this opportunity.

What is it about public art that inspires you to not only create it, but also champion it?

Parer: Prior to being an installation artist, I was a fine artist exhibiting paintings and sculptures in galleries. This was extremely rewarding, and during these years, I developed themes, a style, and iconography to play with. The symbols I used were giant rabbits in a pristine or toiled landscape. Browsing the Internet one day, I came across images of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York and realized that the inflatables were a medium that I could use to bring my rabbits out of the 2-dimensional and into the 3-dimensional space. I set about making my first art installation called Intrude. Exhibiting this work for the first time at the Sydney Vivid Festival in 2014, I realized this was a quite different way of presenting my art on all levels. The artwork was outside in the public realm, which meant the work was being experienced by people who didn’t just frequent art galleries—people were just there to experience and enjoy work. After this, I was sold. Luckily, this change in my practice coincided with my installation works becoming in demand, and I haven’t looked back or picked up a paintbrush since. I have made several other art installations since, and even through a pandemic, they continue to go buzzing around the world.

Many a selfie has been taken with your work. Are these pieces also meant to be touched? If so, what are guidelines for keeping the interaction respectful?

Parer: This is another element to why I have enjoyed making public art. In the public realm there is more scope to break the rules of the regular artworld, and one of these is the invisible barrier, which is more often than not present between the viewer and the art. Pre-pandemic, I invited people to touch my work, and during the exhibition we’d have chaperones to guide folks in how to interreact with “gentle touching,“etc. People have even been known to have dinner parties around my works. I came across a Japanese tea ceremony once in Sydney, with attendees in full geisha regalia. A couple of times there have even been lipstick marks on a bunny’s butt from someone feeling a bit amorous. In general, there’s usually a lot of hugging involved with my works, which I absolutely adore. But, of course, all of this is now on the back burner until the world gets of the pandemic.

The Edmonton Arts Council chose my work, Fantastic Planet, because it covers a lot of space and the pieces can be installed aerially—deliberately keeping them out of people’s reach. For this exhibition, some of the figures are being installed on rooftops, and my tallest figure is so tall at 14m high, that it’s naturally beyond reach. For the figures being displayed on the ground, folks will be guided in how to interact with the artworks in a Covid-sensitive manner—socially distancing from others and the artwork itself, and the pieces themselves will be regularly cleaned.

What does sending new work out into the world feel like? Can you compare it to anything?

Parer: Well, I liken it to having a child (I have three human ones of my own, too). The fun stuff happens at the start, i.e., having the idea, then you get busy making it, which has its challenges. This happens in my studio in Tasmanian, working alongside my team of lighting designers, makers, technicians, engineers, and producers. After this, it is ready to be ‘born,’ which means it’s ready to be exhibited. To achieve this, a supportive event holder has to take the initiative to hold the premiere of your brand new work. The installation then begins, which also has its ups and downs: long days, heavy lifting, directing teams, scheduling and planning. After all this, the opening night arrives and—ta-da!—your baby is born, out into the world (hopefully) being admired and also just ‘being’ in the world.

Many people have spent the last year looking to nature for comfort and questioning their relationship with it, often discovering they’ve been terrible partners. As someone who regularly questions that relationship with the natural world, what has it been like watching that light bulb go off for others?

Parer: I think that this is wonderful. Pre-pandemic, globally, we as a species were getting out of control, putting too much pressure on the natural world. What I find odd is that, generally, we knew where it was all heading—climate change, deforestation, overfishing the oceans—but the infrastructure in which we chose to run our lives does not support the amount of change needed for us to turn the tide on all of that. I think it is great that some awakening in this arena has occurred due to the pandemic, but, alas, I fear that we are creatures with short-term memories, and when the world ‘normalizes’ again, the old lifestyles and frameworks of living will too. It’s up to all us to keep mindful of this and do what we can.

To discover the locations of all six Fantastic Planet inflatables, as well as other Downtown Spark events, visit Explore Edmonton.

Artist Bio

Amanda Parer is an Australian artist who began her art career as a painter and sculptor in Sydney. Parer now resides in Tasmania, focusing her practice on creating large-scale illuminated art installations that explore the natural world, its fragility, and the role of humanity within it. Her inspiration for Fantastic Planet was taken from René Laloux’s 1973 stop-motion sci-fi film, Fantastic Planet (La Planète Sauvage), set in an unimaginably distant future, where human beings are a feral race in a world of gargantuan humanoids. Discover more at parerstudio.com.

[cilldaracailin]

Don’t Stop Me Now

And here is the next part! Thanks once again for all the lovely comments :)

5

“You can give a surprise to someone you want to, but be aware that maybe you become surprised yourself with your surprise instead of the someone.”

“You doing ok?” Taron asked her as he walked her through the guests in the large room where the reception drinks were happening. They had been stopped a few times and Taron had made their introductions, Robyn trying to remember all the names of the people who had shaken her hand. She had been welcomed with large smiles and words of thanks, everyone knowing who Taron’s ‘Robyn’ was. Each conversation had only lasted a few minutes before Taron moved her on, keeping a hand on hers or an arm around her waist, maintaining his promise of keeping her close to him at all times.

“I am ok Taron.” She assured him.

“You sure?” He asked worried everything was going to be very overwhelming for her.

She stopped and turned to look at him. “Do you think a room of famous celebrities is going to make me turn and run?”

“Honestly no. If a man with a gun is not going to make you run, I don’t see how a room full of famous faces will have you running far.”

“Makes it easier that no press is allowed inside too.”

“Elton won’t have it any other way. He appreciates the publicity and red carpet to keep the awareness of his charity alive but won’t have any media inside his home.”

“Well, aren’t you two just a spectacle of twilight and sparkles!” Robyn and Taron turned their heads to see Stella walking over to them wearing a beautiful gown in a cream colour that was fitted with a square neckline. “Robyn didn’t Taron do a fabulous job with the dress?” She asked as she stood beside her. She took Robyn’s hand and made her twirl around. “Stunning, isn’t she Taron?”

“Robyn doesn’t need a fancy fancy dress to be stunning for me. I have seen her a towel!” He winked. “But Stella, yes she is beautiful.”

“And Taron, isn’t he just fetching in this suit?” Stella let go of Robyn’s hand.

“This is one of my more preferred looks of his, though covered in flour, he comes off pretty fine too.” Robyn winked back at him. “But yes Stella, Taron has picked a beautiful dress for me and I have told him so. Though we have yet to have the conversation about matching outfits. You have anything to do with that?”

Stella laughed. “Nothing at all. You both picked your own clothes and I didn’t sway either of you but you both are fabulous and I like that you are co-ordinated. It shows a unity between the two of you and it is obvious that you already have a connection. When will you get the chance to dress up like this again Robyn and can I say, you have done a perfect job with your own styling. Love the hair.”

Robyn smiled. “Hair has always been my forte in some respects.”

“And I need the colour of that lipstick. Bold choice. I love it.”

Robyn grinned some more. “Throwing everything I can out there this evening.”

“Taron, I don’t think I actually needed to help her.” Stella laughed. “She knows what she is doing.”

“Oh, I know that Stella but I also know how hard Robyn works and wanted to help her out a little with the dress.” Taron grinned. “I think I did a very good job, to be honest. Love a V-neck.” The women beside him laughed. “And I just liked the extra flare of this suit. I didn’t know it would match but you did Stella and you never said anything.”

“Of course, I didn’t. I wasn’t about to ruin this truly flawless picture.”  She took his hand in hers. “What are these?” She asked as she fingered the gold cuff links on his sleeve. “I didn’t give these to you.”

“No Robyn did. They are a gift.”

“They are beautiful. I am guessing some Irish connection.”

Robyn nodded. “It’s a claddagh symbol. Normally given in a ring but I thought cuff links were much more appropriate for Taron. He wears a suit quite often.”

“Perfect addition.” She dropped his hand took a step back and she motioned to both Taron and Robyn. “Now that I have seen my styling perfection in the flesh with little personal additions, I am beyond pleased. You both look magnificent and even more so together.” Stella took Robyn’s hands. “It was a joy to style you. I hope get to see you in that green dress the next time.” She grinned.

“Green dress?” Taron asked. “Does that mean there is a movie premier in our future together?” He asked. “Stella do you think I could wear a green suit.”

“Taron you could wear could the phone book, Robyn too. Now if you both excuse me, I have to go and try some of these little nibbles Elton has set out. Taron I am looking forward to hearing you sing later; Robyn I will put that green dress to the side for you.”

She left with a hug for both Robyn and Taron and wandered through the guests.

“Well she is a whirlwind of activity.” Robyn said.

“She is a wonderful stylist. Always listens to me and doesn’t mind that I like to take some risks.”

“Like a gold cummerbund and matching with me.”

Taron linked his arms with hers. “Exactly. So, tell me about this green dress.”

She laughed as she let him lead her once more. “It was a beautiful dress but a little too princess like for my tastes. Stella said I should wear it because it would match your eyes.” She felt Taron stall a little in his steps. “But I liked this one best.”

“Match my eyes.” He repeated.

“That’s what Stella said. Anywhoo, when are you going to sing?”

“Half way through the auction. Elton and David wanted to have this little drinks reception first for their guests and then we will move into another room and the auction will begin. Our duet will break up the evening and then the second half of the auction will begin before the reception will end.”

“So, do I get to know what you are singing?”

Taron shook his head as he guided Robyn towards the end wall of the room. “Nope. It’s a surprise.”

“It’s an Elton song though?”

“Could I really sing a Queen song at a function that Elton is hosting? And we both know you are the queen of Queen songs.”

“Have you been practising your puns?” Laughed Robyn. “So, it is an Elton song then.”

“Well why don’t you ask him yourself.” Taron stopped walking as he reached the opposite end of the room from where they had entered. “Elton, David I would like to introduce you to Robyn Quinn.”

Robyn stopped and had to grab onto Taron’s arm to stop her from going over on her heel and she felt his arm go around her waist to keep her steady as they now stood in front of Elton John and his husband.

“Taron!” Scolded Elton as he saw the shock on his friend’s guests face. “One should give a young lady some warning before you introduce her to your friends.” Elton moved to stand in front the two. “Well I am thoroughly delighted to finally get the pleasure to meet you Robyn and I am even more elated that you managed to make it here tonight. Taron was terribly disappointed that you couldn’t but when you shared the good news with him that you were on the way, well the biggest smile filled his face.”  Robyn felt her two hands being taken and held tight. “He was blessed to have someone as brave as you who was willing to take such a risk and do something so incredibly valiant for him. I know I am quite fond of Taron and am very grateful for your selfless actions and then continued compassion and empathy that you have shown him. Thank you so much for accepting my invite to come tonight. Anyone who can show such pluckiness in a terrifying situation is a woman I am excited to meet and is always welcome in my home with Taron.”

It took Robyn a few seconds to compose herself once Elton had finished speaking to her. It was such a surreal experience to be looking into the eyes of Elton John as he wore a pair of his famous glasses, dressed in a fabulous rainbow coloured jacket and black trousers but David spoke before she got the chance too and placed a hand on top of Elton’s who still held hers in his.

“Taron you should know better than to surprise people like this. Poor Robyn is already taking everything in and then you just walk up to us? A little advance notice is always welcomed in situations such as these. Robyn I can only repeat what Elton had said but it is a pleasure to meet you especially after everything you have done for Taron and can I say, you look beautiful.”

“Well I don’t think I have anything I can say that is anywhere near remotely as eloquent in reply.” Smiled Robyn as she finally found her voice. “But thank you so much for your kind words and your invite. While I know there has been excitement on Taron’s behalf for my arrival, I also know how much your foundation and charity means to you and I am honoured to have been invited. Now I can’t guarantee that I will actually bid on anything but I shall definitely make a face and pretend to be very disappointed when I don’t get a lot I was pretending to bid on.” She gave Elton’s hand a squeeze back and he smiled at her.

“Taron, she is a dote.” Grinned Elton. “And a keeper and I see why she makes you smile so much.”

Robyn, while still holding Elton’s hands turned to look at Taron. “What on earth have you been telling people about me?”

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Only the truth.” He answered with a small smile.

She looked back to Elton. “Honestly though, thank you so very much for asking me to come along. It is an honour to be here. I can only apologise for my tardiness. I had training for my work this morning that I thought couldn’t be rescheduled but my manager worked something out for me.”

“The fact that you could make it here is enough for me. You have made Taron smile and that is all I can ask for.”

Robyn found her face almost frozen in a grin and she wished she could pinch herself as she stood in front of Elton and David. “I hope to keep it that way too.”

“So how have you found the evening so far?” Asked Elton as he let go of her hands.

“Your home is stunning and everyone I have met, or been introduced to have been lovely. A lot of hand shaking and hugging.”

“And thanking you I am sure.” Added David.

“A bit of that thrown in for good measure too.” Agreed Robyn.

“Might take my chance to thank you too.” Said Elton. “It is truly a selfless person who has a genuine and honest heart to save a life. I cannot imagine what you two have been through but I am glad you have each other and as like everyone else I am sure has told you, thank you for what you did for Taron. He has become one of my good friends and I am glad he now has a new one in you.”

“I might keep him around for a little longer. He does give a good squishy hug.”

Elton and David laughed. “I bet you keep him on his toes too.” Grinned David. “Everyone loves an Irish fiery woman.”

Robyn laughed and half hugged Taron around his waist when she saw him scowl a little. “He is learning that, granted the hard way sometimes.”

“Taron, I think you might have your hands full with his one. I love her!” Laughed Elton as he gave Robyn a hug and a kiss. “You are wonderful.”

“Well thank you Elton.”

“So, the evening hasn’t been too daunting for you then?” Asked David.

“It has been such a mad rush to get here and everything is all kind of blurring into each other but I know I am still pinching myself a little. I am sure Taron had already told you this, but I am a fan of your music.”

“He might have mentioned it. Said you went to one of my concerts I did in Ireland in Limerick.” Robyn took a look over her shoulder to Taron who was giving her his most innocent look. “I actually remember it well. Rained the whole concert but everyone danced and clapped along.”

“It was a great concert.”

“I shall have to get you to come along to my next one, one that is inside so you won’t be wet and cold.”

Robyn smiled. “I don’t mind the wet or cold. I am Irish. Comes with the terms and conditions when you are born.”

Elton and David laughed. “Taron also told me you are a big Queen fan.”

“Should I sent Taron away so you can fully tell me what secrets he has exactly told you about me?”

Elton laughed. “You are absolutely right Taron. A little firecracker.”

There was laughter from the group that stood together. “In answering your question Elton, yes I am a big fan of Queen.”

“Taron tells me you can sing Freddie.”

Robyn laughed. “Taron is going to be put in time out soon.” She turned to look at him, enjoying the smirk he wore, his eyes bright and playful. “So, we have been at this wonderful event for the last half hour and you have yet to offer to get me drink.” Placing her hands on his chest, she gave him a little push. “I think now would be a perfect moment to do so.”

“I think I should stay here with you. You told me you wanted me by your side the whole time.” Taron reached up and placed his hands on hers.

“Well now Taron, I think I should be safe enough standing here talking with Elton and David.” Robyn moved her hands from his and took a step closer to his friends.

“Taron go and get your guest a drink.” Insisted Elton. “I think you can trust us to watch her for you.”

Taron looked at Robyn who winked at him. Sighing he asked her what she wanted. “Surprise me.” She replied.

Taron leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I will be right back.”

Robyn watched as he walked away, greeting people as he walked past but turned back to Elton and David who were grinning at her. “You have him twisted around your finger Robyn.” David said to her.

“I have been known to bribe him with food. It works and also, I think he is just so thankful I made it here. So, Taron, what exactly has he been telling you?” She asked them.

“In short that you are biggest Queen fan and can sing Freddie though he has still not heard you sing him live yet and that you did something remarkable for him that saved his life.”

“That all?” She asked.

“He was bitterly disappointed when you had originally not been able to make it but since then had been literally hopping around the place with excitement. He is smitten with you Miss Quinn.”

Robyn smiled. “We are just friends and I am very glad to be able to be here for him.” David and Elton looked to each other when they heard the words friends. “He was just a little stressed about the red carpet.”

“Not the singing?” Asked Elton.

“No, he is very much looking forward to singing with you and me too if I am honest. I could listen to him sing all day.”

“He tells me you can sing though hasn’t heard you sing properly.”

“Well that’s a lie. We have sung with each other.”

“He has mentioned something about a sing off.” Smiled Elton.

“Ahh yes, this sing off he keeps trying to get out of. We made a deal in the 7/11 that we would have a karaoke battle. He would sing, well you and I would sing a Queen song but since he watched a DVD of my home towns musical societies performance of We Will Rock You where I played Scaramouche, he has been looking for a way out.”

“Not like Taron to back out of a sing off. You must be good.”

Robyn smiled. “I can hold a tune.”

“He said you have been in quite a few musicals too and are part of a gospel choir?” Said David.

Robyn blushed a little. “I feel like you might know things about me that I don’t even know.”

“Like I said, he is smitten with you.” Chuckled Elton

“Well then yes. Music is a huge part of my life. My go to place when I am feeling stressed or worried.”

“So, when do you plan on having this sing off?” Asked Elton. “You know I was very good friends with Freddie and I love that a female voice can take on his lead vocals.”

“Thank you Elton and I am not too sure. I was holding off until Taron was back to full strength and had a fair advantage. We have already sung a few songs together at the piano.”

“You play?”

“Badly.”

“Don’t listen to her.” Taron arrived back with four champagne flutes in his hands. “She plays beautifully. These are for you.” Taron handed two of the glasses to Elton and David. “Non-alcoholic.”

“Thank you, Taron.”

“And for you. Some champagne?” He questioned handing Robyn the glass.

“Thanks.” She took the glass from him and turned back the Elton and David. “And don’t listen to Taron. I play but I tend to play the same songs over and over so I get quite accomplished at particular songs but my skills need a revamp.”

“She is extremely musical.” Piped in Taron and he took a sip from his glass.

“So, you have told me Taron.” Beamed Elton. “Even if you feel your skills have lapsed Robyn, they are still with you and with some more training and lessons, you would be surprised how easily it all comes back to you. Please feel free tomorrow to play.” Elton gestured to the grand piano that they stood in front of.

“Your piano?” Asked Robyn, a little shocked.

“Well of course. I would love to hear you and Taron sing live together.”

Robyn turned to look at Taron. “You have been showing our videos to Elton John?” She asked.

“It’s Elton, Robyn.”

“You are lucky that excuse will work for you.” She turned back to their hosts. “You are very kind and I might just take you up on that offer. Maybe we might change the venue for our sing off too. I would love to have the opportunity to crush Taron singing Freddie while he sings Elton, in Elton John’s home.”

Taron had to cough as some of his drink slipped down his throat the wrong way.

“Robyn, I think that is something we can definitely arrange.” Winked Elton. “I also think you are going to have a wonderful time here with me and David this weekend.”

“I think so too.” Robyn clinked her glass with Elton’s as he held it out to her and she grinned. “I am just sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I love watching Taron squirm.” She reached over and rubbed his back. “Actually, something I know that none of you know, not even Taron but I was cast as Mimi in our musical’s production of RENT.”

Taron turned to her. “You got the part?”

“Yeah I found out last night but with all the rush of today, it slipped my mind to tell you.”

“Robyn!” Taron carefully threw his arms around her, making sure not to spill any of their drinks. “That is fantastic! I told you would you get the part.”

She grinned at he let her go. “It wasn’t a sure thing Taron. It was a popular part.”

“Well I think that deserves some congratulations and another drink.” Smiled Elton. “I am actually very curious now. I might even demand a duet with you instead of Taron.”

Robyn blushed a little. “No need for that at all and please don’t. I have been looking forward to hearing Taron sing with you.”

“Well maybe perhaps when the guests go.”

“I shall think about it.” Agreed Robyn.

“I am delighted for you about getting Mimi, Robyn.” Said Taron. “I know how much you really wanted that part.”

“Thank you. Rehearsals don’t start until the new year so I have time to process it all. It is going to be a good show.”

“I think I might have to keep a weekend free to come and see it.” Smiled Taron.

“Oh Jesus, I would definitely forget a line if I knew you were there. Let me get through rehearsals first Taron before you commit to anything.”

A light ringing of a bell sounded around the room and Robyn looked to Taron confused but he just smiled at her.

“Now my darling’s, as much as I would love to continue this wonderful conversation, it is time for the auction to start. Robyn…” Elton took her glass from her and gave it to Taron to hold and took her hands again. “It has been a pleasure meeting you at last. I am so glad you came and I am so very thankful for these talented hands. I want you to keep your promise to me that you and Taron will sing something together for me before you leave us.”

“Well that is a promise I don’t think I can break.”

“Wonderful!” Elton leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Taron, she is breath-taking in every sense of the word.” He let go of Robyn’s hands and moved to give Taron a kiss on his cheek. “Please enjoy the auction and I will see you at the piano for our duet soon.”

Elton and David left the two and walked away, leading the way into the next room where the auction was taking place. Taron gave Robyn back her glass and she downed the champagne in one long drink.

“Whoa, chicken, take it easy.”

“That’s the only one I will drink like that, I promise.” She said as she gave her empty glass to a waiter who passed by. “Just needed it.”

“You ok?” Taron asked her as he gave his half-finished drink to the waiter too.

“Just a lot to take in.”

“Sorry for springing Elton on you.” He said as he took her close for a close hug. “Sometimes it’s better to pull the plaster off. He was excited to meet you.”

“He is something else.”

“Please don’t follow through for our sing off here with Elton.” He whispered in her ear.

Robyn laughed. “I am sticking to our karaoke deal.”

“Thank you.”

As she rested her cheek against Taron’s in their hug and although she tried to keep it in, a long yawn escaped her lips and she moved away from him so she could cover her mouth, keeping it there when she yawned again. “I am sorry Taron.”

He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “I thought you looked tired.”

“It’s been a long three days. Emma was off at a conference and I got to be in charge.” She groaned as she yawned again. “Everything was fine at work, just a little extra busy for me. No drama.”

“Except the training this morning.”

She nodded. “Been up since five this morning.”

“Five?” He exclaimed.

“Just couldn’t sleep and cwtch wasn’t able to help either.”

“No wonder you are tired. You need a cosy duvet sleep.” He said grinning.

“That would definitely help.”

“Well how about we find a seat to sit on instead and we can watch the auction.”

“I think that is a great idea.” Robyn was delighted to be finally getting the chance to sit down. Just because she could walk in heels, didn’t mean she enjoyed them and her chosen gold pumps were a little higher than she would have liked and her feet were starting to feel the ache.

Taron linked his arm with her and escorted her towards another room alongside the one they had just been in, set with up with chairs and a small podium stage.  “Where you would like to sit?” He asked her.

“I really don’t mind. Are you going to bid on anything?” She asked him as he took one of the bidder’s paddles from a waiter

“Elton did mention something about a weekend away that piqued my interest but I highly doubt it. I know where I am staying for my next weekend off.” He replied as he guided her into a row of seats half way along the rows.

“Where?” Asked Robyn as she took an inside seat, while Taron sat on the outside, putting the paddle on the ground.

“This beautiful little apartment that is home to the best fucking couch in the world.” He grinned her way. His laughter grew as she bumped her shoulder with his and then placed her bag on the ground in-between them. “I happen to know there is always vacancy at this particular spot.”

“Well I do have a new house guest.” Robyn crossed her left leg over her right, the material of her dress slipping down, her fading golden tan of the skin on show but she didn’t bother to put the silk right and slipped her right hand into Taron’s left as it rested on his lap.

“Wait who?” Taron demanded.

“I have this cuddly blue dinosaur who lives in your corner now.” Robyn never tired of hearing Taron’s deep laugh and as she watched his shoulders shake with giggles, she laughed with him. “He has become very possessive of your corner Taron. You are going to have a fight on your hands.”

“Have I told you yet how happy I am that you were able to come Robyn?” He whispered to her as a hush fell over the room, Elton and David introducing the auctioneer. “Thank you for coming.”

Robyn didn’t reply but inched a little closer to him. She could hear the sincerity in his words and knew his appreciation didn’t need a confirmation from her. Their hug standing in the hallway said enough for the two of them to know how much this reunion meant to both of them.

[isitgintimeyet]

Letting Go

AO3

Previous

So, nearing the end of the story now, three more chapters to go. Thanks for sticking with it, I do appreciate it.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta.

Thanks to @happytoobserve for the encouragement

Thanks to you all for reading

Chapter 13: Doctor, Doctor

Oh, Doctor, doctor, can't you see I'm burning, burning Oh, Doctor, doctor, is this love I'm feeling? Ships at night give such delight We all leave before the morning light Please don't go no please don't go Cause I don't want to stay here on my own

Tom Bailey, Alannah Currie, Joe Leeway

Claire rubbed her eyes and stretched, contemplating yet another cup of coffee. Her eyes were tired from staring at her laptop screen for hours, studying the data and reading about hospitals in Manchester, Birmingham, Chicago and Melbourne. All had potential opportunities suitable for her, she just had to be willing to make that leap.

*********

Eight Years Ago

“Do ye ever think about moving away, tae another country?”

“Not really. Everything I want… need… love is here.”

“And what’s that, then?”

“My medical training… my uncle… and you, my heart. Why, do you?”

“It’s a big old world out there, Sassenach. Lots tae see. But I canna imagine settling down anywhere but Scotland… I love ye, Sassenach. I want ye with me always.Ye ken that… and I ken I always will.”

*****

She hadn’t yet spoken to her uncle about leaving. She’d already had to deliver one piece of bad news -- the duplicity of Malva and Frank. She was waiting for that to be fully digested before talking to him about moving away.

Although, to be honest, Lamb had taken that news better than she had expected. Malva’s approach to academic research had always been at odds with his own more traditional style. Even though he disliked any personal confrontation with his students, Mrs. Fitz had encouraged Lamb to have a ‘chat’ with her, suggesting that perhaps Malva might be better suited working with another member of the faculty -- Dr. Randall, for example, who, although lacking in field research experience, may share the same ‘values’ as she.

According to Mrs. Fitz, the conversation with Dr. Randall had been decidedly more serious. Whilst Lamb may have been open to working collaboratively with him, Frank’s underhanded tactics ensured that now he would never share his research. Lamb had decided, much to Mrs. Fitz’s annoyance, not to report Frank’s behaviour to the university board, not wanting to destroy the younger man’s career. He would, however, Mrs. Fitz was assured, keep a close eye on the publications under the name of Dr. Frank Randall.

A knock at the door roused Claire from her daydreaming. Peering briefly through the keyhole, she let John in.

“Hi, how are you? Fancy a gin and tonic? I’m sure it’s after five somewhere in the world.” Claire headed into the kitchen.

“Sure. Although, after so many years up in Scotland, I’d have thought your taste would run more to whisky. Do you not like it?”

“Well, has to be the right time, right place for me to enjoy a glass.” ...and right person, she added silently.

Claire returned to the living room with the drinks and settled herself next to John on the sofa.

John took a sip before continuing the conversation. “Anna’s coming home tomorrow. Mary just rang to tell me. Her progress has been nothing short of miraculous, apparently. She won’t be going back to work for a few more weeks, but to be in her own bed, in her own home is sure to help her recovery.”

“This gin is lovely, by the way. And with the cucumber… nice touch.” John took another large gulp. “Anyway, Mary said that Anna hopes to see us tomorrow afternoon and she’s got a secret to share with us.”

A fit of coughing from Claire forced John to put his drink down and slap Claire on the back a couple of times. Eventually, the coughing stopped and Claire wiped her eyes.

“Sorry,” she croaked. “Went down the wrong way. Secret, you say?”

“Yes, that’s what Mary said. I’m thinking there’s a man involved. Can’t wait for the goss.”

Claire closed her eyes and tried to keep her breathing calm. Please, no. Not that. Not Jamie and Anna. Could that relationship not wait until she had moved away? Out of sight, out of mind, although that clearly hadn’t worked too well for her in the past.

“So, talking of goss, I met with Frank this week. He said you two aren’t seeing each other any more. That true? He didn’t want to tell me any more about it and I was dying to ask.”

“Yes. He seemed nice enough, but… but... he’s not the man for me. No point in trying to pretend.”

“Well, that’s a shame. I could see you two together, but if there’s no chemistry…?”

John looked at Claire, who shook her head vehemently, her curls flapping over her eyes. She pushed them back impatiently.

“John,” she began hesitantly, wondering how best to phrase this. “There is something else. About Frank, I mean. I know you’re talking to him about a book, but… well... I’ll just say it and then it’s up to you. You know my uncle is an archaeology professor at the university?”

Claire waited for John to respond with a nod before continuing.

“Frank knew that. I think he went out with me to get to Uncle Lamb’s research, for his book.”

“No… he was keen on you, I could tell.”

“After we stopped seeing each other, I found him, hiding in my Uncle's office, notebook in hand, opening cabinets, taking papers. He’d even enlisted Lamb’s grad student in his search.”

Claire felt a wave of embarrassment as she admitted this to John. The thought of being used preyed on her mind, even though Frank had denied that.

“Lamb doesn’t want to take this any further with the university. But I felt I should warn you. When… if… you publish his book, be very careful of the sources, make sure they’re all credited, otherwise, well…”

John took Claire’s hand and stroked it gently. “Thank you for telling me that. It’s a lot to think about. And, irrespective of your uncle, I know Frank was interested in you, Claire Beauchamp, for you. You are a wonderful person. Anyone can see that.”

Claire blinked the tears away as John, with a final affectionate pat of her hand, stood up.

“And on that note, sorry to drink and run, but I’ve got a date tonight and I need to prepare. See you tomorrow afternoon. About three, Mary said.”

John placed his empty glass on the table next to Claire’s laptop. His eyes were unintentionally drawn to the screen, clearly displaying the half composed email from Claire to a colleague in Manchester, enquiring about a recent job advertisement.

“Claire, you’re not thinking of leaving us are you?” John blurted out without thinking. “Er… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to read that, it was accidental, but surely not.”

“I’m looking at possibilities, yes. It may well be time for me to move. Nothing definite yet though. John, please don’t mention this to Anna or Mary, will you?” Claire moved next to John.

“Of course not.” John placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. “Mum’s the word. And thanks for letting me know about Frank. You’ve definitely given me something to think about… see you tomorrow.”

************

The living room was filled with flowers on every available surface. Claire wondered, as she followed John into the room, which of the elaborate arrangements was from Jamie, but now was not the time to flit from vase to vase trying to read the cards.

Anna greeted Claire warmly as she bent down to kiss Anna’s cheek then settled herself on the sofa next to her.

“Oh, Claire. It’s so good to be home.”

Anna’s voice was stronger now. The cast had been removed from her arm and the injury to her cheek had healed completely without the need for surgery.

“I’ve missed you all so much... I’ve missed proper coffee, I’ve missed Indian takeaways, I’ve missed chilled white wine… watching tv on a decent sized screen… privacy… fresh air. But most of all, I’ve missed my own bed. I’ve been longing to stretch out in a double bed with freshly laundered sheets and…” Anna stopped abruptly.

“Go on, what?” John encouraged, but Anna just shrugged and shook her head.

“I must say, you’re looking really well, Anna.” Claire hastily changed the subject, fearing to hear what, or who, Anna had been longing for.

“That’s always good to hear from a doctor. Second opinion and all that.”

“So you’re no longer under the neurology specialist at Stirling?”

Anna gave a slight chuckle. “No, I’ve been discharged. Transferred to the neurology department here in Glasgow for follow up appointments as an outpatient.”

The clinking of glasses announced the arrival of Mary, precariously balancing a tray of champagne flutes, strawberries, an ice bucket and two bottles of champagne.

******

Eight years ago

“Jamie, it’s a lovely gesture but what’s the champagne and strawberries for?”

“Do ye no’ remember? It’s our anniversary…”

“But that's next week.”

“Aye, next week is the anniversary of our first date. Tonight is the anniversary of the party where I met ye.”

“So champagne  and strawberries next week as well?”

“Mebbe… and then the week after that it’s the anniversary of the first time we… er… spent the night together.”

“Champagne for that too?”

“Nah, I’ve a mind fer another way tae celebrate that altogether. Jes’ ye and me and nae clothes.”

“Mmm, but I think maybe some champagne could come in… er… very handy in that situation.”

“Sassenach, ye’re a wanton woman… I like yer thinking.”

********

Dropping a strawberry into each glass, Mary passed the champagne bottle to John.

“Can you do the honours, John?”

John quickly removed the foil and wire and efficiently twisted the bottle until, with a slight pop, it was opened.

“It’s so much more dramatic when you pop it with a big flourish and the champagne gushes out,” Anna complained with a sigh.

“Ah, but think of the waste of good…” John consulted the label. “... ‘Veuve Monsigny bottled for Aldi’ champagne, my dear.”

John poured the champagne. “Hang on, there’s five glasses here. Are we expecting someone else?”

“Have you not told them yet, Anna?” Mary handed a glass to Claire and Anna.

Anna shook her head. “I was waiting.”

Claire suddenly felt hot. Beads of sweat began to prickle at the back of her neck, and her stomach seemed to be tying itself in knots. She gazed at her glass, watching the tiny bubbles moving and popping in the pale liquid.

“Waiting for what?” John asked impatiently. “Come on, Anna. Tell us your secret. I’m guessing it’s a chap. I’m right, aren’t I?”

Claire fixed a smile on her face and waited for Anna’s response.

Before Anna could say anything, there was a knock at the front door.

“I can’t believe that. Perfect timing,” Anna laughed. “Mary, would you mind getting that, please?

It only took Mary a few seconds to open the front door, but, to Claire, it seemed like an eternity. As Mary returned with the new arrival, Claire plucked up the courage and  looked into the face of… a man she’d never seen before. Straight dark hair, not ginger curls… slim and average height, not tall and broad… a thick dark beard, not neatly trimmed stubble. A  wave of relief engulfed her. She let out an audible sigh, unaware she had been holding her breath. John glanced across, puzzled.

Anna slowly got up from the settee and stood next to the newcomer. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him.

“Everyone, this is Douglas. Douglas, this is John from downstairs and Claire from across the landing… and Mary you know, obviously. Douglas is a doctor in the Neurology department at Stirling.”

Claire stood up and extended her hand. “Douglas, nice to meet you.”

John smiled. “So this is your big secret, Anna? But… er…”

Anna passed a glass to Douglas. “I know what you are thinking, John, but it’s ok. Douglas wasn’t really my doctor and the Neurology department at Stirling have transferred me here. So he’s not involved in anything to do with me. Besides, nothing’s gone on, we’ve only been talking up to now. We’re taking it slow. That's ok, isn’t it, Claire? Douglas won’t get into any trouble?”

“I think you’re pretty safe. He’s not going to be up for misconduct if that’s what you mean. As long as he’s not involved in your treatment.”

**************

Claire lay in bed and thought about the events of the afternoon. Anna looked so healthy… and happy. She believed she’d found her ‘kindred spirit’, as Anne of Green Gables would say. Claire really hoped that was the case. Douglas appeared to be a decent man and was clearly very fond of Anna already. Mary had confided in Claire that, although it didn’t seem to be a case of a vulnerable patient falling for their healer, she would be keeping a ‘watchful eye’ over the relationship just in case.

Sleep was eluding her this evening. Hundreds of thoughts kept crowding into her mind, battling for position… Anna and Douglas… Jamie… Frank and Malva… Uncle Lamb… Jamie… moving away…

Claire rolled over, trying to find a cool spot in the bed.

**********

Nine years ago

“Jamie, it’s February. The heating’s off, you’ve nothing on and you’re still radiating heat like a… a…”

“Radiator? Aye, weel, I’ve always been hot blooded, ye ken. Suppose it’s from ma ancestors. If ye have tae sleep in the heather with only yer plaid fer warmth, it helps tae have internal heating.”

“Can I put my… oh that's better.”

“Christ, woman, yer feet are like blocks of ice on me. Why are they so cold?”

“Well, I could wear bed socks. Would you like that?”

“Hmmm… jes’ yer Mickey Mouse bed socks and nothing else?”

“Jamie Fraser, is that turning you on? It is, isn’t it?”

“Come here, Sassenach, I’ll get ye hot all over.”

************

Thoughts of Jamie kept pushing to the forefront of her mind. Claire was sure he would be devastated by the news of Anna and Douglas. She could understand that feeling only too well… how she felt when she thought it would be Jamie and Anna.

Still, one thing was now clear in her mind. She had to get away… before Jamie started a new relationship for real.

[daily-capaldi]

The Big Read – Lewis Capaldi: “I make jokes because I’m comfortable with who I am”

The breakout star of 2019, Lewis Capaldi has the midas touch and the world at his feet – but he still likes talking about his pubes and dreams of meeting a girl who'll break his heart for real. NME Deputy Editor Dan Stubbs meets the cocksure 23-year-old in Dublin for a Buckfast sesh and quickly discovers a legitimately hilarious talent who's far from the “big fucking annoying cunt” he thinks he is.

Lewis Capaldi is miming a range of sporting activities. He bounces an invisible basketball around the stage. He boots an imaginary football into the crowd. And after some minutes of this, he poses with an imaginary dart in his hand. Every time he mimes pulling back to throw it, he changes his mind and walks over to take a sip of Guinness instead – to the delight of the crowd. When he finally throws the thing, they roar with approval, before goading him into downing the rest of his pint. And of course: he does. 

It’s November 21 at the Olympia Theatre, Dublin. So far Capaldi has spent 10 minutes playing three songs and 15 minutes doing what, in the most affectionate terms, can only be described as dicking about. It shouldn’t be this funny to watch, but it really is. And the price of witnessing this spectacle? Depends when you got your tickets. A tout offered to take NME’s off our hands for €500 outside the venue. 

A year ago this may have sounded like madness, a sign that the world was heading to hell in a handcart and we’d be closing out the decade in a post-apocalyptic new reality, eating boot leather and watching jesters for entertainment. But in 2019, Lewis Capaldi has proved, conclusively, that what the world was waiting for was a pasty-faced, pasty-loving, 23-year-old Scot with an act that’s 50 percent heartbroken balladry and 50 percent improv comedy. And it is a worldwide thing – Capaldi is a global hit, a bona fide phenomenon. A superstar whose first encounter with NME is backstage, hurtling along the corridor clutching a handful of items. “Got my passport, my acid reflux tablets and my water – and that’s all I need!” he says, whizzing past. “And now, I’m off for a small pish.”

When listing Capaldi’s many 2019 achievements, they start to lose meaning, like contemplating distances in space, or making sense of the costings in the Labour manifesto. But here are a few: The Brits’ Critics Choice award. A Number One album with ‘Divinely Uninspired To A Hellish Extent’. A Number One single with ‘Someone You Loved’ in much of Europe, the US and the UK, where it spent seven weeks at the top. The hardest touring artist of the year, playing over 250 shows. A scene-stealing Glastonbury appearance.

If you’re to believe the stories in the Scottish tabloid press, Capaldi’s music can practically cure leprosy. He’s even had a beef with Noel Gallagher, once a mark of honour, but now a tussle with adversary so easily shot down it’s a bit like watching the moment someone first beats their dad in an arm wrestle. 

Yesterday brought news that Capaldi been nominated for Best Song at The Grammys, which in early career terms is the equivalent of being up for the Best Actor Oscar for your school production of Macbeth. “I’m up against Billie Eilish, Lady Gaga, Lizzo, H.E.R., Lana Del Rey, Taylor Swift…” he says. So he’s in there representing the men? “Yes, at long last!” he jokes. “At long last, straight white men finally have representation.”

“If I’m being honest, I did think ‘Old Town Road’ would be nominated,” he says, being serious now. “Maybe if I win I’ll Kanye myself. ‘This should have gone to ‘Old Town Road’! (But I am going to keep it)…’”

Capaldi is an expert at shrugging off his achievements. His unfaltering humility is a huge part of his appeal but even he concedes it’s starting to seem a bit forced. “When I read my interviews back, I always think if I wasn’t me I’d think: ‘you’re full of shite’,” he says. “Like, stop saying you can’t believe it. You can believe it! But it is so surreal and it seems like almost quarterly it kicks up a notch. Like, yesterday with the Grammys, yet again all this shit’s getting more and more mental, more beyond belief.”

Capaldi watched the Grammy nominations on his laptop, which was resting on his chest with the screen close to his face – a set-up he describes as his “home cinema” – and he admits he did get properly excited at the news. Mostly, though, he tends to find himself reacting to things how he thinks he should. 

“I’ve got a very bad way of being like, So you’re supposed to feel this way in this moment,” he says. Like when someone passes away? “Exactly, yeah. Like, four months after my grandma passed away, I’m like, ‘Fuck, my grandma’s died,’ and I’m in Somerfield or something. I mean, not in Somerfield, because it’s not been open for fucking years.”

Capaldi even plays down the success of ‘Someone You Loved’, the song that scored him the Grammy nod. In his eyes, it’s just “one of my songs that’s doing a little bit better than the rest”, but it’s already become a popular standard to sit alongside Robbie Williams’s ‘Angels’ or Adele’s ‘Someone Like You’, one of those tracks that will be soundtracking marriages and burials for years to come. Which of those would he prefer it be used for? “Burials,” he says, with no hesitation. “Don’t start falling in love to my fucking music, right? See if I see people kissing at my shows, fucking stop that! These are sad songs, you bastards.”

Like Lewis himself, a large part of the charm of ‘Someone You Loved’ is its absolute universality, which is not to say it’s banal, more that everyone who has lost someone at some point in their lives – which is most of us – can identify with it. For Lewis, it was the aforementioned loss of his grandmother that proved the catalyst for the song, but he made it more open to romantic interpretation because it felt “too morbid” to write explicitly about. 

And it didn’t come easily. Where other songwriters boast about dashing off huge hits in barely the time it takes to play them, Capaldi admits to labouring over his compositions. Writing songs, he says, is “a massive pain in the fucking arse sometimes”.

“Growing up I read interviews with people like Paul Weller, Paul McCartney – all the Pauls – and they’d say the best songs just sort of fall in your lap,” he says. “After six months at the piano writing ‘Someone You Loved’ I’m like, ‘You fucking lying bastards, that’s taken me fucking ages.’”

Many of Capaldi’s songs, which he endearingly describes as ranging from “big piano ballads to bigger piano ballads” draw on his first major relationship which – you may have guessed – is no longer a going concern. But it wasn’t a dramatic event. “Adele wrote her album about a relationship breaking up in a bad way, being jilted I think,” he says. “I wrote mine about a relationship that just ended, just fizzled out. I’d love to be jilted by someone, then I could be as successful as Adele.”

I ask if he worries that – at 23 – he doesn’t have a great deal of life experience to draw on. “I spent my entire life writing this first album,” he says, “but the stuff I’ve experienced in the last year has been much more of a growing experience than living in my mum and dad’s house in fucking West Lothian.”

How about the fact that his next girlfriend, whoever she may be, will be on different terms, it being impossible for her not to know she’s dating Lewis Capaldi the world famous pop star? “Well, I don’t know. It’s not like I’m Justin Bieber,” he says. “Today was the first time I’ve ever got out of the car at a venue and someone screamed. Normally people just shout something at me that I’ve said on Instagram about my pubes. I guess, at worst, my next partner would think I’m one way because they’ll hear the songs and think I seem very nice and level headed, but then find out I’m not.”

What’s the reality?

“Big fucking annoying cunt.”

It’s slightly unfair to question the depth of Capaldi’s life experience, because at the age most of us were familiarising ourselves with yo-yos, pogs or fidget spinners (delete as appropriate), Lewis was embarking on his music career. He began performing at 11, largely in pubs and clubs in the conurbation between Glasgow and Edinburgh where he grew up. The experience of having to hold his own in intimidating spaces at such a young age probably explains much about his easiness around people. 

“I found that at 11 it was, ‘Oh he’s quite cute, he came and stood up here and he’s doing very well.’ When I got to 14, 15 and my voice changed and I lost any remnants of cuteness – which as you can tell have not returned to me – that’s when I started to pick up a bit of the patter. You get to know your way about how to speak to people.” 

Around that time, Capaldi actively worked on changing his vocal style to something more like the wolfy howl we hear today. What was once a ”high and smooth” voice had broken. Inspired by Paolo Nutini and Joe Cocker, Capaldi added some gravel. “I thought it would be a good idea to put a bit of rasp in, to make it sound even more terrible,” he says.

For years we’ve been force-fed sensitive young men-next-door with beanie hats, beards or lumberjack shirts singing to us about their problems. In a quest for authenticity, they’ve presented themselves as troubled, serious souls. Capaldi, meanwhile, has given us the sensitive songs with a side order of toilet humour and the kind of prolific, creative swearing worthy of The Thick Of It‘s Malcolm Tucker, as played by his distant cousin Peter Capaldi. 

Stand-up comedians often make a point of referring to the most funny-looking thing about themselves as an icebreaker with the audience, a way of getting them on side. Capaldi has the same trick – there’s not a single thing about his looks or his music you could say that he hasn’t beaten you to. Try and come up something better than saying he looks like “a melting hippo”, we dare you. 

He has zero pretence – he’s a guy who can literally piss himself on stage and laugh it off. “That only happened once,” he says. “And I’ve always been like that, even back in school. If I was meeting someone for the first time I’d be like, ‘Hello, how are you? I’ve got diarrhoea and I could spew or I could blow at any moment. It puts me at ease, being honest.’”

“People think I make jokes because I’m uncomfortable,” he adds. “Actually, it’s the opposite – I make jokes because I’m comfortable with who I am. I say that I’m a chubby bastard because I am a chubby bastard.”

I put it to him that, possibly, he may be the first body-positive male icon – an important thing given Capaldi is part of a generation of young men who feel under enormous pressure to have an Insta-chiselled body. “I don’t know if I can accept that, because I probably don’t use the correct vernacular,” he says. “It’s probably not good to call yourself a chubby cunt, but it’s never been something that’s bothered me. I’ve been a very slim man, I’ve been a man who’s gone to the gym, but even when I’ve done that someone calls you fat anyway, whether it’s your ma, your da, your best pal.”

Capaldi hasn’t, as of yet, had any sort of pop star makeover. He still looks like a kid who’s moved out of home for the first time and is stacking up the washing to take to mum’s. He does, however, have a personal trainer on tour and has been exercising every day. “It’s more of a mental health thing,” he says. “It gives me energy and keeps me happy. I mean, when I’m actually doing it I fucking hate it so much, but it feels better after.”

I ask how his mental health is bearing up to his new everyday reality, an extraordinary experience for anyone to process. “That’s what I think about taking the piss out of things,” he says. “I take the piss out of doing things on stage and how mental it is because you have to, because it stops you getting caught up in it. Summer last year I started having massive panic attacks. I was supposed to do Austin City Limits but I had to cancel because I was just having panic attack after panic attack, and I thought I had something seriously wrong with me, because I’m a bit of a hypochondriac. And I went and got a fucking MRI scan. But they said I was just anxious, just recalibrating to this new fucking lifestyle. So I said, right, cancel everything for three weeks, and no one gave me any shit for it.”

At showtime, the atmosphere at tonight’s gig offers a glimpse of the bubble Capaldi is living in these days. The Olympia is a grand old theatre and Capaldi could probably have sold it out 50 times over; the reaction from the crowd is something like Lewmania. 

Afterwards, we head backstage again, where I’m ushered into a room containing about a dozen members of Capaldi’s family. I’m plonked on a chair right in the middle, handed a massive wine glass full of Buckfast by his cousin and grilled by his dad, a fishmonger and the very driest of wits, about my intentions for this article. He’s seriously proud of his boy, having supported him since the very beginning, even playing the supportive parent role when Lewis auditioned for Britain’s Got Talent aged 12. 

The afterparty moves to a private room at a nearby pub. Lewis’s hulking great cousin – the one who brought the Buckfast – is getting the shots in. His auntie is looking on, concerned, as two girls chat him up at the same time. “He’s only a wee one,” she mutters. While his friends and family enjoy the party and a certain NME journalist accidentally smashes the first of a series of glasses, feeling the effects of downing that Buckfast in an ill-advised attempt to curry favour with the family, Lewis makes his final rounds then politely excuses himself, looking a bit hangdog about it. He has another big show tomorrow. Sad to leave your own party, you imagine.

At points in the interview, Capaldi had been making a short, forced coughing noise, which he shrugged off as nothing. But the next week, he cancels a number of shows on health grounds, having been warned by his doctor that he risks losing his voice altogether if he doesn’t take action. In the end, he plays just four more gigs of the UK leg of the tour – in London, Edinburgh and twice in Glasgow for the homecoming finale. All further activities are cancelled by management, including a follow-up NME interview, but he is sent to complete the year’s touring commitments in the States before heading home for a well-earned few days celebrating Christmas with his family, which he says typically involves plenty of booze and lots of piss-taking. If you think you’re feeling ready for the break today, spare a thought for Lewis.

Next year looks to be just as busy as this one. He is, right now, just about the most in-demand young man in the world. At some point, he’ll have to start thinking about his next album too. “I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to sound like, I don’t know what the fuck it’s going to be,” he says. “Ballads, havin’-it tunes, I don’t know. I’ve got voice notes, melodies, stuff like that, but that’s just me and an acoustic guitar.” 

Considering what he said about his hypochondria, it’s likely the idea of losing his voice is weighing heavily on Capaldi’s mind. But he’s already decided there’s a backlash coming anyway. “You do get warned, as you’re coming up: ‘By the way, everyone’s gonna turn on you pretty soon’,” he says. “I guess I’m always just kind of waiting for it. I’m very doomsday. Like, if it’s not happened yet, it’s gonna come. And I can’t wait for the downfall!”

He might be surprised. People have plenty of different reactions to Capaldi’s music, but it’s pretty much impossible to find someone who doesn’t think he seems like a bloody great bloke.

And besides – if he ever finds he can’t sing, he’d make a killing at The Fringe as a physical comic. 

The extended edition of ‘Divinely Uninspired To A Hellish Extent’ is out now

[artificialqueens]

How Far I'll Go - Chapter 1 (Nina West/Monet X Change) - Meggie, Mia Ugly

A/N: Nina West gets the redemptive musical love story he deserves.

Chapter 1 - chase anything that glitters

The finale is over, and Nina West is drinking alone.

Well not - alone alone. Clearly.  He’s in a bar that’s packed to standing room only with queens from all the seasons, as well as the World of Wonder and VH1 employees that managed to get tickets. The after-party and the after-after-party have been going strong for hours, and Nina has been bubbly and humble and as charming as he possibly can be after spending this long in a corset. (He has a bit of a meltdown when he meets Latrice but that was a long time coming.  Like ten literal years in the making.)

But eventually the day catches up with him, and the constant smile starts to crack like a windshield, and Nina finds himself sitting at the bar alone.  Which is okay. He’s exhausted, and the arches of his feet ache, and if he has to answer one more question about Branjie he might clench his teeth so hard he cracks a molar.

So he may not be alone alone, but he’s alone in a way he can feel (in his hands,  his ribs, his heart).

Even then, he’s not alone for long.

“Hey there, Miss Congeniality.” Monet X Change slides up to him at the bar, looking like he was dipped in honey. “Werk. Congratulations girl.”

“Thank you.” Nina would ordinarily be beyond intimidated to meet the latest AllStars winner, a dream of his ever since Monet was crowned. But tonight, after the finale and the hours of making small-talk, Nina’s feeling so much that there’s no room beneath his skin for anything else. His whole body is vibrating. “You look fantastic.”

“You too.  Giving me paper doll realness, honey. And I am living for this colour.” Monet’s smile is a bit soft around the edges, and there’s a glass of champagne in his hand. He sings a line from that Janelle Monae song Nina loves: “Pink like the holes in your heart… So how you feeling?”

“Good,” Nina says, even though that word does not come close to the truth of it. “Great. It’s been such an honour -”

“Listen to you, all congenial.  Miss me with those sound-bites, girl. How you really feeling?”

“Nina - we’re taking off,” A’Keria interrupts before Nina can answer, hand resting gently on Nina’s shoulder.  Slightly behind him stands Vanjie, arms crossed protectively around himself. He’s smiling at Nina, but it doesn’t quite match his eyes.

“Gotta get my beauty sleep,” Vanjie mutters. “Plus I ain’t see no trade in here - present company excepted, course.”

He comes forward to kiss Nina on both cheeks. “Tell your girl not to go home with no serial killers.”

Vanjie nods toward the far corner of of the crowded bar, and he and A’Keria walk off to where Silky is waiting for them by the doors. When Nina follows the direction of Vanjie’s nod, he sees Brooke with a cocktail in his hand, close-talking with a lumberjack-looking hipster that Nina doesn’t recognize.

Shit. Poor Vanjie.

It’s one thing to be cool with each other, to be friends. It’s another thing entirely to watch Brooke move on.

Nina winces out a smile. His heart aches for Vanessa. His heart aches for absolutely no other reason.

When Nina turns back to Monet, the other queen is watching him closely, eyebrow raised.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“What? Oh! Them? Yeah, too bad it didn’t work out. They were basically adorable and the fans -”

“Nah, nah, not that.” Monet finishes his champagne. “What’s your deal with, uh  - tall, blonde and emotionally constipated over there?  You and Brooke weren’t ever -”

“God, no. No. Not like - that.” People that look like me don’t end up with people that look like him, he hears a voice in the back of his mind whisper.  He hates that voice, paper soft and sinister. He’s heard it before, thought he’d kicked it to the curb and left it behind after his college days, but it followed along in his shadow. (Sometimes Nina feels like no matter how far he’s come, there are stories that travel with him.) “We like - once.”

“Once? Once what? I fucking knew it by the way.”

“Just kissed. Messed around. It was nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Monet snags two new glasses of champagne from a passing server.  He puts one down in front of Nina, and drains half of the other in one swallow. “I see you, girl. You might be pretty in pink but those shoulders don’t lie. All slumped over.”

Deny, deny, deny.  That was Nina’s first rule. The whole Brooke thing was years ago, anyway, and that particular wound has long scarred over. Maybe there was a moment on that first day of Drag Race where Nina thought that this was some sort of sign (he does that sometimes, forgets that this is real life and not a romantic comedy or Disney film) but - it’s in the past.  

“We’re friends,” Nina says simply.

“Great,” Monet says in a tone that clearly states he doesn’t believe a word Nina is saying. “Well then. Tequila?”

They end up shutting down the bar. That’s not something Nina does often - or, like, ever. When he’s at the club he is at work, he is fundraising, or shaking hands and making connections, or getting petitions signed, forcing all the trendy apolitical gays  to give a damn about something.

He is not sitting with queens in sunshine-yellow dresses, ignoring the rest of the world while getting slowly wasted on tequila and laughing so hard his makeup runs.

Monet is fucking funny. Nina knew he was funny, loved him on both seasons, but it’s different up close. When Monet starts reading the queens in the room Maya Angelou-style, Nina almost falls off his stool.

At some point Brooke and whoever he’s going home with come to say goodbye (Brooke wraps his arms around Nina, says “I love you, love you, love you,” three times against his jaw). Nina can smell the cigarette smoke on his breath, the whisky on his mouth.

“Love you too,” Nina says, only a little bit worried.

As Brooke drags his skinny lumberjack away, Nina hears him slur something that sounds like “gotta find Vanjie before we leave.” That’s going to be a long and fruitless search, but Nina leaves him to it.  He watches the pair go (pretends that he isn’t).

It may be an old scar, but old scars still ache from time to time. This one does. Smarts. Worms its way into Nina’s heart like tendrils, squeezes tight, compresses. He knows it’s platonic love he and Brooke share, but there was a time, before Vanjie but during Drag Race when maybe for a minute he thought— Stop.

If Vanessa Vanjie Matteo wasn’t good enough for Brooke, then the rest of the world hasn’t got a hope in hell.

“What are you doing after this, Nina West?”

All thoughts of Brooke aside (still rolling just under the surface), Nina likes the way Monet says his first and last name together. He likes that kitty-cat wig with the finger waves that Monet is wearing, looking like Clara Bow in some black and white film. He likes a lot of things right now, but unlike Brooke, Nina is drunk.

“What am I doing? Back to Columbus for a bit.  Hosting a finale party and then… and then.  Then the tour! Yes, that.”

“Did you just forget about your own tour?” Monet laughs, low and delighted. “Girl, you’re in trouble.”

“So much trouble,” Nina confides, reaching out to put a hand on Monet’s arm. “Just - scads of it.”

“‘Scads?’” Monet laughs again, “You age one-hundred years every time you drink?”

“Every time!”

Monet shakes his head, rolling his eyes a bit (but not in a mean way. In kind of a charming way. Nina likes a lot of things right now.)

“I didn’t mean after the show is over.  I meant - like tonight.  What are you doing after this?”

“Oh.” Nina blinks. This can’t be - “Oh.”

“You want to get out of here?” Monet is watching him with dark-lidded eyes, no laughter on his face any more. His lips part, and Nina stares at his purple lipstick and thinks yes and then a beat later please. Because he is a gentleman.

“I’m drunk,” Nina says in the spirit of full disclosure.

“You think I’ve got some miracle liver? Me too. I’m fine with it if you are.”

“Okay.” If they’re both drunk it’s fine. As long as they - talk about it first. It’s fine. “Um. Okay.” Nina realizes he hasn’t moved his hand off of Monet’s arm. Now that he notices, it’s all he can think about.

How does someone do this? Should they leave at the same time? Separate times? The lights in the bar are coming on, and the last few stragglers are starting to go. Most of the girls from Season 11 have already left, God knows how long ago.  Nina didn’t even notice.

“I’m in room 1518,” Monet thankfully interrupts Nina’s panic. “You should come by.” He moves his arm out from underneath Nina’s fingertips, and Nina instantly misses the warmth of his skin. Monet grabs his clutch, weaves out of the bar without a backwards glance, and Nina takes a few moments to jump headfirst back into that panic spiral.

He hasn’t done something like this in - a very long time. He isn’t really a casual sex kind of person. He won’t say no to it, obviously, but - it’s been awhile.

He’s been busy.  

Come on, girl, he tells himself, just act like people proposition you in bars everyday. Just act like this is a totally normal thing that you do, because you are a normal person.

Nina waits and panics for another ten minutes, before he gets up from his stool like a normal person would. He casually, elegantly (not at all unsteady on his heels) leaves the bar.  Normally. He takes the elevator alone, in silence, to the fifteenth floor.

His knock on room 1518 is so hesitant that it’s basically inaudible. No one hears it and he’s forced to knock again.  He waits in the brightly lit hallway, feeling like a football player in pink, until the door opens.

Monet’s holding a makeup wipe, and his face is shining, paint off. He’s changed out of his dress, taken off his padding. He’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and Nina immediately feels like an idiot.

“Oh,” Monet says, “You’re still in - all that.”

Shit. Fuck. “I - yes. Sorry. I should have -”

“No, I -” Monet takes a step closer.  “Told you I was living for that colour.”

Then he puts his hands on either side of Nina’s face and kisses him.

It’s a good kiss. Warm and tasting a bit like mint (Monet must have brushed his teeth). Monet’s lips are soft and gentle, grasping Nina’s own as if he doesn’t mind the taste of tequila and anxiety.  He doesn’t make any attempt to deepen things - keeps the kiss sweet, keeps his hands on Nina’s face.  His hands are warm too.

“You wanna come in?” Monet asks when he pulls back, and Nina has forgotten how to make words happen.  So he just nods. Lets Monet pull him forward gently, close the door behind him.

They start kissing again right away, just standing there in the middle of the room. Nina loses himself a bit in it, closes his eyes and lets the tequila do the thinking for him. He sucks Monet’s tongue into his mouth and Monet lets out a soft gasp that - yeah, that’ll work. Now that tongues are involved, the kissing gets harder, nothing tentative about it. Teeth pull on Nina’s lower lip, the edge of his jaw, tease their way down his neck. It’s good. It feels good, and he has to bite his mouth shut to stop himself from saying as much out loud.

Monet pulls away suddenly, and Nina just stares at him. He wobbles slightly, and steps out of his heels before he falls down.

“You’re probably still all - strapped in, hey?” Monet’s eyes are a bit unfocused, moving over Nina’s face. “Do you want to change? Take your paint off? I should have asked.”

Nina feels like an idiot again. Why the hell didn’t he go to his room first?

“Thanks. I’ll just -” He gestures to the bathroom, and Monet gives him a look.

“I’ve seen it all, girl. Let me get your zipper for you.”

Nina’s lips sting and his heart is racing. Getting out of drag in front of someone kind of kills the mystery. Not that Nina feels his body is any great piece of artwork to be slowly revealed but it’s not really a sexy process. Maybe it’s different when you look like Aquaria or Yvie or something but - Nina’s album is called “Drag is Magic” for a reason.

Despite all of this (blame the tequila just - always, for everything) he turns around.

Moves his wig to the side so that Monet can slide the zipper of his dress down his spine. It makes goosebumps break out all over Nina’s arms, and the dress falls to the floor. When Nina turns back around to pick it up, Monet is still standing there, a bit closer than before. They look at each other.  Monet reaches forward to take off each of Nina’s massive crystal earrings, putting them carefully on the nightstand.

Nina just - stands there. Stands there as Monet unhooks his cincher, rolls his hip-pads down his legs, takes his tights along with them. Stands there as Monet drops to his knees in front of Nina, gently pulling down his underwear.

The dress was loose enough the Nina didn’t need to tape anything or do much of a tuck, and he’s fucking grateful for that. Still, as he glances down at himself, he sees a body covered with angry red lines, places where shapewear dug into his skin, all the illusion of his silhouette stripped away.

“You’re so hot,” Monet murmurs and Nina cannot hear that sort of thing right now, is totally not ready for it.

“Thanks?” he says and Monet breathes a laugh against his thigh before dragging his tongue across Nina’s hip.

“This okay?”

Nina nods, can’t speak. He’s harder than he thought he could be after the amount he had to drink, and Monet’s hands (tracing up his thighs, moving between his legs) are so warm, and strong, and soft. When Monet bends forward and sucks him into his mouth, Nina gasps, back arching as he tries not to come immediately.  Everything is impossibly tight and wet, and he doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to remain upright. He puts an unsteady hand on Monet’s shoulder, and Monet reaches up, moves Nina’s hand to the back of his head. There’s stubble under Nina’s fingertips, and the soft sounds of Monet swallowing around him fill the room (along with Nina’s own frantic breathing).

“You taste fucking amazing,” Monet murmurs, dragging his tongue up the length of him and moaning.  “Christ, I - bed, the bed, please -”

Nina stumbles backwards, falling onto the scratchy hotel comforter in a graceless sprawl. Monet is pulling off his shirt one-handed and then quickly climbing on top of him. His hand is on Nina’s cock and he’s grinding his hips into Nina’s thigh, and he’s kissing him again, hard and deep, like he’s starving. Nina can’t remember being with anyone who wanted to kiss him this much. It’s intoxicating, makes him feel something - he can’t put a label to it but it takes up too much room inside his chest.

“Can you just -” Monet bites out against Nina’s lips, and Nina pushes his hand past the waistband of Monet’s sweats, finds his cock hard and wet against his palm. Monet makes such a delicious noise at the first stroke of Nina’s hand that Nina can’t be blamed for the sounds he makes in response.

It goes like this for awhile, the two of them fucking each other’s fists and breathing into each other’s mouths. It’s quiet in the room except for cut-off moans and huffs of breath, and Nina lets his body take the lead in this, lets himself move and feel without thinking about it (tequila is a godsend).

When Monet comes it is nearly silent, just a stutter in his breath and a few sharp jerks of his hips and Nina’s hand is suddenly wet and trembling.  It’s the hottest thing that’s happened to him in - in a long time - and he buries his face in Monet’s neck, goes somewhere else for an orgasm (“okay - okay - Oh fuck -”) that lasts longer than he expects it to, almost on the edge of too much.

Breathe.

In. Out.

“Fuck me up, Nina West,” Monet says against his neck, with a low gorgeous sigh. Nina lies back against the pillows, and realizes that Monet’s mouth is smeared with pink lipstick.  It makes him huff out a tipsy laugh, which makes Monet smile with his eyes closed.

“Did you know you’re still in your wig?”

Oh my fucking God.

Nina is - still IN HIS WIG. His fucking bubblegum pink wig.  He doesn’t know how to react to this knowledge, so he makes a mortifying sound that might be a laugh and might be a cough and might be someone choking.

It’s okay (he thinks) because Monet laughs too, covering his face with his hands, hiding that gorgeous smile. When Monet’s recovered himself, he leans over and starts to take the pins out of Nina’s hair, and Nina blushes for God knows what reason.  As the wig slides off his head, Monet kisses him right above the pulse point in his jaw.

Things get foggy after that. The room is spinning slightly, and Nina isn’t sure whether that’s exhaustion or alcohol or the absolutely boneless and beautiful feeling that follows excellent sex. He thinks he hears fireworks going off outside, but when he cranes his head towards the window, expecting a shower of fiery glitter, the sky is dark.

Nina closes his eyes for a moment, thirty seconds tops. When he opens them again the sky has gone from black to misty blue, and Monet’s mouth is between his legs.

“Oh my God, you’re -”

Nina stays awake just long enough to come down Monet’s throat and then suck the taste off Monet’s tongue as they make out messily afterwards. At some point Monet loses the rest of his clothing, and the silk of his skin against Nina’s is utterly unfair - how could anyone possibly  live through this? How do people ever get out of bed if Monet is in bed with them?  The pressure of Monet’s mouth is something criminal;  Nina feels like he could kiss him for hours. Maybe he already has been; time is all messed up in this hotel room, unravelled like bad knitting (just ask Nina’s gran, she’ll tell you about it).

He falls back asleep with Monet’s face pressed against his collarbone, murmuring nonsense to his skin.  Nina tells himself in five minutes he’ll get up, gather his clothing, and go. It’s not dawn yet, five minutes won’t hurt.

“Yousmellnice.” Monet’s words are slurred together and soft, mouth damp on Nina’s skin, and Nina only closes his eyes for five minutes.

*

He wakes with a pounding headache and a sense of regret that he’s pretty sure is caused by more than just the copious amounts of tequila he drank last night. And this bed… Is not his own, he’s pretty sure, at least not the hotel bed he’s been in for the last two nights while they got ready for the finale and the reunion and-

Oh.

An arm wraps around his waist, tightens around his midsection, pulls him close. Beside him, Monet sighs.

Monet.

Shit. Fuck. Jesus. God.

The night returns to him in flashes: Monet’s hands soft on his stomach, back, and thighs; Monet’s lips ghosting over his own, teeth against his lip and hip and-

Nina squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up in his own bed, in his own room, even back in Columbus surrounded by dogs and not a man would be preferable at this exact moment because this cannot have happened.

Casual sex with random trade in bars is okay. It’s - different - like he said before, and it’s been awhile. But he feels things too deeply, gets too attached - for it to be the norm. One kiss and he’s ready to tattoo their names on his goddamn wrist. (Hyperbolically speaking. Mostly. Except for that one time. But it was college and he was much younger, and thank God it had just been Sharpie.)

But this is… This is less than good. Monet is a Ru girl. A winner. A fellow Miss Congeniality, and one of Nina’s favorites and this… This is bad. (Potentially.) Probably. He’s almost sure. So he was feeling some kind of way about Brooke because of something that happened a gazillion years ago (and wasn’t going to turn into anything anyway, Nina, Jesus) and Monet had been there, golden yellow and luscious in those finger waves and that slit so high it should have been against the law, and he’d… Taken advantage of the situation. Too much tequila, not enough common sense. Isn’t that how every bad decision starts?

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose and expels it in a long, measured stream through his pursed lips because his heart is speeding up, and it won’t be long before he starts spiraling again.

And another. In. Out.

Another. In. Out.

“Hey.”

Nina’s breath catches in his throat at the sound of Monet’s voice and he coughs a little. Very cool. Very how you want your Drag Race-winning hook up to see you first thing in the morning. He prays he had the sense to take all his makeup off before… Whatever.

“Hello,” Nina says cautiously, like the situation isn’t real, ceases to exist if they just don’t acknowledge it. He grips the sheet tightly to his chest.

Monet chuckles, low and deep, sends rumbles through the mattress. Then he turns over and presses his glasses to his face, peering at the clock on the nightstand.

“Shit, girl,” he mutters, sliding the spectacles over his nose. “It’s noon. We already missed breakfast.”

Then Monet is out of bed, perfect ass on full display in front of Nina - and even bleary-eyed and hungover he can appreciate that - but he closes his eyes tightly. (He still sneaks two or five more peeks while Monet gets dressed, if he’s being honest.) It’s not going to happen again - can’t happen again - and he wants to remember it. Only so he can fully regret it later. He went to Catholic school after all. He’s very used to metaphorical self-flagellation. Yeah. It’s very that.

Monet steps into the bathroom, and Nina takes the opportunity to fully assess his clothing situation. He’d come in drag, which meant he has to leave in drag, which is not… Ideal. Because a hotel at noon on a Tuesday afternoon is going to be far more bustling than a hotel at five on a Tuesday morning, and he looks a lot different as Andrew in a dress than he does as Nina in full drag.

He drags a hand across his face and his palm comes away streaked with black. Fantastic. All this and he’d managed to sleep in his makeup.

So. He figures this is the bed he’s made and now he has to lie in it. If his room weren’t all the way down on the fifth floor, he’d just take the stairs. He’s far more likely to run into people on the elevator than on the stairs.

“You wanna grab lunch?” Monet asks him, toothbrush in hand, working back and forth across his impeccable teeth, white foam at the corner of his perfect mouth.

Everything about Monet is perfect. Which is half of why Nina can’t figure out (or believe) last night. It just doesn’t - work that way for him.

People like Monet (and Brooke, that nasty little voice in the back of his head reminds him) can have anyone they want. So why did Monet choose you, Nina West? Why Nina West? Fifth-runner up, pushing 40, pudgy, soft-spoken. He could have left with anyone last night and yet here you are. When does the other shoe drop?

“Look, I don’t know where you went just now,” Monet says after rinsing his mouth. “But no pressure. I just figure we both gotta eat and I know a place.” He shrugs.

If this had been - something other than what it had been - Nina would think this was a date. But it wasn’t. Because it was… Whatever it had been. He’s still not really sure of that. The tequila’s still making everything a little fuzzy. It’s not a date. Monet’s tone is too casual, too easy.

And people like him don’t date people like you.

“Um, sure,” he says before he can stop himself. Because he meant to say no. He was going to say no. Why didn’t he say no? Because he wanted to say yes, damn it. “But I should probably…” He gestures between the pile of pink on the floor and his face.

“Right!” Monet laughs, and Nina thinks he almost hears a hint of nerves in it. Like maybe this is awkward for him too. “Yeah, probably not the best idea to go out in day drag and last night’s makeup. Not the most comfortable…” Monet runs a hand over his bald head and sighs.

Oh, it’s awkward. Lovely. “Well.” Nina’s sitting up, still clutching the sheet to his chest, waiting, but for what he isn’t sure. It’s not like Monet hasn’t seen him intimately, so why is he acting like a fourteen-year-old undressing in gym class for the first time?

“I think I’m going to shower.” Monet points over his shoulder to the bathroom. “What room are you in? I’ll just come down and meet you.”

Nina nods, grateful. “Five-oh-nine.”

“Great.” Monet smiles and it looks genuine. The light reaches his eyes, his shoulders relax a little. “I’ll, um… Thirty minutes?”

“Sure.”

Then Monet waves a little and disappears into the bathroom, and Nina bolts out of bed and pulls on that damn pink dress faster than he thought possible. He grabs his wig in one hand and his heels in the other and takes off out the door. The whole thing probably takes less than a minute, and his dress isn’t zipped; but honestly he couldn’t care less. All he wants to do is get in the shower and scrub his body raw of the regret and shame and scent of tequila coming from his pores.

Monet’s room isn’t too far from the elevator - thankfully - and Nina jabs the button approximately eight times, even though he knows it won’t help anything. It makes him feel better.

The doors finally slide open and Nina wants to die. Prays for a chasm to open where the tiny slit between elevator and wall is so he can just step into it and bid his painful existence farewell. Because lined up along the back of the elevator, is the entire cast of the Dream Girls: Vanjie, A’Keria and Silky.  Fan-fucking-tastic.

Vanjie’s texting frantically on his phone but his mouth gapes open as Nina steps into the elevator. The doors slide closed with a soft whoosh and Nina faces forward instantly, does his best impression of someone that doesn’t exist.

“Hello there, Miss Nina!” Silky is much too loud, and much too cheerful for the throbbing in Nina’s head. “Ain’t you looking well-rested this morning?”

Nina gives him a small, awkward salute over his shoulder, but can’t make himself turn around. Maybe the cable will snap, that would be okay. Death, at this point, would be a welcome distraction from the heat in Nina’s cheeks and embarrassment roiling in his stomach. Or maybe that’s the tequila again. Yeah, that’s the motto. Blame the tequila - for everything.

“We were going to lunch,” Vanjie says gently, “if you want to come.”

“You can shower first, we’ll wait,” Silky continues, “Gotta get that stank off you. We’ve all been there, walking back down to the room after getting some trade in the hotel—”

“Silk,” Vanjie hisses under his breath.

Nina just shakes his head and tries to focus on the numbers ticking by. “No, thanks,” he says as the numbers land on five and the doors slide open. “I think I’ll just order in.”

He’s out of the doors and feeling like he’s over the worst of it, when Silky’s parting comment hits him right between the shoulder blades.

“You walking funny, Miss Nina?” Silky whistles after him. “Must have got that good D.”

And that’s when Nina decides that he absolutely, positively cannot go to lunch with Monet. It can’t be done. Can’t happen. Cannot continue.

Whatever happened between them last night was fueled by alcohol and angst and they have to leave it there in the hotel. He makes his mind up definitively as he scrubs at his face under the shower spray.

If they’re going to work together (which Nina very much hopes they will because Monet is amazing - might be one of the funniest people Nina’s ever met, actually, as well as a brilliant musician and - and anyway that’s enough) they have to forget about last night.

So he will. And that starts with not going to lunch.

When Monet knocks on his door and calls his name, Nina doesn’t answer. It isn’t the most mature way to handle the situation, but he isn’t feeling incredibly mature in that moment. So he remains silent for the entire five minutes that Monet stands at his door (heart beating like a snare drum in his throat,  shame burning across his cheekbones.)

Later, when he steps out in the hall to collect his room service (because he does have to eat, Monet wasn’t wrong), Nina finds his jewelry atop his neatly folded shape wear just outside his door. Monet’s phone number is printed neatly on a square of hotel stationery, speared through one of his earrings so it can’t get lost.

And maybe, Nina thinks later as he enters the digits into his phone illustrated with the yellow-heart emoji (so what if he’s sentimental?), he wishes he had been just a little more mature.

Or a little more brave.

He blames the tequila.

[tulpacest]

Perspective

A short fic exploring Korekiyo & Sister’s relationship towards the end of her life.  My writing is a little rusty, but I am so glad that I am able to do something for these two again. AO3 cross-post: here 

Any feedback is much appreciated! Thank you for so much for reading! 

The night air hummed sweetly with the sound of crickets chirping. A hazy white-noise that awoke the evening, the swift vibrating of their wings marking the cusp of summer. It would not be long until they would have to slide the doors that opened onto the engawa veranda shut, when the honeyed heat slowly melted away into autumnal frost. A chill already hung in the air, one that pricked goosebumps on her skin. He wondered if he should have already shut the door, but to deprive her of that beautiful vista… to deprive her of the moon and the stars that overlooked her at night… he could not bring himself to do it. And so the hum of crickets continued to fill her room, and so too did the slightly smoky scent of sweet osmanthus. “Sister… Did you know?”

She did not respond. That was alright - after all, she could not. Not while a machine pumped rhythmically into her lungs. Not while she remained artificially sedated. Not while her mouth lay open, red and angry and raw. It was alright.

She was resting so that she could heal. “The singing of crickets in Brazil is said to be a sign of impending rains.” ‘Ah! Korekiyo, and why do you think that is?’ “Perhaps when the conditions are most suited for the crickets to mate and die is just prior to the rainy season.” ‘Hm-hm ~, the mating song does sound a little like the pitter-patter of rain, do you agree?’ “I would never have considered that, but of course! Yes… to examine every angle of a symbol, environmental, textural, sensual… Only then do we have a chance of finding the truth.” Her mouth stayed open, her endotracheal tube sitting pertly between her teeth. The only noise she made was a faint gargling sound. Could the tube have been fitted improperly? Or was it her body’s natural reaction, them muscles in her throat tightening and relaxing against this foreign invasion. He brushed her lips with his finger, leaning forwards as he examined her mouth, hair falling over her chest. ‘Do you think we can ever find the truth? Even with all our thick descriptions, our deep thoughts, our probing questions… most things will be forever shrouded in the mists of the unknown. Does that frustrate you, Korekiyo?’

“Not at all, Sister. I think… that is what makes it so fun.”   Her throat looked so dry… Salvia weakly bubbled, yellow-green mucus forming around the edges of her mouth. Does it hurt? No, he chides himself. She’s dreaming, in a world of ecstasy. Nothing can hurt her in there. Nothing. “To be unable to understand everything, to frustrate ourselves with even the simplest of things; such as why a Brazilian hears a cricket and thinks rain but a pilgrim in Kyoto hears the voice of Buddha… The infinite possibilities one humble insect possesses over the human mind. That is what I find so intriguing.” Standing, he quickly searched the room, returning after a brief moment with a bag of toiletries. It would be some time, now, before a nurse would visit. But, she needn’t worry. This was no chore to him. To help her, in any small way, that was his honour. Kneeling into the tatami, the sound of crickets still thrumming in his ear, he gently dipped a cotton bud into her throat. “In parts of China, they believed that the cricket would bring good fortune. In Barbados, they say the same thing. Fourteen thousand kilometres between those distant shores - and yet, still, the whirring of an insect’s wings inspired the same thought in them.” Carefully swabbing away her mucus, he continued to stare deep into her throat. The ridges of her mouth. Her flaccid tongue. Her teeth… they would need brushing, too. And her hair… her whole body, really, was begging for attention. He put down the swab. First, he would change her catheter bag.

To do that, she would have to be undressed. Gently running his hands over her hair, he gazed quietly at her face. Her expressionless sleep. Her folded eyes. “Sister. Please, you desire the feeling of cleanliness, yes?” She always seemed her happiest after a bath, cheeks a sensational red, her smile full and genuine. Come feel my skin. It’s so soft. Laughing as she squeezed her own arm. It feels like I’ve gained weight. I’ll have to bathe before they weigh me, next time. What do you think?

“I am sorry. I will have to undress you. Is that alright?”

Her mouth tightening, a red smile blossoming. She’d lift up her bathrobe - sudden and unexpectedly, the laughter reaching its peak. Anasyrma. A softening of her expression as she swayed side to side, her lewdness still exposed. It is a ritual gesture recognised in cultures all across the world. Pliny the Elder thought a woman could lull the storm out of the sea with this gesture alone, the Chinese and Irish both marvelling in its ability to ward off enemies. It can chase off demons, scare the gods, end the rains. Are you scared of it, Korekiyo? He began to undo the ties of the hospital gown around her neck, untucking the robe from her sides,  pulling it from her body like wind rippling over sand. Her chest stared up at him, breasts limp and her stretched brown nipples arousing absolutely nothing in him. Her body was speckled with familiar markings - her scars that cleaved her like white kintsugi rivulets, her freckled hips, the mole just by her stomach. It was still her body, but… how different it looked. Swallowing air, veins flush to the surface, new sores forming. She was still laughing, completely disrobed now. Deep summer, the veranda still in full view. No one will notice, she insisted - and besides, the moon illuminated her body in a way that was far too flattering to dismiss. How alive she had looked, then. Drinking in the light, her breasts kissed by that white-blue air that seemed to soften everything. Are you frightened, Korekiyo? Or do you think this gesture represents something else entirely? She’d opened her legs, her mouth brighter than her eyes. To me, I think, it evokes surprise and laughter. To me, I think that it can be used for emotional healing.

He spread her legs so that he might access her catheter more easily. Standing, he went to wash his hands. Returning, he carefully removed the catheter tubing that connected to the bag. He re-connected the tubing to another bag. The soiled bag was taken to the bathroom. He opened the valve and let the contents drain into the toilet. He repeated the washing of his hands. He filled the bag with warm, soapy water. He drained it of soap. He refilled it with a disinfectant. Shaking the solution, he placed the bag on the bathroom counter - leaving it to rest. He washed his hands again.

To me, I think it represents letting go of sadness.

Filling a basin, he returned to her side. With a washcloth, he softly wiped away the sweat and oils that had come to her skin’s surface. She remained motionless as he scrubbed under her armpit, lifting her breast so that he might clean beneath it, watching as soap bubbles gathered between her ribs and in the depression where her stomach lay and her hips jutted from. She was so thin, but not as thin, he reminded himself, as last year. “You’ve not been eating. I have observed it, the way you slip food from your plate. Mother may not be able to see it, but I do.” Her face had soured, then. Her cheeks sucked in, her teeth rubbing against her lips. She hadn’t said anything, but he knew it was because she had lost the ability to taste. How all foods must have been reduced to textures, like chewing through bark. Perhaps it was ritualistic fasting, but they both knew there was no curative powers to that.

“So, allow me to eat for you.” With a dry washcloth, he dabbed all of the places the water had flowed over. It was not the same ritual, he knew, that she used to take. All of her lotions and oils and pretty-smelling things. Mother complained if he applied them, because then, of course, she’d know he had been doing this. Then she’d be reminded of her negligence. Failing to love unselfishly must be a torturous thing.

And she had watched, with disbelieving eyes - as he scraped the hospital food from her plate. Slipped the overcooked noodles into his mouth, cold and flavourless - and instead, described to her their exquisite ecstasy. No longer was it noodles he was eating, but living Unagi. “Ah, this eel! How excellently she has been prepared Split from the stomach, Osakan style, encouraging one to literally ‘spill their guts’ during a night of socialising. The way she still writhes in my mouth, tickling my gums, bringing sensations to places I nary knew existed - isn’t it wonderful? Should I swallow her whole, Sister - or do you think she deserves mercy for this sacrifice?”   This sight, of a noodle transformed into an eel - a strand still hanging through the zip of the meal-time mask she had made… It made her laugh. The shock of the question, the horror and beauty and ecstasy that he was describing - it made her laugh even harder. The idea that this hospital would serve a delicacy like live unagi! She had taken his chopsticks then, brought the eel to her own mouth - quivered as it slipped between her lips. Let’s study how both methods affect the culinary experience. Crunch her between your teeth, savour her flavouring, relax in knowing that you have delivered a sweet mercy. But I will swallow her, and I will delight in her agony as she travels through my digestive system, and I will remember how she did not give up trying to escape until the very last moment.

And it didn’t matter, then, that the lack of taste made her throat clamp up. That noodle, transformed, the memories of grilled eel with rice and pickles, the realisation that she could not give in because of this - not yet, no. Not yet. She had to keep eating, she had to keep dreaming, she had to - because this laughter, those gentle eyes, this moment alone was worth any pain. And now, she doesn’t feel pain at all - do you, Sister? Isn’t it beautiful? She was dry, now. His fingers slipping through her hair as he combed it. He would wash it later. Clip her nails. Give her a massage. Speak to her until Mother came back from wherever she was, wherever it was that she went every night instead of being here with her.

“But, Sister. Did you know? Crickets do not only symbolise positive things. Human beings as fickle things. No matter how hard social structures try, there will always be those who see one thing and think another. Yes. The cricket,” he breathed, “Is said to have been the first being who wished death into the world.” “In Alagoas, it is said that the cricket announces death when it enters the house.” Carefully combing out a tangle, he stared out into the veranda. Golden light pierced the sky, pink clouds on a background of stripped blue. The sound of crickets still drowned out everything, louder than her ventilator, far louder than his whispered voice, louder still than the sweeping of the brush through her hair.

‘I wonder,’ He said to himself in a falsetto, knowing that if he could eat for her, he may as well speak for her, too. ‘I wonder which it will be for us. A harbinger of good fortune, the crackling laughter of god, or a messenger of death?’

Placing her comb beside the futon - he leaned across her body, resting his head on her shoulder.

‘Don’t cry.’

Don’t cry, she’d croaked, leaning limply on him, golden eyes barely open. There’s no time for weeping. You have to be strong. If you cry, I will cry. And that would be a rotten thing, wouldn’t it?

‘Don’t cry,’ she repeated, now, in his voice. He remembered her embrace, how easily she once squeezed resolve, joy, warmth into him. Lifting one of her heavy, lifeless arms, he drew it over his back. The other, he draped across his waist.

Held like this, in the cusp of summer, her voice a pleasant memory leaking from his lips - he felt…

Wonderful.

Their two bodies entwined like this, the flickering of life in her like a candle easing in and out of the wind. Is it frightening? Is it deserving of mercy? Is it representative of the letting go of sadness, or is it wishing death into the world?

Are we all of these things? Are we any of them?

[starwarsnonsense]

The Best Films of 2017 - Mid-Year List

There have already been many great films so far this year, so I felt it worth doing a run down of my favourite films of the year so far. These all reflect the cinema releases we’ve had so far in the UK in 2017 - for that reason this list includes some films that were released in the US in 2016. Enjoy, and I’d love to hear your thoughts on the best films of the year so far!

Honourable mentions: Their Finest, Colossal, Gifted

1. Get Out, dir. Jordan Peele

This film really knocked me for six, to such an extent that I simply had to see it twice in the cinema. It got even better upon a re-watch, when I was able to watch it with full knowledge of the characters’ underlying motives and the things to come. It’s a terrifying concept (the racism of an all-white suburb is taken to a horrifying extreme) executed with incredible panache, and you feel every emotion that Chris goes through thanks to Daniel Kaluuya’s excellent performance. Get Out also represents one of the most brilliantly communal experiences I’ve ever had at the cinema - I won’t spoil it, but let’s just say that the audience erupted into spontaneous applause at a key moment in the climax. Simply fantastic. 

2. The Handmaiden, dir. Park Chan-wook

This film is exquisite - it’s first and foremost a beautiful boundary-smashing love story, and an absolutely marvellous tale of female defiance. It transplants Sarah Waters’ novel Fingersmith to 1930s Korea, and the story is effortlessly adapted to become intrinsically interwoven with its new setting. Sookee is a talented pickpocket plucked from a thieves den and sent as a handmaiden to trick a rich heiress into falling for a conman. To say any more would spoil the twists, but this film is just a masterwork of suspense, keeping you guessing throughout a series of interlocking pieces that take their time to reveal their secrets. I’ve seen the theatrical cut and the extended version, and they’re both great - you’re in for a treat with either.

3. Jackie, dir. Pablo Larrain

This is a film that soars on the strength of Natalie Portman’s incredible performance, which is complemented by Mica Levi’s haunting score. Portman’s performance is painfully vivid, with her agony and wretchedness coming through so intensely that it’s often uncomfortable to watch. Jackie is probably the best portrait of grief I’ve ever seen, and it sucks you into a famous historic event by providing an incredibly intimate perspective on it. This is great cinema, but be prepared for suffering.

4. A Cure for Wellness, dir. Gore Verbinski

This is a delightfully strange Gothic fairy tale of a film, and I’m amazed and impressed that a Hollywood studio gave Gore Verbinski a budget sufficient to pull it off with such beauty and style. I’ve seen this film attract love and hate in equal measure, but I adore it - the trailers set you up for a rehash of Shutter Island, but nothing could be further from the truth beyond the isolated setting. If I had to compare this to anything, I would compare it to Roger Corman’s Poe cycle of films from the 1960s - it has a similarly lurid sensibility and a deep-seated sense of fantastic romanticism at its core. Great if you’re after something uncompromisingly bonkers.

5. Wonder Woman, dir. Patty Jenkins

This film represented pure joy for me - I couldn’t have anticipated how emotional I was going to get at witnessing a (wonder!)woman crossing No Man’s Land and deflecting bullets with her bracelets. This simultaneously rejects the wry self-awareness of the Marvel films and the grim self-importance of the previous DC movies, instead unabashedly depicting a superhero who triumphs thanks to her overriding belief in love and compassion. Patty Jenkins adds endless little touches - from funny moments to quiet scenes where characters talk simply to learn about each other - that enrich the film and make it feel vivid and intimate in a very rare and special way.

6. Silence, dir. Martin Scorsese

This is truly the work of a master filmmaker, and it represents a stunning artistic achievement and a moving and intelligent investigation of the threshold of faith. Scorsese tried to get this made for decades before finally succeeding, and his passion for and belief in the project shine through in every painstakingly crafted frame. Silence is equal parts beauty and brutality, and it uses this contrast to illuminate the painful questions that the faithful must ask themselves when faced with the harsh reality of the present world. It’s heavy stuff, but well worth your time if you’re up for a film that raises more questions than it answers.

7. In This Corner of the World, dir. Sunao Katabuchi

I had no idea this film existed until a few days before I saw it, but I was really struck by its poetic treatment of the joys and tragedies of life. This film follows a young bride who moves to live with her husband’s family in WWII-era Japan, and while it deals unflinchingly with the trauma and horror of war - particularly the bombing of Hiroshima - it’s also surprisingly funny and ultimately hopeful. The power of this film comes through in the little moments of human connection and the way that the full potential of animation is exploited to maximum effect.

8. La La Land, dir. Damien Chazelle

A lovely ode to the classic Hollywood musical, La La Land is a technical marvel that sticks with me because of its heart and humanity (those words are recurring a lot, right?). It tells a very small story of a love affair between two dreamers in Hollywood, but it feels much bigger than them because of the way in which their story is told. La La Land draws from influences across the spectrum of cinema, and its homages to the classics are joyful and loving. The final ‘what might have been’ sequence represents the perfect marriage of raw emotion and filmmaking virtuosity. 

9. Okja, dir. Bong Joon-ho

Not many films can balance flatulence jokes with uncompromising critique of capitalist greed, but Okja pulls it off with aplomb. The core story hinges on the innocent and endearing friendship between a young girl named Mija and a bio-engineered super pig called Okja, and the film succeeds because you totally buy their connection and desperately want the two of them to have their wish and live together in the mountains. I'm delighted that Netflix gave Bong Joon-ho a platform to make such a weird beast.

10. Logan, dir. James Mangold

Logan may be bleak, but that isn’t what makes it great - Logan is fantastic cinema because it remembers that superheroes are still people who struggle with their own souls as much as super-villains. This film features the best character work managed in any of the X-Men films, and Hugh Jackman, Patrick Stewart and - in particular - Dafne Keen give heart-rending performances that really ground the film and give it an emotional core. I hope we get more superhero films like this, and that the takeaway from it for the industry is the importance of stressing character rather than frantic spectacle.

Most anticipated films still to come: War for the Planet of the Apes, Valerian and the City of A Thousand Planets, Dunkirk, The Beguiled, Mother!, Logan Lucky, Blade Runner 2049, Murder on the Orient Express, The Shape of Water, Annihilation, Star Wars: The Last Jedi

[gardenofkore]

“Palermo, Thursday, April 5, 1787.

[...] S. Rosalia, the patron saint of Palermo, is so universally known, from the description which Brydone has given of her festival, that it must assuredly be agreeable to my friends to read some account of the place and the spot where she is most particularly worshipped.

Monte Pellegrino, a vast mass of rocks, of which the breadth is greater than the height, lies on the north-west extremity of the Bay of Palermo. Its beautiful form admits not of being described by words; a most excellent view of it may be seen in the Voyage Pittoresque de la Sicile. It consists of a gray limestone of the earlier epoch. The rocks are quite barren, not a tree nor a bush will grow on them; even the more smooth and level portions are but barely covered with grasses or mosses.

In a cavern of this mountain, the bones of the saint were discovered, at the beginning of the last century, and brought to Palermo. The presence of them delivered the city from a pestilence, and ever since S. Rosalia has been the Patron Saint of the people. Chapels have been built in her honour, splendid festivals have been instituted.

The pious and devout frequently made pilgrimages to the mountain; and in consequence a road has been made to it, which, like an ancient aqueduct, rests on arches and columns, and ascends zigzag between the rocks.

The place of worship is far more suitable to the humility of the saint who retired thither, than are the splendid festivities which have been instituted in honour of her total renunciation of the world. And perhaps the whole of Christendom, which now, for eighteen hundred years, has based its riches, pomps, and festival amusements, on the memory of its first founders and most zealous confessors, cannot point out a holy spot which has been adorned and rendered venerable in so eminent and delightful a way.

When you have ascended the mountain, you proceed to the corner of a rock, over against which there rises a high wall of stone. On this the Church and the monastery are very finely situated.

The exterior of the church has nothing promising or inviting; you open its door without any high expectation, but on entering are ravished with wonder. You find yourself in a vast vestibule, which extends to the whole breadth of the church, and is open towards the nave. You see here the usual vessel of holy water and some confessionals. The nave is an open space, which on the right is bounded by the native rock, and on the left by the continuation of the vestibule. It is paved with flat stones on a slight inclination, in order that the rain water may run off. A small well stands nearly in the centre.

The cave itself has been transformed into the choir, without, however, any of its rough natural shape being altered. Descending a few steps, close upon them stands the choristers' desk with the choir books, and on each side are the seats of the choristers. The whole is lighted by the daylight, which is admitted from the court or nave. Deep within, in the dark recesses of the cave, stands the high-altar.

As already stated, no change has been made in the cave; only, as the rocks drop incessantly with water, it was necessary to keep the place dry. This has been effected by means of tin tubes, which are fastened to every projection of the rock, and are in various ways connected together. As they are broad above and come to a narrow edge below, and are painted of a dull green colour, they give to the rock an appearance of being overgrown with a species of cactus. The water is conducted into a clear reservoir, out of which it is taken by the faithful as a remedy and preventative for every kind of ill.

As I was narrowly observing all this, an ecclesiastic came up to me and asked whether I was a Genoese, and wished a mass or so to be said? I replied upon this that I had come to Palermo with a Genoese, who would to-morrow, as it was a festival, come up to the shrine; but, as one of us must always be at home, I had come up to day in order to look about me. Upon this he observed, I was at perfect liberty to look at everything at my leisure, and to perform my devotions. In particular he pointed out to me a little altar which stood on the left as especially holy, and then left me.

Through the openings of a large trellis work of lattice, lamps appeared burning before an altar. I knelt down close to the gratings and peeped through. Further in, however, another lattice of brass wire was drawn across, so that one looked as it were through gauze at the objects within. By the light of some dull lamps I caught sight of a lovely female form.

She lay seemingly in a state of ecstasy—the eyes half-closed, the head leaning carelessly on her right hand, which was adorned with many rings. I could not sufficiently discern her face, but it seemed to be peculiarly charming. Her robe was made of gilded metal, which imitated excellently a texture wrought with gold. The head and hands were of white marble. I cannot say that the whole was in the lofty style, still it was executed so naturally and so pleasingly that one almost fancied it must breathe and move. A little angel stands near her, and with a bunch of lilies in his hand appears to be fanning her.

In the meanwhile the clergy had come into the cave, taken their places, and began to chant the Vespers.

I took my seat right before the altar, and listened to them for a while; then I again approached the altar, knelt down and attempted to obtain a still more distinct view of the beautiful image. I resigned myself without reserve to the charming illusion of the statue and the locality.

The chant of the priests now resounded through the cave; the water was trickling into the reservoir near the altar; while the over-hanging rocks of the vestibule—the proper nave of the church—shut in the scene. There was a deep stillness in this waste spot, whose inhabitants seemed to be all dead-a singular neatness in a wild cave: the tinsel and tawdry pomp of the Roman Catholic ceremonial, especially as it is vividly decked out in Sicily, had here reverted to its original simplicity. The illusion produced by the statue of the fair sleeper—which had a charm even for the most practised eye:—enough, it was with the greatest difficulty that I tore myself from the spot, and it was late at night before I got back to Palermo.”

Johan Wolfgang von Goethe, Travels in Italy

September 4th - Feast of S. Rosalia

[raneemretires]

Tributes to Raneem

Probably one of the most heartbreaking yet heartwarming news this year! Sad that I haven’t had the chance to share the court with you, but definitely have had all the privilege in the world to have grown up having to know you, to learn from you and to see how of an amazing both on and off court player/person you are. You’ve been my role model since I first held a squash racket and i couldn’t be any happier for you ya rino. Good luck for the both of you! Love you sooooo much❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Jana Sihia

Selfishly I’m so gutted about  @RaneemElWelily retiring. For me she is THE best thing about women’s squash & I can’t believe we won’t see her play again. Her talent, warmth, humour & intelligence led her to be the most respected player on tour & you’ll always be my fave Jenny Duncalf

What an amazing career @RaneemElWelily! So good to watch the way you played and a great person off the court as well! Going to be missed on tour but wish you all the best in the next chapter Tesni Evans#

So sad. You will be truly missed. Such a role model!!!!! Good luck in your next Chapter with your family. Hania El Hammamy

Sad to see you go Raneem. My favourite player to watch. I could spend hours watching you play, that backhand ! . You have been such an inspiration to so many . Happy retirement. We will miss you x  Alison Waters

For me the whole story started by being a super happy young player who had the absolute pleasure to lend his shoe to an upcoming promising junior named Raneem “ Yea, my shoe size was the same as Raneem’s when I was 13 years old :) Then I watched the making of a Squash legend who was and still perfect inside and outside of the court. I am lucky to have played, coached, and watched you winning everything. 

As you said this is just an end of a chapter in your life and To a new chapter which I am sure wont be any less than what you did in Squash. THANK YOU @raneemelwelily for being The Raneem el Welily we all love, cherish, and adore and our very Own WORLD Champion & WORLD no.1 ♥️🥇Ahmed Mosen

How do I even start? No words will ever suffice how I’m currently feeling. Raneem El Weleily; World No.1 – you’re a true champ that has set the bar so high, a champion that will undeniably leave a boundless success story behind. You’re talented, humble, down to earth - you’re a beautiful individual, inside out. 

Since we’re kids of the same generation, you have to know, that you’ve influenced me & still are influencing me, every single day. Watching you play the game, gives me goosebumps, your tactics are legit. Wherever you decide to go, I support you – whatever you decide to do, I support you and wish you nothing but the best. I love you, champ! Amna Eltarabolsy

You’ve shown us the true meaning of a real champion.. thank you for being who you are! Happy retirement to the best ever!❤️ Zeina Mickawy

Such an amazing and humble person off and on court! A role model to me, and so many out there. Such a smooth and skillful player on court. You’ll be missed on tour! Wishing you all the best in your next chapter Sivasangari Subramanian

“Serial winner of the Spirit of Squash award” says it all for me. Not many players win all the titles and still have the utmost respect from literally all of their peers. A legend in every aspect of the word. What an honour to have seen the entire journey @RaneemElWelily  Raneem El Welily

I’m numb like someone very dear has been taken away from me :( I have the heaviest heart & am full of tears inside. I cannot believe what I’m reading ; hoping this isn’t true! @RaneemElWelily you’re a star & will shine no matter what you do but I will miss you very much! #thebest  Saurav Ghosal

Oh no my favourite player!! Thank you for being such a delight to watch and I wish you all the best in your next chapter! Lauren Selby

Sad to see one of my favourite ever squash players retiring. An unbelievable player, fantastic ambassador for our sport and an incredible role model. Wishing you all the best for the future Daryl Selby

An outstanding career,but an even more outstanding person. Huge congrats Raneem on many counts.All the best with your new amazing adventure x  Sarah Campion

The most gracious and fairest squash player ever! Sad I won’t be able to watch you play again but you have been a role model to me and many others. You will be missed dearly @RaneemElWelily! Congrats on an amazing career & I wish you the best in your next chapter with @TkMomen  Wee Wern Low

Sad to see such a Champion retiring. To think she won’t grace the court anymore feels so weird. We just finished the morning session here at the Institute and we are all in shock ! What a polite and nice person Raneem is. I wish her and Tarek the very best for the future. Renan Lavigne

sad/ happy for you @RaneemElWelily! I want to watch you play a million more  times but excited for you for your next chapter in life  #Legend  Sarah Cardwell

Retirement from squash is a sad day for fans, but a wonderful new era for Raneem & Tarek! What can I say that hasn't already? A lovely person who's talent often made me forget I was working, captivated by the effortless grace & skill around the court. All the best x  Laurent Cossa

Absolute legend. Women’s squash owes you a lot  Bernat Jaume

I can’t find the words... Raneem, congrats on an incredible career. You’ve inspired me in so many ways and I wish you nothing but happiness in your next chapter #legend Nele Gilis

Congratulations @RaneemElWelily on a marvellous career. And did it all in style with the utmost respect of your peers. Off court even more of a legend. Respect. Cameron Pilley

What an unbelievable role model, player& person! One of the most skilled& exciting players to watch but also an absolute gem of a human being.Congrats @RaneemElWelily on an amazing career! All the best in the future!I’m so glad I got at least 1 win over you during your career  Amanda Sobhy

Wow! This is truly a shock. World no. 1 & at the top of her game. Wish you all the best @RaneemElWelily for your fantastic career  Nick Matthew  (Good luck with the family with @TkMomen)

So much respect for this amazing player  wish you all the best Coline Aumard

Such sad news this morning! So much respect for Raneem a true champion! Enjoy retirement!   Hollie Naughton

One of my favorite players of all time...@RaneemElWelily you represent everything that is great about our game. You are a true champion in every sense of the word and an even better person off court. Good luck in your next chapter. #legend  Gilly Lane

An amazing human who does magic with her racket. World #1. No airs. Exceptionally nice and friendly. It’s been an honour and privilege to have worked with the great @RaneemElWelily Congrats on an amazing career! All the best my friend and I’m s ure I’ll miss seeing you at events. Alex Wan

Honoured to have watched you grow since junior days Raneem. You have always shown class as a person and unbelievable player. Your grace, humility, fairplay, deference, credibility, honesty set you apart. Always true to yourself and the best role model for any sport..enjoy life xx Annette Pilling

[mollymacindoephotography]

“We’re Māori - we wing it!”

A story about choosing the ‘exit for opportunity’, being chucked into a ceremonial deep-end, witnessing a history-making meeting with only a napkin and eyeliner for note-taking and a few surreptitious snaps on a crappy phone camera.

(NB: worth checking out the prequel: ‘How I met Nanny Mary’ blog – just scroll down the blog list or click here)

In brief though, earlier this year, at the beginning of a two-month tiki-tour through Aotearoa (New Zealand) I’d had a very memorable Poukai experience at the Tūrangawaewae Marae, where ‘Nanny Mary’ had taken me under her wing. She’s a real wahine toa (warrior woman) with a wonderfully kind nature and infectious bubbly personality (reflected in her rainbow coloured hair), who also happens to be the Treasurer of Tamaki Makaurau – one of seven Electorates for the Maori Party that roughly covers greater Auckland).

Since first meeting we kept checking in on Facebook, hoping our paths would cross at one of the various events around the North Island that Mary was partaking in, so far to no avail. Mary’s from Auckland, so I let her know well in advance when it came time to return there.  Not until a week later during the actual drive to Auckland from Hamilton, did a message pop up on my phone from Mary. An hour later, stuck at roadworks, was the time to peek:

“Hey gal if you not doing anything at 5pm and in the vicinity of Manurewa Marae... Nau mai haere mai. Nga Tumanako winners of Te Matatini 2019 are bringing The Mauri to Manurewa 6pm sharp Powhiri.

…but only managed to make sense of the words, “vicinty of” , “Manurewa”,  “5pm” …and something about a ceremony.  Auckland is a huge, sprawling city and I’d no clue where that area was, but being 4:30pm and en route to an appointment followed by dinner with a cousin I hadn’t seen in 20 years; I thought, never mind, hopefully I’ll catch up with Mary over the next few days. Fate intervened, however; literally a minute later, I see an exit sign for ‘Manurewa’ – instinct took the wheel and oopsy, I was off on an unknown adventure! 

First stop, the nearest fuel station to send regrets to all previous engagements and for a quick google-search – to try and get the lo-down of what I was walking into. Remembering the mortifying, multi-coloured-clashing-outfit disaster at the Poukai, it seemed sensible to be on the safe side and change from pink shorts and bright blue vest to any black clothing I could dig out of my suitcases. Admittedly, it ended up a black and slightly gold outfit but was the best I could muster up and was definitely a good move! 

Arrive at the marae, find and hug Mary, and soon get ushered inside the beautiful, ornately-carved and painted meeting house.  Mary shepherded me into a one of the rows of a mixed gender and multigenerational crowd, which I assumed was there to watch a parade come through.....

.....Wrong. ‘We’ were there to perform the Tōia mai haka Pōwhiri Dance!!! ‘Tōia mai Te Waka’ means ‘pull up, the canoe’ and is part of an ancient canoe-hauling chant, now often performed as a 'haka pöwhiri' to symbolically pull the 'canoe' of the visitors safely onto the marae. Pōwhiri is a Māori welcoming ceremony involving speeches, dancing, singing and finally the hongi. (The traditional Māori greeting pressing noses together), followed by kai – a feast held inside the marae.  

Panicking as the dancing and singing started, I grabbed Mary: “Are you sure it’s okay for me to be doing this?!” She retorted “We’re Maori, we wing it!”, giggled and left me to do exactly that –  copying the moves as best I could during the few practice runs before the ceremonial entourage arrived and we performed for real – recorded on camera!!

I haven’t been able to find that recording but to get an idea of the event and excitement surrounding it, here’s a video of the same ceremony happening at Ōrākei Marae. Picture me, plopped in the middle of proficient dancers, trying to style it out!! 

To put this event into context:

Te Matatini is a nation-wide Māori performing arts festival of huge significance, comparable to something like the Edinburgh Fringe Festival attracting 60,000 people to an extravaganza of Māori culture, including art, crafts, food, fashion, film and most importantly, it hosts a competition for kapa haka performers from all of Aotearoa.  Kapa haka is an art form that showcases Māori and Polynesian identity through song and dance. This year, ‘Ngā Tūmanako’, a rōpū (team) from Tāmaki (Auckland) beat extremely stiff competition and took home the top prize and title of ‘Toa Whakahuwaka’.  As well as a trophy, the winning team brings home the ‘Mauri of Te Matatini’. Mauri are sacred stones believed to maintain life force, and this one is in particular represents the hosting rights for the next national kapa haka competition.  When the 2019 winners first arrived back home in February, the idea of sharing the mauri amongst the marae of Tāmaki (Auckland) was put forward and agreed upon…skip ahead to my incredible good fortune to witness its arrival at Manurewa!

Moreover, as luck would have it, this ceremony coincided with Manurewa Marae hosting a meeting of ‘Te Kōtahi a Tāmaki’, a collective representing 33 marae in Auckland (more on this later)....Back to the main event:

The Pōwhiri was followed by approximately two hours of speech-giving (all in Te Reo Maori) – then the hongi, then some yummy belly-filling of Māori dishes, where I also had the honour, through Mary, of meeting some of the community’s most respected members.  Pictured - Sitting down over kai with Martin Cooper and Shane White.

The biggest honour of all was being invited to the post-kai meeting  (once again appreciating the totally random but perfect timing of coming here).  The hundreds-strong crowd had thinned to about 25 people; seeing how intimate and important it looked, I whispered goodbye to Mary, grabbing my coat, only to get pulled back: “no no, stay, I’ve already checked and you are welcome”.  It took a split second to weigh up being even later to meet my cousin or missing a unique opportunity (sorry again Charley!)

To my delight, the hui was held English, allowing me insight into the inner workings of the marae collective.  During both my marae experiences on this trip, the hours of speeches were all performed by men, punctuated by beautiful singing from the women.  From my newcomer’s perspective, the men seemed to dominate the proceedings of the events.   Now the tables were turned.  The chairperson for this gathering of representatives from 33 of Auckland’s maraes to discuss the key current and future issues for the very recently-formed collective -- was Tania Kingi, a confident, intelligent woman and no-nonsense spokesperson who clearly and easily commanded attention from everyone there; all the same men who had previously captivated the crowd with powerful speeches, now hung on Tania’s every word.   .   It was inspiring to witness this balance and mutual respect. Half way through the meeting, a slighty scruffy-looking man came into the hui and insisted on speaking to the room to tell of his situation living on the streets, that he’d been drinking, but wanted to tell us a brief history of his whakapapa (lineage), the names of his family and ancestors, and also the main reason he’d come in: for warmth and food, “Thank you for the feed, thank you for the coffee, thank you for the company, I respect this marae even though I don’t go to church on Sunday.”

The rest of the agenda was covered – anything from wheelchair accessibility for all maraes, to arranging solar energy workshops. The overall idea was to collaborate as a collective.  Share successes, failures, recommendations, and knowledge - to work together for progress and independence from government monetary ties.

Spokesperson Tania Kingi said that this mauri stone coming to the different maraes in Auckland signals that we should be working collectively. “One of the driving principles for us all is that the mauri can unify.  The mauri is bringing us together and connecting us to all the other marae throughout Auckland and preparing us for Te Matatini 2021.” Tania Kingi

 What did I learn from this apart from that I desperately need a better camera phone? Clearly, a lot more about Māori culture, but also reaffirming what I’d discovered since arriving in Aotearoa -  found it to be a friendly country and people in general, but in particular made to feel very welcome in Māori communities and not judged despite obviously being the odd one out.

I want to specially thank Mary Karena-komene, Tania Kingi, Rangi McLean, Shane White, Martin Cooper, Mereana Hona and everyone that I met for being so welcoming and allowing me such a memorable and informative experience.

Disclaimer: I’ve done my best with Maori references, but please excuse this pākehā for any mistakes or offense.  My education has only just started and I hope it will continue, as I do the new friendships in Aotearoa.   Ps. Please correct me if you see something.  It’s the only way to learn. Aroha nui, ka kite ano Aotearoa <3

[fairytalewlw]

Robyn Hood

“I have hatched a plan to finally catch Robyn of Loxley.” The Sheriff grinned slyly at his guards. “We shall stage an archery competition. With a prize. She won’t be able to keep herself away.” His guards looked at each other dubiously. “But, Sir,” one of them spoke up. “Surely she’ll see straight through our plan and not come.”

“You underestimate me.” The Sheriff sneered. “Robyn will enter it somehow. She’s too cocky to not enter.” Still, his guards seemed uncertain. “My men.” He addressed them. “If the competition is not enough to tempt her, I’m sure Maid Marian’s presence will seal the deal.” With that answer, the Sheriff’s guards were content and made no further comment. It was common knowledge that Robyn was head over heels for the maiden.

“Look, Robyn!” Little John called to his friend as he pointed to a tree ahead of them. “There’s a poster! What does it say?” Robyn Hood walked over to read it. ARCHERY COMPETITION THIS WEEKEND HONOURING PRINCE JOHN’S VISIT WINNER RECEIVES A GOLDEN ARROW Sheriff of Nottingham and Maid Marian “Well,” smirked Robyn, jumping back from the poster. “I think we have plan for this weekend.” Little John outright laughed. “You can’t be serious. This is just a plot for the Sheriff to catch you.” “Deadly serious, my friend.” Robyn grinned. “I’d never miss a chance to see Maid Marian.” She reached back for an arrow from her quiver which she proceeded to shoot into the middle of the poster. “Plus, I never miss a shot. ” “You and your crush on Maid Marian.” Little John rolled his eyes. “And you never missing a shot is precisely why you shouldn’t take part. They’ll spot you from a mile away.” “You’re just jealous of our chemistry.” Robyn winked. “They wouldn’t catch me if I were disguised as royalty.” Little John’s mouth dropped open. “You wouldn’t.” “Oh, I would.” Robyn winked. “I believe I still have some silk dresses somewhere.” “But you haven’t worn those since the first few months after you came out!” Little John couldn’t believe his ears. After coming out as trans, Robyn had dressed as femininely as she could. As time went on, and her self-confidence grew, she began to develop her own style. For that, Little John was grateful. Firstly, because it meant that Robyn was feeling less insecure. Secondly, because it was a lot easier for them to run through the trees in trousers rather than long silk dresses that snagged on branches and brambles. “I know.” Robyn thought back, fondly. “I’m sure I still have my favourite rose silk dress somewhere.” She winked at her friend. She was certain that her plan was fool-proof.

Little John shook his head, smiling at the memory. “That won’t work. It got covered in blood the last time you wore it.” The two of them had been caught trying to hunt deer on the Sheriff’s land. His men had fired arrow after arrow at them as they ran back into the safety of the woods. They’d managed a clean escape without injury until Robyn looked over her shoulder to check the Sheriff’s men weren’t following them. She’d tumbled over a fallen branch, and scraped her knees and elbows on a rock the other side. “True.” Robyn hated how clumsy she could be but it always made for a fond memory. “I’ll have to settle for my lilac one. It’s not quite as glamorous, but it will do.” And with that, Robyn ran off to seek out her old wardrobe. Little John followed behind, shaking his head gently. Robyn was the best friend he had ever had, but she still managed to drive him up the wall daily. Her ego was too big for her own good.

“WILL THE REMAINING ARCHERS PLEASE STEP UP TO TAKE PART.” There had been heats throughout the morning and early afternoon until just two archers remained. One of these was Guy of Gisborne, a man dedicated to the Sheriff. The other was Robyn under the pseudonym, Valerie, Duchess of Devonshire. Little John kept himself hidden in the crowd while watching out for his friend. He really didn’t think this was a good idea but he supported his friend in everything she did, and that included this. “PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR OUR FINALISTS, GUY OF GISBORNE, AND THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE.” Robyn waved to the crowd and winked subtly at Maid Marian, who was in attendance. She blushed, knowing full well who was competing.

Little John grimaced. The fewer people that knew who was actually competing, the better. Robyn was going to get herself caught if she wasn’t careful. The first to take his shot was Guy of Gisborne. He breathed in, drawing back his arrow. He breathed out, relaxing his shoulders. He released the arrow and it pierced the centre of the target. The crowd went wild, cheering. In any other competition, the remaining archer would be crestfallen. It was almost impossible to beat a shot like that. To win, the second archer would have to split that arrow down the middle.

But Robyn knew that she could make it with her eyes closed, and a smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. She stepped up to make the shot. She breathed in, drawing back her arrow. She breathed out, relaxing her shoulders. She released the arrow. It split Guy of Gisborne’s arrow straight down the middle.

Just as Robyn made eye contact with Maid Marian and turned to celebrate her win with the crowd, she felt someone grab her wrists. They were forced down by her sides and then behind her back where they were cuffed. “I’ve got you now.” Spat the Sheriff. “You’ve been caught, Robyn of Loxley.” He gestured for his men to lock her in the wagon to be taken to jail. “You’ve stolen from us for too long. You’re finally going to pay the price.” Suddenly, the sound of hooves caught everyone’s attention. It was King Richard. The Sheriff, his men, and everyone around bowed to him. “Welcome, Your Highness.” The Sheriff was the first to greet the Monarch. “We were just arresting this woman for theft.” “It’s Your Majesty.” Replied the King, entirely unimpressed. “And you have no authority in locking up this lady for theft. Robyn is a good woman. She has served me well for years.” He looked at her fondly. “I, on the other hand, have authority to lock people up. And I’m here to arrest you for tax evasion and for over-taxing the poorer population.” The Sheriff knew there was no use in arguing his case. It would only make things worse. He dropped to his knees in defeat as he was arrested by the King’s men and whisked away. King Richard remained with one of his men. “It seems we got here in the nick of time.” He winked at Robyn as he removed her handcuffs. “You really can’t resist temptation when it comes to archery, can you?” Robyn grinned back at the King. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” She curtseyed to him. “I can resist archery if I so wish.” “I don’t believe that for a moment.” The King chuckled. Robyn, quite out of character, took a great interest in her shoes and spoke shyly to the King. “It’s a Maiden that I cannot resist, Your Majesty.” The King smiled gently. “I see.” He surveyed the crowd. “Is it the Maiden in the silver gown?” Robyn answered without looking up. “Yes, Your Majesty. It’s Maid Marian.” So that Robyn couldn’t hear, the King whispered to his guard. His guard nodded and got off his horse to walk over to Maid Marian.

“Your Majesty,” Robyn asked cautiously. “What are you doing?” “You and your Maiden are coming for supper at the castle. She is being told that you have asked for her specifically.” Robyn’s mouth hung open in shock. “That’s awfully kind of you, Your Majesty. How may I repay you?” The King shook his head kindly. “No need to thank me, Robyn. You have served me well. This is a thank you to you. You kept my people from dying in poverty.” “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Robyn replied graciously. “But I was not the only one. I couldn’t have done it without Little John.” “Then he shall come too.” The King offered. “I shall send some of my men to meet you here this evening. Be here with your Maiden and Little John at sunset.” “I cannot thank you enough.” Said Robyn as the King’s guard returned. “I’ll see you after sunset.” The King bid his goodbye, and he and his guard rode back to the castle. Robyn turned around to see Little John grinning widely, stood beside the most beautiful woman Robyn had ever seen. “Maid Marian.” She greeted her, curtseying just as she did for the King. Marian blushed. “Congratulations on winning the competition.” It was Robyn’s turn to blush, a rare occasion. “It was nothing.” She dismissed with a wave of her hand. A nervous silence waved over the women as they both looked at their feet, unsure of what to say. Little John shook his head. “You two are like a couple of teenage girls. Robyn,” He turned to face his friend. “Maid Marian is over the moon that you want to take her as your date to the castle. Maid Marian,” He turned to face Marian. “Make sure Robyn scrubs up properly. We need to be vaguely presentable as the King’s guests.” He turned on his heel. “I’ll leave you two to get ready but please be here by sunset. I’m certain the King doesn’t appreciate tardiness.” “See you then, Little John.” Robyn grinned, grateful that her friend had the sense to leave them be before seeing the King. She moved to face Marian once again. “So will you help me scrub up?” A smile spread across Maid Marian’s face. “Of course. I’m sure I have something that will do.” “Wonderful.” Replied Robyn as she took Marian’s hand in hers. “Because I only have one dress and the King’s already seen me in it today.” Maid Marian let out a nervous giggle. “We’ll find something. But I prefer your usual clothes.” “You do?” Maid Marian nodded. “You look much more comfortable.” Then she added “And it looks better on you.” Robyn tried to hide the delight on her face. “I shall bear that in mind in the future.”

I’d like to say a huge thank you to @casstastrophy for beta-ing this fic and making sure it was a-okay!! I couldn’t have done this one without you

[grayskies317]

Saviour Chapter 5

Sister Bernadette entered Nonnatus House, and for the first time in a decade, it did not feel like home to her.  She walked straight to Sister Julienne’s office in hopes of getting this heavy burden off of her chest quickly.  She gently knocked and entered upon Sister Julienne’s invitation on the other side of the door.

“Sister, good morning.  Thanks for taking time to speak with me.”

“Of course, my dear.  What’s weighing on your mind?  Is it this attacker of yours?  If so, you really have nothing else to worry with according to the police,” Sister Julienne tried to be as reassuring as she could be.  

“No, Sister.  I have something else weighing on my mind that has been lingering since well before the attack.  I’m concerned that I want things that I can’t have with the religious life.  I don’t feel as though I’m having a loss of faith, but instead, I feel as though I’m seeing a new path that God has lain before me. I feel – as contrary as it sounds – as though I must break away from my vows in order to best serve Him.”  It felt like a four-ton weight had been lifted from Sister Bernadette’s shoulders after she allowed those words to escape her mouth.  

“We all have had our doubts about religious life, but with time and prayer, it always passes.  You’ll see, Sister,” Sister Julienne replied with hopes that Sister Bernadette wasn’t too far gone in her doubts, but she could tell that her attempts at redirection were in vain.  

“I thought the same thing, but they haven’t.  Each time I’ve prayed for direction and guidance, the feelings and doubts become stronger.  I think God has made it perfectly clear to me where I need to go. I need to be obedient and follow the road he has lain before me.  I do not want to leave my work, and everyone here at Nonnatus is my family, but I don’t feel that I could be here in the capacity of a nun any longer,” Sister Bernadette rationalised with her superior sister.  

“If that is how you feel, I want nothing more for you than your happiness. I would be delighted for you to stay here at Nonnatus and continue your work – once you are medically released, of course – until you decide where you’d like to be,” Sister Julienne sincerely offered.  

“I’d very much like that, Sister.  You’ve always been so kind, like a mother to me. Please know how much I appreciate all that you do.”

“Of course, I do.  Would you like to move forward with the paperwork now, or would you like more time to think it over?”

“I’ve had far more time than I need to think it over, Sister.  I’d be happy to take care of things while we are already here.”

Sister Julienne fetched the few belongings that Sister Bernadette had brought with her nearly a decade earlier and the necessary forms.  They completed all of the forms needed, and Sister Julienne showed her to her new room at Nonnatus.  It was much closer to the nurses’ rooms rather than near the nuns’ rooms.  

“Well, Sis- I’m sorry, Shelagh, here’s to new paths, my dear,” Sister Julienne said as she left her to settle in her room.

Once she had unpacked her minimal belongings in her new living quarters, Shelagh – formally known as Sister Bernadette – made her way down the hall to get a bit of help from someone who she knew to be an expert in her area of need.  She had taken off her wimple, and was now letting her hair show, but she still had the rest of her habit on.  

She knocked on the door and Trixie came to the door a bit surprised to see her standing there without her wimple.  

“Sister Bernadette- “

“It’s Shelagh,” Shelagh interrupted with a smile.  “I need your help, and I think I need to fill you in.”

“I think so,” Trixie said as she welcomed the former sister into her room.  

Shelagh explained all that had happened and even confided in Trixie about the night before.  “Well, that sure is something.  How incredible!  So, what can I do to help?” Trixie responded after listening intently to all that Shelagh had to tell her.  

“Well, all I have to wear is one outfit that I brought with me to the order nearly ten years ago, and I have no idea how to dress now or even how to style my hair.  I knew you would be the one to come to with these sorts of troubles.  I’m not a vain person, but I don’t want to look like I stepped out of 1948 when I walk into the street.”

“Oh sweetie, I’m honoured that you came to me.  I’m happy to help.  I have a couple of things I can let you borrow and tomorrow is my day off, we’ll do a bit of shopping if you feel up to it,” Trixie replied almost beaming at the idea of playing dress up with the former sister.  

Trixie went through all of the current makeup ends and outs with Shelagh – even though Shelagh knew she wouldn’t be using nearly as much makeup as Trixie – and helped dress her as fashionably as she could without compromising Shelagh’s strong sense of modesty.

“You look magnificent!  Radiant even! You will knock that doctor of yours right off his feet,” Trixie said with a satisfactory wink.  

Shelagh blushed at the idea, but she secretly hoped that Trixie was right.  

“Well, since we are getting everything out in the open now, I must ask,” Trixie began, “How old are you exactly?  I’ve always wondered because I know you certainly look young, but you seem so wise beyond your years.”

“As a matter of fact, I will be twenty-eight at the week’s end.  I appreciate the sentiment that I look young,” Shelagh answered slightly embarrassed by the question.  

Trixie had at least a half million ideas run through her mind at the thought of an upcoming birthday. There were only three days to plan, but she knew exactly what to do.  

 THREE DAYS LATER

For the first time in ten years, Shelagh awoke on her birthday and realised that she was free to celebrate, should she choose to.  She secretly wanted to, but she wouldn’t be one to ask others to go out of their way to celebrate with her.  She had still not had an opportunity to sit down with Patrick to explain what she had done, as it was not something that she wanted to discuss over the phone, but she wasn’t sure how to approach him about it or how to even begin the conversation. Just then, a knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts.  

“Come in,” she answered.

“Hi sweetie!  We all are planning to go to the dance tonight.  We took the liberty of getting a ticket for you, too.  You should wear that new dress we bought a few days ago,” Trixie was inviting her, but it didn’t seem like she was asking, it seemed like she was telling Shelagh that she was going.  Shelagh didn’t mind though, she had always wanted to attend a dance, especially with the nurses of Nonnatus.  

“It sounds lovely.  What time should I be ready?” Shelagh responded.

“Seven, sharp!” Trixie said as she bounded back out of the doorway just as quickly as she had arrived.  

Shelagh was nervous about dressing herself for such an event on her own, but as she was about to get ready, there was another knock on her door and she found Jenny, Cynthia, and Trixie on the other side.  “Did you really think we’d leave you to get ready all on your own?” Jenny said with a huge smile.

“I brought the cocktails!  Let’s get started,” Trixie announced.  

Shelagh had never felt more at home; she had wished for this for so long.  She always loved her sisters of the order, but she also always felt as though she had missed out on being young.  Shelagh giggled and laughed with the nurses as they listened to music, got dressed, and had a cocktail.  She couldn’t believe her reality.  Just then, Trixie ran down the corridor at the sound of the doorbell.  She came back straight away, “Okay, Ladies, time to go.  Shelagh, you have a gentleman caller at the door,” again with the wink.  

“What??” Shelagh was completely caught off guard, “What have you done, Trixie?”

Trixie just smiled and the other ladies did their best to muffle their giggles.  They all went down the corridor to find Doctor Turner waiting with a small bouquet of flowers.  He reached up to take her hand, which he kissed as he said, “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.  Trixie filled me in on most everything.”

[twh-news]

When asked what fans can expect from the latest instalment of Thor, director Taika Waititi somewhat unhelpfully says it will be “Taika-esque”.

Asked if he could perhaps describe it in literally any other way, he laughs. “I can’t! There’s no way!”

As far as whetting the appetites of Marvel fanatics goes, it’s a little counterproductive. Thor: Ragnarok will be watched by many more people who are familiar with the franchise than those who know Waititi’s work – but this may be the film that makes the New Zealand director a household name.

The big-budget Thor is a far cry from the Flight of the Conchords, of which Waititi wrote and directed a few episodes, and from What We Do In The Shadows, the 2014 vampire mockumentary he made with Jemaine Clement. And it’s almost the antithesis of Hunt for the Wilderpeople: the family friendly little-Kiwi-film-that-could, which was a surprise hit at box offices around the world last year.

But while the types of projects may differ wildly, his treatment of them – the bit that makes them “Taika-esque” – doesn’t. Even Waititi’s government-funded anti-drug-driving campaign, Tinnyvision – made in collaboration with Snapchat in 2014 – has the same warm, sly humour of his features.

And yet, after 41 years’ experience of being “Taika-esque” himself, he still struggles to describe it.

“If someone asked, ‘What are your films like?’, the best I can come up with is that they’re, like, a fine balance between comedy and drama. And they deal mainly with the clumsiness of humanity.”

Well, that’s definitely true of Tinnyvision.

As evidenced by his decision to set Ragnarok outside the Marvel universe – a ballsy move, given the size of the fandom and budget in question – Waititi is one to do things his own way. And it’s paying off.

Hunt for the Wilderpeople reportedly made as much as US$23m worldwide (with takings of more than $8m in its home country) and spent some eight weeks in the top 10 at the Australian box office. It placed among the top 100 films of all time on Rotten Tomatoes, where it is 97% “certified fresh” from 171 reviews, and was the New York Times and LA Times’ critics’ pick, as well as Empire magazine’s film of the year.

“I knew it would play well with audiences, I just didn’t know if anybody would have any idea how to market it or sell it or get people in cinemas to see it ... It’s not like [New Zealand is] known for churning out really big blockbusters every year.”

At home, Waititi has gone from hit to bigger hit. His first feature film, the oddball romantic comedy Eagle vs Shark, was nominated for the grand jury prize at the Sundance film festival in 2007 – as was his second, Boy, in 2010.

He may not be quite as big a celebrity as his long-time collaborator Clement, with whom he won New Zealand’s top comedy award as the Humourbeasts in 1999, but he’s close. And when Hunt for the Wilderpeople became the highest-grossing local film at the New Zealand box office in May last year, it broke Boy’s record. (At the time, Waititi called it “the happiest and saddest day of my career”.)

In late February, Waititi was named the New Zealander of the year. I ask where the honour ranks in among nominations at the Academy Awards and Sundance and wins at festivals in Berlin, Edinburgh, Hawaii, Melbourne, Taipei, Toronto and Warsaw.

“It’s up there,” he answers. “There are a lot of nominations for things I never won and this is something I actually did win – it feels like I’ve followed through on this one.”

Waititi’s Academy Award nomination came in 2005 – before any of his feature films – for his 11-minute short Two Cars, One Night. He infamously pretended to be asleep during the ceremony.

That outsider’s mentality has persisted, despite the successes of the interim 12 years. The best picture fiasco of this year’s Academy Awards was “great”, he says. “I loved it. I thought it was hilarious ... They take this stuff so seriously, don’t they? It’s almost like launching a rocket into space.” Sam Neill: New Zealand cinema is 'like nothing else on the planet' Read more

Keeping a home far away from Hollywood has been grounding for Waititi; it’s hard to get caught up in all the glitz and self-importance from New Zealand, where he and his family are based. He has two daughters, aged four and one, and a stepson with his wife, the producer Chelsea Winstanley.

But another way to look at his geographical distance is as a buffer, or a safety net. You can always go home again – and why wouldn’t you, when you’re already a massive success there?

“Having had pretty much four successful films at home, I know there’s an audience for my work,” he says. “A lot of people are trying to get out of their home country and think ‘making it’ is if you’re able to work in another. For me ... I’d be quite content to keep doing my own little films down there for the rest of my filmmaking career.”

The New Zealand Film Commission will be glad to hear that, I say.

“That’s why I said it,” he replies.

That may all change, with Thor: Ragnarok set to be by far the biggest commercial success of his career to date. (Thor: The Dark World made $644m worldwide in November 2013.)

With Cate Blanchett, Jeff Goldblum and Wilderpeople star Sam Neill joining Chris Hemsworth and Mark Ruffalo, anticipation is high for the third instalment of the franchise – not least because Waititi, with his background in indie comedies, was such an unusual pick.

The day we speak, the first stills from the film have been released, with Blanchett, Hemsworth and Tessa Thompson in character on the cover of Entertainment Weekly.

Social media is delighted with Goldblum’s turquoise eyeliner (“If the new Thor film is nothing but Goldblum sitting silently looking like this, then I will still see it six times,” says one tweeter) but mixed on Hemsworth’s short hair.

Waititi is unfazed: “Crazier things happen to Thor than new hair.”

His apparent lack of reverence for the Marvel universe – illustrated in part by the mockumentary-style teasers that have been released in the film’s lead-up – led Forbes to call Ragnarok the studio’s “wild card” for 2017; others have taken it as a vote of confidence in Waititi’s pitch.

“Why am I excited for Thor: Ragnarok?” wrote film critic Sarah Marrs. “Because Taika Waititi talked Marvel into overhauling an entire franchise, AND THEY LET HIM.”

Waititi says. “I’ve always felt that I wanted to make a Marvel film ... I just want to make sure I’m not making an episode.”

With the film due out in November, he will be based in Los Angeles until the end of the year. For the first time ever in his career, he has an office, he says. The challenge seems to be battling against his short attention span.

“With Thor, I’m trying not to do any other things. ... There’d be nothing worse than the film not being as good as I think it’s going to be because I didn’t spend enough time on it. I don’t want my focus pulled away, as it usually is.”

Still, he admits he’s starting to make plans for life after Ragnarok, considering which of four of his own scripts to tackle next – “something super-fast and a bit more carefree”. A werewolf spin-off of What We Do In The Shadows and the stop-motion animation Bubbles, about Michael Jackson’s pet chimp, are also on the cards.

Waititi likens his approach to filmmaking to a buffet. “I want to try every little every thing from either end. I don’t want to go straight to the chicken. I’ll put some grapes on the plate, a bit of gravy and mix it all up.”

But that analogy – the mixing of the grapes with the gravy – suggests an indiscriminate approach, when Waititi is picky about what projects he takes on – particularly when others’ ideas tend to interest him less than his own. Ragnarok was not the first big-budget Hollywood script he’d been sent, he says – it was simply the first he’d felt moved to take up.

Waiti wrote the first script of the Disney animation Moana before opting in 2012 to return to New Zealand to make What We Do In The Shadows. He’d just had a child. “I basically didn’t want to be living here, working in an office, writing someone else’s movie,” he says.

All that remains of his original script is “EXT: OCEAN – DAY”, he jokes. But the final product was “good”.

“I was relieved it was not insulting to Pacific cultures. That was a big worry for me. I was very nervous about it. You often ask yourself, ‘Oh my god, do I get involved with something like this?’”

Waititi is half-Māori himself and much of his work is steeped in New Zealand’s indigenous culture, celebrating that which makes it unique – particularly its humour – while not shying away from the challenges it faces. (His attention goes beyond simple representation: he said hiring Indigenous people to work on Thor was his “responsibility” as a filmmaker.)

Boy, set in a remote coastal village much like the one Waititi grew up in, revels in the comedy and joy to be found in the midst of poverty. He told NPR that part of its appeal was that it did not perpetuate stereotypes: “Indigenous people in films, it’s all like nose flutes and panpipes and, you know, people talking to ghosts ... which I hate.”

These considerations were front of mind when he was approach for Moana. “I thought, well, the best way of them not making something that’s insensitive or shallow was to involve people from that community, from the Pacific ... If there’s some way I could be at the table and help try and make this not a bad film, then I’ll try.”

His involvement ended with the first draft. “It wasn’t anything to do with the process, I just got b–”. He stops short of saying “bored” but not quite short enough. “Like I do all the time, I just ended up wanting to do my own thing again and make a vampire movie instead.”

Waititi’s script – focusing more on Moana’s family relationships – contributed an irreverent, “very Pacific humour” to the film, according to producer Osnat Shurer. Shurer also said it gave the filmmakers “permission to continue down that road, because he’s from that culture”.

Waititi thinks they could have taken it further. “I know the danger is they’ve got to be respectful but Pacific islanders and Polynesians have some of the least respectful humour on the planet,” he says, laughing.

“[But], as Americans making a film about another culture, and having been criticised in the past for their depictions of minorities, they have to be a bit safer.”

At least there’s a Polynesian Disney princess now, I offer? Waititi doesn’t sound convinced: “Yeah. I guess so. Yeah. I dunno. Haha! I dunno. Luckily, through the phone, you can’t see my face.”

Waititi is not good at censoring himself – or, at least, not fast enough. He often stops himself short as, I imagine, he pictures his words in print and what doors they might close for him. One he seems happy to shut himself is a future biopic, which he volunteers as “the worst type of movie”, committing the cardinal sin of being boring.

“They’re always subject to such scrutiny. Like ... ‘Oh, they really learned to play piano, they went around wearing blue suede shoes for the entire shoot’.

“I think, why is that interesting for an actor? Who cares?”

The way Waititi hates biopics, I note, is the way many people hate films like the Marvel movies: big blockbuster franchises built on sequels to sequels, held up as the antithesis of the small indie films he’s best known for back home. Is it possible for the two to coexist?

“So far they’re existing well for me,” he says. “I know that after this I’ll go back and do an independent film. Then I’ll hopefully come back and do another studio thing. I would kind of like to dwell between both worlds.”

[garyh2628]

QUASI- JUDICIAL

Chairman and Managing Operational CEO (Global Legal Authority Quasi-Judicial)

(Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

Head of Human Resources Finance and People and Global Head of Corporate Responsibility

Investments/Contracts/Superior/Technically Competent and Right-Hand Men

NGO - (Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

To my Pharma Hubs, Technology Hubs, Social Creative/Personal Hub, My Private Hubs, My Financial Hubs and my Health and Wellbeing/Scientific Hubs, Legal and Innovation Hubs, Hinterland Hub and to my Eastern Caribbean Hub, Linguistic/Psychology Hub, to my beloved additions and to my Institutions and Partners and Team, Pool of Potential Personal Assistants and Private Secretaries and Business Managers and also to my Fitness Hub which is an extension of my Health and Wellbeing Hub and not to forget my beloved Brooklyn Hub and my Wine/Adviser Hub, Influential Legal Cashier, Strategic Partnerships, STATEMENT OF INTENT, MY WEALTH FUND AND PERSONAL ATTORNEY and PROPERTY EXPERT GUY and THE ATTACHMENT AND MY PERSONAL BOARDROOM AND MY CHIEF STRATEGY AND INNOVATION OFFICER. The core founding support regions of this Network and Global Structure.

All Options remain on the Table applying the finishing touches to our Genius and my Genius and the Network and this Global Structure Genius. DRAFT

The Network, Strategic Partnerships and Global Structure is hot–but watch the margins

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL INTELLECTS IN THE WORLD

THIS GLOBAL STRUCTURE AND INTELLECT SHARE MANY OF THE SAME QUALITIES, INDESTRUCTIBLE, PURE AND BEAUTIFUL TO BEHOLD

We have received assurances across the Globe and from Industry that those security details are being worked upon as a matter of urgency. We have also received assurances from my roll out Strategic Partner that those important particulars are being worked upon and should reach me as a matter of urgency and correct in its entirety.  Those domestic Property Portfolios both for Private Offices, Residence and Commercial Business purposes with the corroborating details and tool kits should be delivered to me personally and without delay.  We will deliver on the philosophy of living your best life.  At present we are not experiencing any debt problems within the Global Structure and further experts and CEOs.

The Statement of Intent and the Network and the Global Structure and my Strategic Partnerships is committed to supporting a thriving environment for the most innovative and challenging research on health in the humanities and social sciences. I am pleased to announced that we have received the requisite funding from an important Investor who is impressed and committed to the work that I am currently doing and the direction I am taking the Network and the results that is already being seen in the Industry and across those Strategic Regions and in places where we will have a presence. To focus on these new initiatives, we are going to support the team working on getting the requisite particulars to myself by deploying additional Intellectual Capacity to make sure that those Property Portfolios for Private and Business and Personal and Commercial get delivered as a matter of urgency for privacy and for the delivery of the Network and Global Structure and further for all the relevant Official Portfolios to be delivered.  It's time for you to live your best life!  We will deliver for research and development and those International awards that I have won, or those honour presented upon me this week from those strategic regions, the particulars will reach me with the other particulars.

The work of the Group I lead in the Eastern Caribbean Region and other Strategic Regions as CEO and Co Founder are doing a fantastic Job, this week we have reached a settlement amount which is legally binding and I'm looking forward to perusing and ratifying those details and also my private meetings with the settler. I am delighted that you found your vertebrae and you acquit yourself as a man of formidable Intellect and stood up to those who for so long were creating the appearance as though they have the know how to manipulate people for their own purposes. We will deliver for Privatisation and we will deliver for my Executives who are leading this effort underlining the favourable predictions tat is being made by the experts.  We will after delivery and perusal, develop the requisite formidable policies and regulations and compliance that should contribute to our further responsibility to the environment. Documents released via CIM concur with my position with regards to the Network and the Global Structure and that of my Strategic Partners and Intellectual Investors. An exceptional collection of comprehensive Intellectual Capacity.  Nearly two years after work began we can now in a position to confirm without a breach of the regulations my Official Positions to all employees via CIM in keeping with regulations.  I'm looking forward to my meetings with my Private Secretary and I'm looking forward to perusing those contracts in private as we move this process forward and bring together all the relevant people under one roof for policy development et al.  I'm excited about the Wealth Management Division and I'm looking forward to perusing those details and began the works that needs to get done. I'm looking forward to our retreat.  We will deliver on Economics and we will deliver for regulations and we will deliver for guideline and I'm happy that those who wanted to intrude on a process would require permission from myself and that will have to wait until all of the offices and particulars are delivered.  That process will be communicated through my personal Official Office.

We must be vigilant with regards to those of that order who constantly will purport that people needs to be careful.  We must recognised signs of shifting burdens as a mechanism of failure.  I'm happy the the Network and the various offices have pushed back strongly on this.  Those who for so long were deliberately creating the appearance as tough they can undermine intellect but suddenly found out they can't are resorting to all manner nonsense in order to cause added value to become burdens.  They are constantly looking for relevance and recognition as a means to think they can undermine what they believe to think is our repair policies just the same way they think they could undermine everything else.  It's a fools game.  The narrative of bogey man and branding has been turned on it head by the experts and by the environment.  The Network under my leadership is continuing to weed out duplicity and create the requisite diversion from those who support mediocrity across regions.  I'm looking forward to perusing the comprehensive list of details within those volumes as we seek to develop the relevant offices and for discussions at perusal.  The investment commitment that we made with regards to one of my trusted confidante who will be there at perusal, is the right thing to do as you guys seek to diversify and come together from every corner.  I'm looking forward to our retreat.

Those who were stripped of their authority, welcome the move as they concur that it was the right thing to do in order to give me the legal owner and my team and Personal boardroom an opportunity to ave the Network delivered to me in its entirety because from the little that they know, they are excite and buzzing with excitement from te new direction we are taking under my leadership.  They will take my advise and present their names for consideration should it be required across sector and Industry.  They are aware, they will be having meetings with me nonetheless.  The move did not cause a loss of any kind to the Network or Global Structure, it is seen as added value because from all signs this is a period of harvest across the board as a result of my leadership.  This also hold true for those portfolios across the social creative hubs.  The changes to personnel procedures  that feasibility study and assessment will be carried out by me and my team after perusal. We will deliver for shared prosperity and our further responsibility to the environment.

This week is a great week for Intellect, my new favourite CEO  and team from the Statement of Intent and those Strategic Regions and my Strategic Partners and the Global Structure have been the  industry’s big upstarts (favourably).  As the chief executive acknowledged yesterday: “I like competing and I like competing against incumbents and I like going into markets and seeing where we can influence the environment.” Indeed he has emerged as a central force in turning what was once a sleepy procedure into one of the liveliest and in the process he did some nice things that is in the pipeline and his main priority really he said, was just to speed up delivery to myself.  After reading a classified briefing on me, he saw sometimes that I would like and he jumped on it and it paid dividend which will be delivered to me personally without delay.   Now the ambitious, relentlessly positive CEO has taken his most ambitious shot yet; which he would discuss with me as we unveil the classified strategy.  That suggests that his business is moving closer to reaching the dominant global exchange operator. We have “It is a tremendous revenue and cash flow generator,” he said. “When you start to peel away parts of the onion, you see that they are a very healthy equities business that looked a lot more attractive than what we appreciated.” My Global Portfolio and Official Capacity does not allow for spin-offs or participation in such.

Those Companies that live within the walls of the Global Structure does not have to prove to anyone that they deserves further Investment.  That isn't your task and that isn't your job to prove to anyone.  Be vigilant at all times for those personalities that are seeking to exploit or trade on my operational style from past employments as a means to create relevance and a shallow Philosophy.  This Global Structure principles and Philosophy will be communicated to you from my offices after perusal.  It is unfortunate that those within sector are trying to attempt to convert added value into burdens.  The delivery of the particulars will get done and the delivery of the Property Portfolios across the board will get done and the offices will be delivered by me. That's a great offer but thanks but no thanks at all. That is great work my favourite CEO, we are not prepared to offer or sell part of anything that lives within the walls of the Global Structure and tat lives in our further responsibility to the Environment Bags that lives in my Personal Boardroom.  We are foundation people and we take our responsible to the mandate we have to deliver for humanity and to lead this generation into shared prosperity and on their journey to living their best life seriously.  We take our children and future children and grandchildren and families up and down this globe future seriously.  We do not believe in mixing Classical Intellect with anything that would try to create the appearance of undermining added value.  That's good stuff, Strategic Regions and areas investors are leading the charge for one of the most highly-anticipated period in history. “We are getting large indicative demand from investors, as well as interest from that region and my strategic partners,” I love print media.   I'm looking forward to my grassroot organisation, who will be working on the ground with the local teams in the Statement of Intent  and who will be invited by me as we develop the manifesto and have the relevant strategy meetings with my Strategic Partner.  Your funding is secured.  

This Network and analysts are renowned for being bullish and they are not holding back . After a year in which many were caught off-guard by a double-digit rise in achievements by myself and the Industry and Global Structure and Statement of Intent, top strategists and portfolio managers are no longer underestimating our resilience or my leadership strategy.  Great News.  The Network  economy remained resilient in the face of the slow pace in getting the particulars to myself for perusal and also in getting all of the property portfolios and Tool kits delivered. I'm looking forward to seeing the details of those things that were purchased for my Private Homes in it's entirety.  I'm looking forward to seeing the results of all those private framework and also our knees up discussions on the due diligence and feasibility of the delivery of some of the offices in Strategic areas.  The speed up of the particulars should be our current priority and those anomalies need to be discussed at perusal et al.  Great Intellectual Capacity, great results, great predictions and great foundation and a great future.  It's time to deliver on Intellect, it's time to deliver on our further responsibility to the environment, it's time to deliver on inward investment, its time to deliver on the philosophy of living your best life!

This Network and Global Structure is an important and Intellectual Institution.  Intellectual Capacity is like a diamond, having a robust and Independent Intellect  is an emotional and important occasion.  Within the walls of this Global Structure we ensure that your Intellectual Capacity grows and developed, leaving you free to enjoy and celebrate this very special time without outside influence. Through our valued Investment Programme, when you developed a Classical Intellect you can rest assured that by investing in your love today, it will reward you for a lifetime.

Truth to Tell, I will marry you, Tell it First, I will Marry you and Tell it like it is; this family will deliver for Education, This family will deliver for Intellect, this family will Top -Up that pool of Intellectual Capacity, this family will deliver on Legal Authority. This family does not assume.  It’s time to live your best life! Let’s deliver for media and let’s deliver for print media and social media.  We have a rendezvous with and an occasion to deliver the Fire and Brimstone address.

It is Estimated that in her lifetime, a woman views/use her Intellectual Capacity over a million times.  In this Family, we ensure that at every use, it is both full capacity correct and a pleasurable experience for the user and stakeholders.

QUASI JUDICIAL

Chairman and Managing Operational CEO Global Legal Authority Quasi-Judicial

(Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

Head of Human Resources Finance and People and Global Head of Corporate Responsibility

QUASI JUDICIAL

[jessicakehoe]

The Implausible Appeal of Margiela Tabi Boots

On January 6th 2019, the annual spectacle of the Golden Globes red carpet brought the sheer delight of Pose’s Billy Porter in a pink silk couture cape and Lady Gaga’s dramatic ice blue Valentino gown with a train that required its own attendants, but neither could claim the honour of the most notable look of the evening — it was a pair of boots.

Photo by Matt Baron/BEI/REX/Shutterstock

Cody Fern, a 30-year-old actor best known for roles on American Horror Story and House of Cards, arrived sporting a black button-down shirt with mesh paneling and flowy tuxedo pants, neatly abbreviated by shoes bearing a cleft toe: Margiela tabi boots. The next morning, the internet was ablaze with the news of Fern’s boots. Some outlets embarrassingly referred to them as “goat shoes,” and GQ even suggested, “Whether you like it or not, you’re gonna be seeing a whole lot more split-toe boots this year.”

When I noticed Fern’s footwear, my entire body prickled with excitement. Could this Hollywood actor be amongst the small cabal of fashion freaks who lust after the rotating versions of the shoe Margiela releases year after year, of which I am very much a part? (Fern also wore a pair of white tabi boots to a pre-red carpet event two nights earlier, suggesting the answer is an emphatic yes.) Slightly ugly yet wildly compelling, there’s something ritualistic about Margiela tabi boots. The cloven toe calls to mind Baphomet, a half-goat half-human pagan deity, projecting a vague sense the boot’s wearer is no stranger to Satan worship. They’re like no footwear you’ve never seen before and yet at the same time, strikingly familiar.

View this post on Instagram

Tabi twins @tuuu969

A post shared by Margiela Tabi & Archives (@margielatab1) on Jun 30, 2018 at 3:24am PDT

As it turns out, the most inflammatory shoe of 2019 has actually existed since 1988. (And technically long before that, in the form of traditional Japanese footwear called Jika-tabi, prized by blue-collar workers for their cushiony rubber sole and durability.) As a fledgling designer, Martin Margiela adopted the Japanese split toe concept and used it to create a Frankenstein’s monster of a high-heeled boot that debuted at Margiela’s first-ever runway show. The silhouette was recycled the following season; models in tabi boots stepped in paint leaving cloven-toed footprints on the runway. In pilfering an idea that already existed, Margiela managed to create a visual signifier so distinct it transcended its origins to become a visual hallmark of the brand. Margiela himself once opined that the shape is unique enough to have never been knocked off. (Though when former Margiela employee Demna Gvasalia debuted tabis at Vetements F/W 2018 show, that statement ceased to be accurate.)

Since the style’s inception, the tabi boot has attracted a small but loyal cult following. An Instagram dedicated to curating archival images of tabi boots, @margielatab1, has amassed an audience of 32k followers, rare versions of tabi boots command thousands of dollars on resale sites, and for those who cannot afford the genuine article, there’s tabi boot-shaped candles.

“If you wear them, you feel special,” says Marta De Megni, 37, tabi collector and owner of 519 Boutique in Verona, Italy. De Megni began collecting tabi boots in 1998, and since then has accumulated over 22 of the different styles Margiela releases every year. (Her favourites are a limited-edition spray-painted graffiti pair released in 2012 that are one of only 150 other pairs in the world.) Her current collection sits at 18 pairs after relegating some of the more worn-out pairs to the dustbin, a move she says she sorely regrets. “I’ve always been attracted to [items] that could let me be different from others. That’s why I loved tabi boots at first sight,” she says. “I knew that not everybody could wear them. Personally I think that tabi boots are extremely feminine, even if [others] think [they’re] insane.”

View this post on Instagram

TABI personal collection 🖤 #theshoe #tabi #collection #art #maisonmargiela #verona

A post shared by 519 Women Fashion Store (@519verona) on Dec 23, 2018 at 6:56am PST

“When you see the split toe, you’re making an aesthetic decision to destroy an otherwise perfectly reasonable silhouette, and I kind of love that. I love when things are just kind of undone,” says Arabelle Sicardi, a writer and tabi lover who chronicled the history of tabi boots for SSENSE in 2018. The design is deceptively simple, initially meant to resemble a bare foot resting on a heel; a feat Margiela may have succeeded at perhaps a little too well. Sicardi suggests part of the shoe’s divisive nature can be explained by the concept of the uncanny valley — the split toe is so lifelike it renders people uncomfortable.

As a former fashion blogger, Sicardi began coveting tabi boots over a decade ago and now counts a collection of three pairs – black with a green Lucite heel, painted red and white. Sicardi describes the boot as a “talisman” that provides a sense of comfort because “[tabis] will always be just unusual enough for me to feel separated from everyone around me.”

View this post on Instagram

Please accept this photo of me taken with a potato, aka my iPhone 6s front facing camera which has only gotten more blurry the more other iPhones come out 🚮 Of course only the tabis are in focus lol

A post shared by Arabelle Sicardi (@arabellesicardi) on Jan 25, 2018 at 4:41am PST

In a sense, tabi boots almost virtue signal weirdness; the crux of their appeal is precisely that not everyone understands them. Those who appreciate the style recognize one another as kindred spirits who possess the ability to comprehend esoteric, hyper-intellectual design objects. According to the curator of @margielatab1, who wishes to remain anonymous, “Those with an artistic eye appreciate outside the norm, and admire [the tabi] for what it is. We believe the Tabi truly needs to be trained to the naked eye.”

So could a shoe ultimately prized for its outsider status — “[They’re] basically the avant grade version of a Chanel bag,” says Sicardi — actually attain the coveted position of 2019’s most hyped shoe?

Alexandre Samson, fashion curator and author of Martin Margiela: The Women’s Collections 1989-2009, thinks not. “Too many people think they’re weird,” he says. “[To wear tabis] you have to be very confident in what you think. It conveys a message of an intellectual way of life. Not a lot of women are ready to wear the tabi boots, because it’s quite difficult to support all these people looking at one’s feet.”

View this post on Instagram

Personal Tabi collection of @amochichiiego

A post shared by Margiela Tabi & Archives (@margielatab1) on Nov 18, 2018 at 1:58pm PST

On the other hand, it’s not outside the realm of possibility. Sicardi recounts stumbling on a pair of cheap knockoffs going for $50 while browsing eBay – something they haven’t come across before in an entire decade’s worth of tabi obsession. The existence of knockoffs, first Vetements and now $50 eBay dupes, suggests there’s an increased demand for the shoe.

Regardless of whether tabi boots find a new audience beyond extreme fashion nerds, they will remain one of fashion’s most significant shapes: self-consciously weird, uncomfortably familiar and yet, undeniably beautiful.

The post The Implausible Appeal of Margiela Tabi Boots appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

The Implausible Appeal of Margiela Tabi Boots published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/