Hole yet whole

I brought my iPod into the studio recently so we've been listening to T's music on a daily basis for the past few weeks. Today I'm sat listening to JJ Cale and it's making me miss T. How I wish I could see him again. Sometimes, even three years on, I still can't believe he's gone. The injustice of it all hits me hard today. He was a good person; kind, loving, wise, thoughtful. He introduced me to new things. He challenged me. He loved me and he shared his life with me. I was lucky, I know that. He makes me whole – even now.

Although I think of T every single day, and assume (and hope) I always will, there's not normally pain associated with those thoughts. Now, on the occasions when I do feel pain, it's of the dull aching variety. Like a painkiller wearing off; that niggling feeling of discord in the periphery of your being. But the happiness in my life right now helps negates this pain. Doesn't mean I don't miss him though. 

Foggy?

Last weekend someone told me about a place they'd been to in New Zealand from where it's said souls leave the earth. It's meant to be beautiful but, he said, when he was there it was really foggy so he couldn't see much. One of my friends said maybe it wasn't fog, but the sheer number of souls leaving earth that day. I like that.

Feeling hot hot hot

My mate Luke is amazing. He's like my own personal Gok. On Saturday night I walked into a posh party with my head held high, brimming with confidence and happy for once with how I looked. I didn't feel behind the fashion times, but equally I felt like me; not like I was pretending to be someone I wasn't. I wasn't wearing my usual skinny black jeans and heels. I was, in fact, wearing a whole new outfit that was bought on a budget. I think I looked good. And that's certainly what people told me. But it was all thanks to Luke. 

I treated myself to a buttock-skimming playsuit, bought under Luke's guidance. It could have been a bit too much were it not for the fact that it had a high neckline and long sleeves so, although it was leggy, there was no flesh exposed up top! The French plait in the front of my hair that Luke had planned was rejected in favour of hair down, so instead he patiently straightened my hair and styled the front for me. I then did my make-up. Emerging from the bathroom, Luke said he thought I'd gone in to do my eye make-up. I told him I had done it but he wasn't happy and requested access to my make up bag. I was a doubting Thomas; it's one thing letting a boy loose on your outfit and hair, but what's a boy to know about make up? But he did me proud. The result, after much bickering, was smoky eyes and perfect cupid's bow lips. I had to eat my words. He's good that boy. Damn good. If anyone would like a make-over, hair tips, fashion advice, I'd thoroughly recommend Luke. In fact, I think he's wasted in his day job. Wasted. 

The party was great fun, with an unexpected but very welcome free bar and lots of familiar faces but not enough time spent with the birthday boy – that's always the way. But getting ready was more fun. Luke got both me and his flatmate dressed and ready to go. Then he, bless him, made about four outfit changes himself before he was finally happy with how he looked. All this, accompanied by gin, pizza, tequila and Taylor Swift. It was like nothing I've ever experienced before, and I loved it. 

Staying over with the boys last night, after a 3am salt-beef bagel pit-stop on Brick Lane, just prolonged the fun. Luke had gone to the trouble of lighting a scented candle in his room to make it smell nice and it was the tidiest I've ever seen it. It makes you feel good when you know people have done something just for you. It felt like we fell asleep laughing and woke up laughing. The following morning we were served tea in bed, and watched last night's X-Factor before Luke headed to the cinema and I joined three lovely boys for a delicious homemade brunch of cream cheese and Parma ham bagels with poached eggs. I felt thoroughly spoilt and so at home in Raul and Luke's lovely home. 

Once again, I feel so lucky to have such good friends in my life. I can't imagine what it would be like without people like this to look out for me and help make me feel better about things. I do sometimes wish I could do something to prove how grateful I am to my friends and family – words just seem so inadequate, but equally you can't put a monetary value on gratitude. I hope they know that I'll be forever indebted to them and hope that I can somehow return the love.  

Dream a little dream

It doesn't happen often. In fact I can count one one hand how many times it's happened in the past three years, but last night I dreamt of T. I woke up this morning feeling like I'd seen him. Which made me feel happy. I can vividly remember gazing lovingly at him while he was on the phone to his sister, helping her with a problem she was having with her broadband. We weren't living together – I was just visiting – and we were happy. I remember thinking that I wished he'd hurry up on the phone because we had so much to catch up on, it felt like we hadn't seen each other for oh, maybe three years. I wish my dream would come true. 

Home is where you keep your slipper socks

Somehow I've almost completed three and a half weeks of my seven-week contract here in London. I'm not quite sure where that time has gone but gone it has. Being back has had its pros and cons. 

The word that summed up my first week wasn't 'work' or 'tired' as I expected it to be, but 'cold'. I was cold on my commute, shivering on the platform at 7.30 every morning. I was cold at my desk – partly due to my pregnant colleague having the window open to help with her hot flushes. I was cold in bed, waking up in the middle of the night to put socks and a hoodie on. Fortunately last week was a bit better weather-wise and I saw the sunshine again, which helped, but I definitely need to wear more clothes now. My Geordie blood clearly isn't as thick as it once was. My generous host gave me lifts to and from the station every day to help make the long commute that bit more bearable, which it definitely did. And I was well fed and watered and generally made to feel welcome, despite my summer and winter wardrobes – that were spilling out of various cases and bags after a rushed visit to my flat – taking up every inch of floor space in the spare room.

Last weekend, having stored the random bin bag full of sheets and towels that I managed to get out of my loft by mistake, as well as the contents of my summer wardrobe, in the spare room cupboard of amazing friends, I continued on my merry way to stay with more lovely friends in Peckham. We climbed to the top of Hilly Fields – where T and I used to spend our summer days when we lived in St Johns: it was strange being back there – and watched the Blackheath fireworks. They were stunning, if a tad silent at the distance we were watching them from. Then we went to a posh chippy and had eat-in fish and chips and some BYO wine. My friends have one of my ideal homes and a new dog, so I was happy.

Week two can be summed up by the word 'love'. I loved everything about it! Living in central London was amazing, although I didn't really take full advantage of living so centrally because I was just so eager to get home to my lovely flatmate every evening. It's the first time I've really felt that since T died and it felt great. It definitely makes it easier to leave work on time when you've got someone waiting for you at home. I was feeling a bit down about life in general when I arrived at Russell Square, but after a few short hours in the company of my temporary flatmate I was right as rain again. Cups of tea and slices of cake were waiting on the table for me when I got home from work every evening. We spent evenings on the sofa, laughing until our stomachs hurt and I'd cried off all my mascara. We made pizzas, ate burgers and watched films snuggled up under our throws – taking it in turns to fall asleep and miss the ending. We had play fights and took the dog for urban walks. I was Gok-ed. And we had one very very messy but amazing night out that ended in a rickshaw ride and a visit to 24-hour Tesco to stock up on scotch eggs and cocktail sausages. 

Today I'm on the move again. I'm spending a couple of nights with good friends before moving into more permanent accommodation (one month!) on Thursday. One benefit of this nomadic lifestyle is that I get to spend proper QT with my friends; it's so much better than a quick Pizza Express in town on a school night. And everyone is so kind! I'm so incredibly touched by that. My hosts have all been wonderful – generous, welcoming, tolerant and fun to be around. That has made a massive difference to the scale of my Italy come-down. And people keep checking in to find out if I'm sorted for a bed. People with small children. People with full-time jobs and partners. People further afield. It really is incredible. I'm a lucky girl.

Get by with a little help from my friends

I'm on the road again. After four glorious months in the south, the time has come for me to head back up north and yesterday I made the long drive from Nice to the outskirts of Paris. I have to admit that I left with a heavy heart. A heart that tells me to stay down there where the quality of life is good and the weather is several degrees warmer, in a country that I've fallen in love with and a language I'm finally beginning to get to grips with. But a heart that also tells me I'll be back. I've had another amazing summer. I've made new friends, seen new places, done new things. I've learnt valuable life lessons, I've grown as a person and I'm happy.  

On Monday I start a new contract in London. At this moment in time it's only for seven weeks so I'm living very much in the short term. I'm also homeless in London as my flat is rented out until Christmas, a week after my contract finishes – typical! But, maybe for the first time in my life, all of that uncertainty is fine by me. I think I've surprised even the non-planning Italians with my laid-back approach to this new chapter of my life. I've certainly surprised myself – it's very out of character for a control-freak like me. 

The thing that makes it easier is that I have very generous friends and family. I know that I will never be truly homeless. Beds have been offered to me by friends with children; parents offering to go in with their children so I can have their room. It's incredibly touching and I'm very grateful. Friends in the UK, Italy, France, and today in Australia, have told me their home is my home. In some cases their home has been my home in recent weeks or will be in the coming weeks. And maybe that's why I'm not phased by the impending uncertainty. Because I'm lucky enough to have a plethora of people looking out for and after me. Thank you!

The more I see of Italy, the more I love

Maybe I shouldn't visit any more of this country because the more places I visit, the deeper my love for this country becomes. It's well and truly in my blood now; I've definitely passed the point of no return, and I love it!

Bologna is an amazing city. It's vibrant and buzzy and full to the brim of young, beautiful, achingly trendy students. It's down-to-earth and infectious and interesting. It's full of culture and history and stunning, varied architecture. And people go everywhere by bike – it's lovely! I was advised against going to Florence to study Italian for two weeks because it's so full of tourists; more like a living museum than a real town. Bologna is a real town. It's Glasgow, not Edinburgh. Maybe it has something of Newcastle about it too. As is often the case, Lonely Planet hit the nail on the head with their description of Bologna, "If you've ever puzzled over how to combine haughty elegance with down-to-earth urban grit, come to Emilia-Romagna's fat, red, learned city where suave opera-goers waltz out of regal theatres into graffiti-embellished piazzas full of boozing students. Sometimes stylish, often scruffy, Bologna is a place of many monikers." I feel right at home here. It's somewhere I think I could live and be happy which isn't to say that's what I'm going to do, but I don't always feel that connection with places.

The school where I'm studying is great. It's very well managed and the teachers, on the whole, are good. We study from 9:30-11:30 when everyone – teachers and students from the various classes – heads to a nearby cafe for a coffee break. You sit in your group, with your teacher, and you all speak Italian. It's a good discipline because you quickly get into the habit of speaking Italian with your classmates socially, which is sometimes strange when they're English too, but it means you're maximising the time you spend speaking the language. Then we go back to school and have a conversation class until 13:45. I'm making good progress too. On day two I was told to go up a level in my conversation, which I did, but unfortunately the teacher wasn't great so I've gone back to my original class. I think I learn more there anyway, just because of the group dynamic. The school has a DVD library so I've watched a couple of films in Italian in the evenings, and they also organise four social events per week, which is another good way to maximise the Italian you speak, meet other students and learn more about the Italian/Bolognese culture.

On Tuesday afternoon one of the tutors took three of us on a guided tour of the music museum here. I wasn't that interested in the museum itself (shame on me, I know), but it was good to have another couple of hours of Italian immersion and the building where the museum was housed was worth seeing. Then on Wednesday afternoon a group of us went for a boozy cookery lesson at the house of the chef, a lovely lady called Patrizia. We made bruschetta, polenta with ragù (which is traditionally made with white wine and pork belly and is never ever served with spaghetti – spaghetti bolognese only exists outside of Italy!), pork steaks cooked with herbs and garlic then wrapped in prosciutto and served on a bed of baby leaves and parmesan, and finally ice-cream with fruit and a balsamic vinegar reduction. And the obligatory coffee, dark chocolate and a bottle of limoncello (to help the digestion you understand). Going out afterwards to help celebrate someone's birthday was a bad bad bad idea but was fun at the time.

Fortunately, Thursday was a public holiday to celebrate the patron saint of Bologna, San Petronio. I gave thanks to him that day, I can tell you! I couldn't have managed school but did somehow manage a trip to the modern art museum that I can see from my window, then into town to see what was going on there. There were various religious and cultural things happening and they closed the roads to cars so there were lots of people just sauntering round the city. In the evening I met up with a couple of classmates and went to see an amazing fireworks display in Piazza Maggiore. Then yesterday afternoon a group of us headed off into the beautiful Emilia-Romagna countryside to visit a dairy where they make parmesan cheese. It was really interesting to learn more about how the cheese is made, and why it costs so much.

This particular dairy make between 15 and 20 cheeses per day, between three people. The cheeses are then left to stand before being put in a salt-water bath. They are finally left to ripen and mature, de-moulded every week or so. Then the people that determine whether the cheese is up to the high standards required by the EU come round with a little hammer and test every single cheese to decide if it's up to scratch. The sound tells you whether the cheese is good or not. It was fascinating and great for our Italian too. Then afterwards they arranged a tasting (three different parmesans, ricotta, salami, prosciutto, bread, wine, water...) so we left feeling well and truly replete. The countryside was stunning too – lots of lovely rolling hills and green valleys. It was nice to see a little bit more of the region.Yesterday there was another birthday so after a little nap we met up in town for a few beers. It was a good night and nice to have people to socialise with. 

Today I visited Parma and Modena. Both are beautiful towns with fabulous architecture but I much preferred Modena. Parma was like a ghost-town and is so pristine it was like being on a film set. I found it a bit soul-less. But I did manage to eat Parma ham in Parma, which was one of my goals, and it was delicious. I washed it down with a glass of Lambrusco and followed it with tortelli alla zucca (pumpkin). I didn't enjoy being in a restaurant on my own much, especially because the couple next to me were having a bit of a domestic, and I really don't think food tastes as good when you're not sharing it with anyone, but that's just the way it goes. Modena was lovely; a thriving, energetic little city that felt more real than Parma and, like Bologna, was full of people on bikes. It's hard to imagine what it must have been like for the people of Modena this summer with the devastating earthquake and subsequent tremors they experienced. I know at least one person who slept in his car every night for a long period of time because he was just too scared to sleep at home. I didn't see any obvious signs of damage, although I did notice that a lot of buildings were under scaffolding, including the cathedral. I ended my day with a lovely ice-cream, possibly the best ever, fior di latte and toasted almond, then a quiet night at home. 

This is what life is all about

I'm sat cross-legged on my bed, cup of tea in hand, the window open, looking out over the primrose yellow of the modern art museum building contrasted against the blue of the sky. It's definitely not the blue of a summer sky, but it's clear blue sky all the same. I've been flicking through my Lonely Planet book trying to decide whether to go to Parma, Modena, Florence or Siena today and I think I've settled on Parma. Right at this second, and despite being alone, I am 100% happy and that to me is what life is all about.

Yes, be envious and jealous of me; I'd get why you would be. But never ever lose sight of the fact that I went to hell and back to get to where I am today. Something that when I'm feeling happy I sometimes have to remind myself of too. But acknowledge too that I've made conscious decisions and certain sacrifices to be where I am today. And that is something we all have the power to do. If you don't like something; change it. It may not always be simple but at least try. Today is all we have. Really. I can't remember if I've quoted this before but I once read somewhere that every day you should be able to say, today is a good day to die. Easier said than done? Quite possibly. But why let that stop you from trying?

Until tomorrow, I'll just keep moving on

Well, here I am in Bologna. Listening to the rain come down outside. It's been pouring since I arrived but it hasn't dampened my spirits. I'm on the road again, and that makes me happy in my heart.

Last Saturday I arrived back in Nice after a lovely visit to my family in the UK. I loved loved loved being back in the UK, and in the North East in particular. The weather was cold (very – I had to have my winter duvet on, the fire on every night and the central heating cranked up) but fortunately most days were bright and sunny, which made a difference. It was amazing spending some quality time with my family, who I really miss, and doing some bonding with my little nephew. I loved seeing the always-stunning Northumbrian countryside and the paddling in the (freezing cold) North Sea. Newcastle's bridges by night took my breath away; I couldn't stop taking photos. It was like seeing the region through new eyes. And it was great! I loved the shops. I'm not ordinarily a shopper, but oh my god did I love the shops. Just regular shops like Boots. And I bought four pairs of shoes. Yes, four. I even loved English television. Not something I watch a great deal of when I'm in the UK, but it was such a treat watching Celebrity Masterchef every night. (Sadly I didn't make it to Waitrose, but I really really miss Waitrose. Sad but very true.) Interestingly, none of the above, bar my family of course, bother me when I'm not in the UK, but being back made me appreciate them all the more.

But all too soon it was time to leave and I was headed back to Nice. Chri met me at the airport and when we got back to his, I was delighted to find Eve and Gianluca there waiting to welcome me back. We then spent Sunday helping Eve's dad pick the last of his grapes. As I drink his wine every time I'm at his house, it only seemed fair to help him harvest this year's grapes so I can justify drinking next year's batch. When I'd dropped my parents off at the Newcastle Airport on Saturday morning it was 3 degrees (admittedly it was 6.30am but even so, it was only 9 degrees at 10am) so I was delighted that Sunday dawned warm (up to 27: heaven!) and sunny. After picking the grapes (to the strains of the drunken neighbouring vine-owner singing old Italian songs at the top of his voice, bare-chested with a crown of vine leaves on his head – like something out a film), we sat down to a delicious BBQ then roasted some chestnuts. It was lovely but once again I ate far too much.

Last week I stayed with Chri all week. I haven't seen that much of him this summer so it was really nice  spending some quality time together. He taught me a typical Genovese card game, that we've played most nights and I've still not won, but give it time... And one night a couple of friends came round to watch the Genoa game so I made a delicious curry for everyone; the first proper cooking I've done in a long time. I enjoyed it. Another night I took advantage of a free guest pass to join Chri at the gym. Not only did I complete a 45-minute run without any knee pain (happy face), but I got straight off the treadmill onto the bike and did a 45-minute spin class. I loved that too, surprisingly! T went spinning every day. Now I understand why. I like it when that happens.

Friday night and Saturday I spent with Eve, then last night I popped up to Matteo's and had dinner with him and his lovely girlfriend, Luisella. She is one of my new gurus (having been through her own fair share of shit) and she totally gets me. It's nice having a guru in the same country as me – doesn't happen that often. The weather was crap yesterday, really autumnal, so I was delighted to find myself sunbathing in my bikini on the beach this afternoon. The waves were too big to swim (and the water was possibly a tad on the cool side, but let's blame the waves), but I did have to have a shower to cool off. Lovely!

Then I took myself off to Bologna. I'm doing an intensive Italian course for the next two weeks – 4 hours per day – and I'm super excited. (I had to change trains at Milan and am now totally in love with Milano Centrale station. It is stunning architecturally, but it was also nice being in a big, buzzy station. It reminded me of Central Station in NYC, or of St Pancras. It's also moved Milan up my hit list, especially when I saw that BT and Barclays both have offices there...). Anyway, I'm super excited to be learning; stimulating those brain cells a bit. The fact I'm going to be learning Italian is even better. I'm also happy to be in Bologna – even if it is wet. It's meant to be an amazing city; a real Italian city, full of real Italian people, not tourists (bloody tourists, they get everywhere!). And the Bolognese are meant to be a friendly lot. The architecture is supposedly pretty impressive too. I'm staying within spitting distance of the modern art museum that has a great looking bar/restaurant that I plan to hang out in. And the food (and red wine) in this part of the world is rumoured to be amazing. So I reckon I might like it here.

I find experiences like this so liberating. They make me excited and happy and challenged and free.

The End. For tonight. Need to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for my first day of school tomorrow. Good night.

Time flies when you're having fun

Last summer I spent one and a half months living on my own in a half-empty apartment, sleeping on a mattress on the floor, my social life dictated by the infrequent trains that served my local station. That time passed so slowly; it felt like an eternity. In contrast, this summer has flown by. I can't believe that I've been here for two months and autumn is already on the horizon.

I've been very happy this summer. I've loved my living arrangements and will be very sad to pack my bags this week and return to my nomadic life. It's been lovely being part of a family while also having my own personal space. I enjoy eating with other people and hearing the sounds of their daily life going on around me. It makes me feel less alone. It's also been amazing eating their home-grown produce every day – tomatoes, courgettes, courgette flowers, pears, aubergines, lettuce; it all tastes so much better fresh from the ground/tree. It's made a big difference not being reliant on my friends for accommodation, transport and entertainment. I feel more independent. I've found my feet, made new friends, I love cruising up and down the Ligurian coast in my little English car.

It's strange to think that last summer I arrived knowing only Chri and up until then I hadn't seen him for 14 years! Now, thanks to him, I have a big circle of friends. There's Evelyn, a girlfriend like I've never had before, and who I haven't yet known for one year, who likes nothing more than doing girly things together. On Friday we stayed at home and watched hair-up videos on YouTube in preparation for the wedding I'm going to in Ibiza next week. (I think we've cracked a style that should work, although I could do with flying Eve out with me to recreate it for the big day because I'm not sure it'll be quite so easy on my own!). I have open access to her wardrobe and beauty products and she's constantly telling me not to wear all black, to experiment more with my make-up, to buy a new, more revealing bikini, etc etc. On Sunday night we went to her parents for dinner (melon and proscuitto, Ligurian style rabbit then ice-cream cake, all washed down with the red wine her father produces); they were so welcoming and hospitable and told me that their door is always open for me.

Then there's Matteo, who shares my love of travelling and experiencing new cultures. He's also a runner and, unlike Eve, has been to visit me in London so has experienced and understands my English life a bit. I love Matte's house, an old building in the heart of the village – maybe another of my havens. His parents have also opened the doors of their home wide to me and I really appreciated their hospitality too. Matteo has, perhaps more than anyone else, taught me to try and live more in the moment; not to plannify as we call it! And I've formed a special bond with his girlfriend, who I've only met a handful of times. She speaks good English and during a short car journey together we inexplicably did some mutual emotional story sharing. She has been through her own share of shit and is therefore perhaps the only person in my group of friends here who can really understand something of my experience. That's important to me.

Davide, an architect who also plays in a Blues band, is a one-off and never fails to make us all laugh. He should be on the stage really, he's quite the drama queen but all in the name of comedy. He plays his plastic fork like a guitar while queuing at the bar; he splashes you repeatedly with water while you're having a serious conversation about religion in the sea, maintaining a straight face for the duration; he bursts into song at random moments; he can make his bottom lip tremble dramatically when he pretends you've hurt him; he loves Queen. He is a proper gent, you can have interesting conversations with him and he's a very patient Italian teacher.

Gianluca is also a one-off, but in a completely different way to Davide. His humour is more base and he's inexplicably quite down on Italy generally. He is training to be a lawyer so lives at home with his parents. His mother seems to spend every waking moment cooking and we've spent many an evening at the beach, eating her torta verde and drinking a chilled bottle of white wine that Gianluca has brought along with him. He lives in the hills and has introduced us to a hidden beach on the Roya river that is amazing for swimming in the cool water. He also has his finger on the pulse regarding the dates and locations of all the village festivals, which is always good to know.

Andrea (a boy, the equivalent of Andrew in English), is an accountant. But he's not dull. He loves art and reading and the theatre, which I thoroughly approve of. It's nice to find a man to share those things with. He has been my personal guide to the area this summer and knows all the best places to go. We've been to an open-air cinema in a garden with the mountains as a back-drop. We've been to an open-air theatre in a village in the hills to see a Moliere play. We've been to nice restaurants and nice beaches away from the main drag of private beach clubs, and we've been to the best gelateria (or icecreameria as we christened it) in the whole of Liguria (his claim, not mine) and sampled their pine nut ice cream. Last night, on his recommendation, I took myself off to a little village down the coast for a wander on my lonesome. I looked around the church, had an Aperol spritz in the piazza while the sun set then wandered the little alleyways until I stumbled across a small photography exhibition. I ended up chatting to the photographer for an hour or so and loved every minute of it!

And, speaking of friends, Barbara just called me. She's from this area but now lives in Milan and she's here on holiday this week. She's off to Juan-les-Pins tomorrow with another friend who I've met once before and they wondered if I'd like to join them. Perfect timing as I'm off to Nice this afternoon because Chri, Eve and I are going to the Madonna concert there this evening!

Anyway, hopefully that gives you a flavour of some of the people I've met. It's not always easy to express ourselves with the respective language barriers, but somehow we find a way and all get on well. Nobody treats me like an outsider because I'm English. People are patient and inclusive and kind. In fact, despite the language barrier and the cultural differences, I feel like one of them. I don't see myself as different just because I'm from a different country. I guess friends are friends, whichever country they are from.

On Sunday I'm off to Ibiza for a couple of weeks. T's step-sister is getting married so I'm super excited about that. It will be so nice to see T's family again and to catch up on all their news. Eve, Massimo and Elvira are joining me for the second week. It's looking unlikely that Chri will be there, which I'm not very happy about, but wait and see. Then I'm back here for six days before heading back to the NE to see my precious family. The Great North Run is looking unlikely this year, due to a persistent knee injury, but I'm really looking forward to being back in the NE and seeing everyone again. And who knows what'll happen after that. As Matte has taught me, I'm trying not to worry about that too much right now so as to make the most of today, but I'm not good at dealing with uncertainty. My heart tells me to stay here where the quality of life is good and I've got a lot of single friends. My head tells me I need some stimulation and a 'proper job'. Any advice appreciated!

Riding pillion

Two boys in one week have told me I'm a great pillion. Apparently female passengers are normally very rigid and lean the wrong way into and out of corners, making it more difficult for the driver to control the bike. They were both surprised when I told them that last summer was my first real time on the back of a bike.

I've been thinking about this and it's strange really. In the past, I was so scared of riding pillion; in fact I could count the number of times I'd been on the back of a bike on half a hand. Then my husband is killed in a motorcycle accident. These two things should mean I'm even more frightened of bikes, but instead I've developed a new love for them. Well, for scooters really. I think the reason I'm a good pillion is because I don't think about it. I'm so relaxed when I'm on the back of a scooter, watching the world rush by, feeling the wind against my skin, breathing in the fragrant Mediterranean air, sharing observations with the driver. I move as one with the bike. I don't think about corners and which way I should be leaning. It's so liberating, I love it.

I've said before that when T died I like to think that a part of him fused with me so that we're living one life between the two of us. If this is true – and it's unlikely, I know, but just humour me – then I think I've inherited my love of riding pillion from him. And I like that. I like that through T's death I've found pleasure in new things, things that would have previously been totally off-limits to me.

On the news front, it's been another great week. Last Friday I went to an open-air theatre in a small village to see Moliere's Tarfuffe. It was magical. Then on Saturday a big group of us went to a village festival in a small village in the hills. We ate well, drank, danced and generally had fun. Sunday was spent dozing on the beach – cooling off in the sea when it got too hot.

The kids are on holiday for a couple of weeks so I'm a free agent now, so my days this week have mostly been spent at the beach. I've done lots of swimming and it's amazing! Yesterday I was in the sea by 9.15am and had my last swim around 8.15pm. I love my life here! On Wednesday evening we went to a lovely little village in the hills called Apricale. When I arrived there I told my friends that I thought I'd lived there in a past life. I felt instantly at home. We saw an amazing theatrical performance where you were taken around the village in groups to watch various performers tell their story in different locations. I didn't understand much of the Italian but it was a great experience. Then last night I met four friends on the beach when they finished work and we shared a bottle of wine, ate torta verde and arancini made by one of the mums, and had a swim. Tonight we're off to another village festival that promises to be a good night, then probably out in Monaco tomorrow night. On Sunday night I'm hoping to go somewhere dark to watch the meteor showers that occur at this time of year and that will forever remind me of the meteor showers we saw when T died. Life is good. 

Three years on

I think about T every single day; not one day goes by that I don't. Yesterday, the third anniversary of T's fatal accident, and today, the third anniversary of his death, have prompted more thoughts than usual, but I think my thoughts around the time of these anniversaries are more destructive than on other days of the year. I find myself reliving those terrible days: thinking that this time three years ago T was alive and we were all going about our lives as usual; that this time three years ago I received the call from the hospital; that this time three years ago I didn't know that T's accident was fatal; that this time three years ago I spent my last night with my beautiful husband; that this time three years ago I somehow said my last goodbyes; that this time three years ago I was taken back to the house we shared and how very little I remember about what happened after that. On other days, my thoughts are generally more positive. I remember T's smile. I remember his love for me, and mine for him. I give thanks to him for the life I'm now living in his memory. I speak to him; I tell him things I want him to know. I remember happy times with him.

But despite this, the third anniversary of T's death has been okay. It's almost been and gone and, once again, I've survived. I haven't done anything specific, I've had a quiet couple of days alone with my thoughts. I fought the urge to succumb to the destructive thoughts yesterday and, although it felt a bit like I was burying my head in the sand, I think it was the right thing to do. I half wish there was someone here who knew T, who could help me mark the occasion in some way, but it's okay that there's not. I'm grateful to my mum, dad, sister and nephew for visiting T at the weekend and yesterday and leaving him some flowers. I don't like to think of him on his own. I'm also grateful to my lovely friends and relatives for the messages I've received. I really believe that the strength of the thoughts for T over the past couple of days can only be a positive and powerful thing.

Today I'm also remembering the people who received some of T's organs; those people who were given another chance of life thanks to T. Only one organ recipient has contacted me so far. I'd like to think that one day I'll hear from some of the others, but that's up to them. I assume they'll be offering their own thanks to T and his family today, a third anniversary for them too.

I think this year's anniversary officially marks a turning point for me. It's taken me a long time, but I feel   completely happy again. You don't believe it when people tell you that one day you'll be happy again, but now I believe it. Yes, you never forget. Never ever. But you do start living again. Living happy. The pain of the loss makes you stronger. Makes you braver. Makes you grateful. Opens your eyes to life and how best to live it. I feel I'm living my life to the best of my ability right now.

Now I'm going to raise a glass to T. To the wonderful person he was. To the happy memories I have of our thirteen years together. To the life I'm now living in his memory. I love you T. Always.

2009

Yesterday, after a morning at the beach with both kids and their grandmother, we took the scenic route home in an attempt to get Pietro off to sleep. He resisted but we ended up near the cemetery where their grandfather is buried. Alice insisted we go and say hello, so in we trooped to pay our respects. (As a slight aside, many grave stones in continental Europe have photos of the deceased on them. To begin with I found this slightly disturbing, but now I quite like it. It enables you to picture the person, whether you knew them or not.)

Back at home, I had a late lunch with the grandmother; the first time we'd been alone like that. I decided to tell her that my husband also died in 2009, the same as year she lost her husband. I assume that she already knew something of my story but I'm not sure. Regardless, it felt like the right thing to do at that moment. We exchanged stories and shared our experiences of death and bereavement as best we could with my limited Italian.

I don't tell many people my story anymore. Partly because most of my friends already know, but partly because it's not what defines me as a person. It's no longer need-to-know information. But I was happy I was able to tell someone yesterday, someone who understands too. Strangely, later that evening I found myself dining alone with the housekeeper – again, the first time that has happened. During the conversation she asked if I was married. My usual response is no, but last night I also told her my story.

It felt good sharing it with women. Not that men don't understand, but I find a lot of men don't know what to say or how to respond when I do tell them. With these two women, I felt like it was a bit of female bonding. It maybe helped them to understand why someone my age was doing what I'm currently doing. And, if they already knew, maybe it meant there was no longer an elephant in the room, which is what my former boss told me when I confessed everything to him. He already knew my story but hadn't known how to acknowledge that fact to me. Actually, it was definitely female bonding because at about 22.15 there was a knock on my door and I was invited to go and have some gelato with the two of them. The three of us sat around the kitchen table and polished off the ice-cream together. It reminded me of the midnight feasts I used to have with my sister and good friend, Margot. It couldn't have been more girly and an appropriate end to the day. I love you Tim – you have opened more doors for me than you could possibly imagine.

Call to action!

This week I went on a date. Not something I would usually share in such a public place, however out of my date came an important call to action for us Anglo Saxons...

The date was innocent enough – a film under the stars (including one shooting: at which point I felt like I was starring in a cheesy movie but managed not to vomit into my popcorn...), followed by an ice-cream on the prom – so don't read too much into this next comment because it will sound way worse than it was, but I was told that I was surprisingly tactile. Romeo thought that Anglo Saxons were meant to be quite 'cold' people and not very physical! Funny what stereotypes perpetuate in this world we live in. Stereotypes that we need to challenge!

So, get out there people. Be more tactile. Show these Romans that they don't have the monopoly on romance. I've started the campaign (I felt it was my duty), but I need some back up ;)

Last Wednesday I did another first and drove into Monaco to pick Chri up from work. I don't know why, but I loved doing that. It was funny thinking of my little UK car having made it all the way to Monaco. I did almost roll into the back of the car in front while gawping at the flash cars cruising past me. It's a funny old place Monaco, but it is growing on me now that I know it a bit better. I've never been to Vegas but I think it might be a bit like that;  you have to just accept it for what it is in order to get on and enjoy it. 

Anyway, after I collected Chri (and he filled my car up with petrol – it's like having my dad here, love it!) we went to Villefranche and had our first swim of the year together in our favourite bay. It was a bit of a routine last year but now I'm living in Italy it's not very practical, so it was especially great to be back. I was in Nice to collect my friend Kari, who was visiting from the UK but her flight was delayed so Chri and I headed to an Italian restaurant near the port (where I did some Italian/French parking on the pavement outside a church). I had the most delicious seafood linguine washed down with a lovely glass of white wine. I love it here! I dropped Chri at home, had a quick cuppa then headed to the airport to collect Kari.

It was lovely seeing a friendly face from home and great that we had the drive back to Italy to catch up on each other's news. I dropped Kari at her hotel and met her at the beach the following afternoon once I'd finished work. Unfortunately the waves were too big to venture into the sea so we chilled out on the beach then I went for a run along the seafront followed by a pizza and a gelato. On Friday I drove to Monaco again and met Kari, Chri and some of his friends for an apertivo in The Brasserie. We then went for a really nice Thai meal (my first in France or Italy) in Juan Les Pins and a cocktail. That night we stayed at Chri's but I got up at what felt like the crack of dawn the next morning to take him to the airport for a stag do in Barcelona. Luckily I was able to go back to bed when I got back and caught up on some sleep before heading to Villefranche in the afternoon. Getting the train again made me incredibly thankful I've brought my car with me. I really couldn't survive without transport here. 

On Saturday night we picked up an Italian friend who was on my TEFL course last year and happened to be in Nice that weekend and drove to Menton – in France but near the Italian border – for a Bastille Day meal and fireworks with some of my Italian friends. It was a good night but another example of the Italian way of drinking/not drinking. Yes, we had wine etc with our meal, but after the fireworks we strolled through the town (not stopping anywhere for a drink) and stumbled across an old-school dance in a marquee on the sea front. We stopped there and did some dancing (well, I call it dancing but I think the pros there were a bit pissed off with us...) then headed home. It was a late but a totally sober night, for the drivers as well as the passengers. I think Kari was a bit surprised but you do get used to it and, although you might be tired the following day, it's actually really nice not being hungover. 

We spent Sunday on our usual Italian beach where it was finally possible to do some swimming, although the waves were still pretty big, then had dinner in my favourite favourite restaurant in Bussana Vecchia. It was so nice being back there and the food was as good as usual. Kari stayed with me on Sunday night then before we knew it, it was Monday again and time to take the kids to the beach. All in all, a great weekend was had by all and although I don't want the time to pass as quickly as it is, I say roll on the next one!

Two other things...

1. Today a snake slithered across the garden path in front of me. I assume it wouldn't have posed a threat but I was a bit surprised nevertheless. Thankfully, although I've heard a lot of them, I've not yet seen any frogs. I'd much rather encounter a snake than a frog.

2. I forgot to mention that when I go running I run from the town where I'm living to where my parents went on their honeymoon. I love that! I didn't realise that's where I ran to initially, but I really like that it's gone full circle.

Buonanotte!

I may have said this before, but...

I'm having lots of fun here. The things I'm loving the most today are:

– The weather. Most of all the weather. I really don't want to piss British- or southern hemisphere-based readers off but... it's simply wonderful! The temperature is pretty constant. This means that you don't need to check the weather forecast before you leave the house. And you don't have to pack a bag full of things to cover every weather eventuality. Even if it rains, which is rare, it's still warm. I love spending the majority of my time outdoors. I love having dinner on the terrace with the sun setting behind the mountains. I love swimming in the sea multiple times every day.

– The people. My friends are so lovely; they're kind and thoughtful and caring and I love spending time with them. But every week I meet friends and relatives of theirs and they're also kind and thoughtful, and very welcoming to an English girl who speaks little Italian. Initially I thought people were being more kind to me because they knew my story, but not everyone can know. This weekend, Eve and I were invited to join five of Matte's friends for lunch at his parents, so there were ten of us in total. Matte's parents were so hospitable and waited on us hand and foot. When I offered to help clear up and load the dishwasher I was told I couldn't, but I'd be welcome to pull up a chair and have a chat while they cleared up. (This bullet point isn't about the food, but I'll just quickly tell you what we had... marinated peppers, pizza pieces, torta verde (beet leaves and rice in pastry – a typical Ligurian dish), salami and prosecco to start. Then homemade tagliatelle with ragu, accompanied by red wine made by Eve's dad. Then pork steaks. Then fruit and cake and pastries, with limoncello made by Gianluca's mum and mandarinetto – the same as limoncello but made with mandarins. Then coffee.)

– The food. Chri arrived back from Genoa this weekend with a bag full of apricots that they'd picked that day from the tree in Massimo's garden, as well as a jar of jam they'd made that afternoon. Oh, and a cake he brought back from his business trip to the Alps last week – what a lovely friend he is! For dinner this evening we've just eaten the most delicious octopus salad (with tomatoes from the garden), stuffed courgette flowers (from the garden), green beans and then plums that Marco's parents brought back from Piemonte. I love eating fresh, seasonal, local food. Another thing I read in the Lonely Planet book, which I'm going to take note of in future, is that you should only take a small amount of food because you will be obliged to have seconds and quite probably thirds, maybe fourths. So start off with a small portion and you'll be able to manage the refills and not have to risk offending your host by refusing more food. The other trick is to leave something on your plate. If you have an empty plate you will more than likely be persuaded to have more. I find it interesting that the Italians often eat their meat totally on its own – no potatoes, no veg. Everything is also self-service – nothing is plated up in the kitchen; it's all about tucking in together.

– Wifi. It makes a massive difference having wifi. I love being connected to my family and friends around the world. I loved receiving photos of Hooch's latest baby via WhatsApp this weekend – congratulations my Marra, very proud! I love Skyping my lovely sister and beautiful nephew every Monday, and Janello, and hopefully Laura and little Rose soon. I love being able to email people and post my photos to Facebook and update my blog regularly. It helps me feel closer to the people I love who I'm not physically close to right now. I couldn't be without that, much as I love it here.

– My car. It's great being independent. It's even better not having to get the train. Bringing my car was definitely a good idea!

The things I'm enjoying least are:

– Sun cream application. It's tedious and time-consuming and the factor 30 leaves white marks on my black clothes :(

– My knee injury. I went running twice last week and ended up walking the second time, which I never ever do. I've rested it over the weekend (read: been out enjoying myself, but don't tell Graeme that!) so will try running on it again tomorrow. I've also been doing some strengthening exercises and applying a special pain relieving gel, so hopefully that will all help.

And that's it. I'm very very happy here and I know I've said it before, but I feel incredibly blessed to be living this dream. As always, I dedicate every second of my life to the man I loved most in the world. I know he'd be happy for me.

So true

Lounging in my bed this morning reading the Lonely Planet Italy book (it's a hard life, I know!), I found myself nodding vigorously in agreement to certain passages. This was the first:

"... you'll quickly learn that the root of Italian pathology is an unswerving dedication to living life well. A surprising number of Italians care deeply about the floral aftertastes of sheep cheese, the correct way to cut marble and the nuances of a Vivaldi concerto. Lurking behind the disinvoltura – the appearance of effortlessness – is a passionate attention to life's fine print. So slow down, start taking note of life's details and enjoy your own bella vita."

Three things struck me about this:

– The first is linked to my recent comment about how the Italians don't seem to be phased by having large groups of people for dinner; it's that appearance of effortless that's described above, but behind that effortless is the attention to detail. It's fascinating.

– The second is the comment about the Italians' dedication to living life well. They really do and I think we could all take something from this. But I've noticed that they're not only dedicated to living life well, but some of them also seem to see life as a bit of a challenge. They blatantly refuse to wear a seatbelt in the back of a car and laugh at me when I do (which I always do – force of habit). They can't understand why I'm still using factor 30 suncream (which I probably will all summer); instead they think I should cut it by a factor of 5-10 every week and even get a bit burnt to help my skin acclimatise. When I mention the risks of skin cancer they once again laugh. It sometimes seems that they like to push life as hard as they can to see just how far it will go. Sometimes I think they could take a leaf out of our book in this respect.

– And finally, the Italians all, without exception, tell me to stop planning ahead so much, to just relax and worry about tomorrow when it comes. I don't think it's unreasonable to email a friend on Thursday to enquire about the plans for Saturday night, but apparently here that is not the done thing. Last Saturday at the beach Chri and I were discussing the plans for that evening and I said I was going to call Matteo to find out what time he could meet us. Chri advised me not to, saying it was far too early (it was about 3.30pm from memory) and I would just stress Matteo out. I agree, that I need to relax a bit (A LOT sometimes) and just enjoy life, but I think I would need to be here a good few years to adopt the Italian approach to plannifying (as one of my friends calls it).

Then there's the passage in the book about food:

"Italy is quite literally a feast of endless courses, but no matter how much you gorge yourself, you'll always feel as though you haven't made it past the antipasti. Even the simplest snack can turn into a revelation... The secret is an intense, even savage, attention to top-notch ingredients and fresh, seasonal produce."

This is so so true. Gelato (ice cream) has to be eaten fresh from the gelateria because putting it in a standard freezer at home overnight makes it too hard. I don't think that would generally bother us too much. When making pesto I was told to choose my basil plant carefully and to use only the smallest leaves of the plant as they make the best pesto. I'd just throw all the leaves in but then I'm not Italian. And woe betide you if you serve the wrong type of pasta with the wrong type of sauce. And did you know there's several types of spaghetti – they're numbered, it's complicated. And whatever you do, don't cut your spaghetti, that's a real blow to the heart of an Italian. Here today they just rustled up the most delicious rabbit dish for lunch. Yesterday it was stuffed courgette flowers. If I had kids, even if I did have a housekeeper, I think it would be something more along the lines of fish fingers and beans (in fact, that's something I often have for lunch at home and I don't have kids!).

And under the section entitled, 'What to wear':

"Appearances matter in Italy. The concept of la bella figura (literally 'making a good impression') encapsulates the Italian obsession with beauty, gallantry and looking good. Milan, the fashion capital of the country is rigidly chic. Rome and Florence marginally less formal, but with big fashion houses in town sloppy attire just won't do."

Holy moly is this true! You should see what some of these beautiful women wear to go to the beach, or just to pop into town. And heels are de rigour, even if you're just out for an evening stroll. Last weekend at the beach, Evelyn took one look at my bikini (admittedly last year's and now past its best) and said she was taking me bikini shopping! Then she gave me three of her dresses. And the way they combine this glamour with the above mentioned disinvoltura is pretty incredible and yet another thing I don't think I'll ever master. It can make you feel a bit inferior at times (although rarely among friends), but it's fascinating to observe. 

My current life

Since Fête de la Musique I've done the following:

– Spent a lovely day in Nice with my parents; wandering around the old town, introducing them to socca (similar to a crepe, made with chickpea flour. It's a speciality of both the French and Italian Rivieras but is called farinata this side of the border), drinking cheap cheap rosé wine!

– Had my first swim of the summer at St Laurent du Var. It was amazing to be back in the water again. Not quite like bath water just yet, but not too painful getting in. I've been swimming a lot – doing my usual trick of swimming out to the buoy and back a couple of times – however, I've developed a bit of a phobia of the water after coming face-to-face with two massive jellyfish last week :-(

– Had dinner and lunch with my parents before they flew back to the UK. I was sad to see them go but really pleased they'd been able to join me and meet my Italian friends. 

– Went to a lovely BBQ on the beach to celebrate a friend's birthday. Her family own a shack (well, it's a bit more than a shack really, but you get the idea) on a tranquil little bay near the French border. Her husband is a meat buyer in Monaco, so the steaks were out of this world and perfectly cooked too. Chri and I also took a midnight dip in the sea – it was magical swimming under the moonlight. All in all a perfect evening!

– Watched England lose on penalties to Italy. In Italy. Surrounded by Italians. No further comment required.

– Watched Italy beat Germany. In Italy. Surrounded by Italians. A great game and a great night; the celebrations afterwards were like nothing I've seen before!! Here people tend to watch the match at home, not in bars or pubs as we do in the UK, so after the game finished Marco (my friend/employer) and I jumped on the scooter and drove into town, me holding the Italian flag proudly aloft, horn blaring.  The entire town appeared to have congregated in the main square – there were cars crawling through the crowds with people hanging out of windows; cars whose roofs had more or less caved in due to the number of people sitting on the roof; people on top of dustbin lorries; people commandeering buses; footballs being kicked high into the air from one side of the square to another; vuvuzelas; songs; firecrackers; flags. The council had the sense to turn the fountain off so unfortunately the traditional celebratory dip I'd been told about wasn't possible. The celebrations were amazing to witness, especially considering that was just the semi-final. I was hoping Italy would win on Sunday, partly because that's where my loyalties lay for that game, but partly so I could witness more craziness, but sadly that wasn't to be.

– Been running – once for 30 minutes in the 5pm heat, and once last night for 50 minutes in more pleasant conditions. I realised that it's only 10 weeks on Sunday until my half marathon so I need to get some serious training in. Graeme successfully completing his first long-distance triathlon (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run) also spurred me on. Well done my Marra! It's lovely running next to the sea. In fact, all of my favourite runs have been beside water (my all-time favourite was the run I did along the beach at Shelley Point in South Africa, scanning the sea for whales).

– Watched Alice, the 5-year-old I'm looking after, perform in a dance show at the local theatre. She was great but I nipped out after her last dance and went with Matte and another friend, Gianluca, to a festival in a nearby town, which was a bit more up my street! There was lots of live music, including a concert by Roy Paci, an Italian trumpeter who has played with Manu Chao and Gogol Bordello. I also met some more lovely people – friends of Matteo's – who all made me feel very welcome and who I will definitely see again. The people from the north of Italy are meant to be more closed and less friendly than those from the south but I only have good things to say about them.

– Went for an Indian meal in Nice with Chri, Eve, Matte and three of their friends. It was a late night though; we ended up going to a bar afterwards and didn't get home until 4am. After getting home at 3.30am the previous night! Fortunately I was driving one night and didn't drink too much the other, so there were no real hangovers to contend with. The Italians can quite happily go into a bar and not get a single drink between them. The French are the same. For some reason, us Brits seem to find it necessary to have a drink in our hand at all times. I'm trying to take a leaf out of their book...

– Eaten a lot of lovely food. Part of the deal is that I'm fed here so I haven't had to cook anything to date! I've had three BBQs, squid for lunch one day, delicious homemade vegetable tart for lunch at the beach today (torta di verdure is a Ligurian speciality), pasta, focaccia (one of my favourite things and something that tastes quite different here in Italy than it does at home), homemade tiramisù (which actually means 'pick-me-up' – did you know that?), a prune and cinnamon gelato, and been to a dinner party with about ten people and t-bone steaks! That's another observation I've made; the Italians are far more relaxed about the whole dinner party thing. Large numbers of guests don't phase them. Food is always good but often simple. It's not a show. Hosts aren't outwardly out to impress guests with their cooking prowess. Drinks are put on the table and people help themselves when they want some. No hosts fussing around checking guests have a drink at all times. No guests feeling bad about helping themselves when their glass is empty. It's good I think. That's another leaf I need to take.

– Memorised regular Italian verb endings. Yes! I'm also thinking much more in Italian and struggled to speak French at the beach on Saturday. I could think of the word I wanted in Italian but not French. Lovely friends have allowed me to practice verb endings with them, even if they were slightly confused by which of their verbs were regular and which were irregular! The kids I'm looking after don't speak English so I'm having to communicate in pidgin Italian, but hopefully I'm getting better at it, even if it is often frustrating.

– Oh yes, and I've also done a bit of work too ;-) I now think the whole deal may have been more to help me out with accommodation and something to do for a month or so, but I am doing half days Monday to Friday all the same. The family I'm working for have two children, aged two (almost three) and five, and the parents work full time. However, they also have a housekeeper/nanny and the grandmother living on site, so childcare is more or less in hand. I think I'm there more to entertain the kids and take the pressure off a bit. Today, for example, I started at 9am and was driven to the beach club where they rent a beach hut and sun beds for the summer with the little girl (5). We played in the sand, jumped some waves, had a coffee and then a picnic and an ice-cream and were collected at 2pm, when my working day was officially over. Yesterday was similar, except the grandmother, the nanny and father also appeared so I was able to have a swim and relax! The one day I had both kids was a bit of a disaster though, so maybe that's why they only tend to give me one to look after!! First the boy – who's being toilet trained – wet himself, as I picked him up, crying, to change him, he pooed himself. I couldn't find the wipes so cleaned him up as best I could and left brother and sister playing quietly in the garden while I sorted the mess out. Not more than two minutes later they were both howling. God knows what had happened but the girl already had a big egg on her forehead and the boy had a purple ear. Cazzo, as they would say in Italy!


So life is good. I have lovely independent and spacious accommodation and it's nice to be surrounded by people, and people I vaguely know. I'm less lonely than I was last year and a million times happier. It's great having my car so I can be independent and it's wonderful living in Italy. I continue to be amazed by how at home I feel in this part of the world, and in this country in particular. I'm also pleased that following our little road trip, me Ma has adopted some of Chri's anti-French sentiment (no offence to any French readers) and is becoming a bit Italian herself; salad with sundried tomatoes and basil during last week's floods, supporting Italia on Sunday, and pasta with homemade pesto tonight. Brava Mama!

The journey so far

Well, now I've achieved something else I never thought I'd do, and I've driven from the UK to the Mediterranean. When you break it down into stages, the journey is actually pretty manageable, but it wouldn't have been as much of a pleasure as it was without my lovely Ma for company (and to help me at the toll booths – one slight problem I didn't think about before I committed to driving south for the summer is that the toll booths are located on the passenger side of my car. Obviously.

We set off from London after not much sleep. Me because I spent the week packing my flat up ready to be rented out, and Ma because she flew down the night before we left and had to help me get the flat ship-shape. That was no mean feat, but we did it. I think we both relaxed once we were on the train making the short crossing to France.

The first leg of the journey was from London to Metz, in north France. Everything went without a hitch: driving on the right in my car wasn't a problem (in fact I'm really pleased I've got my car here as it's much easier driving on the wrong side of the road in a familiar car – it means I'm not whacking the door every time I change gear!); the Travelodge equivalent where we spent our first night was very clean, quiet and newly refurbished; and we survived a late-night trip to the local kebab shop for our chips and a well-deserved beer. The next day we made the much shorter drive from Metz to a village near Strasbourg where we spent the day and night with some friends of the family who we haven't seen since 1998. It was great being reunited again and we spent a lovely day eating (five desserts to plough through at lunchtime!), drinking, and catching up. Having tarte flambees in the garden that evening was a real bonus.

After saying our goodbyes we pointed the car towards Italy, making our way to beautiful beautiful Lake Como via Switzerland. We stayed in a lovely little apartment in Torno, a small village on the shores of the lake. We were both just pleased to get there, unpack, and have two nights in the same place. It was very relaxing and absolutely stunning. I enjoyed my first Aperol spritz of the summer on the terrace of Bar Italia, looking out over the little lakeside harbour and the mountains. It was then that I really felt that my Italian summer had started, and equally felt reassured that leaving my flat and UK life temporarily was the right thing to do.

After taking the boat up-lake to the pretty but too-twee-for-me-town of Bellagio, it was soon time to say our goodbyes to Torno and Lake Como and to keep heading south, in search of the sea. The drive from Como to Genova was pleasant: slightly busy around Milan, but as we got closer to Genova the scenery became more interesting and the roads more twisty as we wound our way down to the coast. We sampled focaccia di Recco for lunch (delicious as always) then took the scenic route into Genova to find our hotel. Scenic in more ways than one given that I managed to drive the wrong way down a one-way street and park up in a disabled parking bay, the only car in the street facing against the flow of traffic! Mum pointed out my error when she noticed a bus coming towards us. I used my best Italian to ask the guy sat at the cafe beside the car if it was a one-way street. 'Yes', he shrugged, rather nonplussed by the whole thing. It seemed to bother him more that I'd parked in a disabled parking bay so I moved the car back just to humour him!

Our hotel in Genova was a pleasant surprise – recently refurbished to a high standard and very quiet, especially considering we were in the city centre, just a few metres from the central station (Hotel Nuovo Nord in case anyone ever needs a recommendation). We set off to explore the city on foot and, given that I've now been to Genova a few times, I was able to point out the highlights to Mum in order to make the best use of the short amount of time we had there. I really like Genova, it may not be an obvious Italian city to like, but it suits me. I like the fact its a working city, a real city, and full of students too. I also like its situation; on the coast but with a mountainous backdrop.

We met Massimo and Elvira for an aperitivo then made our way to a restaurant I'd been to once before; L'Ombre Rosse. It's got a lovely little garden and the food is good. Even better when it's on Mum (thanks Ma!). It was a lovely evening and I was pleased that Mum got to meet some of the people I've only known for a year but who have made me feel so welcome in this country. Massimo suggested that I take Mum to Portofino on the boat the following day and when Mum told him we couldn't do that because Dad was arriving in Nice to meet us, Massi said that she'd seen Dad every day for the past 30-odd years so it wasn't as important to go and meet up with him as it was to explore Liguria! Needless to say, we didn't listen to Massimo and the next day we pointed the car west on the relatively short and very familiar drive to Nice.

Chri was at home between meetings when we got there and I was very happy to see him – it signified that I'd arrived at my destination and that the summer had finally started. I still find it strange that up until last June we hadn't seen each other for 14 years but now I couldn't imagine life without him. I dropped Mum at her hotel where she waited for Dad and I made my way back to Chri's, successfully negotiating my first solo toll booth (I only had to throw 1€ in the basket, so it wasn't so stressful!). Chri made me trofie al pesto, a typical Genovese dish, for dinner then we headed into Nice for Fete de la Musique and another reunion, this time with Evelyn and Matteo. It was so nice to be together again, and even better that it was Fete de la Musique, even my parents were there – what an exceptional start to the summer!

On the road again

I've been a bad blogger. I'm sorry. I aim to be a better blogger from now on (subject to wifi access).

Just a quick update before bed... so I got back from India, had about ten days at home then took off again to visit friends in Madrid and Paris, coming back to London via Switzerland where GB was doing his annual Ironman 70.3 triathlon. I loved being back in familiar European cities after the chaos of Indian cities. I also loved the food and the weather. And I loved hanging out with GB. Being surrounded by triathletes for a weekend in Switzerland was good for me and has really motivated me to start my Great North Run training. Tomorrow, for sure...

I then had a few days at home before I hit the road again, this time heading north to Nottingham and Newcastle to visit my ever-loving family. It was great seeing everyone and spending some quality time with my little nephew. I got back to London on Sunday night and had until Saturday to pack my flat up, give it a thorough clean and pack my bags ready for my second summer in Italy. It was manic. I was manic. But I did it. With a LOT of help from my friends. Couldn't have done it without GB and me Ma, so thank you both.

On Saturday me and me Ma set off on our road trip to the Med. The first leg was from the UK to Metz, in France. It was a smooth journey but I was absolutely shattered and pleased to get to the hotel. The second leg was from Metz to near Strasbourg – only 1.5hrs – where we stayed with friends who we hadn't seen since 1998. It was lovely to catch up with them and, as you might expect, we ate and drank far too much, including five desserts (after a cheese course too). Not a good idea when you're en route to the Mediterranean.

Today we drove from Alsace to Lake Como. It was a beautiful drive and I love it here; I've had my first Aperol Spritz of the summer and an artichoke pizza. It's balmy and peaceful and my heart feels more at peace than it has for a few weeks. Now it's time to relax.

India 1 - 0 McRudders

Incessant. If I had to choose one word to sum up my experience of India it would be that. The smells and sounds. The dirt. The pollution. The colours. The hawkers. The beggars. The heat. The people don't stop; they are always so industrious. No chilling out in street cafes, watching the world go by, no leisurely drives to the shops. It's all honking horns, jostling and vying for your place on the road. Dodging cows and pigs and donkeys and people and tuk tuks and bikes and cars and buses. It's a country that assaults the senses.

Lonely Planet describes it thus:

Bamboozling. No other word better captures the enigma that is India. With its ability to inspire, frustrate, thrill and confound all at once, India presents an extraordinary spectrum of encounters for the traveller... India will jostle your entire being, and no matter where you go or what you do, it's a place that fires the imagination and stirs the soul like nowhere else on Earth.

India was an experience and it did jostle my entire being. I'm pleased I went and I enjoyed parts of it a lot but I was really pleased to get home last Saturday. More pleased than I've ever been to get back from a trip actually. Normally I'm wishing I was staying away a wee while longer. Admittedly, this was due in part to the fact that I was ill for the last week of the trip and still wasn't right when I arrived home. Being ill is never great. Being ill for a week in India was like a living hell, especially when you have to spend three days in Varanasi, a town on the Ganges where people go to (publicly) cremate their loved ones. I found the cremations particularly disturbing. I couldn't watch them and hated the public nature of them; boat-loads of tourists, both Indian and foreign, bobbing alongside the ghats (the steps that lead down to the river), so close you could feel the heat from the funeral pyre. I was in tears.

On the other hand, I had several magical experiences that will stay with me forever. The kite flying battle in Bikaner in one of them. It was exactly like the scenes described in the Kite Runner. As the sun began to set it seemed the entire town were out on their roof terraces flying paper kites. The sky was literally aflutter with them, as far as the eye could see. And they went high - higher than the average kite at home. The aim was to slice through the string of other kites, cheering as your opponent's kite suddenly lost altitude and drifted slowly to the ground. Sometimes you knew who your opponent was (we engaged in a particularly ferocious but good-natured battle with some locals on a neighbouring roof), but most of the time you had no clue. Finding a kite on the steps leading to my room made me happy.

And the Taj Mahal. Wow. It's one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. The guide books tell you that no matter how high your expectations are, the reality will exceed them. I was sceptical, but it was true. Not only is it a beautiful structure, but it was constructed with such love that just adds to the magic. (It was built by an emperor in memory of his third wife who died giving birth to their 14th, yes 14th, child.) And to think it was built in 1632 just makes the mind boggle: it's perfectly symmetrical; the Quaranic verses on the wall don't appear to decrease in size as they go up to the base of the dome because the letters were increased in size so that from the ground they appear equal in size and don't taper; its raised position means the only backdrop is sky; the minarets are not quite perpendicular but may have been designed to lean slightly outwards so in the event of an earthquake they fall away from the Taj. It's genius. And its beautiful too.

But yes, generally India has unsettled me. I have no real desire to return (well, I could probably be quite easily persuaded to venture to Kerala or Goa sometime...). I thought I'd get more from the country on a spiritual level, but I wasn't feeling it - the Pray part of my life wasn't to be found in India, or not in Rajhastan anyway. And maybe I feel that India is the first country to defeat me. But I'm OK with that. India 1, McRudders 0.

Some observations from my trip in no particular order, just the order in which I jotted them down while I was away:

- Women, saree-wearing women, can be seen doing hard, manual labour - building work often - alongside the men. These same women also benefit from a dedicated women only carriage on the metro.

- Men urinate wherever and whenever. Open urinals on narrow streets are particularly unpleasant.

- The station this morning was full of sleeping people; spread out on the ground on newspaper or sheets. Not homeless I don't think. Maybe just waiting for their early morning train.

- Some people live in abject poverty. Today I saw a family asleep at a very busy roundabout, lying on the concrete between four lanes of traffic. The youngest child had no nappy or pants on. That's hard to see, especially when we have so much.

- Curries in India are generally no better than at home, sometimes worse. That surprised me. I thought they would taste different - better - in India. Naans are only good when they've been cooked in the tandoor. Poppadums are slightly different to those you get at home - they're more like the spicy ones you can buy in the supermarket. There's no sign of bhajis on the menus in India.

- It's cold at home. Snow and frost are forecast in Newcastle. Difficult to imagine such extreme weather - it's currently 39 degrees here and it's 5pm... I love the heat though. I love eating outside and living outside. I love not having to think about what to wear every day or planning for varying weather conditions while I'm out. It's a very dry heat here which makes it much easier to cope with than the humid heat I experienced in Singapore and Saigon.

- If I came to India again I'd bring a nail brush. My nails are constantly filthy. I'd also bring some eye drops as the dust, dirt and pollution, as well as the aircon, make your eyes dry and sore. Otherwise I think this has been my most successful pack to date - I've used everything I brought and managed to travel light too, leaving plenty of room for my purchases.

As and when I feel the urge I may post some more about the specific things I did while I was away, but right now I'm off to have avocado on toast and I can think of nothing I want more right now! After being ill, it's heaven to be able to, well just eat for one, but also to be able to eat normal, familiar food - nothing too fussy or complex, just fresh and healthy. Interestingly I'm still off the coffee and alcohol though. Wonder how long that will last...

Hello India!!

In summary, as my phone isn't liking this for some reason... 1. All is well with McRudders in Delhi! Flight half empty so lots of space. Loved my banoffee Gü pot for dessert and my Moma bircher muesli for brek - great idea that more airlines should embrace. Met random English guy getting off plane (reminiscent of my Taken story at Saigon airport!), who pointed me in the right direction, told me how to work out the exchange rate and gave me his card in case of emergencies. Some people are very kind and no, before you ask, I don't think he had any ulterior motives! 2. Weather is good - about 33 today but with a nice breeze. Air-con and a fan in this hotel room - hurray! 3. Dozed then took myself off to Humayan's Tomb this afternoon. Took a tuk-tuk that cost me about £1.50 for the 30 min journey. It was a great way to see some of the city and get a feel for the place. I didn't really get hassles so was pleased I braved it on my own. 4. Group will total ten, including the guide. Two people arrive later tonight. All seem nice: an Irish couple, a lovely Dutch girl, a quiet Swiss girl and two young Danish girls. An American and a Belgian yet to meet. We all went out for a lovely curry this evening; made me feel at home! 5. It's gonna be a hectic trip and involve A LOT of travelling; starting with a 14-hour overnight train tomorrow afternoon. We arrive in Bikaner at 5.45am :( But tomorrow morning we're exploring Delhi together. That's all for now. More as and when I can. Thanks for all the love and support I've received, that is the only reason I'm saying goodnight from Delhi, India; wouldn't be here if I was doing this completely on my own xx

Two things

1. They don't have toilet paper in India!!!! After all these years I didn't realise that the whole wiping your derriere with your left hand was so goddamn literal. Shit. Or crap. Or any other toilet related expletive that can be inserted at this moment. And I've got a dirty-toilet phobia. Waaaaaaaaaa. And there was me being so smug about my Shewee. That'll teach me. OK, I need to buy double stocks of hand sanitiser and wipes. And take my own toilet paper; lots of it for 20 days on the road.

2. The temperature in Delhi right now (that's 4.25am) is 22 degrees. During the day it's about 35 degrees. That's hot! But not as hot as the second place I visit after Delhi. There temperatures are forecast to reach 45 degrees. On my birthday in Jaisalmer, the current forecast is mostly sunny with highs of 40 and lows of 27. I may have made a mistake booking to go to Rajasthan in April and May. And I may have made an even bigger mistake shunning the air-conditioned private bus trips to experience the 'real' India using public transport. Oh my god. Really. And if that wasn't bad enough, just think of how gross the toilets are going to be in those temperatures. Help!!!!

Eat = done. Next up: Pray.

One week today I fly to Delhi to start a 20-day trip round Rajasthan. I'm excited, stressed, apprehensive and happy, all in one. I'll feel slightly better once my visa and passport arrive. And better still once I've figured out what to pack. And once I'm on my way I know I'll put my anxieties behind me and enjoy my next new adventure.

India fascinates me and I've been wanting to go for a few years now. In fact, I was due to go last summer but Italy stole my heart, and my India plans were put on hold while I embraced the Eat phase of my life. Big time. But now the time is right for the Pray phase (- time to pick that book up again, Luke). My (new, thanks Kari!) Lonely Planet book sums up what I'm expecting:

Bamboozling. No other word better captures the enigma that is India. With its ability to inspire, frustrate, thrill and confound all at once, India presents an extraordinary spectrum of encounters for the traveller. From rural serenity to big-city swirls of colour, from dizzyingly intricate carved temples to musicians playing ragas in the desert, from harlequin-bright elephants to gourmet restaurants in stylish cities, India will jostle your entire being, and no matter where you go or what you do, it's a place that fires the imagination and stirs the soul like nowhere else on Earth.

It sounds like it's a country that will test my resolve in more ways than one. But I'm hoping that forewarned is forearmed. Being on an organised group trip will also help. And its good to be challenged and pushed outside your comfort zone once in a while. It's also an opportunity for me to christen the as yet unused Shewee that T, knowing my public toilet phobia, bought me in preparation for a festival we were meant to go to ;)

For those of you who are interested, this is my itinerary. I got the best flavour of the places by Google imaging each one. Some of them look absolutely stunning:

Delhi
Bikaner (where I'll do a camel safari and overnight camp in the desert)
Jaisalmer (I think this is where I'll spend my birthday)
Jodhpur
Udaipur
Pushkar
Jaipur
Agra (home of the beautiful Taj Mahal)
Varanasi

There are several overnight sleeper trains involved, so hopefully it'll be a really authentic experience and another exciting chapter of my life.

But there's lots to do before I go. Aside from some shopping and then packing, I'm also getting the flat ready to rent out while I'm away in Italy for the summer. This weekend I tackled the small but jam-packed cupboard in the spare room. It's been a two-day job and it's still not finished. I've shredded two bin bags worth of old paperwork - bank statements, old payslips and the like. I've half-filled the paper recycling bin with leaflets, brochures, newspapers and envelopes.I've been reminded once again of how amazing my husband was: he had folders for digital photography, running, CISCO, music stuff, motorbike stuff. He was a man with many passions and a real interest in learning and developing (and accumulating the necessary magazines, newspaper articles, website print out etc etc to match!). It's been surprisingly therapeutic and maybe only something that I feel completely ready to do now, after all this time. But the practicalities of moving it all into storage are also helping me to be more ruthless. Half of me wishes I'd done it sooner so I could have enjoyed living in a clutter-free environment these past few months, but I guess that's what I've got to look forward to upon my return.

Don't get me wrong though, it's also been emotional. Today I found an old cheque book that contained stubs for cheques for my hen do accommodation in Barcelona; our wedding venue and catering; and T's funeral. Seeing it all laid out sequentially like that was tough. And thinking of myself writing a cheque to pay for my own husband's funeral less than two weeks after he died was just incomprehensible. God knows how I even functioned at that time, nevermind went through mindless everyday functions like writing a cheque.

Anyway, it's all good. These are all yet more steps on my journey - my journey of recovery and my journey of life. It's an interesting journey and I'm grateful to be on it.

Round the corner of the world I turn,
More and more about the world I learn;
All the new things that I see
You'll be looking at along with me. 
(Sydney Carter)

A wee update

Life has been busy for me recently, hence my lack of posts. I'm never as inspired to write when I'm working either, but I thought it was about time for an update.

I don't know where this year is going; it seems like just yesterday that I was celebrating new year in Tuscany and now I'm starting to think about my next trip there at Easter. In April – the fourth month of the year. That's incredible. Since my last trip to Italy I've spent weekends in Northumberland, Krakow and Madrid. I've also had an Italian friend over one weekend, had Graeme to stay for two nights, visited my godson and his new baby sister, had a Saturday night out with friends from Monaco, taken a 10-week Italian language course and started having some life coaching. This weekend another Italian friend is visiting, and the weekend after my lovely sister is coming to visit for the first time in 15 months – yay! Recent travel has been restricted as my passport is away being renewed, but an enforced period in the UK has also been nice.

So, another chapter of my life is coming to a close; 30 March is the last day of my current contract. At this moment in time, apart from my trip to Italy at the start of April, I don't have any definite plans but the vague plan consists of a trip to India in April/May, a long weekend in Switzerland with Graeme at the start of June then hopefully some QT with my family before I head to Italy for the summer. I initially thought I'd like to go and spend six months in Italy, but the reality of that didn't appeal quite as much as I originally thought; there's only so much sitting on a beach on your own you can do before it becomes a tad lonely. So I think I'll go for July and August and see how it goes. If I can pick up some teaching work or something to keep me busy then that would be ideal. I'm also looking forward to having an opportunity to improve my Italian – both speaking and cooking!

I am a little nervous about giving up a good job/career again, and leaving behind my lovely colleagues. Work, as much as it pains me to say it, gives me some much-needed stability in my life. I enjoy having a routine and it gives my life some purpose – one big thing that's lacking in my life. My colleagues make my working life an absolute pleasure, especially Luke who, in the past week, has surprised me with bunches of daffodils and a beautiful necklace from Amsterdam. That, combined with a surprise Graze box from my lovely sister and a box of beautiful Belgian chocolates from Graeme, have made for a lovely week of unexpected presents that have brought a smile to my face. Thank you all xx

Emotionally, I'm in a really good place at the moment. I feel really strong and positive and am enjoying my life. I'm feeling unsettled about the immediate future, including the prospect of packing all my stuff away and renting out my flat, but I know that the benefits of some time out will outweigh all that. I was saddened by what happened to Fabrice Muamba at the weekend – that brought back some memories of my time in the ICU at the hospital after Tim's accident. It also made me think about how hard it must be for the family when something like that happens to people in the public eye.

Anyway, I think that's all my news, or a summary of it anyway. Hopefully you can expect to see more posts from me in the near future. Hopefully from some more exotic places than London too...

Starting as I mean to go on

I've been feeling peculiar in recent weeks. I've had a feeling that I could neither shake off nor identify. Sometimes it's an excited feeling – going to work this morning in the gale-force winds and drizzle, this is how I felt. Sometimes it's a calm feeling – being at ease and relaxed about things, even things like a Saturday night home alone with a steak, glass of wine and a DVD (which previously would have driven me to the depths of despair). Sometimes it's a feeling that's brim-full of anticipation of what's to come. Sometimes it's a feeling of immense gratitude for how incredibly blessed I am to be surrounded by loving family and friends and to be able to live the life I'm living. Sometimes it's a heart-bursting feeling of love for said family and friends. It varies from day-to-day but whatever it is, it's overwhelmingly positive. Every week in our team meeting at work we write down our scores out of ten for the following areas of our life: personal, family, organisation and peers. In recent weeks my average scores are probably 9-10 across the board. My colleagues think I'm crazy and are waiting for the bubble to burst, but thankfully so far it hasn't.

Today I think I identified what I'm feeling. I think I'm feeling happy again. That incredible lightness of being that I maybe haven't been able to experience fully since T died. Yes, there's been happy moments during the past two and a half years, and slowly but surely I learnt to smile and enjoy life again. But I think I was still being constantly dragged backwards by my grief during these moments. Now (well today anyway and that, afterall, is all we have), I don't feel the backwards pull of that grief on a daily basis. I look forward much more than I look back. I rarely cry and I embrace the time I have on my own. I enjoy being able to do what I want to do, when and with whom I want to do it. My anxiety has gone for the most part. I worry far less about things that would have consumed me in the past, even before T died. (On New Year's Day, for example, I went horse riding without a hard hat as there wasn't a hard hat to wear. Before, I may well have refused to ride without a hat, but I didn't give it a second thought. The same with my scooter riding last summer.). I feel liberated and more confident and more like me than I maybe ever have in my life. And I love it!

I had the best Christmas: spending time with some of T's family and my own, and celebrating the first birthday of my gorgeous nephew. It was so nice to escape London and breathe in the fresh air of the NE and just have some quality family time. I also visited T's grave, which I haven't done for a long long time. I was worried about going. Aside from reliving the awful awful details of the day of T's accident (I think I will forever struggle with hospitals), thinking of T's body in the ground is another thing I don't cope very well with, understandably. But I'm pleased I went. When I visit T, I talk to him and tell him what I've been up to, even though I know he somehow knows. I told him all about my very enjoyable and very drunken weekend at the start of December with my bestest friend, Graeme. I told T the latest about his family, and mine. I told him about my summer and my friends – old and new. I told him about what I might do this coming year. I told him I missed him and that I will love him forever and ever.

After Christmas I flew to Nice and spent a lovely few days in Italy with my Italian friends. We had a big night out in Monaco on Thursday night, which was great fun (paying €52 for three drinks in one bar wasn't quite as much fun, however.) Friday was lunch in Monaco in the sunshine, followed by a lovely night out in Genova – dinner with friends then to our favourite bar in the old town. Then on Saturday we drove to Tuscany and stayed in a small agriturismo in the hills. It was so peaceful and chilled out. We had lunch in a village in the mountains that's famous for both its marble and its lardo (very thin slices of fat, cured with rosemary and other herbs between slabs of marble). The marble makes the mountains look like they're covered in snow. It was fascinating. NYE itself was spent in the farmhouse, eating! We sat at communal tables and shared the most delicious homemade rustic cooking. The meal lasted for about 2.5 hours, with the mains finishing at around 11.30pm, just in time for some midnight champagne toasts before dessert was brought out! It was really special and my kind of celebration. After some dancing we walked through the star-lit forest to a viewpoint and admired the lights of the plain below, which was reminiscent of Los Angeles, not that I've ever been. The vast quantities of food on NYE meant I wasn't an inebriated as I might otherwise have been, so I was able to enjoy a horse ride through the forest the following day, before another big meal at the farmhouse. It was the most perfect start to the new year.

Who knows what this year will bring. All I do know is that I'm starting it with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. And, as always, I'm so very grateful to T for being my inspiration. I wouldn't be where I am without him, or the support of my family and friends. So big love to you all, and to all a very healthy, happy, fun-filled 2012.