Never Never Land

I had the distinct pleasure of meeting a band of lost boys this winter in Courchevel. It seems that this Peter Pan syndrome is more contagious than swine flu among men of a certain age and a certain socio-economic bracket.
Why grow up I say... The women keep getting younger, the locations more exotic and the recreational acruements on offer of exceedingly better quality. As a non-conformist dreamer I am in jealous awe of this refusal to let responsibilities, sagging waistlines or a fear of mortality hem one in into the dull drama of "adult" life.

So what if Captain Hook and a ticking crocodile is circling the waters? There's always a hot Pocahantas or a sexy Tinkerbell on the lookout, itching to save Peter Pan just at the right minute. But then, all men of a certain age and a certain socio-economic bracket seem to still be seeking Wendy while living in Never Never Land, that elusive teenage mother figure that will forgive their sins, mend their socks, and disapprove of their lifestyle, maybe inspire them to shape up for five minutes.

I never liked Wendy. She got in the way, got caught, had lame siblings and thought a sad dog was a suitable nanny figure, not to mention having no fashion sense. Tinkerbell sprinkled magical dust that could make you fly, yet Peter Pan drove her to betrayal so he could spend time with Wendy, proof positive that the concept of "a good thing" eludes this specimen of the gender, perhaps temptation enough to make one want to root for the iPhone holder in this picture...

"Cat Among the Pigeons"