Mate, if you’d told me a mere six months ago that I’d be cavorting about in a murky, muddy river, joyously splashing about and (literally) being a hand-holding hippi, I’d have told you you were out of your tree.
Absolutely crackers. Off your head. Ludicrous! A dirty river you say? Where I can’t see the bottom? Where eels may be squandering? Which has an initially nippy nature on first dunking, when I avoid cold at all costs? And dancing around in pretty much a-ring-around-a-rosy with an mid-50s Salt Lake City rocker on one side, and an Indian cherub man who can’t swim and is clasping my hand for dear life on the other? Preposterous. Farcical. Nonsensical!
But that scene. That one right there, painted out above, just took place.
Have I gone barmy? Bonkers? Dotty? Dim? Hare brained? Half baked? Unhinged?
I think it’s the first time in forever that I actually let go. Fuck what people thought. Fuck what I even thought.
I held the hands in that little circle of five with whole heartedness. I “om”ed with pure passion and sung out with complete carefree-ness.
I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.