Pray you don’t

Before I came here someone recommended I read “Eat Pray Love”. They said the movie was crap but the book was good. I’d also read elsewhere that it’s a good idea to read books set in the destination you’re going to. I was sceptical but I took a punt and bought the kindle version. The other day I finally began reading it. It was woeful. Truly bad. Never had I read anything so badly written, so self indulgent and patronising before. I kept clicking through the pages hoping it would get better. It didn’t. I seriously wanted to throw it away and had it not been on my kindle I would have taken great delight in flinging it far into the ravine of the Monkey Forest. Failing that I just wanted to take my blue editor’s pencil to it. How did this get published? I just hope this hasn’t resulted in a whole lot of wanna be writers thinking “hey, if she can do it, so can I!” seriously: she can’t. Don’t try. And for those who have toyed with the idea of reading this book: it’s really not worth the brain cells you will loose in attempting to figure out why.

Fat and 40. Or something like it. I’ve been led astray.

I have been looking forward all week to going to my new yoga passion – anti gravity yoga classes.  You hang in hammocks and swing like you’re on a trapeze.  Totally supported you can do all kinds of upside poses. Great for your spine, great for your core (you do need to be able to support yourself) and great for your lymph system – all that blood flushing through.

So today as 5pm drew near I began to pull out my clothes – t-shirt and long yoga pants – change, don my uggs –  too cold for Birkenstocks – (God I sound like a hippie.  Really, I’m not!) grabbed directions and off I went.

In the car I searched Google maps and chose the route and proceeded through the back streets of Newtown (ignoring the Google route) to Cleveland St.  All good except I hadn’t really factored in the traffic at that time of night.  But it seemed like I was making good time and the last thing I needed to do was turn right into Chalmers St and the studio was there just on the left.  And 6 minutes to spare.  You can’t come into a yoga room once the class has started.  They actually won’t let you in.  So it’s important to be on time.  Usually I get to my classes early so I can get a good spot. Makes all the difference.

But I was led astray.  As I drove up to Chalmers St I saw a big ‘no right turn’ sign.  WTF??? It’s a one-way street.  Going the other way.  And I was now in the wrong lane to turn left but somehow managed amidst all manner of tooting.  My thinking was that I would either A) find a spot a few hundred yards down Chalmers St and run to the studio or … B) didn’t have a Plan B.  But there were no spots. Except for the one that the taxi snagged.  I sat there waiting for the old woman in the taxi to get out, all the time watching the clock in my car getter ever closer to 6pm.  And breathing through the wrath of my fellow drivers and they blared their horns (‘cos I was just sitting there).  Finally, I gave up.  And came up with Plan B.  I would drive around the block.  I had 3 minutes. 

For those of you who are familiar with Surry Hill/Redfern you know the score.  It’s not so simple.  In Melbourne, yes, you could simply turn right, then right again and there you’d be. But in Sydney: no.  Firstly there are all those no right turns.  Secondly, its not a place built on a grid system.  Needless to say I got well and truly lost and missed my yoga class.  Merde.

And this is what thwarts us and makes us fat.  It’s not for lack of trying.  So to all you over 40 women who have just sensibly given up:  I raise my martini to you.  Salute!Image

Further musings on a burqa

So further to my quest for dealing with my recent fashion faux pas. When I think about it there’s a number of advantages to wearing a burqa. Theres something potentially sexy about it. Not the garment itself, but what it conceals. Imagine beneath that drab anonymous veil a pair of heels: high, strappy, only just enclosing naked feet. An immaculate pedicure suggesting … well , leave that to your imagination, but we all know about the (potential) eroticism of feet.

And so upward and onward. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.)

Underneath a burqa you could wear the most gorgeous silky, sexy clothing. Just for you. Nobody need see it but what fun to let the burqa fly out either while walking or as you’re taking a seat and reveal just a hint of something sensuous. You could wear the most revealing clothing knowing it was all ok. No one was going to look at you or judge you or make rude noises. No one would know or suspect. How delicious.

And then there’s another advantage: those bad hair days? Those days where you just can’t be bothered or wish you didn’t have to put on work clothes? You don’t. Underneath your burqa you could stay in your pajamas. You don’t need to do your hair (there could be significant financial benefits) and you don’t even have to put on make up!! Is this liberation or what?!! I can just roll out of bed, cover myself in my shroud (oops, burqa) and off I go!!

Musings on a burqa

The other day I read with horror that – according to a young male fashion guru (??) women over the age of 40 should not bare their knees. Oh dear. I fall firmly into that category and have been doing so for years. Whilst I have a number of chic dresses (think Diane Von Furstenberg) that just either skim the knee or sit a few scant inches below, I am also partial to a couple of lovely skirts that are just above the knee. They have a gorgeous sway to them and always make me feel sexy. And, I have to confess, I have a rather lovely fitted knit dress that iss considerably above the knee which I have been wearing rather proudly, secure in the knowledge that my egs are ok and I can carry it off. Or so I thought.

Not so. Mr Damien (no, that’s not a typo) Woolnough (perhaps its a ‘nom de plume’) is in no doubt that this leads to ridicule. A fashion ‘no no’. Women over 40 should instead, wear fitted trousers as these will “skim your pins without revealing crinkly kneecaps.” Or we can wear skirts BELOW the knee. As a last resort we can – if we must – wear a short skirt with DARK OPAQUE TIGHTS. But then we will risk being objects of ridicule. You see, there is no hope. So it’s off to buy a burqa.