Cinnamon honey

The sun setting gently over Paris yesterday afternoon had a hazy dusting of cinnamon and orange light, which calmly caressed clouds and long-since-painted grey buildings, narrow in their form, reaching up to the sky. For five minutes, no more, I stood on the sixth etage of the Centre Pompidou, nose to the plate glass, with my thin, papery hands blocking out the interior strip gallery lighting. Gratitude poured out – a quasi-religious experience – towards the distance. As far as I could see the nutmeg light was fading, pouring its truth and safety through smeary glass, tired eyes and shiny skin.

I’m safe here, with you.

You muppet

A phone rings. A short pause.

J: ‘Hello?’
A: ‘Hi it’s me.
J: ‘Hi, how are you? Why are you calling in the middle of the day? I’m at work.’
A: ‘I was just calling to say I’m on the train.’
J: ‘Which train?’
A: ‘The train to London.’
J: ‘Oh – why are you coming to London?’
A: ‘To see you, you muppet!’
J: ‘Oh.’
Brain audibly chugs.
J: ‘When did we arrange this?’
A (exasperated): ‘Last week.’

Sigh.

Oh dear. I used to pride myself on having a good memory. Of late, my brain has developed craters. Not just small holes through which I lose phone numbers, forget to take my lunch to work. No, these are huge gapping caverns that swallow whole conversations, situations, meetings, events. Maybe I should start doing the sudoku – isn’t that meant to prevent dementia?

Weather

Lately I’ve been wandering around wondering whether I’m becoming obsessed with the weather. Whether I’m one of those auld before their time old people who use up to a thousand words a day chatting about the heat, or lack, the rain, or lack. This weekend there was the ‘threat of snow’. Next the BBC weather site reported that the place I was heading to for the weekend had ‘driving sleet’ forecast. Neither prediction came true. It just rained a bit and was so cold my knees wouldn’t bend and my friend Alex had to help me over a fallen tree. Temperature has become a perpetual enemy. Like a temperamental gas fire that needs banging and stroking to get it working, I’m at the mercy of heat, cold hands that turn yellow and lose all feeling, lack of warm socks, too hot legs under thermals. Maybe I should live somewhere where it’s sunny all year round… but there’d be nothing to write about.

Wisdom?

Jim Carrey, in a recent interview in Playboy magazine said:

Heaven is on the other side of that feeling you get when you're sitting on the couch and you get up and make a triple-decker sandwich. It's on the other side of that, when you don't make the sandwich. It's about sacrifice.... It's about giving up the things that basically keep you from feeling. That's what I believe, anyway. I'm always asking, "What am I going to give up next?" Because I want to feel.

Decisions, decisions

Is anyone as bad at making decisions as me, I wonder? I have absolutely no faith in my own paper-thin, fickle judgement, especially this week. I’m caught in the middle of one of those ‘between times’ where I’m really not sure what to do. It’s no small matter, and whatever decision I finally come to (assuming I don’t curl up and die of cold in the indecision) will affect pretty much all of my life. I’m being pulled by a string through each ear, looping through my brain, and the pull is tugging a different way every single day. People say all kinds of things, some kind, some heartfelt, some selfish, some wise, some crap nonsense. I’m grateful for them all, but I need to make my mind up. Trouble is it just won’t stay down.

Wintering

It is winter here.

If you get the reference then you're more like me than you thought!

Guy Fawks Night

Some gorgeous photos of this year's fire and noise celebrations at Dan's house. He puts on a good bash!

Cheer up!

A friend sent me a selection of 'the worst album covers ever'. This was my personal favourite!

Belly to the moon

Did you know that tuna fish
Float up to the surface –
Belly to the moon –
Just to cool their heart down?
‘Cos it helps them just to think
About the hurtful things.
I guess it’s just one way
To get them some sedation.

Emiliana Torrini, ‘Tuna Fish’

I suppose we all need to cool our hearts down sometimes… the words floated through the centre of my skull today, between doing what felt like the sixtieth edit of a book I’ve worked on for two years… Reaching the surface must be the most incredible thing for a fish. The promise of light, huge flat rays penetrating the rippling surface and reflecting off anything in its way. The sea is full of life, ever-moving, ever-changing, evermore. There’s nothing stagnant about the ocean. Those tuna fish taking a few seconds to float under the midday sun must be the luckiest creatures in the world…

Tired :-(

Hmmm. Last night was a write-off. Normally, I’m fab at sleeping, snoozing, drowsing, napping, shutting my eyes, drifting off to wherever, whenever. It’s a rare occasion when I lie awake for longer than ten minutes before succumbing to slumber. I’m sure I’ve slept through storms, car chases, police helicopters, endless arguing neighbours. My sister is the same. We’d probably win a family sleep-off. Anyway, last night was an anomaly.

12.25 got into bed
12.35 turned off light and chucked book on floor
1am still awake
2am get up for a drink
3am read three chapters of ‘The Sea’ by John Banville (v. disappointing use of propositions)
4am still awake
4.15 flatmate gets up to go to Devon. Listen to water in shower.
4.45 think just about get to sleep
5am rudely awaken by phone call wondering if I’m a taxi firm. ‘what?’ I say, before hanging up
6am realise have been awake all night and will have rubbish day as result
6.10 drift off
6.45 alarm goes off
6.46 turn off alarm in horror
7am realise boiler man is coming any minute
7.10am get up
7.35am realise was too excited to sleep all night!
8am hope adrenalin really exists.

Yasai Itameru

Today I ate
Yasai itameru with
Green tea, delicious.

Rice noodles, spicy
Coconut, coriander
Tongue swollen, alive.