Faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust...

One of my philosophies in life is that I may not agree with what you have to say, but I will surely defend your right to say it. (Well, just so long as 'it' isn't going to cause harm to others. That doesn't sit too well.) 

This does not, however, mean that from time to time I don't resent the selected manner of delivery in sharing said opinion. If the content of the message, be it in line with my own views or not, is being etched into someone's metaphorical skin, then I would have to draw the line, and kindly request the orator back the heck off. Or at least adopt a less aggressive tone. Or maybe I would merely tut at them. Mentally. But you get the gist. 

Well, the same situation played out today, on the metro. There we were, minding our own business, in blissful ignorance of each other's trials and tribulations, calmly respecting the codes of polite train conduct, when suddenly, a wild religionist appears. (Denomination shall remain un-stated, though feel free to imagine away and pin whatever assumptions you may choose to this scenario.) Needless to say, she had the faith. Up and down the carriage she went, preaching her morals, sermons, observations, and whatever else she fancied. Some folk turned away, some pretended not to hear, some turned a vaguely attentive ear. Headphoned-up as I was, I initially assumed it was just an unusually loud conversation within the carriage. Then, as it dawned on me that the voice was getting louder and seemed a tad pointed, I realised the source of the mêlée, and paid a little more attention. Not particularly because I was interested in what she was saying, but because there was something in her manner that implied she actually had so much faith in what she was saying that she really wasn't bothered what people thought of her and whether they were listening to her, she wasn't trying to convince us of nor sell her beliefs, she merely wanted to share them with us. It wasn't about her message, but her passion. That's the inspiring part here. She wasn't going about it in a harmful or offensive way, and we perfectly well had the choice to ignore her to our hearts' content. And as I stood up to disembark the train at my stop, she happened to be departing too. And do you know what? She carried on talking right the way through the door, and onto the platform. Off she shuffled, proclaiming away and quite happy to be doing so, thank you very much. That level of dedication and devotion was what drew me, not her words, and I think the lesson one could learn would be this: that if you're going to have a cause, a passion, a love, or even just a penchant for something, well then you might as well go whole hog and do it properly. There was no beating about the bush where this devotee was concerned, she just dove right in and got on with it. No need to worry about the impracticalities of orating whilst exiting a train, not when she had such conviction and movement to her cause that she wanted to offer its message to all and sundry. That, my friends, is the power of belief. And wouldn't a society without belief be a drab prospect indeed?! 

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!