Thursday, 3 March 2016

DORK IN THE DESERT











I am not made for deserts.  Or heat.  I get a rash on my hands if I'm exposed to sunlight for more than a few hours.  I do not tan, I just burn, burn, burn.  I wear SPF100 because there is absolutely no point me even trying to get colour.  And when I do it's freckles - I like freckles, but they just mean skin damage.  Fuck that.  I'm half Irish, half Welsh, my ancestors worked down mines for heaven's sake.  We are not a tropical people, we are a people who like rain, wind, green grass and fires.  I am very good at making fires (in fireplaces,  not outside.  We've been through this - I  ain't outdoorsy).  A long time ago a woman who looked a bit like me probably spent ages walking around on moors and stomping in mud, then fell asleep in a puddle.  Maybe. 

All that being said - LOOK OUT AN UNEXPECTED TWIST COMING - I loved this place in Palm Springs.  The Indian Canyons, where you can find an oasis and a waterfall.  We also found a nice man from Manchester and when I said, "oof, we don't get this at home" he rebuffed, "no but we have the Lake District".  A British person's audible pride of their home country, a rare and surprising thing.

It's not really like anywhere else I've ever been, you don't get palm trees like that in Europe, the scale of everything is overwhelming, huge rocks, low valleys.  Like any good half Welsh, half Irish woman I tried to dress for the occasion.  Embroidered jeans because, you know, outdoors.  (A lot of people have asked me about those jeans - they're from Glamorous but I think they keep selling out, boo). A suede fringed cape for um, America? And being ridiculous?  And white trainers.  Yeah.  The first thing I did when I got home was put those trainers in the wash so they buffed up to pristine snow again.  You can take the girl outside, but you can't stop her freaking out about dirt on her kicks.

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