‘The Transition’: From Greek Goddess To Albino Fish Thing
Friday, March 23rd, 2007Four months on a pacific island aint all it’s cracked up to be. As the day of my return to the Emerald Isle drew near, I found myself becoming increasingly anxious that my Irish compatriots (theirs eyes weak and pale from the dark winter) might mistake me for a nomadic African tribesperson – albeit a very lost nomadic African tribesperson. For such is the colour of my face after four months under the ozone hole. And neither 100SPF sunscreen nor burkini could quell the melanin (you know, that brown stuff) – it seems I’m just destined to be a bronzed Greek goddess. Oh well.
Home was just like home. Or Cheers. Where everybody knows my name. And Dad’s jokes are still as lame. And they’re always glad you came….. until the novelty wears off…
The best thing about going home (apart from Dad jokes) was being able to swim at the beach. Doesn’t sound like much probably, to you accustomed beach swimmers, but in Ireland you’ve either got to be crazy or numb or Irish to go swimming at the beach. Or at least fully acclimatise yourself by sticking ice down your undies for a few months beforehand. Well I ain’t crazy (although they do say you can only be crazy if you don’t know it….I wonder if ‘they’ think ‘they’ are crazy) , I ain’t numb, I definitely ain’t sticking ice anywhere (you may also have noticed I ‘aint’ using the English language very good for reasons that elude me, possibly in one of my past lives I spoke with a Deep South hillbilly type accent) and although I do like to consider myself slightly Irish I seem to be missing the ‘immunity to feckin cold’ gene.
So after two years on dry land I took full advantage of the warmer currents, shocking my shrivelled biceps into picking up a surfboard again, frolicking in the waves and kayaking with the sharks…
Em