ABOVE: At the launch of The Grooming Room wearing Quiz
Last week, a new horror series launched on Fox called Outcast. This week, I learnt that I am an absolute glutton for punishment.
I know this because I allowed my friend Ashley James to cajole me into twenty minutes inside the show's pop-up "Scare b&b" (AKA little segment of hell). The decision to go inside went something like this - Brain: don't do it. Housemates: don't do it. Agent: don't do it. Me: Sweet man, I'm in. In hindsight, this was a bad idea. In fact, that's a lie - I knew it was a bad idea before I went in. Before I even got in the car to get there, actually. But I had a new gothic body from Rare London that needed an outing, so...
ABOVE: Moments prior to entering the scare b&b. Note we are still smiling...
You see, horror and I have a sort of love / hate relationship. I love it at the time, and hate it almost immediately afterwards. And in a feat of spectacular stupidity, I repeat this scenario with frightening regularity. Almost weekly, I'll sub-consciously seek out something I know will scare me senseless - and then do it. And then get all surprised afterwards about how scared I am / got / will continue to be until the end of time. I'm sure there's some sort of Freud-esque explanation for all this..
Trouble is, fear can sometimes be a good thing - arguably the backbone of my main achievments, no less. I mean, it was the abject terror of over-sleeping that got me out of bed circa 5am each morning during Sandhurst training, and fear of failure that saw me through lonely hours of studying at uni. And obviously Fear Of Missing Out all-but keeps my social life afloat.. This week, I'm facing my boarderling fear of hights with a trip to the Gorilla Circus Trapeze with QVC. If you don't hear from me, I'm still at the top of the frame, clinging frantically to the pole.
ABOVE: Training for the British 10k with Perri Shakes-Drayton, wearing L'Athlete
And I suspect it'll be the fear of failure that eventually boots me out the door to train for the British 10K run next month. Clearly, I've known the event was coming for some time now. So it follows that I've done epically little training. Call it arrogance, optimism, or I guess plain-old stupidity.
ABOVE: At Barbour SS17 wearing N12H & Keds
I mean, this week, I all-but shunned training in favour of attending a stream of industry events - Graduate Fashion Week, London Collections Men (clearly completely irrelevant to me), my friend Mel Wells' book launch... To be fair, I suspect that if I was asked to attend the launch of a new vegetable (unlikely, I know) right now, I would probably do it. It's a finely-honed procrastination habit that I'm sure will return to bite me in the a** circa July 10th (the date of the 10k. Cleverly scheduled, now that I think about it).
ABOVE: At Mel's book launch with Ashley & Snoop
When I was growing up, my mother would torment me with words like 'balance' and 'moderation'. It just all seemed so boring at the time, but I guess the moral of the story is that she was (as per) quite right. It's good to feel scared occasionally, especially when it motivates action. But only when you can feel utterly unafraid later.
As I write this, I've just spent around three minutes stuck in a small lift. Small lifts are not my thing. I've avoided them like the plague since watching Towering Inferno. But, now that I'm out, I kind of want to do it again. Send help, I've lost the plot.
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