Sometimes life feels a little like the fairy tale Cinderella, in that you try and try and try to force a shoe on your foot and it simply doesn’t fit. The shoe can be a course, a job, a relationship or a prism through which the world is perceived. It can be years before you realise that the issue isn’t a deficit in effort or design but the wrong shoe. This is a difficult lesson for the determined and the loyal and for lovers of rare and wonderful shoes, but even the rarest and most wonderful shoe is pointless if it doesn’t fit. And life has a wonderful habit of bringing reality to the table … eventually. Which is why I am currently obsessed by this song by Paolo Nutini.
I am beside myself with excitement at the prospect of speaking at the Pitch Festival this Saturday (11:30am on the Firepit stage). More information here and here. The whole weekend is crammed with wonder, at and after the festival. If there was ever a time to step into the future, this is it x
I will be speaking about the romance of intimacy and attachment at one of England’s coolest and fastest-growing family-friendly music festivals, Pitch. Three days, 30 bands, 10 DJs, workshops, happenings, camping, solar showers, water, parking and kids under 16 free!
September 27 2018 – mark it in your diary! If you’re in London, hop on a coach (madly inexpensive) or grab a cheap train ticket for a day on the beach. I’m on with a number of fabulously funny and intriguing other authors – and a band, Shedness – so you are guaranteed an eclectic and madly stimulating evening. Oh, and I’ll be signing books. Antonella x
“Weiss quotes the distraught partner of a sex addict: ‘I realize now that many of the things he liked and requested when we made love were re-creations of images he had viewed online. He is no longer able to be intimate. He objectifies me, other women, and girls on the street. When we go out, it’s like his head is on a swivel, staring at every woman who goes by. When we’re together in bed, he fantasises about the women he’s seen online and imagines that he’s having sex with one of them. I know he does; I can feel it.'”
“And yet it is in this glamour or promise that Pinney locates the mirage’s transhistorical appeal: ‘A delusive persuasiveness that even men of science could not deny.’ This willingness to be duped by a beautiful delusion has its roots in that which Joseph Addison called ‘the pleasures of the imagination’. In the First World, the closest most of us come to a mirage is through unwise love, the illusion of union where there is nothing other than the refraction of hope.”
“’He’d been masturbating,’ she says, her throat thickening with disgust. ‘At first, I didn’t quite know what it was – I kind of did, but wasn’t sure. And I gasped, shocked. I cried, ‘Gross! You’re gross! That’s disgusting!’ And he said, ‘Kiss me!’ He just kept coming for me. I left. It was only a short walk to the model’s apartment. I remember going home and saying, ‘He just put something on my face!’ One of the older girls – and by ‘older’, I mean 17 or 18 – we were all living together in a bunk room – said, ‘That’s his sperm.’”