Life in The Slow Lane

Bottom Bay - surely the place for bottoms????

I spent a full day in the nude yesterday.  A full day.  Woke up naked, made my kids breakfast starkers, then did the washing, cleaned the house, read a magazine, checked my emails, had a swim - all remaining true to my nude state.  Were there times when I would have liked to slip on a slip?  Sure.  But once I decided I was going to live out the entire day - from bed to bed in my birthday suit, there was no stopping me.  It's good to have goals.  That's how our great world evolved.  Some may dream to fly across the Atlantic is a shitty old plane with no in-flight service or blankets, some may have always wanted to lead a team of Sherpa's to a certain icy death on the slopes of Everest.  Some may spend their entire lives in a laboratory in search for a cure to an elusive disease that has burdened mankind for decades.  I myself dreamt of having a day, just one day, without clothes.  And I achieved my aim people.  Amelia fucking Earhart crashed her plane, piles of people have snuffed it on the world's highest mountain, incurable diseases still claim millions yearly.  But my dreams were realised in a day.......

Go nude - all the cool kids are doing it

I asked my 5 year old what would happen if I went to pick her up from kindy in the nude.  Her response "Me and my friends would just think you were really strange".  Yep, you're going to have that sensation a lot over your life darling, get used to it.  My other 5 year old decided she wanted to have a "nude party" with all her friends - plus all the parents would have to be nude as well.  Dear me.  Would we get adequate notice?  Be able to go on a cleanse or something before the big unveiling?  Shit could get awkward.....

The windy side

So obviously I'm still in the Caribbean - not like back in New York or something or going about my everyday life in Tel Aviv in the raw.  We have spent our week in the windiest house on the planet.  A kind of grotty house perched on a cliff on the Atlantic side of Barbados.  The wind is extremely loud and unceasing.  I find it very unrelaxing, and wear earplugs at night.  That's the thing about wind - it's just so unsettling - it's not like rain which can be soothing.  Unless it's teamed with wind and then it's shit as well.  I have to say it - but coming here after planning to be in "our" house in Bequia was depressing.  It was like having all the anticipation of eating something extremely delicious - like macadamia encrusted baked salmon, but instead having it taken away after one bite, and getting toast plonked down.  "Barbados is a hole"  I remarked to my brother.  "I'm sure" he replied dryly (I could almost feel that middle finger from Australia).  But it's always a shame to realise that you can't duplicate an expected experience sometimes.

Sure it's ok - but you don't fork out a small fortune on airfares for ok

Foul Bay - it seems a bit harsh.  How about Unpleasant Bay, or Less Nice Bay?

But to go with the "hole" theme - I don't think the earlier settlers found a lot of charm in the immediate region.  They named their local beaches such things as "Foul Bay" and "Bottom Beach".  For the record I have visited them both - Foul Bay was really quite pleasant, and I saw not a single bottom at Bottom Beach (much to Vali's disappointment).  But this side of the island - the Atlantic side - we have realised, is for everyone who can't afford the Caribbean side (this currently includes us after we did our dough escaping from mosquitos).  It really is bleak and desolate around these parts.  Just so incredibly windswept and extremely dry.  Also, apart from a couple of little cuties, nobody seems to have much of an eye for architectural design.  Think grey concrete block houses.  In fact, think crumbling grey concrete block houses.  Our place is situated in a total povo area (I'm curious - is "povo" an unacceptable term?) - behind a set of locked iron gates.  There are also bars on all the windows, and a security system that intermittently beeps.  It's annoying.
The Caribbean side is where Barbados gets it's glamour reputation - it's where all the fancy pants hang out.  Every time we've been there, people are jet skiing all over the place and drinking chilled white wine in beach bars.  But still, the main town for all the richies is called "Holetown" - again, just not inspiring confidence from name alone.  Possibly it used to be called "Arsehole Town" after all the whiteys came to Barbados, nicked all the good bits of land and sold it off to other rich white fuckers.  Overtime they dropped the 'arse' and just went with 'hole'.  Sure, why not?

Cute Caribbean Style

Someone shouldn't have sacked the pool guy

Beauty and Electrics = the perfect combo

Burnt door peek-a-boo

The full line up

There is a giant iron statue of a slave breaking it's chains slap bang in the middle of a round-a-bout close to the main city (Bridgetown) - but from where I'm sitting, a certain kind of slavery is somewhat alive and kicking in the Barbados.  All properties come with a team of black staff.  And on the real estate websites they are all pictured in gleaming white uniforms with massive smiles on their faces.  Surely they can't be that stoked about their jobs.  They're in servitude at lousy wages for heavens sake.  They have to go and scrub stranger's skid marks off the gleaming white porcelain and then go home to the concrete block houses.  White people are bossy too.  The poorer they are, the more bossy they be.  We've tried reducing the amount of outside help in the house, but the property ownwes are determined.  The maid must clean.  The current one spends about 6 hours cleaning the house.  SIX hours - and god knows how long she would have actually stayed today - but we finally told her to go home.  Also she wanted to come everyday, but I managed to get it down to 3 times a week.  I need my nude days.  And it's not like I am spreading crap everywhere as fast as I can - I'm keeping on top of the ungodly pigsty my children like to create in every room.  I just don't think people want staff hanging around all day when they're on holidays.....It's uncomfortable.  Am I wrong here?  The lady here - an older lady called Cecily - really protects her turf too.  I'm under strict instructions to bring outside lounge cushions in at night, to wash certain things by hand, to shut this door - but not that one, I can't take it.  I'm shit scared of the woman......She has a staff entrance as well - a back door through the laundry so she doesn't have to come through the front (How is that?  I think there's a separate toilet for her too - it reeks of The Help).  Anyway, Cecily just appears at the back of the kitchen while I'm loading the dishwasher and sharply says something like "Dem glasses NOT be going in da dishwasher".  It makes me jump a mile.  I think she wears rubber soled shoes deliberately for this purpose......

How DARE somebody do my dishes…..

So in case you are all wondering if I am really bitching about the Caribbean and having my bed made and my towels changed - the answer would be a resounding "in fact yes I am".  It is possible to be that much of a whinging cunt (aspire to my heights everyone, it's uncomfortably satisfying).  And while indulging in this pleasant past time, I am also aware that many of you are freezing and would give anything for a dip in our (shithouse) pool.  So, with this in mind, I did have reservations about complaining, however, I decided to go for it anyway.  But, come now Emily, look on the bright side - so far no crippling virus - Now that's always a bonus is it not??    That be true, and I'm grateful because I'd prefer not to walk with a stoop - it's so prematurely ageing really.

5 year olds

Talking of prematurely ageing - my babies turned 5 a week or so ago.  What the hell happened?  They're kids now - and that is a shock, really - it is.  They got scooters for their birthday and have been riding them all around the place.  Somewhat erratically - I can't get a glass of water without being slammed into these days.  I like watching their different approaches to the world of scooter riding.  One of them barrels as fast as she can, here, there, everywhere.  She sets up obstacles in her path and negotiates them with ease casually flipping her scooter around the tight bends.  The other one meanders along in the nude (it's genetic), with one foot gracefully pointing into the air behind her - all the while singing little made up songs to herself and stacking frequently.  They also got some peel off nail polish art thing I got from New York.  I don't even think I knew what nail polish was 'til I was about 13 - whereas my once 4 year olds demanded they have their nails done before school.  I of course, replied that little girls didn't wear nail polish, and then turned up at kinder and saw that half the class where sporting manicures.....and that included several boys.  There was even a "nail station" set up at one of the birthday parties they went to.

Free stylin'

Nude stylin'

Anyway - my husband suspects that I may have actually purchased the nail art kit for myself - and after spending 40 minutes producing a set of delightful little characters on my left hand, I think he could be right.

Thus I have discovered and embraced three special talents in the last week;
#1 Writing Prostitutes Rights Slogans - (an example of my finest - "No Cunts For Cunts")
#2 Packing - both initial packing (which involves thought out selection of items based on destination),  and of course expertise in unpacking and repacking.
#3 Painting mini penguins and flamingos on nails.

These are hand painted people - hand painted.

My new choice of job seems clear cut would you say???  Personal assistant in a brothel of course......It seems obvious, and I can't understand why I never realised my potential for this before.  I wonder if that particular job has ever been advised in a career counsellors session?  I feel a whole new world opening up before me...….