Dancing with the idea I might like
That tousled fro
Those 121s that drip with laughter
And those pre-sleep minutes doused in the hot flames of a fantasy.
Distressed by the thought
Of upsetting you
Of playing second fiddle
To another
Of watching you sidle up, delicate hand outstretched
Helpful words cascading from your tongue.
Playing with the idea of biting your earlobes
Jaded, sepia hours spent in an apartment
You cooking, innocent
Turning dangerous, unable to bear the air ablaze with passion.
Crooked arms and tangled feet and bodies slapped together like ham onto bread
Wet from the heat, hot wafts of wheat.
Smile sticky with sweetness
And good intentions
That curtsy before me in every catch up.
Tag: relationships
A hazardous week
I have been knocked over this week
Like pins at a bowling alley
Kicked and thrashed
Battered against the back
Of that mysterious black bit
You can’t see behind
Throttled by failure
Plagued by faux pas
And today I am supposed to dust
Myself off and present the shiniest
Brushed aluminium version of myself
To a total stranger
Desperately seeking an escape route
A respite for this mangled brain.
Dirty puddles
I’ve been sitting in this chair
for what feels like eternity
this crusty, scabby armchair
with spiders’ webs for decor
and the scent of mustard-soaked dirty socks
dripping their Dijon all over the fabric
they might end up burying me in this chair
epitaph reading “Killed by The Game”
long sleeves fingering the armrest
gripping on for dear life
like I’m on some sort of rickety ghost train.
I’ve spent more time waiting for you
than I have queuing at Tesco in my whole life
I was promoted quicker
I graduated quicker
than the time it’s taken you to reach out.
Hungry regret is eating away at me
rage bubbles like bone broth
loneliness creeps in
offering up its bitter taste
(if that’s all you bring to the table, then forget it)
I’m on this eternal cosmic pogo stick
yo-yoing to and fro to the rhythm
of that beep, buzz, ring.
I’m full of what ifs, I’m bleeding desperation
and fumbling about for reasons in my mind’s dust
completely invented, untrue
you’re about as clear as clouds
leaving me to create my own weather.
All I can say is it’s stormy and wet
and I want to leave this armchair
before I start to decay
loneliness keeps me locked in
while the floor floods with a sea of what ifs
the eye of heartbreak drawing closer and closer
and swiftly punching me in the jaw.
Notes 30/8
You’re leaving me haggard and quivering
I didn’t realise the extent of my obsession
The length of my lust
The pitiful preparedness wilting
I was never ready, it seems, to do battle
To tread these muddy, murky waters
And fight for breath beneath a rough surf
You’ve left me to wonder, sit, pensive
Write words of passive aggression
And mumble to myself on jaunts to green spaces
Confusion mounts and I’m throwing up fear in a rainbow-hued dizzying spell of colours
I’m wobbling, while tensions mount
Grasping my phone like it’s a tank of oxygen
Almost wishing away the long weekend because it’s all too painful
To ingest
Too exhausting
To swallow.
Notes 29/8
I don’t think it’s crazy to yearn for that dalliance
Me who always shunned settling
Forgot about the ecstasy lining the stomach
Of that faded firework
Burning brightly, licked like a lolly
The sleepover invitation
Fibbing to the folks
Getting dressed up at the step mum’s pad
Lies that taste sweet as Pink Ladies
Guilt tripping me over, loosening my laces
It’s just but it’s loathsome
Difficult to pin down
The in between time, the shuttling back from dating alley of lover’s beach
The eternal guessing game
That clips my wings and stunts my feelings
That hamster wheel forever rolling, stuck in its mindless mesh
And what if I want to get off?
What if I’ve had enough?
Thudding to a stop, wheel burns a mark in the pavement
And what if I want to get back on?
Stepping back into this scrambled wheel yet again.
Outside and warm
There’s something to be said
For sitting on rattan chairs and looking up
At a tie dyed sky
The same inky blue I saw in a dress earlier
The one I added to basket but never checked out
This is a sky of another era, a time
When we rode like ghosts on American highways
Legs pressed up against the dashboard
Podcast blaring nonsense
Gently slipping into sleep
Half expecting to hit a deer
That fear every time we rounded a bend
Or you vroomed a little too callously
A cacophony of screeching, and my brain doing somersaults
Playing out the poor deer’s death
And this balmy air also smacks of times in Spain
By the sea where we built our lives
And had a fridge full of food
And money in the bank
Dusted pink sunsets trickling down to the seafront
Paellas baked fresh, inches from the seabed
Tummies content and hankering for margaritas on Friday nights
Warm all the time
Flip flops flung over shoulders
Walks down to the beach and then back to Lidl
For a feast
Work was still a drag, head filled with dread
Every fucking Sunday night
Like some stupidly mundane weekly ritual
The brain bashing, self inflicted fear and loathing in Las Palmas
I was still afflicted like I am now
But those balmy sun dappled evenings
Grinning on terraces
Stuck like insects in a treacly loveless web
Boy was it good sometimes.
A year has passed and you’re back in my DMs
you got your foot in the door
yet again, a beautiful ghost at it
once more
starve you, I tried
there’s whispers you care and you
want to make things right
but I throttle those whispers
they slip lifelessly into unconsciousness
I’m lighting my tongue on fire
just talking to you
but it’s not the same adoration
lingering like perfume
in the air
not the
drop-everything-lets-text-back
frenzy that once furrowed by brow
made me mad with “love”
drunk on lust
in fact
I couldn’t give a fuck.
6 interesting foreign phrases to describe your lockdown life
Last month, nobody could stop talking about the Finnish concept of Kalsarikännit, “the feeling when you are going to get drunk home alone in your underwear – with no intention of going out.”
It summed up lockdown perfectly, all the while showcasing the beauty of the Finnish language and making Friday evenings getting peacefully sozzled all the more appealing and accepted.
But the Finns aren’t the only ones with quirky, quarantine-appropriate concepts. The Italians, for example, refer to rekindling an old flame as ‘reheating cabbage’ – not exactly the image you had in mind when contemplating sliding into your ex’s DMs, eh?
And in Hungary, a nagging spouse is, somewhat colourfully, an ‘indoor dragon’. How many of you have your own ‘indoor dragon’ to contend with at the moment?
I can’t guarantee these will come in handy on future backpacking adventures or city breaks, but here are six foreign terms that aptly describe the #lockdownlife.
For when you’re feeling lazy
It’s totally fine to not be doing a lot at the moment. Remember, there is a pandemic going on – so even if you feel like you should be baking enough banana bread to feed the whole of Yorkshire or running a half marathon every day, it’s also fine to be a couch potato – or ‘pantofolaio.’
- Pantofolaio
You can use the Italian term ‘pantofolaio’ to describe a couch potato or homebody. A noun first used in the 19th century, it comes from the word ‘pantofola’ meaning ‘slipper’.
An example in action:
“Ho provato a farlo uscire, ma è diventato un tale pantofolaio.”
“I tried to make him come out, but he’s become such a homebody!”
It’s difficult to be anything but a couch potato at the moment – so why not look the part? If you do fancy upping your slipper game in true ‘pantofolaio’ style, apparently >slider slippers are all the rage right now.
- Fiaca
‘Fiaca’ comes from Lunfardo, a slang that originated in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in Buenos Aires, Argentina. It’s used to talk about “the feeling or state of being bored, idle, slothful of unmotivated” and when we use it to describe a person, we’d translate it as lazybones, layabout or bum.
An example in action:
“Qué fiaca que tengo!”
“Man, I feel like a slug today!”
This is something we’re all experiencing: trudging from bed to desk to fridge and back to desk, flicking through Netflix to find something binge-worthy, all the while ignoring the towering inferno of work, emails and deadlines piling up. ‘Fiaca’ is the ultimate killer of productivity.
For describing relationships
It’s a weird time for relationships – both romantic and non-romantic alike. Some haven’t seen their parents or partners or friends in months; others might find themselves house-sharing with an ‘indoor dragon.’
- Házisárkány
This is a Hungarian word literally meaning ‘indoor dragon’ and used to refer to a nagging, restless spouse. If you’re not used to sharing a house with your significant other, tensions might be high during this period. It may be you find yourself (or your partner) morphing into a mythical beast, breathing fire upon seeing plates piling up in the sink or socks strewn across the floor.
An example in action:
“A házisárkány soha nincs megelégedve.”
“A domestic dragon is never satisfied.”
Catch Budapest describes it as “a harmless joke” and strongly recommend that we keep treating it as such.
- Cavoli Riscaldati
The Italians use ‘cavoli riscaldati’ (literally meaning reheated cabbage) to talk about “a pointless attempt to revive a former love affair”. According to Christopher Moore, author of In Other Words, it comes from a proverb:
“Cavoli riscaldati né amore ritornato non fu mai buono.”
“Neither reheated cabbage nor revived love is ever any good.”
Interestingly, some parts of Italy use ‘minestra riscaldata’ or ‘zuppa riscaldata’ (reheated soup) instead of ‘cavoli riscaldati’.
Essentially, the idea is that nothing will ever taste as good when reheated. How many of you have thought about reaching out to your exes during lockdown? Snap. But now all I can think about is how I deserve much more than just reheated cabbage. Maybe some Waitrose kale or pretty pink lettuce from Harrods instead.
For those early mornings and late nights
Arguably, we’re probably saving a lot more money by not buying as much coffee during lockdown – but that doesn’t mean to say we’re drinking any less.
- Tretår
‘Tretår’ comes from Swedish, literally meaning a ‘threefill’ – a second refill of a cup of coffee. Hardly surprising the Swedes have a word for this – according to the Telegraph, they were the sixth biggest coffee drinkers in the world in 2017.
Language Insight says ‘tretår’ is likely to be used on a Monday morning to help kick off the working week.
Despite no longer needing to get up at 6am and commute for two hours, my caffeine intake has sky-rocketed during lockdown. I’ve upped my daily dosage from one to two and sometimes three cups to get me through the day.
This is down to a mixture of boredom, comfort (everything just feels cosier when you’re clutching a hot brew, doesn’t it?) and also because it’s from my own stash and therefore free. Knowing how much I must have saved by not forking out on overpriced lattes on Tottenham Court Road makes my Nescafe taste just that little bit better.
- Nedoperepil (недоперепил)
‘Nedoperepil’ is a past tense verb used by the Russians “to say that someone has drunk more than they should have, but still less than they could have (or wanted to)”, according to Lingua Lift.
Searching for further clarity, I also consulted Wiktionary: “to have too much to drink, but to be unsatisfied and want to drink more; to be drunk, but not blacked out (literally, ‘to underoverdrink’)”.
If you’re out in a bar and the barista refuses to serve you, you can say:
“Но я же недоперепил!”
“But I haven’t yet drunk as much as I can!”
Seems like the perfect balance, right? Merrily sozzled but not sozzled enough to pass out and not remember anything – plus, it doesn’t always result in a hangover. ‘Underoverdrinking’ could very well become the nation’s new pastime.
The fact Russia has a word for this is mind-blowing – and to be honest, not totally surprising.
Sort of a love letter but not really
To myself,
I do not give you permission to message him.
No matter how twinkly Thursday night’s sky is or how uplifting Friday’s morning is, you’re not to reach out. You’re not to slide into his DMs with a flirty quip about how your peach is the same size and does he still live in Notting Hill or has he gone home home.
Are his family fine? You don’t care. Is he working? You don’t care. Has he cut his hair recently? YOU DON’T CARE. (Except if he has cut his hair, that makes him a tenth less attractive so let’s just imagine he has cut his hair and it went horribly wrong and he now looks like Phil Mitchell.)
When loneliness curses your name, yanks your hair, spits in your face, you still don’t have permission to reach for your phone. Oh but we had something special – oh but you didn’t. You had rough and tumble, frothy, hazy delights last summer where you travelled two hours to see him.
The current situation – you know, the one where you’re sat at home, wondering about boyfriends and getaways and how much you’d need to earn to afford one of those studio flats with the spiral staircase leading up to the bed – does not permit you to punch yourself in the face romantically. It doesn’t mean you need to start treading water after starting to swim again. It doesn’t mean you need to mow the lawn of introspection, not when things are just starting to grow.
Starve yourself of flirtation, make do without a flurry of grade A bullshit “if this is still a thing in March we should go on a bike ride in the countryside” messages and learn to live and love yourself and not the dreamboat, duvet-lipped figure of irrelevance.
Texting games
Sitting opposite a delicious meal
Spaghetti lips, wet and enticing
The fragrant fumes of a day’s speech ricocheting off your gums and then into the air
Catching at my nostrils
A bottle off the bat
A full one to kickstart the evening
An alien concept, a boy buying a bottle
And not quibbling over price or harping on about halfsies
We sucked it up like thirsty daisies
Mowing the lawn of first date etiquette and conversation
After our tongues played we said goodbye
Then comes the part that leaves me scrambled
A banquet of texts that just doesn’t arrive
The what ifs and waiting
Checking my phone, fully in the throes of dating
Perky alcohol sodden lips visit my dreams
But the phone doesn’t beep or buzz or chime or whine
I’ll text him today if he hasn’t texted first.