Day 2: My Grecian escapades at a Cat Marnell writing retreat. Part 3!

It’s a gorgeous, sun-drenched day here in London, the city buzzing with life around me as I sit amid the hubbub on metal patio furniture outside my fave cafe— that unbeknownst to me had soaked up the sun, scorching my ass like a skillet the moment I sat down. Lovely. I’m delicately nibbling crumbs of paper off my matcha-soaked straw, rolling them thoughtfully around my tongue. Addison’s Addison hasn’t left my AirPods since the moment it dropped. Seeing her open for Lana at Wembley was surreal, a magical experience. There’s a hunger in her performance, a real fire. You can tell she wants it. And what’s more striking is her gratitude. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an artist smile so much, genuinely, unselfconsciously, every chance she got.

I never really had TikTok, just toyed with it briefly late 2022, during my first year at uni when I was unusually stable, sociable and happy— and taking MDMA at any excuse. Festivals, halloween, NYE; I’d order boxes of fruity ice lollies at 3am on deliveroo from whatever weird corner shop was still open, along with more pills which my dealer would hand through the letterbox so I didn’t have to open the door. Honestly, those were good times (just thinking about it gives me butterflies) and heart palpitations!

My TikTok turned into a little shrine to it all: clips of my blown out pupils, loud chewing gum audio… I’d record stupid clips while high, then edit them into something vaguely funny the next morning while coming down. A weird time capsule I should probably erase before it threatens my future. Though I’m pretty sure my account got shadow banned anyways, for obvi reasons.

The point is, I hadn’t heard about Addison until Julia Fox began posting about her on insta, referring to Addison as “her muse”. The halo effect is real because by then I was totally sold. I didn’t know she had this prior huge TikTok presence. I get the vibe some people don’t take her seriously because of this. But when you’re young, you are never static and evolve fast. If someone held a mirror up to who I was five years ago, I wouldn’t even recognise myself. People deserve the grace to transcend their past selves. Though I do steer clear of TikTok, and consume a diluted feed three weeks late on instagram reels, which is more than enough brain rot for me.

The weather today is reminding me of Greece, transporting me back to those gorgeous beaches I visited during the Cat Marnell writing retreat…

Day 2

I woke up to a chill in the air… Oops! Turns out I’d forgotten to turn the air-con down last night. I laughed to myself as I flicked it off; the room had reached near-morgue levels of coolness. Through a crack left deliberately in my curtains, I could see the sun slowly staining the sky golden. I had a routine in Greece: rising with the sun, cherishing the quiet hours of solitude to perform my morning routines and rituals. The likes of which are so integral to my happiness and sense of control.

I was thrilled that my hotel room had a bath. Each morning and evening I’d fill it to the brim, dousing the water with hotel-shower-gel until a generous mountain of bubbles formed. On beach days, a third bath was also necessary. Sure baths are part of my ocd cleanliness rituals. But they are also a source of enjoyment, providing I’m not feeling too fatigued, as the hot water can sometimes be a little dizzying.

The hotel breakfast buffet was exactly what you’re imagining: ripe platters of melon, bowls of assorted nuts, a generous salad bar. There were also your standard breads, pastries and English-breakfasty egg-and-meat options too. But I briskly walked past those en route to my trusted bowl of oats —they’re definitely vegan everywhere. Every morning, I made the same: oats and almond milk, assorted melon slices on the side. On day two, I hit the jackpot— an unopened carton of chocolate almond milk, which I squirrelled back to my hotel room mini-fridge like treasure.

Everything still felt so surreal when we pulled up to the first beach. Half the group sought shade under the beach bar canopy, while the rest laid out towels on the sand. Cat just had one rule: no bikini pics!! We were all in agreement. It was so sweet getting to know the girls better. A funny moment that stood out to me was asking if anyone wanted to go for a “paddle”, and watching all the American girls look wildly confused. A paddle in my vocabulary just means walking around in the sea, no deeper than my knees. But to them, I think it evoked either paddleboarding or some sort of aquatic doggy-paddle scenario.

I was a pro with my sparkly SPF 50. Despite hours under the Grecian sun, I didn’t burn once— an achievement I wore with my chest!… and back… and legs lol. I reapplied diligently, layering glitter on glitter like a sun goddess. By the end of the trip, my shimmering thigh prints were imprinted onto every seat in the car—and honestly, everything I owned sparkled.

There was an olde-style pirate ship moored to the shore, which felt like foreshadowing to the end-of-trip surprise. I climbed partway up its stairs for a mini photo shoot, naturally. I am the creative director of my own life; certainly my instagram.

After sunning ourselves for the afternoon, most of us headed back to the hotel to reset and glam up for dinner. A few beach babes stayed behind, I was honestly in awe— they were somehow showered, changed, and ready to go in ten minutes flat! As I left my room to meet the group in the lobby, I passed them just walking in from the beach. Iconic behaviour.

That evening, I wore a cream puffball dress with black polka dots, paired with white pointed court heels. I’d spent ages doing glittery makeup and curling my hair into soft broken curls, pinned up haphazardly in a claw clip. But before dinner came a detour— a kind of NA-style circle share. We all sat in a group, asked to introduce and share a bit about ourselves. As much as I enjoy some attention, I’ll admit I was nervous. I’m a chronic oversharer, and my internal sense of “what’s too much?” often malfunctions. I was one of the last to speak, which gave me time to gauge the vibe. By the time it was my turn, I think my slightly unhinged honesty and humour went down pretty well. It was a nice way to deepen the bond within the group.

Dinner was lively. Turns out the best vegan food Greece has to offer is beans; big, flat white ones in a sort of elevated herby tomato sauce. My dinner composed of the veggie sides available on the table. The restaurant had a cute Orthodox shrine on the way to the toilets: which had no locks on the doors! That I found genuinely frightful. The dinner table was upbeat, never a dull moment, everyone mingled and meshed.

Later that night, back at the hotel, I sipped on a tropical juice box and smoked late-night cigarettes at the tiki bar with Camille. I introduced her to Stormzy and proudly rapped every lyric to “Shut Up.” Lol, can’t believe I just admitted that. We decorated our lighters with Hello Kitty stickers bought earlier from the hotel’s basement shopping arcade. On the way back to my room I had to tread carefully over the whimsical wooden bridges, walking on the balls of my feet to stop my skinny heels from slipping through the slats.

By the time I got back to my room, there was just enough time for one last bubble bath before I stumbled into bed, passing out the moment my head hit the pillow.