Let me dance, let me have shorts that aren’t gigantic and will everything please stop breaking down, says Laura Craik
By now, you’ve probably been in someone’s garden, or picnicked in the park. And it was lovely, a fact that was repeatedly remarked upon. ‘This is so lovely,’ you said. ‘Isn’t this lovely,’ Friend Two agreed. ‘It really, really is lovely,’ Friend Three would echo, as Friend Four topped herself up with more prosecco. After enquiring after each other’s jobs, kids and holiday plans, the conversation fell away, only to be sparked again by another positive affirmation of how lovely this was.
A few more proseccos down the line, Friend Six decides to articulate what everyone else has been thinking. ‘I think I might have forgotten how to speak to people,’ she wails. ‘I’ve got no job, no life and literally nothing left to say about Schitt’s Creek or Call My Agent!.’ Friend Five reaches to hug her, then remembers hugging is still banned. ‘The thing is,’ she says, gesturing wildly at the garden. ‘This is. All. Really lovely. It’s just…’
‘It’s just not being off your tits in a club dancing to “Born Slippy”,’ you finish.
If I don’t dance soon, I will cry. Throwing shapes around the living room to a Haçienda live stream isn’t the same. I don’t want to see my own furniture. I want to see people: shoals of people, hot and happy and slippery-wet.
“If I don’t dance soon, I will cry. Throwing shapes around the living room to a HaÇienda live stream isn’t the same”
So much has divided us for so long that we need music to unite. Dance floors don’t see gender, colour or difference. They don’t care if you dance like Britney or Barry Gibb. They won’t judge if you haven’t brought your conversational A-game. Talking isn’t the point. Sometimes, you have to lose yourself to find yourself.
It’s a cliché to say that everyone is equal on the dance floor, yet with this in mind, I hope that when what’s left of London’s decimated club scene finally opens again, that most elitist of elements — the guest list — is paused. If we all pay admission, the DJs, performers and sound engineers who have struggled for so long will get back on their feet again so much faster. Now that really would be lovely.
Dear Fashion Brands,
Please can one of you create a pair of denim shorts that aren’t ‘high waisted’, ‘high rise’ or ‘mom style’? Not everyone wants to spend summer with their bloated post-pandemic stomachs crushed by a carapace of unyielding denim.
Life is tough enough. High-waisted jeans are a look, but high-waisted shorts are an oxymoron, like a polo-neck bikini. Seeing as the 2000s are enjoying a revival, would it be so bad to design a pair of low-rise shorts? Yours sincerely, A Weeble-Shaped Person.
As if by tacit agreement, everything in the house has decided to break, leak or malfunction at once. This makes me want to run away, but since travel is still banned, I have to face the music. Or rather: write, conduct and play the music, for in the symphony of life, I am the orchestra.
Most pressing is the leaking bath taps, which have flooded the bathroom and stained the living room ceiling. I googled their replacement: £1,280. I put on my glasses. Still £1,280. Who was that person who once paid £1,280 for taps? The good thing about swanky bathroom kit is that the people who make it actually pick up the phone. Thus Julian from Lefroy Brooks is sending me a free replacement washer. Does anyone know where the stopcock is?
Twelve weeks after shutting down all its social channels, Bottega Veneta has revealed its out-there new platform, and we’re here for it.
Leave the parks as you found them, you savages.