Thereâ€™s something strange about being the only person in a block of apartments after spending two weeks in the constant company of at least 200 people. Especially when those 200 people are almost always in constant physical contact with each other.
The second camp â€“ Camp Savoy â€“ is over, and Iâ€™m taking an extra night in the student housing to recover before I fly out of Heathrow tomorrow night. The weather has been utterly wonderful: very warm, very sunny. This could be a university campus anywhere in Australia. Though the food marks it as singularly British. Otherwise, there are very few English accents about â€“ this being a university campus and all â€“ and Iâ€™m really quite enjoying doodling about on my own.
Could do with a bit of company, but still
how could I complain about such a long, glorious evening with such wonderful warmth and cooling breeze? And after all this sitting about on the hilly lawn under the student accommodation, reading The Guardian (which Iâ€™ve missed) and beginning to think again, Iâ€™ve a lovely clean, dry bed with sheets and no early morning missions ahead of me.
The last two weeks have been incredibly intense. Herrang was the perfect exercise in indoctrination: intensely, physically demanding days with round the clock dancing, where doing a beginners class in aerials at 12midnight (midday Herrang time) seemed perfectly logical and plain black tea was a precious commodity to be traded illicitly and only between friends. I have surely joined a cult, and am in dire need of deprogramming.
Living with constant physical exhaustion, sleep deficiency and irregular meals have taken their toll and my health has once again dropped. The Herrang bug has been hanging about in my sinuses since late last week, and pushed me into naps every afternoon. Expensive classes with world-class lindy hop egos be-damned. Thereâ€™s rest and recuperation to be done. My lungs are beginning to fill and the Horrid Cough has returned. I predict much wailing and gnashing of teeth when the plane takes off.
Flying with feet as sore and mangled and swollen as mine were last week resulted in a pain so spectacular I would have bawled like a baby if Iâ€™d not been so tired I fell immediately into a sleep that defied even take off. While the effects of constant dancing havenâ€™t quite worn off â€“ there are some disturbingly numb spots on my toes and recurring bouts of pins and needles â€“ Iâ€™m hoping these couple of days of rest will make flying a bit more comfortable. Iâ€™ve regained some higher brain function and have managed to stay awake all day, though Iâ€™ll probably find myself all awake and twitchy at about 1am, looking for some dance floor action. But for now, itâ€™s 8:34pm and Iâ€™ve not napped today. I must be getting better. Thereâ€™s also been no dancing, and Iâ€™m not sure Iâ€™m ready for that. Over two weeks of dancing every day for at least eight hours is kind of addictive. Iâ€™m in endorphin withdrawal, Iâ€™m sure. How will I cope with Melbourneâ€™s dark and horrible winter?
Pft. Itâ€™s such a lovely, warm evening, itâ€™s hard to imagine Melbourneâ€™s crap weather. For now, while Iâ€™ve borrowed from Lionel Hampton, I think Miles Davis is the only possible musical alternative for this evening.