bevinbatam

I don't really like the sun. I think this is fairly obvious to people who know me, since I freely dispense of Allure-inspired warnings about skin cancer and the prospect of having leathery 50 year old skin while still in your 30s (see Lohan, Lindsay and Spears, Britney, for reference.) due to prolonged exposure to the sun. My brother's girlfriend, with almost alabaster skin, wholly concurs. Its fun to find a kindred spirit. We slathered on SPF while eating calamari by the poolside.

Anyway - I don't like balmy Asian resorts because of its glut of mosquitoes. I only like sunny climes because I can wear my array of racerback tops (I've discovered that the candy coloured ones by the line Petit Bateau are wholly agreeable to me - i highly recommend them if you can get your hands on them, i don't believe they are available in Singapore, sadly) and linen nonsense, as well as creep around insecurely in my tiny bikinis all day.

I did basically nothing for a few days, unable to read for lack of light in the air conditioned villas and the unbearable heat in more naturally lit areas (poolside, beach, etcetera). My Jane Austen, Jonathan Safran Foer and Vogue sat quite neglected by my bedside as I took to taking several catnaps under my mosquito net. And now I am ill! Which is just peachy, I will nurse myself back to health now with chewable vitamins and lots of hot water. I blame the sun, heat, and an ironic close proximity to a vast array of doctors I went on holiday with. (One doctor with a particular son was not present, though, much to my brief dismay)

Either way, I think the point of this scattered post is that my body is altogether exhausted from the constant travel, and has indicated this to me by putting me to bed at 9pm last night. My body is also expressing its indignation for me through lots of sinus induced hell.