Triumphant return

1. And I quote fishboy:

So.

Seems like I will be resuming my usual modus craperandi of irregular and erratic updates with little content or interest.

Start as you intend to continue I say!

My thoughts exactly.

2. The yoga addiction has developed; it's a good thing. I won't elaborate today because people will call me a hippie, say that I smell and throw rotten vegetables at me. That's what J was saying until I got him hooked too, so, ha! Six packs in the House of Y!

3. Since September.. since September things have happened, plane tickets to California were purchased, and much fun and sex was had by yours truly.

Then reality kicked in, can you see the bruise?

I have exactly 156 pages of fun, sex and reality, but they are real, paper pages, covered in blue ink and honestly.. it's all drama. Pff.
Better offer a summary. So: fun, sex, reality, that's all I'm saying for now.

4. Might well be back to this blogging lark, seriously.

1. Quick! before my daily life plunges back into autumn, work and all things grim, I am trying to develop an addiction to yoga. More precisely Bikram - the kind where they cook you for 90 minutes. Logically, I should come out of there looking and feeling like a limp leek, but no!

2. J, the Scot who can't function above 22°C, now joins me in this communal sweating, muscle-stretching venture.

3. Today our teacher is Francesca.
'I think she explains stuff really well' J declares, 'but my judgement may be biased since she is a total dream.'
How so? I ask, still in a daze myself.
'As soon as she walks into the studio, I hear the last movement of Tchaikovksy's Symphony No. 6.'

4. Fine; for the time being, this, with or without Tchaikovksy, will have to make up for our respective lack of a sex life, then.

September jigsaw.

1. Bloglanders, let's quote a TV character, why the hell not : Sexuality is fluid, whether you're gay or you're straight or you're bisexual, you just go with the flow. How do you like that my cultural references are US TV series about lesbians?*

2. ' Actually', I said, (defiantly?) pouring tempranillo into my glass: 'I haven't had sex with a man in over ten years and didn't think I would ever again'.
'Ok', he replied, smiling only a little. Then we finished the wine.

3. I thought : as much as I like this person, what if.. he turns out to be, I don't know.. a man? What I just don't feel anything, don't know what to do, get bored? What if?

4. Blogfolks, I was wrong, and that worried voice should have just shut the hell up, and gone with that flow..

5. A holiday lover, hurrah! Can't get him out of my head, boo!

6. When a friend recommends a work of fiction of a pornographic nature, said work of fiction should not be read on long, solitary train journeys, especially when your hornymeter is cranked up to the max and said holiday lover on a plane to California.

I missed you, bloglanders! Next time I'll tell you about why everyone should do Bikram yoga, if only because it's full of seriously hot people. Be well!

* Personally, I'm being extremely impressed.

Eliza

1. For six years, War raged on between us.

2. I would never live up to her gardening standards, she knew it and despised me for it.
In spring, in summer, I would try to hide from her, cower, sneak back in at the mere flicker of net curtains - in order to avoid her heavily accented monologues about her garden and its roses, about my pile of mud and its weeds. She made me feel like a horticultural deliquent.

3. She liked her giant old lady knickers to dry out in the West London breeze; sometimes, in-between washing loads, we would get to see the sun setting on the horizon.

4. And now, people of Blogland! it is with some sadness that I must report the following: Eliza is no more. A professionally grim faced policeman knocked on our door, late at night, that week it was so cold in London, you remember? and no we didn't have any contact details for her family.

5. Eliza's giant knickers will not grace our living room view ever again. Elvis and Sid, her vicious cat, will never kick our very own Pancho's ass ever again. There will be no more heavily accented monologues about my incompetence.

6. I'm sad, because I'm projecting. Perhaps, like Eliza, one day I won't die alone in a country that isn't mine, and the police won't find any contact details.

7. Read Tieg Larsson's 'The girl with the dragon tattoo'. Really.

Not funny.

1.Blogfolk, don't you find that Christmas is just like PMT? I do.

2. Consider how it builds up, and with it a deep-seated, gut-churning anxiety; you know something is going to happen, you know the date even. You get more anxious, grumpier by the day, yet your forget why the suicidal feelings, the sudden bouts of despair, the snapping at family members and kicking of small pets. And then..

3. ..and then it's over! The tension suddenly eases. Ah, the relief. PMT, Christmas day, same thing. This year, I killed two birds with one stone; I'm exhausted.

*that'll be Pre-menstrual tension. Read your Cosmo already.

1. Blogfolks, do you know what today is? I do. It's coming back to blogging day. I won't lie to you, people of blogland: I wasn't on a total blogging hiatus; it's just that for the past year I've been involved in a specific project, which required a specific blog. Somewhere else.

2. Today, in the horror that is central London on pretty much any day, but especially when school's out, I found a phone; a posh one, with Prada written on it- because I'm not entirely labelwise, or I don't care, I first thought it was 'Pravda', like the Russian newspaper, and thought: how beautiful! a communication tool named after Truth; but no.

3. High on Good Intentions I went through the address book; I would call the owner if a home number was listed, say I'd found their phone and send it to them.

4. No home number; what to do? Ah, call someone else. Who are the friends?

5. The outbox reveals dozens of abusive text messages, complete with insults and bodily threats.

6. I'm taking the phone to Oxfam. What would you do?

Blogfolks!

I might be back, I might not. If nothing new appears within the next two weeks, this blog will be scrapped altogether.

An ordinary afternoon with my mum

-Have I told you about my colleague’s daughter?

-Mum, is it another hospital story?

-you see, they found out - she’s only 18 months old- that she had leukaemia and

-Because if it is, you know I don’t want to hear hospital stories.

-and then, she needed a bone marrow transplant and

-do you know why I don’t want to hear hospital stories, mum?

-her brother is 4 years old, can you imagine? so they did a transplant and they didn’t know if it was going to work or if

-because, remember, I’m due for a hospital stay at some point and I’m anxiety in a tube, a concentrate of worry - I don’t want to know what horrible things might ha

-and she caught one of those, those superbugs that are so easy to catch nowadays, and

-what i want to hear is that things will go fine, y’know? That hopsitals can be relied upon?

-and suddenly she was about to die, and they realised the nurse had given her ten times the necessary dose of morphine

- this, for example, does not make me feel good. Mum. Pleaa

- because nurses make mistakes! and luckily the baby pulled through but just to say, one has to be very, very vigilant.

-thanks, mum.

1. Bloglanders, I hope you're well. I am just back from baking in the Madrid heat for two weeks, made new friends, saw what I wanted to see and more, walked, sweated, ate, drank, talked and listened a lot, too. I have felt better in those weeks that I had done in a very long time. I don't think I spent longer than an hour alone at any time.

2. My apologies for the extremely crap new design, it's just that I don't have my very own web designer around at the moment, and I was here toying with the idea of just scrapping the whole thing - have you ever felt the temptation of the 'delete this blog' button? Well, I have, and I am, perhaps to just leave it, or perhaps to start afresh somewhere, I don't know yet.

3. if the cat lets me, I'll unpack then pack again; off again tomorrow. Be well!

¡Hola todos! Perhaps I won´t come back. That´s all.