On Beauty

I have reached the stars today.

It is 2 am. I have not blogged in a few days, because I have been so incredibly busy working and sorting out the next Champagnista party, which is arriving at full pace now, but today I am confident it is done. The venue, the sponsors, the music, the photographer, some canapes. I think everything is there, finally. And as for the people, I know you people will turn up, and it is going to be a gorgeous night.

So today, as much as I thought I should get online when I woke up, I decided to take a step back and allow myself a little bit if introspectivity (sorry if I am coming up with weird neologisms, not being English I feel like I'm allowed to take a break from English rules and give way to some raw creativity sometimes).

I guess it might have to do with some kind of poetic vibe... in the air... in the dark jet black of this clear London night sparkled with scattered stars. I have slept 'that' much since last monday, and it is not that much. And yesterday I had promised myself a quiet night, and then somehow... Well somehow I got back home at 4:30am after a very unexpected night. Magic is better unspoken so I don't want to say more for fear of dissipating it.

At any point, instead of starting to type on my keyboard like a maniac this morning I decided to reset and to take a step back from the hectic capital lifestyle. It was my birthday 2 weeks ago, and since people close to me know me, they gave me things and others that would oblige me to pace myself. So I first headed to the Beauty Lounge in Carnaby where I spent an hour getting my nails done in metallic black varnish, surrounded by slow jazzy music and black and white photos from the sixties. Then I went to King's road to get my first ever massage in Aveda.

I don't know if you remember my telling you that I never even considered going to a spa. I cannot get around to the idea of spending a whole day doing nothing: it feels too stressful. Well this time, I took all my clothes off and got under the clean warm sheets of the salon massage bed, and shivered when the masseuse declared we would be done in an hour, but I stayed. Although to be honest after ten minutes in the waiting room, however good this months issue of In Style is, I seriously considered sneaking out before having to release my guard to the masseuse. I am quite happy I didn't. It was cozy and warm, and quiet and peaceful in the room, with music so low that you could just about say that something was being played. And in the beginning I was not too comfortable - as you can imagine I have never been that physical with girls - and when she asked me if I wanted the soft of hard option, I went for the rough one because I thought it was the only way I could survive this non-doing experience: at least I would feel myself live.

The beginning of the session was rough, scarily so. I don't know what knots are exactly, but as she put pression on the diverse muscles in my back, I felt like her hands met and moved around hard bumps that disappeared with a cracking noise and acute pain... Acrid first 10 minutes. Then my mind started going blank in the smoothest possible way, and I fell in a sort of limbo state, thinking of nothing, feeling the movements of my muscles rubbed against steady palms releasing something like negativity out of my body. I felt like a tiny fairy weavel was walking about my body, casting some weird numb softly spell everywhere, and before I knew it I fell asleep.

I remember that at some point the girl went out and asked if I wanted a glass of water, and I mumbled something half awake in answer.

I had not felt that blessfully mindless in some time. Then of course, when a man came back in and turned the light on, waking me up in a start saying: the massage finished 20 minutes ago, we are closing, I did feel a bit embarrassed. But somehow not enough to get tense. Somehow I just feel like I have taken a step back out of reality today.

Maybe ending up in the Bavarian Beer House for a birthday party with girls dressed like they had just come out of a Tyrolian Heidi fairy tale didn't help getting back in touch with the Londonese world.

Champagnista V