I know what you’re thinking.
You can see the Quiksilver logo can’t you?
The camouflage effect creating negative space for the wave/mountain emblem has completely failed and the logo is pretty conspicuous in the middle of this light beige tee isn't it?
Yep.
Moving on, how about a story for you?
Back on Day 56 of my THREEHUNDREDANDSIXTEEFIVE challenge I introduced you to Real Life Tomb Raider, inspired by the exploits of videogame vixen Lara Croft. Today’s tee – this hopelessly obvious Quiksilver number – was worn on one such RLTR outing that took place during an impromptu afternoon stroll amongst the leaf-litter of a country reserve in Kent. Some friends and my brother and I were following one of the woodland trails when we happened upon a makeshift performance area in a clearing; a log stage open on all four sides with a canopy and steps to the rear, in front of several wooden picnic table/bench arrangements and a few up-turned tree trunks dotted about to form the seating area. Amid the withering autumn trees and dying thickets, this clearing was by far the most unusual discovery of the day and it was therefore only natural to declare that the floor was lava, causing my brother and I to scramble onto the nearest points of refuge.
As our friends looked on – their inner-children securely locked away in basements hemming lace curtains or something equally Victorian - we two brave explorers began traversing the forest furniture, careful not to sink a limb into the ashen leafy soup below. Our destination was of course the stage – perhaps some sort of gateway into a tomb of indeterminate fortunes.
My path cut through the organic maze, shimmying around tree trunks and unstable log fragments, until I had successfully reached a pivotal tabletop some seven feet away from a side entrance to the stage. All that was left to conquer was a leap over the gap.
The calculations were tumbling through my mind as I eyed up this final obstacle.
Without having carried out any reasonable experiments to determine how far I can jump, I always have a rough idea what feels like my personal leaping threshold, and this canyon of molten tree-lined lava was definitely pushing it.
Nevertheless, that treasure wasn’t going to come to me, and so I reared up, sprinted across the table and lunged off the end. Mid-air, my tongue was gagging on my heart and those calculations might as well have been in French.
Even the on-looking pigeons knew this wasn’t going to end well.
My outstretched left foot connected with stage decking, slamming hard against the outermost boards. My right leg followed through, swinging in like a pendulum looking for balance, yet the left leg hadn’t quite adjusted to the angle. My ankle wrenched awkwardly, sprained, and caused me to face-plant on to the wood, defeated.
And so there I lay; recoiled on the deck, looking back at where I had just come, my ankle both inflaming and numbing at the same time, my face contorted in both agony and laughter.
From my new sideways perspective, I could see my brother had also made it to that same tabletop and was lining up to make the very same jump.
Then I saw him take off.
Then I saw his expression change mid-air as he made the realisation that his leap-threshold wasn’t as generous as he had hoped either.
Then I saw his left ankle land painfully against the deck’s edge, his right leg carry through, and his body flop to the boards like a sack of potatoes.
I had just watched a play-by-play reconstruction of the exact same thing I’d done merely moments ago and it was hysterical.
For a long time we laid side by side, facing one another, clutching our ankles and communicating only in vowels and widening eyes. Somewhere in the distance, our friends looked on, motionless with folded arms, hoping that now two more souls had been claimed by the volcanic wasteland of Kent, we could all get out of the cold.
