Friday 24 May 2013

Accidental Nudism




The last couple of weeks have seemed to slip right past me. It's very nearly June, and the weather is glorious! I haven't taken my flip flops off and my bikini has nearly lost all its colour already. NAAAT.

Bloody Nora it's grim here in our little corner of the British Isles. 25 mile per hour winds and intermittent showers is not what I want when I have just left my job in a warm, clean office to go on a smelly boat to gut fish seven days a week.

In other news I publicly revealed myself last week. No it was not some feminist protest, it was not a moment of impulsive exhibitionism, it was not even a mating call. It was, in fact, a regretful accident.

It all began with a rather optimistic morning, following a possibly misleading number on my weighing scales (I say it was misleading because I hadn't eaten anything yet and had had a poo not long before).

I smiled and cooed with glee at the numbers between my toes and decided that I was one hot mama, skinnier than an Olsen twin with food poisoning. I strutted to my bedroom (ignoring the slight jiggle in my tushy) and flung my wardrobe doors open with reckless, joyous abandon. I didn't have to pause for a second to consider the glorious item I was to pluck from it, but I pretended to my invisible audience that it was just another morning, no different to any other.

My beautiful, navy, size six, high waisted pencil skirt smiled at me on its hanger and I hastily grabbed some underwear before sucking in and zipping up. It was tight, I'll admit that, but come on! It's size six. For a girl with a reasonable bra size, a six is never really going to allow for silly things like breathing.

I gazed adoringly at my reflection, the tightness of it was even holding me in a little more. I slipped on my heels, waddled down my stairs with restricted movement and climbed into my car. I headed off for my visit to Tenby Museum for a PR meeting. I managed to find a free parking space in town (winning), got my bag together and stepped out of the car.

I felt it first when my second leg was coming out of the car, I felt it again a second time when I walked away from the car. I suppose I fully acknowledged that rippling, tearing sound a little too late. By too late I mean that the back of my skirt had ripped from midway down my calf to above my tummy, also taking the waistband in its trail of devastation, before falling onto the concrete below.

I was stood in the middle of Tenby in a shirt and my greying cotton pants.

I looked down at my skirt on the road, gathered around my shoes and blowing slightly in the wind. Fear swirled around me like a hot syrupy blanket. I grabbed the material from the floor and ran with it back to my car (only a few paces, but what seemed like a mile) and fumbled desperately in my bag for my keys, opened the car and threw myself in, shutting the door behind me.

I swore with shock at the steering wheel, and then laughed hysterically before realising that I was already late for my meeting and driving home to get changed.

I'm sure someone must have seen me, but thankfully I sped away fast enough to hear any guffaws. So there you go, a sneak preview into the life of a glamorous Public Relations officer.

It's bank holiday! Hooray! I have £5 in my bank and don't get paid until next week! Poooo!
A quiet weekend of pumicing my feet and doing my hand washing it is.

That's all for now, 
Jojo 
xxx



Friday 3 May 2013

Let The Madness Begin Again


It's May, we've had three sunny day's, and I've handed my notice in at my two jobs in public relations, in order to get covered in fish guts on the boats again this summer.

I did try to be career-conscious for a while there, but I couldn't resist the temptation of that bobbing island of Summer sun and camaraderie that is The Four Brothers fishing boat on Saundersfoot harbour.

There's loads of time to be a career woman. I have opportunities not to be missed at this time in my life. I'm twenty two, with oodles of aspirations but no hurry to be ambitious about them yet. I've met a nice man who happens to live in one of the most glorious places on this earth and I'd be an absolute spanner not to make the most of it.

So that's that, my stint at offices and business jargon, bum licking and irritating colleagues, excel and press releases is, for now anyway, over. It's bloody brilliant.
I have to be fair here and say that I was extremely lucky in that I had two really lovely bosses who were supportive, attentive and most importantly, understanding of my decision to leave.

The summer is drawing near with opportunity in the passenger seat. It leaves me with an anxious-excited cocktail in my stomach. It makes me look at myself and think:  "shit! you're doing this you crazy bitch".

I've made progress in myself - I've become less fiercely independent and more comfortable with handing either the map or the steering wheel over to someone else.
Not that it doesn't come with the obligatory panic and self questioning, but I think if you hand your little heart over to someone, it's always going to bring that element of pant-soiling fear with it.

I'm so looking forward to being on the boat everyday, soaking up the sun and watching the seals and porpoise make their appearances in the water below.
I'm less looking forward to long hours, shit pay, stinking of fish - which is by the way,  incredibly hard to get rid of for when I want to switch from stinky fisher-woman to sexy, sultry girlfriend-goddess-, mentally challenged tourists and their spawn, my skippers repetitive jokes, the general chaos and the obligatory hooks in arms, legs, breasts and cheeks from some little twat lurching his fishing-rod around in fear when a fish hooks on (THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE COME FISHING YOU ABOMINABLE LITTLE TURD).

I vow to this year not take on the fishermans curse of spending all day flogging my guts out for my percentage only to spunk it up the wall on drinks that evening. I will save like a good girl.
This year should be a little easier as I went out most nights last year in order to increase my chances of "bumping into" the man I was interested in. It paid off mind, he fell down a flight of concrete steps and was easily lure-able. Carrying a dead weight up the beach to my den was pretty hard work though.

This summer I will work and work and save and save and surf and surf and maybe have a few cheeky beers to reward myself for all my hard work.

And after all that's done I'll be off. This county is beautiful, but my god it can be suffocating. It often feels like treading water here: a sense of panic and self awareness, relentlessly making you kick your little legs faster in order to avoid drowning in its cliques and subtle confrontations.

That's all for now
Jojo xxx