IT IS Monday morning. I'm late for my train and feeling blue. If I'm honest a little pink too and definitely a lot yellow.
I have spent the weekend being cleansed by colour and become a walking, talking beautiful rainbow!
Now before you start thinking I've lost my marbles down the B&Q paint aisle, let me explain.
A funky friend of mine suggested we book tickets for a Holi festival. Essentially it's a Western spin on an Indian celebration symbolising the start of spring.
Probably not meant to be held at the start of August, but hey, I was told it would involve plenty of music, dancing and smiling so who am I to nitpick? It sounded right up my street. But this is no ordinary festival.
Firstly wearing all white is a must (not my most flattering colour) followed by allowing friendly folk all around to throw coloured powder all over you.
All right, I know I'm not usually into being splattered head to toe but figure it has to be more fun than a toddler doing it to me with her breakfast just before work.
I'm all for hijacking any sort of celebratory activity that means a bit of organised mess. If it has the added bonus of possibly cleansing my wicked soul, it can't hurt surely?
So after spending the day and most of the evening drinking cider, dancing like a loon and throwing paint all over my best buddies, we are all coloured out (in?) and decide to head home on the train. We get a few odd looks from fellow travellers but enjoy the liberating feeling of being covered head to toe in shades of neon.
Liberation relished, by the time I get indoors I'm more than ready to kiss the paint streaks goodbye and resume my usual off orange tone.
Two showers and an hour later, I discover this might be easier said than done. The Man can't help himself from cracking rubbish jokes at my expense almost wetting himself on making the original comment that I resemble a Smurf.
Ha very ha.
His humour quickly wears thin as I realise I may be feeling blue for a while.
Amused as much as I would be putting a nail through my foot, I choose to ignore his sniggers and take to my bed hoping and praying the morning will bring clean skin.
Next day the children get in on the Smurf name-calling and my skin ignores my prayers to return to a neutral shade…I begin to wonder if my body will ever recover.
Monday arrives and there are still suspicious patches on my face, arms and hands. I give up the scrub and decide to embrace my new vibrant image. Other commuters are not so sure and give the rainbow lady a wide berth, obviously fearful I have some multicoloured virus.
Oh well, could be worse I giggle. Every cloud and all that.
Never let it be said I don't live a colourful life!
