Paging the ponceyness police
The campfire is the new dinner party.
I'm not persuaded that having people round and sitting them on comfortable chairs at a nicely-laid table and serving up delicious food is ever going to grow old, or that all the occasions upon which this happens conform to some toxic stereotype fostered by a reality TV programme.
This may be an age thing, because I have no ambitions to be The Crone of the Tribe squatting on damp grass with a faceful of smoke waiting for the Alfa Maylz to finish barbecuing the sausages and hoping the rain will hold off.
(Higher Codswallop Alert):
Because it belongs to no one, the campfire belongs to everyone. Each of us takes our turn to stoke it, kick some life into it, or, when it smokes noxiously in choking gusts that seem to follow us everywhere, snatch up a tray and fan it until the fire erupts from its every pore. There is no need to take guests on a tour of the campfire, nor is it beholden on them to praise your choice of fire, or inquire after the number of the man who set it for you.
....
Around the fire, there is greater possibility, and risk. From out of the gloom, strangers emerge and take their seats, whereas the dinner party is fixed, the seating planned. "[The] campfire's . . . a hard place to be," said Temple. "You have to be strong enough to get out of it, and lose your worldly bullshit."
Is that booming noise Surburban Bloke beating his chest?
I see that this piece is by the guy who wrote that book on camping, review of which I linked to recently: this is more and more disinclining me to read the thing.
Of course, I have no particularly cherished memories pertaining to the Guide camps I attended in my youth.
***
This is possibly a considerable stretch on from ponceyness:
Jewellery designer Kali Arulpragasam - the sister of singer MIA - has brought out a collection of necklaces and rings that look like bullet wounds and scars to highlight inhumanity around the world.
Arulpragasam has had the whole collection - called Murder - modelled by men, women and a small boy, made up to look like torture victims: bruised faces, gashed chests, a rivulet of blood running down the boy's forehead. "Violence and beauty," Arulpragasam says, "have been thoughtfully crafted in incredible detail . . . to resemble bullet wounds, cuts, machine-gun fire to the body, slashes, butchering and hacking of the throat, head and ears to portray the inhumanity around the world."
Plz can haz sikbag.
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