Romeo & Juliet at the Royal Opera House

Highly recommended, if a little clompy in places.

Birthday

Well here I am again, one year older and wondering wistfully what the 29th year of my life will feel like. Someone asked me the other day, 'If you could be any age again, what age would you want to be?' Without hesitation I replied, 'The age I am now.' I'm glad. I have some regrets, but I wouldn't want to go back, no way. The future is where we're heading and I want to be living now.

A new kind of life

A new kind of life, no more 9 to 5, no more endless checking of email, plane journeys across skies and time zones, my life flat-packed into a suitcase on wheels. Just me, in England, with a laptop and some words to play with each week. I eat better, sleep better. I think I am better, company I mean. The stress has gone and though I lie awake wondering where it's all heading, in the here and now I'm happy, the happiest I've been in years.

Ni hao

Every week I sit in a small hot room with an ever-decreasing group of other students. We make an eclectic mix, yet there's a subtle affinity, a tied-togetherness. A sixty-something woman helps a young girl, whispering encouragement through the cloud of fear. We're learning Mandarin, each new sound an assault to our eyes and ears. We stare through pages of twisted black strokes, unfamiliar grammar, logical nonsense. My mouth turns and spits shh zuuu faaa sheng, with little idea what it's saying.... The room gets hotter. I'm uncomfortable and check the clock. An hour left. Sigh. Then out of the blue, there's a sentence on the board that I can read... each little drawing - the lady with the crane, the house with the jade inside, the one that looks like a lily, and I understand. It's like gold dust falling abundantly from the sky, unannounced and gorgeous. I want to jump up and shout 'I get it! I get it!' But, fortunately for everyone else, I restrain.

My eureka moment doesn't last, next week I'll be back to incomprehension and frantic checking of vocabulary behind lao shu's back.

Grateful Friday

On a crisp autumn Friday with a nip in the cooling air, I pull my collar around my neck and am grateful for:

1. Crunchy leaves of yellow and orange and a pink-ish colour en route to the tube.

2. The thought of Christmas. I love Christmas! Darkness with twinkly lights and a stiff breeze... a gingerbread latte in a red cup from Starbucks, mince pies, and maybe, just maybe, some homemade chutney.

3. The age I am now. Someone asked me which age I would be if I could go back to any age so far. I answered straight away, 'The age I am now'. That can only be a good thing.

4. Ni jiao shen ma ming zi? Or in other words, 'What's your name?' in Mandarin. I've started learning and while it's insanely difficult and tedious and I can't say half the sounds, there's the occasional triumph when I actually learn something.

5. Lots of theatre and art to look forward to. Au Revoir Parapluie at Saddler's Wells, Jewels at the Royal Opera House and hopefully, if I pray really hard, The Masque of the Red Death in a warehouse in Wapping. Just lush.

Damp Soup

We sit, side by side on pale wooden benches facing a window. Soft rain is pouring down the glass, loosening grey dust and forming it into ugly streaks. My eye fixes on a grey droplet and I watch as it falls slowly, blown by a sporadic wind, to the ground. You have your arm around me, and the dampness from your coat is seeping into my jumper. I ask you to take it off. You acquiesce. A waiter brings two steaming bowls of ramen noodles to the table, and we start to eat. You begin with the soup, I with the noodles. You would never agree with me on that one.

We’re silent, damp and silent. I think of my mother, how she dislikes noodles, forcing us to cook rice for her in a separate pan. I’m alone with my thoughts when you begin to speak. I don’t catch the first few words, so faint is your voice through the clatter of the noodle shop. Turning to face you I see you are agitated. Your cheeks are red and your won’t make eye contact. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Nothing, don’t worry. I mean, it’s nothing major, but I’ve decided to take the scholarship. I know we’d agreed but I can’t deny what a good opportunity it is for me. I might never be able to do this again in my whole life…’ You trail off. I look down into my bowl and the greasy film on top of the soup turns my stomach. Something in your tone tells me that this is non-negotiable, your mind is made up. I pick up my bag from under the table, hurriedly throw my coat on my shoulder and leave. Stepping out onto the street I walk decisively without destination, aiming to lose myself in the mess of umbrellas and rain coats. I walk four blocks before I allow myself to cry. In a doorway, without restraint, the tears fall, soft rain.

Barcelona in the autumn half-light

Poached

Gingerly I step into a deep white bath while an eager-faced woman looks on. I'm not prudish, and by the looks of things neither is she. In broken Spanish I agree with her questions and, she carefully adds a cup of yellowy oil to the warm water. A few seconds later she's gone, replaced by a ferocious noise as a tumult of bubbles crack the surface of the bath. I lie there, trying to aclimatize myself to the strangeness of being poached, like a big pink salmon in a fish kettle. I'd like to say I enjoyed it, but I didn't. I tried to, really, but all I could muster was a resigned indifference and some very pink skin. Man was I glad when my Spanish friend returned.

'Te gusta?'
'Claro que si!'

I'm such a good liar in a foreign language.