DAY FORTY: The E.N.D.

Day 40: The final day. Although I considered a number of outrageous and challenging tasks for my final adLenture, the most notable and meaningful thing I would do on Easter Sunday was obvious: complete my 40 Day Challenge. Back when my blog began, Day 1 signified the first time I had taken something like this on. In the same way, Day 40 is the only time I have actually completed a Lent activity. As I told you once before, I have tried and failed many times to keep my promises during the period. This year was different. Lent is now over, and I have done one new thing every day for 40 days. So that’s my new experience: finally complete my experiment4lent.

The past month and a half have been a mad, demanding and fulfilling time. One early positive effect of my adLenture was that I quickly realised how exciting my life has been to date. So many challenges I thought up or had suggested were deemed “not blog-worthy” because I’d done them before. Horse riding? Been there. Rock climbing? Done that. Hitchhike? Got the designer t-shirt. Even some of the more extreme suggestions – such as sleeping rough for the night and removing all body hair – were “off-limits” for not being completely new. So finding 40 new experiences was a challenge in itself...

What I did eventually come up with has led me on some weird and wonderful paths. From the culinary (I still can’t go into a Macdonalds and the thought of chicken feet will always make me retch), to the spiritual and the athletic, my experiences have been fantastically bizarre. Although some were less daring than other – remember walking to work, anyone? – certain days really tested my mettle. The gospel church, Silat martial arts and the Fish Pedicure in particular spring to mind. Not to mention getting my kit of in front of a dozen artists, numerous city workers and hundreds of Hungarian men. My physical appearance itself has actually transformed: though the tan has faded and my hair has grown, my teeth are still dazzling. Until the red wine takes its toll again, my smile at least will continue to remind me of the past 40 Days.

All that’s left now is to thank all of you. It’s been real, guys. Thank you firstly for reading; although I got a lot out of this whole experience, the real point was to write it down and potentially provide a bit of online entertainment for anyone interested. I hope I’ve raised a smile and perhaps even given you a bit of impetus to get experimenting for yourselves! I must also thank many of you for the kind feedback. Starting a blog was a bit daunting, so it’s been really encouraging to have my efforts complimented. Aww you guys!

Sentimental bit done, it’s now time for a promise: this isn’t goodbye, it’s see you soon. I’ll be back (in some way, shape or form) with more experiments and adventures to report. No concrete plans yet, but watch this space. In other words, keep following. Hit me up on twitter to keep on top of this. You know where to find me: https://twitter.com/#!/RichWatkins89. See you soon guys!

Day 40: Experiment4Lent. 100% DONE!

Peace & Love,

Rich xx

DAY THIRTY-NINE: ... Mountain High!

For the second (and clearly final) time during my 40 Day Challenge, I was to take to the skies and discover a part of the world I had not yet visited. While my earlier adLenture took me to the distant lands of Budapest, Day 39 saw me go to Verbier, one of Switzerland’s most celebrated ski resorts. Cue the snow, cheese and chocolate: it’s time for an Easter weekend ski break!

Switzerland itself isn’t exactly uncharted lands for me. Thanks to my Swiss roots, I have a lot of extended family in the area, and have therefore often visited the country. Verbier, however, is a resort I’d never been to, but had heard much about. Famous for its treacherous off-piste skiing (awesome) and banging après-ski scene (awesomer), Verbier is mountain town to see and be seen. It also happens to be the resort where my brother worked as a chalet boy three years ago, before falling down a mountain, being flown by helicopter to hospital and spending the next four months in a wheelchair. The town therefore has a bit of personal importance and seeing it for the first time was going to be an interesting experience.

Soon after arriving in Verbier – and after our chalet/skis/lift passes/empty stomachs had all been sorted out – we hit the slopes. Although I would class myself as a pretty competent skier (living in France for a year will achieve that), it had been two years since I was last on the pistes, and I always need a bit of time to acclimatise. Not today, though. Accompanied by Ben, an ex-competitive skier (enough said...), my first run saw me combat a gruelling mogul field. For any non-skiers, moguls are basically big bumps on the slope which can be hugely difficult to manoeuvre around. Half out of politeness half out of fear, I allowed Ben to take me down the treacherous piste. As is generally the way, if you don’t think too much about where you’re skiing, it becomes a lot easier. I pushed myself off, hurtled down the steep hill and made it down in one piece. Success!

King of Slalom

Later in the day, I tackled a genuine slalom course. This was a completely new challenge for me, and therefore added to the experieLent. Slalom is a form of competitive race skiing whereby you traverse quickly around poles while zooming down the slope. Again following Ben’s example I whipped down the slalom course, passing one pole after another. Not only did I not fall head-first down the mountain, but I actually competed the race course. Not in record timing (not even close...), but at least I didn’t look like a complete idiot. Eat my snow, suckers.

Before the end of my first day of skiing in Verbier, there was one final hurdle to overcome, this one being more mental than physical. While on the lift back down into town, my brother showed me where his near-fatal accident took place. Because most of the snow had melted in the spring sunshine, the area where he fell was now basically a sheer rock face. It was hard to imagine my brother actually skiing down this precipice, but easy to comprehend how he ended up with two broken heels, broken ribs, a broken sternum and a fractured back. Seeing where this life-changing event took place was a harrowing and slightly frightening experience, not least because I was now there on skis, putting myself in potentially dangerous situations (though obviously not the same ones). But then again, my brother was there too. If there’s one thing I can take from him being back on the slopes it’s that, as Noah and their Whale would say, life goes on. And, rightly or wrongly, there’s very little you can do about that...

 Day 39: Visit Verbier, face my demons and ski like a pro. BIEN FAIT!

Peace & Love,

Rich xx

DAY THIRTY-EIGHT: River Deep...

Due to a preplanned trip which will cause me to leave the UK before the end of my 40 Day Challenge, it was time for my final London-based adLenture. I decided to go out with a bang, and find something which would take me right out of my comfort zone and really challenge me. Following an elaborate joke, which developed into a serious conversation, which in turn then became a bet I couldn't back out of, my challenge was decided. Day 38 would see me abandon my pride and sanity as I went for a swim in the River Thames.

Before you ask, the crazed protester at the Oxford-Cambridge boat race was not me - though he only went and stole my thunder, the scoundrel! Despite the controversy and publicity that his swim garnered, however, I maintain that mine was far more of a challenge. Let me explain why. Rather than diving into the suburban outskirts of the Thames like the Australian activist did, I chose to swim right in the dirty centre of London. My location of choice: right under London Bridge, in the most famous – and perhaps most polluted – part of the Thames. Uh oh...

A few years ago, a wise but perhaps untrustworthy London tour guide once told me that the Thames was the cleanest city river in Europe. It’s dank, dirty colour simply comes from the wild currents which make swimming a highly dangerous activity. Followers of an alternative school of thought obviously insist that the waters are full of crap and contamination and can easily cause Weil’s disease (I won’t go into details on that one). Either way, this swim could prove highly perilous, but was a risk I was willing to take.

Ready...

Therefore, during my lunch break on Day 38, I descended down to the water. Having sneakily put on my sexy Speedos while at work, all I had to do was strip down and jump in. Easier said than done. Both the biting winds and curious onlookers suddenly made me hesitate; was I sure I wanted to go through with this?! Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately), my colleague Joel had come for the spectacle and wouldn’t let me return to work without getting wet first. And so, without further consideration, I quickly stripped and was ready to get into the water. Needless to say, a crowd had now gathered. The pressure was on.

...Steady...

I hastily ran down the steps into the water, thankfully shielded from the cold wind by London Bridge itself. This slight comfort didn’t last long, as the river itself was absolutely freezing. With a mixture of expletives and general cries of anguish, I entered the water: one foot at a time, nice and slowly. As all best laid plans of mice and men eventually go to pot, so my idea of a gradual descent into the Thames quickly got ruined. Remember the strong current I mentioned earlier? This caused actual waves to crash over the steps I was on, meaning that before I knew it I was drenched by huge splashes of ice-cold water. My expletives and general cries of anguish grew louder and louder. The crowds of city workers were loving it.

...Swim!!

And finally I was in. Adrenaline was basically flooding my bloodstream. WHAT a rush! Of course my breathlessness could have been down to my freezing limbs, but I like to think it was equally due to the pure excitement of the situation. I splashed around for a minute or two, before suddenly the currents dragged off both my flip-flops (I was definitely not going in there barefoot). I struggled to get my shoes back – first one, then the other – and finally decided that enough was enough.

I scarpered back onto dry land, where Joel was patiently waiting with a towel and warm clothes which I hungrily took. The crowds of onlookers still seemed entirely perplexed, and one particularly shocked young lady even cried out “are you bloody crazy?!” to which I casually reply “yes, yes I am”. In retrospect, perhaps I am slightly mad for voluntarily swimming in the Thames (in fact, this whole adLenture has made me frequently doubt my sanity). Regardless of this, my nautical challenge was absolutely hilarious and will provide a good story to tell for a long, long time.

Day 38: Take the plunge in the Thames. CHECK!

Peace & Love, 

Rich xx

EDIT: I have since found out that swimming in the Thames in Central London may actually be illegal. If that’s the case, ignore all of the above. It never happened. That’s my cue to leave the country...

DAY THIRTY-SEVEN: The Tweetest Thing

Staying connected in this modern world is of paramount importance, a fact which I have embraced as much as anyone. I use Facebook like oxygen and am generally more easily contacted by email than phone. Especially these days, with my 40 Day Challenge entering its final lap, I am pretty much always online. It is therefore slightly odd that I have not yet joined the masses in embracing the latest technological craze: Twitter. Those who know me are invariably shocked and confused when they learn that I’m not a Tweeter, and have tried to convince me to join their ranks on numerous occasions. Their efforts have always been in vain. Until now. Day 37 would see me take the plunge and join the realms of the Twitterverse.

Here goes...!

Creating my account was surprisingly easy. Having put this event off for at least a year or two, I had built it up in my head dramatically and expected it to be some kind of impossible feat. Email address and name entered, and suddenly there I was: a member of Twitter. Finding my username was slightly more difficult, which I guess is the price I pay for waiting so long. RichWatkins, RWatkins, R_Watkins, RichieWat were all unavailable. I never knew my name was so generic. Fortunately, I discovered that RichWatkins89 was as yet unused, so I settled for that. One step closer.

After picking my photo (a straight-forward choice: a flattering recent snap featuring my tan and whitened teeth), the rules of Twitter obliged me to “follow” some other profiles straight away. I had barely activated my account and was suddenly being flung into cyber-society at full speed. My first “followee” was easy. Despite only just joining the site, I already knew the so-called Queen of Twitter. Ms Gaga, I have now joined the ranks of your millions upon millions of followers. #yourewelcome

I then had to pick a few more profiles to follow, which included a number of friends, a handful of publications and numerous celebrities. My selection of Jessie J, Glee and Rihanna definitely says something about me, though I’m sure that as I develop my Twitdentity, my list of following (and indeed followers) will grow and hopefully become increasingly diverse. In fact, this is something I’ve decided I’ll have to accept about Twitter. My relationship with the social networking site is going to be a learning curve and each day will bring something new. Definitely a case of crawling before you can walk.

One Tweet and Counting

Before logging off Twitter for the first time, I had the essential task of composing a tweet (which is, after all, the point of the website). The pressure was on. It’s widely known that tweets say a lot about you, and writing something stupid can cause huge embarrassment. The first tweet is even more important – as Cheryl Cole will well remember. Therefore I needed to think long and hard about how to announce losing my Twitter virginity. After much contemplation, I posted my first ever tweet. No going back now! To see what I decided upon, check me out on Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/RichWatkins89. And, hey, while you’re there, why not give me a follow? Go on, you know you want to...

Day 37: Twitter-Time. #DONE!

Peace & Love,

Rich xx

DAY THIRTY-SIX: London Calling

Back when my adLenture was first created and I was still thinking up new and exciting challenges to tackle, I made a promise to myself. As well as finding bizarre and unique things to do, I would use this opportunity to make the most of living in arguably (in fact definitely) the greatest city in the world: London. Despite having been in the capital for five years now, there are still an infinite amount of London-based activities I could – and should – have done, but haven’t. By getting stuck in a routine, one misses out on exciting opportunities which wouldn’t exist anywhere else in the world. Day 36 would see me live a day in the Capital’s East End, and therefore remedy my naughty London negligence. Better late than never, eh?

To facilitate my Eastern venture, I called upon the services of Hannah, a good friend of mine and a resident of trendy Hackney. I was certain that, under her watchful eye, I would get a first-rate insider’s initiation to the area. I couldn’t have been more right. 

Flower Power

After cycling across London to meet Hannah (no public transport for me, the East End is too cool for that), we made our way to London’s famous Columbia Road Market. Columbia Road, despite being your average street during the week, comes into its own at the weekend as the city’s biggest and best Flower Market. Bursting at the seams with market stalls and crowds of customers, the market offers both a staggering array of produce and an incredible atmosphere. With unexpectedly good weather, it was the perfect time to first see Columbia Road’s offerings, which truly are breathtaking both in quantity and quality. 

The Likely Lads of the East End

With everything from traditional flowers (roses, tulips and lilies were in plentiful supply) to more obscure produce, such as palm trees and bizarre feather-like creepers, the market had it all. There were stalls selling seeds and promoting grow-your-own vegetables, and many types of flower with brilliantly kitsch names. The “Rain Daisy” was a personal highlight. Adding to the atmosphere were the flower sellers themselves. Bellowing out prices in typically Cockney style, there were deals everywhere you looked, with almost everything “going cheap” for a fiver. These flower-sellers also provided brilliant comic material to keep the crowds smiling. My favourite? “This plant won’t grow taller, will only grow wider. Just like my Missus”. Comedy gold. 

Play that funk music,
French girl!

After soaking in all that Columbia Road Market had to offer, Hannah and I wandered down a side road to get some food. We picked out some fresh olives and nibbled away, while listening to a local street performer sing along to her accordion. It turned out that this musician was a friend of Hannah’s: Garance, a quirky but talented French girl. I told you Hannah was cool! We then ventured a bit further from Columbia Road, heading down Broadway Market until we reached London Fields. At last, I was where all the cool kids hang (I’ve only been trying for 22 years...) Hannah and I chilled on the grass and observed some of East London trendiest scenesters. It had taken two weeks, but my haircut was finally coming into its own. 

To finish my big day out, I visited Hackney City Farm. That’s right: a full-on farm right in the centre of London. It was incredible. I became like an excitable child when I saw the wide selection of animals: chickens, sheep, pigs, donkeys, ducks, rabbits and goats – to name but a few. The last time I’d seen so much wildlife in an urban environment was in a disappointingly average film about Madagascar. This was so much cooler. Definitely visit Hackney City Farm; it’s like London Zoo but without the tourists and free of charge, and was therefore the perfect way to round up my trendy East London day. As I cycled home I was proud to have discovered a new area of London, and felt about a million times cooler than I did before.

Day 35: Take a ride on a Hackney Carriage.  LIKE, TOTALLY!

Peace & Love,

Rich xx

DAY THIRTY-FIVE: D.A.N.C.E.

I can proudly say that my friends are some of the most talented and gifted people I know (and that’s including yours truly). Life can be pretty interesting when your nearest and dearest are the Bright Young Things of tomorrow, including my good friend Vanessa, an award winning dancer who has repeatedly triumphed at nationwide competitions.  The reason behind my Vanessa love-fest (which will no doubt send her ego flying sky high) is because she was the brains behind my challenge for Day 35. With her prowess in all-things-dance, she recommended I attend one of her regular classes. Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s time to Bust a Move.

For my formal initiation into the world of organised dance (I’ve dabbled before, by which I mean I’ve done the robot many, many times), there's nowhere better to go than London’s Mecca of pirouettes and time steps: Pineapple Dance Studios. Made famous by the ultra-camp reality show depicting life within the dance school, Pineapple offers classes in basically all kinds of dance, from hip hop to contemporary, from cheerleading to pole dancing. It may not be cheap and it may be full of ego-maniacs mincing through the corridors – Louie Spence, you know who you are – but Pineapple really does do the dance world proud. And it’s open to all levels, even hopeless cases like me. Score!

With the location of my class decided, my sister – who had been coerced into accompanying me on this venture – and I then had to pick the style of dance I wanted to master. Although I came dangerously close to choosing pole dancing (which would have made a highly interesting blog entry), I eventually had to ask myself that all important question: which style will embarrass me the least? I settled upon “Commercial Jazz”, which I presumed would be a cross between routines from Chicago and Disney. Not so much.

Strictly Come Awesome

The class started with a warm up, which filled me with slight angst. My sister, having been to a similar class elsewhere, had frightful memories of being forced to do sit-ups and stretch yourself in highly unnatural and inappropriate ways. I wasn’t really up for this; in the words of Dynamite’s Taio Cruz, “I came to dance, dance, dance, dance”. I did not come to sweat, ache, burn and toil. Fortunately, the warm up was quite a relaxed affair. Our teacher, Karen, was bubbly (if not slightly zany) and didn’t try to push us too hard. Thank heavens.

It was soon time to learn the routine. I was ready for jazz hands and razzle dazzle and any other term with a double-z in it. Karen dramatically revealed that we would be dancing to “Alone Again” by Alyssa Reid feat. P Reign, a song which has recently been big in the charts. Hm. This wasn’t quite what I expected. Where was the theatricality? Where was the old school glamour?

Although the routine was less 1940s and more Top 40, it was still enjoyable. It started with some sexy-style body rolls, which obviously I exceed in (lolz), and then we got into the slightly “street” section of the choreography. Soon enough, I was popping and dropping like a pro, channelling my inner bad boy and making Eminen look like a public school tory boy. Well, in my eyes at least. After learning a slightly bizarre “floor section” – which basically involved us rolling around and lying face downwards – we had completed the routine. Time to put it all together: time to shine. 

After performing the routine with as much vim and vigour as possible (I particularly enjoyed the section where we step-ball-changed while air punching), the class was over. And this is where my day was made: Karen actually came and commended me and my sister on our efforts. Some may interpret this as a sign of “must try harder”. I understood it as a hint we should move on to the more advanced class. She was totally digging us Dancing Queens. 

Day 35: Get into the Groove. CHECK!

Peace & Love,

Rich xx

DAY THIRTY-FOUR: Spray With Me

In everything I say and do, I always strive to be completely and utterly “Reem”. For anyone who doesn’t know what “Reem” means, five little words will give you the explanation: The Only Way Is Essex. This little gem of a TV show has taught the British public – myself included – to love and cherish activities such as vajazzling, glamping and fake, on-cue crying. In honour of the cultural institution that is TOWIE, on Day 34 I indulged in another of the show’s famous pastimes: the Spray Tan.

My complexion isn’t exactly pale, and I’ve been known to indulge in a bit of bottled fake tan. However, this was my first all-over spray tan, a big commitment which doesn’t come cheap. For this, I made a visit to the Tanning Temple in Kentish Town, an apt name, given the almost deified status of beauty nowadays. I walked into the Temple and was met by a strong smell of hairspray and the unmistakable beat of a Girls Aloud hit. I was definitely in the right place. 

I booked my tanning session and expected to have to wait for an available slot. Impressively, I was to be seen straight away. These girls may be fun and bubbly, but they sure know how to organize a schedule. My “beauty therapist” arrived and introduced herself as Amy – a fabulously appropriate name (again, TOWIE) – before leading me down a corridor to where our session was to take place. If everyone hadn’t been so friendly this might have been the moment I got a bit nervous, but fortunately I was too busy giggling with Amy. I expect she found the idea of me getting a tan as bewildering as I did.

Work it baby!

I was shown a room in which to get changed. Changed? Into what? Amy said I could wear my boxers if I wanted (no thanks, I don’t want my pants to have brown stains on them, obviously), but recommended I might wear one of their paper thongs. ERM, YES! Thongs, as a rule, are always good for a laugh – especially if you can write on them. Designer underwear, literally.  The other obligatory piece of clothing was a cloth shower cap. Needless to say, I looked like an absolute tool in my outfit. Kind of like a really kinky dinner lady. Miaow.

It was then time for my tan to begin. Amy ushered me into another room with what looked like a futuristic egg in it. This would be my cocoon for the tan. We then had the important discussion of shades: Amy recommended “chocolate”, the darkest. I told her the darker the better (in for a penny, in for a pound) and decided that this was preferable to the other option of “celebrity glow”. This just made me think of David Dickinson and, as much as I love Bargain Hunt, his “glow” isn’t exactly my cup of tea.

Where the magic happens

Amy then began spraying. It felt odd having a cold mist all over my body. Certain more sensitive areas caused me to giggle, and after having my bum sprayed I now believe I know what those fancy Japanese bidets feel like. When the time came to have my face sprayed I instinctively screwed it up to prevent breathing in any of the liquid. Amy, in the sweetest possible way, told me this wasn’t really tanning etiquette, as my face would be covered with patchy white lines. Heaven forbid. I immediately relaxed my features, praying that the damage wasn’t already done.

The spray was quickly over and Amy then left me for 10 minutes to “dry off”. Standing all alone in front of the fan I felt slightly violated, as though Amy and I had just shared a special, intimate moment and now I’d been left without any morning cuddles. I somehow don’t think that would generally be included in the price though. Once my tan had been set, it was time to examine the results. Certain areas looked quite a bit darker, but there was nothing shocking. Perhaps this would take time to develop, like a photo. Or a rash. Ew. I guess I’d have to wait and see…

Day 34: The Only Way Is Tan. SHUT UP!

Peace & Love,

Rich xx

Edit: My tan very much did develop over time. Looking in the mirror the next day, I was almost blinded by the glow. And the tan lines of the paper thong are just hilarious. Total trend-setter.