Bentleys, bling and Cristal…#047

When you know you don’t belong

What are you doing when you feel most at ease?

I pondered this question as I sat to write last week on a chilly, January morning. A hilarious holiday moment, a time when I felt the opposite of ‘at ease’, sprang to mind.

Picture the scene.

I was holidaying on Mykonos, the glamourous Greek Island favoured by Jackie Onassis and the 70s Jet Set. An island still favoured by party seekers. These days affluent Europeans, Russians and Gay men.

My partner and I had been recommended to go to a particular Beach Club. I’d never been to a Beach Club so knew not what to expect.

Clad in my normal beach attire – frayed cut off 501s, vest, Birkenstocks, Raybans - with water bottle, swimming goggles, Sapiens and Factor 50 in my cotton ‘Stay Weird’ tote, we were good to go.

We hired the cheapest, cronkiest, un-airconditioned Fiat available. Afterall, we only wanted to drive to the beach. Off we set.

Five or so miles from Mykonos Town we started the steep decline to our destination.

Growing unesase

My sense of unease stirred as I clocked the Bentleys and Range Rovers ahead being parked in an underground carpark. The hassled valet looked less than impressed as I handed over the keys to the Fiat. I flashed my best “this is what the cool folk are driving smile” and walked off.

Off towards the Beach Club.

My disquiet increased as we approached the reception desk (wo)manned by a beautiful, bejewelled, flawless, goddess.

She barely registered our existence as I mustered my best Google Translate Greek to ask “Can we have two sunbeds please”.

Time hung as she nonchalantly scanned her booking register whilst I gazed into the sacred space that was the Beach Club. No sea or sand in sight.

My apprehension ratcheted up as I registered the scene. The ice buckets chilling Cristal dividing the closely packed sun beds. The beds and bars adorned with perfectly tanned and waxed bodies. The bodies clad in designer beachwear, casually accessorised with gold, Cartier and diamonds. The vibe completed by the pulsating Ibiza-esque mood music.

All I wanted to do was run.

The great escape

It was both the extravagant price of admission (you can take the girl out of Birmingham…) and the hostess’s cold decline of our entry which provided the perfect excuse to pivot on our Berko’d heels and hot foot it back to the carpark.

Clearly the valet could foresee the future and, quelle surprise, the Fiat reappeared in no time. We jumped in. The 20% incline the final challenge blocking our escape.

We crawled 50 metres or so up the hill when the car juddered to a halt. A shiny, new, black Lamborghini filled my rear view mirror. Yanking on the handbrake I started to regret our frugal car choice. Sweating, I channelled my inner-rally-driver-brother, revved the car until it screamed, smashed it into first gear, released the brake and we spluttered off.

What are you doing when you feel most at ease?

I chose this story to remind you of a hot summer’s day and to relish in one of my joys of getting older; recognising the superficial luxury I no longer seek, want or need, if I ever really did.

Perhaps a convoluted way to answer my question ‘What are you doing when you feel most at ease?’ Sometimes it seems I have to go ‘there’ to realise, or remind myself, what’s not for me.

My easeful place is definitely the beach, the sea and the sun. And I do enjoy ‘nice’ things…just not like that.

Over to you

How about you, how would you answer this question? Where are you, who are you with, what are you doing? And how are you prioritising doing it more? You’re never going to be any younger than you are today, so what are you waiting for?

Brew yourself a cuppa, and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you. Let’s beat any January blues together.

Until next week my friend,

Ruth x

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