flying by the seat of my pants

I don't particularly like that expression, but sometimes life twists and turns and I feel like that's how I'm careering through this strange life of mine.

You may have read of the planes grounded by BA because traces of radiation have been found on them. I was half listening to Radio 4 whilst drying my hair when I heard them say the planes had been used on routes to Frankfurt...

I went to Frankfurt by BA at the start of November, but thankfully the flights I was on were the day after the contaminate planes were used. When did life get so scary?

A small slice of humanity

Something unusual happened today. I was in Sainsbury's after work, idlely picking up a few groceries, lost in my own thoughts... I waited for the queue to twist and turn its way along, until I heaved my basket up onto the counter. The guy at the checkout was Indian, small with a killer smile, and he didn't waste any time kicking off a conversation. It wasn't even one of those polite three-second 'how are you today's either. We were laughing! Imagine.

That small interaction had me smiling all the way to the tube, heavy bag in hand.

It makes you think, doesn't it.

Party reminder!

For those of you who read this, come over our place tomorrow (Saturday 26th) from 7.30pm for cocktails and sushi. Yep we're going all out for a classy bash! No peanuts allowed.

India again

This time next week I'll be on a plane to Calcutta, via Dubai. I'm hoping that I can avoid spending the entire flight to Dubai throwing up in the toilet, as I did on my last trip! I was thinking today how I've become more than a tiny bit blase about travelling. I've done so much of this year that I am numb at the thought of another plane journey. Don't get me wrong, I love visiting new places and I've seen some incredible things, but the buzz has been taken out of it somewhat. It feels like the Christmas I finally realised that Father Christmas didn't exist, the magic has gone. I'm sure it'll be a good trip though, my third to India this year! I'll let you know how we get on.

Parlez-vous francais?

Oui, bien sur!

Those three words were the stupidest thing I uttered all week. Having decided that dragging up nine years of French lessons would be no problem at all, I was suddenly out of my depth. I could pretty much understand most of what the bespectacled Frenchman in a blue polo neck was saying, but I think I scared him by my lack of response, punctuated largely by the odd 'Oui' or 'Donc'.

Man I need some lessons.

Grateful No. 2

This damp, grey week I am grateful for:

1. Sleeping In. As one of my favourite tracks by The Postal Service goes, 'Don't wake me, I plan on sleeping in.' Ahhhhh.... A warm duvet and ten o'clock.

2. Butternut Squash: I'm sure we didn't eat these when I was a child, they seem to be a C21 invention. I'm loving the squash, especially in a soup with smoked garlic. Yum.

3. Alice Munro, namely 'dance of the happy shades', a collection of short stories that seem to me to be not unlike sugared almonds. I never quite fancy one until it gets into my mouth.

4. A week off. Almost over. *Sigh* But much loved. Christmas cards made, shopping done, mince pies in the freezer. Love it. Feel v. smug.

5. The Nice Lady in A&E who examined my sore arm after I feel over spectacularly like an old lady, shopping in hand. A. laughed. I cried. The bruies came... they're here to stay.

More wedding photos

Osam

Of honest men there are few
So gracious
As he who seeks to
Make others shine.

4 in 48

I want to tell you about a friend of mine. She's about my age, thin, shy, unassuming. She wears sensible shoes, a duffel coat and she mostly eats brown rice. Her face is rubbery, almond-shaped - not pretty - but what you might call engaging. At weekends she walks along the South Bank with a sketchbook, stopping occasionally to draw, pulling a thick piece of black charcoal from a plastic bag in her coat pocket.

People stop and stare at her
Sometimes
She doesn't mind
Small children smile, inquisitively.

She might sketch the flat river, a metal and glass construction, or a fleeting seagull, before squeezing the hardback sketchbook into her bag and walking on towards Tower. Just after one she stops for lunch: a brown bread tuna sandwich and a cardboard cup of mint tea. The crumbs scatter on her dress; she doesn't notice.

This weekend she counts four... the man in the cafe, a small flaxen haired boy who asks to look at her sketch, a Big Issue seller beneath Waterloo Bridge. And me.

Four conversations, exchanges of warmth, humanity.

Four.

In 48 hours.

And I almost didn't call her.

Fragility

"No matter how tough we may look on the outside, how many 'I'm fine's we can muster, we're all jelly underneath. I don't mean if the surface is scratched, I mean deep down, right inside. No matter what people say, we're slaves to the opinion of others, or worse, the disdain of the self."

Self-ish

Self-less

The latter the lesser of two evils.

Grateful

In search of a self who is infinitely more grateful for the everyday than the current one whose hands type these letters, I've set myself the task of writing the things/people/events I am grateful for at least once a week. Feel free to join me...

Here goes with tentative debut list:

1. Soy milk latte from Pret. The thought of creamy coffee in a red cardboard cup calls me out of my warm, lazy bed. The morning air grows steadily colder, and my quilt is increasing in comfort in direct proportion to the drop in temperature!

2. The thought of a whole week's holiday. I realised with horror that I haven't had a 'proper' break this year. By proper I mean one where I haven't been called on my mobile by work at least three times a day, or woken up in the night worrying about how to reply to an email. On Saturday I'm taking a train to Bristol to stay with my sister and brother-in-law for a week. I can't wait. I'm a domesticated feminist and will put that thought to use by baking an obscene quantity of mince pies in readiness for Christmas.

3. Books, namely Moon Palace by Paul Auster. I live my life in books, each day I think about characters from books I've read, sometimes years previously, and if I'm tired I confuse them with my friends. I'm convinced that most of what I know has been accumulated through a subltle osmosis through the thin pages of countless novels.

That's it for now! More next week.

Birthday drinks

The view was gorgeous,
The company even better.

Autumn in the City

Neutral

I write this sitting in a bare hotel room. Four walls, lino floor, curtains and bedcover all in an indiscriminate shade of nothing at all. A vague attempt at cheeriness has resulted in a faded Kandinsky print, hanging slant on the wall above the single bed. A table with a lamp, a chair, a black plastic phone... the sum of everything composed in those dull items. I've just been to a dinner of pretzels, hot smoked mackarel, pickled cauliflower and cheese, followed by six dancing South Africans in Brazil football shirts, and a dish of cold, wobbly tiramasu. I wonder how I arrived here. The night is black, looking outside is like dipping my head into an inkwell.

This time tomorrow I'll be home, and this nothingness will cease to exist, for me.