P is for Party

As you may already have gleaned from previous entries, or indeed thine own wisdom on the subject, Spain is prone to partying, and requires little in the way of excuses to do just that. This weekend bears no exception. 
I learned but two days ago that this was to be some form of carnival weekend, and sure enough I was not disappointed to see revellers bedecked in guise and glitter, making merry about the city. Now, this is nothing to be sneered at. Make no mistake, had I not had previous arrangements to be upheld, I would more than likely have been costuming up and taking to the streets to join my fellow party-goers. Nevertheless, my reason for writing to you today, dear readers, is as follows: if there's cause for festivity, be it a socialite soiree or simply a shindig, you might as well make the most of it. Celebrate life as it goes along, and join in the fun as and when. Don't be afraid to raid the fancy-dress box every once in a while, or put on your glam-rags, or even just go out when you'd 'probably' have just as nice an evening at home with a cuppa in front of the telly. For shame. (I am not disputing that this is not a very viable course of behaviour, I am a big fan thereof myself, I am merely championing the more pro-active convivial option at this point.) At the very least, it certainly makes for a good hearty tale to tell afterward! 

And, without wanting to lower the tone on any supposed level of eloquence, here is a little ditty to help you remember the above advice, from whence came the title: 

[To be 'chanted' in a mildly aggressive American tone. Yes, you heard. Apologies.]

P is for party, and
A is for alright (alright!) 
R is for rowdy*, and
T is for tonight (tonight!) 
Y is for you, and you know what to do, so
Paaaarrdaaay! (Don't let your momma know) 
Paaaarrdaaay! ('Cause she won't let you go) 

*I learnt this 'song' with the substitution of ready for rowdy, and a few variations on the bracketed forms. Ad lib as you will; I suspect the message is clear.  

Parklife

Part 1: In the gloaming

This one goes out to all the When In Romers... Having taken up running last year, and wanting to continue that habit post-relocation, I endeavoured to find a good circuit in the walkable neighbourhood shortly after moving in. And lo, there 'twas, a newly developed riverside park complete with wheel-friendly paths, some truly admirable landscaping, and a good deal of activity equipment to make even the surliest child crack a grin... Dream. Thus, I donned my jogging attire and set out. The more I ran, the more I realised that I was becoming part of a mass movement - the park life. There are different levels to this animation: some folk are just out for a simple stroll, others yearn for greater velocity and thus take to their trainers or wheels, whilst a select few are hell-bent on a personal best, and will dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge their way through and around the dawdlers as best they might. I fall into this second category: not that I'm not content to amble about at my leisure, rather I admit I unabashedly use the park to slake my cardiovascular needs. 
Well, to begin with I was quite satiated by a good run a couple of times a week. If the sun were out I would go out more frequently. Wonderful! My workload was upped, but I mercifully I discovered that, in fact, my favourite time to run was chasing the sunset across the park, trying to race it home and beat the dark... The twilight hour changed everything - the intensity, the spirit, the emotion: the carefree gallivant became a purposeful stride, children were being taken home instead of taken out to play, bats began to dance across the darkness while the moths played with the street-lamps. And best of all, the sweet scent of sun-kissed earth lingered in the air, as it only can in warmer climes. Well, that, and there was the added touch of a cleanly bleach-like fragrance of the detergents floating down the river. (On a tangent, some have quibbled the latter, protesting as to the safety of the poor defenceless ducks who deign to paddle on in from time to time. Yet, this was negated by some science bods, and all is well in the world. Personally, I quite like it. It has that magnificent illicit bouquet of something not-really-supposed-to-be-inhaled, like marker pens or turpentine. Yummy.) Anyway, back on point - there was also a sporadic whiff of lavender, casually sedating the senses of any and all who wandered past, inducing a yet further sense of tranquility, aided and abetted by the chuckling of the river as it gurgled over the ornamental dams. 
And all of this to a rainbow myriad backdrop as the sunlight's final caresses make windows beam and clouds blush... The dazzle of liquid gold spilled across facades illuminates the faces of those in its vicinity, inspiring a momentary amnesia of reasons for angst and ire, and a fleeting acknowledgment of awe and admiration. 
To summarise: park = yes. At sunset, a thousand times yes. And please sir, can I have some more? 


Part 2: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em! 

That was all fine and dandy until I realised my envy of those whooshing past on personally-powered wheels (be they blades, skates, boards, bikes, prams... well not so much, but you catch my drift) would not be abated. I kitted myself out, and, fully equipped, made a bee-line for the park. This was to be the start of a beautiful friendship... 
Two months down the line - and although shamefully I must own to still not having learnt how to stop - I remain quite happily in the honeymoon phase with both park and wheels. The fact is, I am still doing the same quantity of exercise as before, if not more. But I'm willing to put more effort in, and go more often, because it's just darn good fun. I have also convinced others to join me in this persuasion, thus killing two birds with one, more sociable, (rolling) stone. (Geddit.) (Oh dear.) 
So I suppose this has brought me nicely to a well-rounded moral: if there is something you really ought to do, but which doesn't quite whet your appetite as is, explore it in other forms, styles, or mediums, until you should discover the float for your boat. Here, in such a pursuit, I once again decided to indulge my inner child, and following a common trend turned out to be an inspired way of transforming my exercise routine. As you can see from Part 1, it wasn't that I didn't enjoy running, rather the opposite. Physical activity remained, however, much more of a chore, until there were rollerblades involved. Now, it's honestly a delight. So I advocate rifling through your options, and using whatever you can to turn your tasks - not just exercise, but any assignment or burden that might benefit from such a transformation - from tedious to terrific. What are you waiting for?!

"Why Not?"

January once again. Looking around at the start of this, another 'new' year, it is unsurprisingly possible to see the familiar pattern of unrealistic self-challenges being set, and sadly, more often than not, discarded, all in the name of another new beginning. Gymmers, healthy eaters, non-smokers, non-drinkers, drink-lessers, drink-the-same-amount-but-of-milder-stuff-ers, runners, walk-to-workers, losing-weighters... the list goes on. This time, I myself am not conforming to this archaic ritual of trying to impose upon myself some new delusive habit for all of two or three days before I bow to the pressure and resume my former ways just with a smidgeon more self-loathing... I have decided simply to carry on as before, perhaps with a tad more moderation but otherwise living the life of Riley. Or of myself, as I do not actually know the aforementioned Riley nor how he lives, and so cannot bear testimony, but I'm quite happy with my lot and I'll thankfully try to keep it that way. 
I found to my bemusement, however, that my subconscious apparently had different ideas: whilst out with some Spaniards for yet another festival - they will use any excuse for a good party! - I was informed that my catchphrase is apparently "ah, why not?!". Now, although this has led to many an amusing shenanigan (and quite possibly one or two hangovers, I won't deny) it does in fact summarise the epitome of my mantra: life is for living. Rather than fret the minor consequences - and needless to say, here I'm not advocating illegal or harmful behaviour - just go for it. Say yes. Do it. And enjoy the heck out of it. 
A friend was celebrating her birthday yesterday and decided she wanted two different cakes, so that's what we had. Why not? Another was umming and ahhing about coming to join us for the weekend, and after a hearty round of 'why not?' he ditched the dithering and had a whale of a time. Voila. I don't mean to say that you should give up on things you have resolved to do, quite the opposite - I'm a keen bean for sticking to your word on things - but that if you're offered an opportunity, go with your gut reaction, and if that says go for it, then why not do it. Chances are it won't come round again. Plan the trip you've been meaning to have, run that marathon, buy the bike and use it to go to work each morning (and back again evening, I suppose, might be wise at any rate), eat the extra pudding if you're really craving it (but maybe hit the gym afterwards if you fall into the lose-weighter category, for obvious reasons), ride the bumper cars at 5am... Whatever the occasion calls for, but don't save it for a special occasion or deny yourself too often, as you're only really cheating yourself. Love a little bit harder, smile a little bit wider, and live a little bit larger. After all, why not?! 

'Tis the season to be jolly!

A pinch and a punch (or maybe a bowl of mulled wine rather than punch?!) for the first of the month... 

Lo, December is upon us! And it brings with it good tidings and pretty lights. Dream. Once again the shops have been chomping at the bit to engage us in festive spirit (and spending) since about mid-August, but this year I for one have staunchly refused to budge. My pent-up yuletide joy is brimming over today, and so with the start of Advent comes the start of the celebrations. Lambrusco whilst cooking lunch, Christmas tunes blasting out, a giddy sense of glee at the prospect of seeing the city's fairy lights and decorations, and going-ice skating, and buying presents, and going home for the holidays... yes, it is most definitely that time of year once again. And so glad I am of that fact! 

Sure, these particular winter holidays are expensive, fattening, quite often tiring: and afterwards the prospect of a distinct lack of such exciting activity is a tad bleak, especially as we are usually confined to our homes in the long month of January due to excessive expenditure in December, but hey! It's worth it. Love and be loved. Be happy, merry, and jolly. Enjoy yourself and the company of those you care for, and delight in the joy the season extends. If you're the Scrooging type, well, then it'll all be over soon, so might as well make a go of it while it's here. And if not, then all the better for you, and continue to seize the opportunity whole-heartedly and with seasonal spirit. Have a mince pie, a glass of mull, put on a carol or two, and festive-cheer the heck out of this month! 


Please note: glad tidings too to those who do not celebrate Christmas. This is just my personal merriment and not a commentary on societal behaviour nor what we should follow... to each his own - I just hope that each enjoys what he or she is doing, and shares the love. Happy winter-time joy-spreading, everyone! 

Tache-tastic

Well, well. It's that time again, folks - the period when it suddenly becomes acceptable to sport an otherwise antisocial amount of facial hair and all in the name of charity. Or at least to try, anyway. 'Movember' is fantastic. Not only is it embracing a trend some people have shunned - (myself included, in the past: I'm all for that rugged look, but scratchy lower-face hair is often uncomfortable for the wearer, and, in my case, the 'kissee') - but it encourages styling and grooming alongside, resulting in less hobo more handlebar. And to top it all off, it's helping others. WIN. 

The styles adopted vary from person to person (according to their ability to sprout facial hair and the effort they put into maintenance thereof), but sadly it is not a trend that has caught on yet here on the [European] continent. I did glimpse a chap with a terrific wizard beard on the metro yesterday, to which I would doff my invisible hat time and time again... not sure if he was slightly odd and with semi-secret Merlin-esque tendencies, getting some serious preparation in for 'Decembeard', or just a legend. Either way, bravo, sir! 

Having seen some pretty impressive moustachery in my time, including a wonderful handlebar on a jazz musician that must have taken a great deal of time and effort to nurture (again, I salute you!), I am most pleased that the humble moustache has made the leap back to its former self as an iconic symbol: from once being a historic badge of status and power, it crept further and further away to the realms of society's outskirts, but is now re-emerging triumphant. The fact that it in doing so it is providing some benefit to others is simply marvellous.

Sure, I'm still not desperately inclined to get up close and personal with any myself, and I'd rather the clean-shaven, or ideally, slightly rough shadowy look on a man, but that said, I bow down with utmost respect for this art form of charitable male grooming. 

I only ask that we not stray too far past this current stage. Any more face-hair-related months would be overkill. And, quite frankly, the thought of 'Septembrows' is disturbing to say the least... 

The Witching Hour

Isn't there something wonderful in being up and about in the early morning hours (sans drunken stupor of course)?! Alright, so I suppose I'm referring more to the state of already being up at that time, either at the end of a night or for some ulterior purpose, say during a journey, or to stargaze, or some other such motive, rather than the act of having to get up early-bird style for work... The latter in itself is, I concede, a chore, but once up there's nothing to stop you making the most of things and appreciating the dawn. 
At this hour, country-dwellers are blessed with an infinite of stars to behold, whilst their urban compatriots have the surreal wonders of a sleeping city. The eerie calm that steals across the land for those precious few hours around 3am (or 5am if we're on the continent) turns the working world into a hazy memory, a mirage in the distance of "tomorrow"...

And seemingly anything becomes possible in the twilight. We are more daring: despite our minds' increased sense of paranoia, insisting on offering any and every danger as a what-happens-next scenario, we brave the night and journey on. We dare to dream: what the future has in store for us what we might like to do, given the chance, who we might be with for each of the above... We are more prone to ponder life's great questions - and what's more, we're like to find clarification at this tranquil hour over most others without their busy frenzy of distractions. It is a time for thought, for musing, for gazing and seeking, and, hopefully, finding. 

Gradually, the sun begins to peep over the horizon, and so either we head to bed to rest our weary heads, or we face the day ahead with that edge of perspective that only one who's seen the day's sunrise can have (be it of clarity and wisdom, or merely a smugness and entitlement to gripe for having been up the longest... either way). Evidently this idea does not hold the same romantic charm on a rainy day, so far be it from me to oblige philosophical wanderings during a 4am downpour. No siree. But what I'm saying is that if or when you do find yourself in the limbo that lies in wait between dusk and dawn, use the surreality to gain perspective over your own affairs, appreciate the certainty of the sun breaking into a new day, make your decisions and resolutions and then go out and stick to them. 

The morals of this story are: 
Live well the day you're given, and love what you're living. 
If you don't like it, change it, and if you don't change it, like it! 

So I say thank you for the music

On a run around the park last week, I reached the point where I just wanted to give up. Despite the encroaching winter, the sun was hot on my face, and my feet decided that they quite simply had had enough. End of. And thus I ground to a halt. It was only when skipping aimlessly through songs and a feel-good tune suddenly came on that I realised I could in fact continue and finish my run (and thank goodness for that!) so on I slogged and made it back home in one piece. 

Today I therefore want to pay homage to the miracle that is music. 

It is an art form unlike any other, as it flits between visual and aural, across many media, it varies from place to place yet it is found in each and every pocket of the world. It can be created with nothing or with a whole host of instruments, technologies, or anything at all really... Even with lyrics it can be understood through the sentiment of the notes themselves - yet the very same notes in a different order, rhythm, or speed might belay an entirely different feeling. And no matter how much music is composed, it seems that day in, day out, there is so much more just waiting to be discovered.  

One of the things I find most intriguing about music is its ability to shift moods. Just one song can completely turn your day around - if you're feeling a bit down because things aren't going your way, a long-forgotten favourite can put a smile back on your face and brighten up the afternoon, for example. But more than that, just a few notes put together a certain way can evoke such deep feelings as to bring a tear, a smile, a tug of the heartstrings... Furthermore, it is used to heighten the emotions of film - if you imagine watching Jaws without that soundtrack of suspense and horror but with some pan pipes or 90s pop or country music instead, do you think gripping terror would still reign? Somehow I doubt it... Similarly if it were not Hans Zimmer's emotive soundtrack over the concluding scenes of Gladiator but the dulcit tones (and here I use the term with just a smidgeon of irony) of Justin Bieber or Miley Cyrus, for example, I think there'd be a good chance of rating turning to slating. Or not - whatever floats your boat.
But the overall message is that when you're a bit low, you can always use music to help lift your spirits. And when you're happy, well it just makes things even sweeter! For me, it's all about soundtracking life. I love to put some music on when cooking and travelling, and it helps keep me sunny-side-up. Dancing round the kitchen, spatula in hand, blasting out some 80s classics, or doing the washing up and humming along to some acoustic chillout... Club beats are best kept for prepping for nights out, whilst classical music works well as a background for dinners or whilst working. Big band jazz or poppy 50s/60s is great to bop along to during the household chores, and 90s music is always good. Have a dabble, try out some new bands, see what works for you... maybe you'll make some discoveries or rediscoveries along the way! 

Music is also an immense vessel for memory. Emotions flow through it in the present, certainly, and can inspire such profound feelings at the time of listening, but a melody can also hark back to times gone by, and elicit the sentiment felt at the time, either from the listener or from the subject of the piece. You don't have to have lived the events or situations described by the music to relate to the emotions behind it, and that's what makes it so powerful. What's more, it can be months, years, decades, centuries even before the song is heard again and it can still have the same capacity for inspiration. And, I suppose, linked to this is the fact that a musical moment or a particular song can trigger memories from your own past, emotions relating to people, certain times of your life, even down to very moments themselves... And no matter where we hear the song or what we are doing, for a fleeting second we are transported back to that other point and for better or worse we recall what passed and relive it once more. Magic. 

And one of the best things about music is its ability to connect people. No matter who you are or what your musical taste, there's always going to be someone who shares your opinions and someone else who doesn't - but that's the beauty of it. It can create surprising unions and break down barriers like nothing else - and now more than ever there are so many varieties and fusions that it's impossible not to like something accessible... Yes, there are still and probably will always be particular genres and groups adhering to the stereotypes thereof, but they aren't limiting. Obviously you can decide for yourself to stay within a particular area of music, and that's fine - it's good to know what you like and enjoy it. Maybe you even play music yourself, so you have something in common with others who do the same. Playing an instrument or singing or even recording your own digital music is a great way of meeting new people and making new friends, I heartily condone it! It's passion in itself to express yourself through a musical form, such that it probably brings you closer than most if you connect to someone else through that music. 
But the point is that no-one can govern your music tastes, you're free to make your own choices, and there's just so much to choose from that you can have all your cakes and eat them too! You shape your own musical life, and right down to a day-to-day or even minute-to-mintue basis - all you have to do is just change your tune... 

The bottom line is: if music be the food of love, play on!