Sadness and tragedy seem to be around every corner at the moment. Like a dynamic duo of darkness they hide amongst the pages of this month's book club book; in towns and cities in Libya; under desks at work; and even behind the bright yellow tulips on the kitchen table at home. And then, of course, there's the obvious playground of the moment: the second largest city of my homeland.
Hand in hand they swing from tree to tree, laughing in their sick and peculiar way as they go; leaving a trail of misery in their wake.
Every now and then there is a light moment: a good Spanish class, an amusing joke at work, giggles in the kitchen with the Franconia ladies. But then somehow (maybe by a look on BBC news, an email, or a comment) you are reminded of all the calamity.
Friday, 25 February 2011
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
The day the earth shook
Right now, a little country holds its breath.
It holds its breath and waits in the hope that miracles may appear from the rubble.
That from the devastation there will be stories of wonder and survival. Against all odds.
New Zealand has had a rough ride recently, and yesterday Mother Nature dealt that little South Pacific country a cruel blow.
Be strong New Zealand. Pull together and face this tragedy as a united front. Just like you always do.
Because we all know that not even a horrific earthquake will shake this country's resolve.
It holds its breath and waits in the hope that miracles may appear from the rubble.
That from the devastation there will be stories of wonder and survival. Against all odds.
New Zealand has had a rough ride recently, and yesterday Mother Nature dealt that little South Pacific country a cruel blow.
Be strong New Zealand. Pull together and face this tragedy as a united front. Just like you always do.
Because we all know that not even a horrific earthquake will shake this country's resolve.
Sunday, 20 February 2011
Sliding doors
Every now and then, just on the odd occasion, maybe when things aren't going so well... I wonder if perhaps I should have gone to Japan after all.
Was I completely insane to turn down such an amazing (all expenses paid) opportunity?
Then my train of thought takes me to wondering where I might be now if I'd not thrown it all away. Who knows where that path would have taken me.
But then, after mulling for a while, I (usually) come to the same conclusion. For whatever reason the timing wasn't right, so I must think about all of the wonderful experiences that London has given me instead.
Also, despite veering sharply away from study when I threw in the Japanese towel, the London road I'm travelling on has steered me back in the direction of academia.
Perhaps you can't mess with fate after all.
Was I completely insane to turn down such an amazing (all expenses paid) opportunity?
Then my train of thought takes me to wondering where I might be now if I'd not thrown it all away. Who knows where that path would have taken me.
But then, after mulling for a while, I (usually) come to the same conclusion. For whatever reason the timing wasn't right, so I must think about all of the wonderful experiences that London has given me instead.
Also, despite veering sharply away from study when I threw in the Japanese towel, the London road I'm travelling on has steered me back in the direction of academia.
Perhaps you can't mess with fate after all.
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
Silvery sliver of light
Last night I fell asleep in a moon beam.
Like a long strip of silk it floated down from Heaven to Earth,
tumbling through my skylight, eventually coming to rest
on my white cotton duvet,
and my sky-facing cheek.
Like a long strip of silk it floated down from Heaven to Earth,
tumbling through my skylight, eventually coming to rest
on my white cotton duvet,
and my sky-facing cheek.
Saturday, 12 February 2011
February blues
It's been difficult to think of anything in any way interesting, amusing or exciting over the last few weeks. Hence the long stretches of blog silence.
Here in the Northern Hemisphere, we're inching closer to spring, one day at a time. And even though this morning on my way across the Common I spotted a small family of daffodil shoots, spring feels like an age away.
Thoughts are constantly casted towards the longer, lighter days of April and May; with Easter and a cluster of bank holidays; a royal wedding and even a referendum.
February: I know you're a short month, but oh my, how you drag your heels.
Here in the Northern Hemisphere, we're inching closer to spring, one day at a time. And even though this morning on my way across the Common I spotted a small family of daffodil shoots, spring feels like an age away.
Thoughts are constantly casted towards the longer, lighter days of April and May; with Easter and a cluster of bank holidays; a royal wedding and even a referendum.
February: I know you're a short month, but oh my, how you drag your heels.
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
Happy birthday to my biggest 'blister'
Right now, over on the other side of the world, one of the most special people in the world is celebrating 40 years.
40 years of love, light, laughter, live interviews on the radio, and a whole lot more.
For someone who started out destroying our parents' new wallpaper with jam men, alongside covering her entire self in cold cream, she's certainly come along way.
My big sister is one of the most talented, inspiring, energetic and amusing people I've ever met. Sometimes I'm amazed we climbed up the ladder out of the same gene pool.
She's the only person I know who has had Farsi lessons. She's travelled around more countries than you have fingers and toes; circumnavigated NZ by bike, had her own telly show, and once walked for three days, by herself, across a completely isolated part of bear country in Canada.
But for me she's the person who is always at the other end of some kind of communication channel when the world is hard work; she shares in success and makes bad things ok.
My sister is the best biggest sister I could ever have dreamt of. And my heart breaks a little that I can't be there to share the milestone day with her.
I only hope that in almost exactly nine years time, when I'm celebrating the same figure, that I've managed to achieve anything close to my incredible sister.
And I really hope, that on that day, she'll be there with me too.
40 years of love, light, laughter, live interviews on the radio, and a whole lot more.
For someone who started out destroying our parents' new wallpaper with jam men, alongside covering her entire self in cold cream, she's certainly come along way.
My big sister is one of the most talented, inspiring, energetic and amusing people I've ever met. Sometimes I'm amazed we climbed up the ladder out of the same gene pool.
She's the only person I know who has had Farsi lessons. She's travelled around more countries than you have fingers and toes; circumnavigated NZ by bike, had her own telly show, and once walked for three days, by herself, across a completely isolated part of bear country in Canada.
But for me she's the person who is always at the other end of some kind of communication channel when the world is hard work; she shares in success and makes bad things ok.
My sister is the best biggest sister I could ever have dreamt of. And my heart breaks a little that I can't be there to share the milestone day with her.
I only hope that in almost exactly nine years time, when I'm celebrating the same figure, that I've managed to achieve anything close to my incredible sister.
And I really hope, that on that day, she'll be there with me too.
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Keeping it local
This year I've made a conscious decision to 'keep it local'.
Clapham Common is a great part of London; a green haven tucked down in the south of this sprawling city. It's a microcosm of different cultures and communities, all wrapped around the outside of this vast outdoor space that is the common.
Despite the fabulous features, it's easy to take it all for granted. In the average week you'll walk past the common to catch the bus or tube; returning home 12 hours later, barely giving it a glimpse. And on the weekend in the winter, you might even avoid its quite muddy surfaces all together.
But this year I'm trying to spend more time making the most of our collective backyard.
Every Monday I have a tennis lesson on its very nice, floodlight tennis courts, with a local coach and other locals eager to improve their backhands. Thursdays see me at the Trinity Church on the opposite side of the common, speaking bad español alongside nine others. Then on Saturday mornings I drag myself out of bed to run, jump, bend and lie on the common's muddy surface with a bunch of other local fools, while everyone else is enjoying a sleep in. And of course now that marathon training is on the schedule, I'm joining the others, circumnavigating this great space at all times of the day and night.
Our common is the life force that brings people together around here. This year I intend on spending more time appreciating just how fortunate we really are.
Clapham Common is a great part of London; a green haven tucked down in the south of this sprawling city. It's a microcosm of different cultures and communities, all wrapped around the outside of this vast outdoor space that is the common.
Despite the fabulous features, it's easy to take it all for granted. In the average week you'll walk past the common to catch the bus or tube; returning home 12 hours later, barely giving it a glimpse. And on the weekend in the winter, you might even avoid its quite muddy surfaces all together.
But this year I'm trying to spend more time making the most of our collective backyard.
Every Monday I have a tennis lesson on its very nice, floodlight tennis courts, with a local coach and other locals eager to improve their backhands. Thursdays see me at the Trinity Church on the opposite side of the common, speaking bad español alongside nine others. Then on Saturday mornings I drag myself out of bed to run, jump, bend and lie on the common's muddy surface with a bunch of other local fools, while everyone else is enjoying a sleep in. And of course now that marathon training is on the schedule, I'm joining the others, circumnavigating this great space at all times of the day and night.
Our common is the life force that brings people together around here. This year I intend on spending more time appreciating just how fortunate we really are.
Thursday, 13 January 2011
And so it begins
Better late than never should probably be the headline for this post. The 2011 Paris marathon is on April 10th, and I'm registered to run.
Now that is apparently 12 weeks, 2 days, and about 19 hours away. Not really that far into the future, considering how far 26 miles really is. On foot.
Somehow, at Christmas time, as I forced another mince pie down, it seemed ages away.
But the fear of failure has finally hit, and I've now re-connected with my trainers.
Marathon training: day 1 - trying to protect myself from the 5 degree conditions
Now that is apparently 12 weeks, 2 days, and about 19 hours away. Not really that far into the future, considering how far 26 miles really is. On foot.
Somehow, at Christmas time, as I forced another mince pie down, it seemed ages away.
But the fear of failure has finally hit, and I've now re-connected with my trainers.
Marathon training: day 1 - trying to protect myself from the 5 degree conditionsIt's now been about two weeks and I'm slowly getting back into it. Although it still takes all of the willpower I can possibly muster to climb out from under my duvet at 6am on a very dark, and really rather cold morning.
Friday, 7 January 2011
Farewell festive season
The 6th of January sees the official end to the festive season. A bright and tasty light in an otherwise dark couple of months, it's a very welcome festival on this side of the world.
But all good things must come to an end, and yesterday as I walked home, I mourned its passing as I walked along pavements littered with forlorn looking Christmas tree skeletons, lying prone, waiting for the bin men to remove them. Their work is done here; they are no longer required. They are off to become wood chips.
Now we must dig around and find the boxes the decorations belong in, take down the Christmas cards from friends and family, and try to remember to buy a 2011 calendar.
"On with the new year!" we must think. We turn our faces towards the light of the ever-lengthening days, and think about festivities to come: birthdays, Royal weddings, trips abroad, visits from loved ones, and the taste of the approaching spring.
But all good things must come to an end, and yesterday as I walked home, I mourned its passing as I walked along pavements littered with forlorn looking Christmas tree skeletons, lying prone, waiting for the bin men to remove them. Their work is done here; they are no longer required. They are off to become wood chips.
Now we must dig around and find the boxes the decorations belong in, take down the Christmas cards from friends and family, and try to remember to buy a 2011 calendar.
"On with the new year!" we must think. We turn our faces towards the light of the ever-lengthening days, and think about festivities to come: birthdays, Royal weddings, trips abroad, visits from loved ones, and the taste of the approaching spring.
Saturday, 1 January 2011
A dying art
Go into your average stationery shop here in the UK and you'll see walls just lined with greeting cards. Including some for occasions you haven't even heard of before.
You can buy the obvious cards of course: births, deaths and marriages; all the milestone ages, sorry you're leaving, good luck in retirement, Mother's, Father's, Christmas and Valentine's Day. But apparently we also now want to send cards for Easter, Halloween, St Patrick's Day, graduation, and when you've moved house too.
Publishers in the UK produce more than 2.6 billion greeting cards every year. And those of us here in Britain buy more cards than any other country in the world. That's an industry worth over £1.2 billion a year. More than we spend on tea and coffee put together.
Unfortunately, so many cards now seem to be just about the token gesture. Apparently we're too busy these days to actually write messages. Where did all the words go?
The other day, when I went into a large and well-stocked stationery shop looking for some lovely writing paper, I was very disappointed. There were a million types of wrapping paper, gift bags, gift boxes, tags, small cards, big cards, cards that turned into freestanding Christmas scenes, ready-made wedding invitations, place setting cards, photo albums, diaries and calendars, but only two kinds of writing paper. In two shades of white.
Do people not write letters anymore? Are we at such a stage that we require information instantly and can't wait for Royal Mail to deliver? Am I just terribly behind in loving things falling through that old school slot in the door?
I very much fear that the art of letter writing is dying out. It's going the way of dance cards and long-distance train travel. So this year, I plan to do my best to bring the letter back. Let's make mail cool again. It worked for cupcakes and knitting. Why can't we revive post?
2011 is going to be the year of the letter. Surely there are few things more wonderful than coming home to find a handwritten envelope waiting for you on the bench. You make a cup of tea, sit somewhere comfortable and then wrap yourself in another person's words for a few moments of time, their voice reading aloud to you; laughter, tears, and exclamations.
Please join me in trying to save something is really quite lovely. I just don't think we're really that busy we can't put pen to paper to brighten someone else's day.
Why not give it a go?
You can buy the obvious cards of course: births, deaths and marriages; all the milestone ages, sorry you're leaving, good luck in retirement, Mother's, Father's, Christmas and Valentine's Day. But apparently we also now want to send cards for Easter, Halloween, St Patrick's Day, graduation, and when you've moved house too.
Publishers in the UK produce more than 2.6 billion greeting cards every year. And those of us here in Britain buy more cards than any other country in the world. That's an industry worth over £1.2 billion a year. More than we spend on tea and coffee put together.
Unfortunately, so many cards now seem to be just about the token gesture. Apparently we're too busy these days to actually write messages. Where did all the words go?
The other day, when I went into a large and well-stocked stationery shop looking for some lovely writing paper, I was very disappointed. There were a million types of wrapping paper, gift bags, gift boxes, tags, small cards, big cards, cards that turned into freestanding Christmas scenes, ready-made wedding invitations, place setting cards, photo albums, diaries and calendars, but only two kinds of writing paper. In two shades of white.
Do people not write letters anymore? Are we at such a stage that we require information instantly and can't wait for Royal Mail to deliver? Am I just terribly behind in loving things falling through that old school slot in the door?
I very much fear that the art of letter writing is dying out. It's going the way of dance cards and long-distance train travel. So this year, I plan to do my best to bring the letter back. Let's make mail cool again. It worked for cupcakes and knitting. Why can't we revive post?
2011 is going to be the year of the letter. Surely there are few things more wonderful than coming home to find a handwritten envelope waiting for you on the bench. You make a cup of tea, sit somewhere comfortable and then wrap yourself in another person's words for a few moments of time, their voice reading aloud to you; laughter, tears, and exclamations.
Please join me in trying to save something is really quite lovely. I just don't think we're really that busy we can't put pen to paper to brighten someone else's day.
Why not give it a go?
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