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.