Pale People

It’s sunny.

It’s actually sunny.

And hot.

Some (at least 86% of the British public) would say “it’s too hot”.

If you’re reading this in the UK, you’ll know that our collective revelry and comic revulsion regarding the sunshine is warranted.

After a very long, very wet and rather cold May, we can’t quite believe our balmy luck.

Throw in the fact that it’s a Bank Holiday too, I’m not surprised almost every car in my street has disappeared, if not for the weekend, then at least for the day.

Keeping in mind that even I (never a sun worshipper) had started to wonder if we’d ever bask in golden beams again, I plan to make this quick.

Because on a day like this, time feels even more precious and all anyone wants is to have some fun.

In that spirit, the recent reappearance of those long-awaited rays has led me to notice something that I, at least, find quietly amusing.

Being a pale person, I partake in this strange ritual.

It’s a ritual that begins the second anyone mentions that there may just be a hint of sunshine on the way.

It’s a ritual marked by an annual battle.

The battle to be Britain’s palest person.

We adopt a strange tone as we utter the words “Oh no, I do not tan, I just burn.”

Your opponent then likely replies, “Same! But does it turn to tan?”

“Oh no!” you reply. “It just goes red and peels!”

You think you’ve won.

But this is when things get interesting.

Your competitor pulls out their arm.

You feel obliged to do the same.

Palms down first.

Flip.

Palms up second.

The evidence is incontrovertible.

And yet still, there’s a reluctance to concede.

But concede you must.

“Ah, you might just have it there.”

Everyone thinks it’s over.

Wait.

Just when you thought you had nothing left to give, you remember you’ve got an all-conquering ticket up your now non-existent sleeve.

“Yeah, but usually in the winter I’m much paler than this.”

Curve ball.

Now there’s no way to verify the results until six months’ time, when we are once again swaddled in scarves, a welcome relief from being saturated in suncream.

You walk away the victor.

You’re satisfied with your uncontrollable genetics.

You can forget the pounds you spent on fake tan, aftersun, aloe vera and the like.

You’ve consoled yourself.

The Casper award goes to you.

And the best part?

We get to do it all again next year!

Confident Camaraderie

Whilst your average tube car or bus journey would fail to suggest that people are taking a step back from being transfixed by their phones, the tide does appear to be turning.

Our cellular devices and all that goes with them are certainly cemented in our society.

I often think that I’d never see anywhere new if it weren’t for the ease of a myriad of map apps, or the ability to research cafes and the like as though I’m preparing to pen a thesis.

But increasingly, there seem to be stretches of time when we’re choosing to live in the moment a little more than we once were when these brick-sized windows to seemingly everything were a novelty.

It’s the luxury of technological familiarity at work in many ways. We had the moment of wonder and now we’re lucky enough to be able to choose as and when we want to use the services it has to offer.

Nevertheless, the positive point stands; we would undeniably be lost without them, but pixels no longer seem to be our priority.

It might be an overstatement, but despite instant messenger being true to its name in terms of delivery, ironically I and my friends are increasingly using it more as a convenient, free postal service.

Days, weeks, even months, go by with messages sat waiting for a response, not because we don’t care or want to talk to each other, but because we want to dedicate time to crafting a thoughtful response.

We may not have quite such an abundant need for stamps these days, but the phrase “I need to catch up on my correspondence” is far from being out of circulation.

The shift has brought with it a new expression too; “I love that we don’t have to talk, or message, but that every time we see each other, it’s exactly the same.”

Words to that effect are uttered almost constantly now and whilst they bear an ever so slight allusion to apology, the sentiment at their core is that finally we’ve once again started to see friendship as being much more than constant communication.

No one needs reams of pointless prose to know who they can rely on.

With the performative pressure of a prompt response removed, friendship in its truest form flourishes.

Spontaneity has started to return to our sentiments and texts aren’t the only attestation to thought.

In realising this, our relationships are enriched.

Because trusting someone regardless of when you last tapped ‘send’ is emblematic of something enduring.

And there’s something newly pleasing, freeing, in the knowledge that putting down our small screens does no harm to picking up where we left off in person.

Ultimately, it’s memories, not messages, that matter.

I know which I’d prefer to carry around in my pocket.

Spellbound

This may sound strange, but over the past few weeks I’ve been thinking a lot about magic.

Quite a statement, I know. But bear with me.

When you or I consider magic, I imagine the first images conjured in your head consist of witches hats, wizards robes and almost anything that features in Harry Potter.

Put simply, the idea of magic as being a mysterious, supernatural power would likely be that which comes to mind.

However, in this instance, I’m much more entranced by the notion of certain objects and places possessing a quality that can only be described as ‘magical’.

Despite the term’s positive connotations, ultimately it’s a word that’s a law unto itself. Like everything, it has a definition, but unlike so many words, it carries vast historical weight and continues to be interpreted in a whole host of disparate ways.

At risk of adopting the tone of a painfully structured undergraduate essay, the reason I’ve been newly intrigued by the notion of magic is because I’ve been thinking of it as a way to refer to anything ‘unexpectedly transformatory’.

Whilst that appears rather grandiose, I suppose I’ve only realised what countless others already have; that it’s interesting to pay attention to magic in the sense of it changing the way you think, or indeed altering the way you feel.

Embracing the essay theme, now feels like an appropriate time to add some context.

Two recent happenings have led me to this point.

One has been reading The Girl with the Lounding Voice by Abi Daré, a brilliant book that follows the story of Adunni, a 14-year-old girl growing up in Nigeria who simply wants her voice to be heard.

I have yet to finish the novel, but from the very first page I knew I held something possessing extraordinary power in my hands.

It’s forced me to confront a world that I know exists, but one that I too regularly elect to avoid seeing.

It’s magical because it beautifully illustrates how much more wondrous the world would be if everyone had the opportunity to reach their potential.

It’s magical because it’s totally transformed the way I approach everything.

It’s magical because it’s altered my perceptions. It’s made me want to read more, understand more, do more.

It’s not everyday you encounter a voice that does that. But Adunni’s does. Abi Daré’s does.

Her incantation will remain with me for the rest of my life, as will the enchantment of Pembrokeshire.

All too often now we refer to destinations as being ‘magical’ to simply communicate how gorgeous they are.

Whilst beauty may well contribute to the magnetism of a place, there’s far more to it than that.

Think how much more enthralling our discussions of the spots and scenes we’ve seen would be if we reserved referring to a compass point as ‘magical’ only when it’s stirred something in our souls.

Something mystical was at work in the woodland I wandered through on the Welsh coast.

Despite possessing no prior connection to this particular locale, I sensed something fantastical, an inkling that here a thousand lives had been lived before; that we coexist with a world we cannot see but can most certainly feel.

If you’re still with me you’ve probably realised there’s no great point to be made by my latest rambling.

But if you’re looking for one, perhaps it is only that whilst our footing in time and space may be small, that’s all the more reason to sporadically succumb to the occasional spell.