Tomorrow could be boring

Droplets

1. Turns out Topiramate was a double-edged sword: it stopped daily headaches and significantly lessened the severity of migraine(s) of which I had two since starting the meds, but it also made me forgetful, dopey, sleepy and all the other 7 fucking dwarfs. Reviewing with doctor and trying others. Taking a weekend break from being human guinea pig.

2. I don't think it's just me being a fragrance snob - in fact, I have gone in reverse-snobbery direction in many ways since starting the perfumery course - but lately, all the new mainstream perfume releases have been dull at best or an offensively poor effort at worst. One recent "prestigeous" line-up smells like a cast of Lynx/Axe/Impulse rejects from the pile that the evaluators thought too thin, crass and synthetic for a body spray.

3. Tuulia, my gorgeous wonderful Finnish loooooooooong-time friend had a baby girl on 11th of September. I am very happy for the whole family. It seems so unreal. She's the first of our group of 3 Uni-friends to become a mother. Not the first from the extended group, it has to be said - we do keep in touch with others too. Timo and I are going to meet the new person and take a much-needed mini holiday to Finland in a couple of weeks.

4. I'm finally fully on the perfumery course-horse. The secret to this one seems to be that I must do some of it every single day, even if it's just a little bit. I was trying to schedule in half-days, afternoons, evenings and even whole days of "course time" and they didn't work out. But since I've been fitting in 1-3 study sessions per day I've finally found my rhythm.

5. Flat hasn't sold yet. I wish it did. Want to move before next year. Ideally before winter.

Living out of bags

I once read somewhere that Bobbi Brown keeps pre-packed bags ready for all occasions. That sounds so wonderful to me right now; I want to do that when we have enough room to keep pre-packed bags in. The flat is officially on the market and we've got the first person coming to view it this Friday. Half our posessions are already sitting in Timo's mum's garage, waiting for us to find a proper home to settle down in.

Recently I've been travelling a little bit more again; back and forth between Surrey and Poole, London and Leeds, mostly. Just came back from Leeds this evening. I'm tired, but over-tired so that it's difficult to stop thinking.

When I was younger (a phrase that immediately conjures up an image of a wrinkled old prune, which, I hasten to add, I am not, though occasionally feel like), I travelled with a much less conscious awareness of the little discomforts and nuisances one encounters. The wonderful child-like way of experiencing the nasty stuff as it happens rather than worrying about it in advance or getting unduly stressed out about it afterwards. Although I did get my first ever migraine on a trip to France when I was 18. It was such a frightening experience and then I had a very long train journey to La Rochelle the next day, which felt like torture. I was scared because I'd never felt so ill (but as a true testament to how laissez-faire I was about that sort of stuff back then, I didn't actually go to the doctor until back home in Finland some weeks later!).

After nearly 20 years of migraines, I'd never really considered that they could be treated because nothing I'd ever been given had worked. And there could be a huge gap, even 6 months when I wouldn't get a full-blown migraine, so I'd slowly start to think "pff, it's not so bad, maybe I won't get one again" until the next one would hit and I wanted to head back to France, but via time-travel, back to the guillotine days and have them chop my head off. The pain and nausea is indescribable and half of my face sort of paralyses, a bit like in a stroke. Then, providing all goes well, I pass out and wake up feeling groggy, sore, disoriented and craving something sweet. If all doesn't go well, you don't want to know.

Anyway, as an almost incidental aside into investigating why since last summer I've had benign, but annoying vertigo, my consultant sent me to a neurologist.

The neurologist turned out to be a lovely chap who'd been to Finland (I always find that a good sign, haha, only half-joking) and prescribed topiramate, one small dose to be taken daily. Possibly for the rest of my life. Depends if it works and depends if I get side-effects.

Now the trouble about side-effects is that technically you should read them to be aware of them, but in reality, it's sort of better not to, because you could accidentally create the side-effects by having suggested to yourself that they could occur.

But I'm pretty sure that before topiramate I would not have lost my return ticket from Leeds, accidentally packed the remote control from the hotel room I stayed in (!), or spent a whole half an hour on the phone to a colleague last week, convinced it was one weekday when it was in fact, another. One of the side-effects has to do with short-term memory. I don't think there is anything wrong with my memory, but something has made me even more scatter-brained than normal. This should be entertaining. As if travelling wasn't stressful enough.

Or it could be the stress of selling this property. I don't feel it on a conscious level. I just feel this diluted sense of "home". As though the concept of a core safe-haven is eroding from underneath me without a replacement in sight. One of the things I really need to stay healthy is a private, secure, cosy nest. Now this has turned into a show home - to a place people will be coming to "view" and evaluate, somewhere that isn't our home any more and we must begin to say our goodbyes to. And I have no idea how long this process will take and when we'll be moving and where to. At least we have a rough idea of the general area, but that's it.

I've toyed with the idea of getting a caravan for a few months. It would certainly solve the bag problem.

Packing books

We have well over a 1000 books squished into a studio. We need to put them into storage so that normal people can come and view this flat. For us, living in a tiny library has been good. For most people, this flat would have seemed rather full up. Granted, we do now want to move (and no doubt we will fill up the new place with even more books), but the move has more to do with wanting a good location for us to settle down in and for both of us to be able to commute from.

These are the boxes so far. There is a second row behind these that's not visible. The stack was a bit taller to start off with, but Timo re-organised them after they fell on me whilst I was sleeping.

Speaking of commuting, I have some news. My new-new job is starting tomorrow. I'll need to be closer to the coast and so really can't wait to move. It'll be more overnight stays until then. I can't quite yet begin to believe what's happening. The current company I work for is one of the few in the whole world who do all their own product scents and fine fragrances in-house and buy their own materials. I'm very lucky to even work for them, much less be in the situation I am.

My job has involved bits and bobs in the lab; nothing too official, some experiments, some collaborative work here and there, that sort of thing. They have always known that I'm like an eager little puppy wanting to learn more, but I've also always known that I am one of many others who would like a slice of their time. I've made it very clear that my aim was (and is) to learn about perfumery and cosmetic science; I started self-study before I joined this company and have taken steps to brush up on my basic science skills (all the Open University stuff I've been doing). I was determined to find some way of getting diplomas or other qualifications - there are various courses available - but nothing beats practical experience and being taught by gurus in the industry. So it's been a case of hoping for the best and expecting nothing.

I've now officially become a Trainee Perfumer. The IFEAT Diploma course I've been so wanting to do starts soon (amazing) and I'll be doing lots of basic work at our factory and lab, learning the ropes and helping out where I can. I'll carry on doing a few other things too.

Yes, I've worked in the cosmetics industry for 20 years, so yes, for many people I know this latest development is probably a "duh". But it seems like a very big deal to me. From my novice experiments in this very flat (in 2005) to here has been an incredible journey.

Bimbo day

I sent off my assessment for the nutrition course this week and finished a big report for work. Today is the first day in months where I've not had something hanging over me and I feel empty-headed and bimboish in a good way.

Wanted to do my nails, but I've ran out of nail polish remover. Oh well. Have been watching silly films and not doing a lot. It's hard not to start listing all of the next big things to do (because there are plenty), but like grandma said "work doesn't disappear by doing it".

Is kitchen table a luxury?

Or a kitchen, for that matter? What about a bedroom?

The other day Timo and I were trying to see the silver lining to our extended stay in the studio flat. (We didn't plan to stay here long after we got married, but that demented brand of breakfast cereal called Credit Crunch made us pause and hold until house prices might come down to something approaching normal).

Timo said: "Well, look at it this way. It must say something about our relationship that we've been able to live in a studio for this long and we're still together."

He's right. We're very happy and very much in love. Every day I have a moment or two when I stop to think how lucky I am. I have had my share of absolutely abysmal and simply disappointing relationships so perhaps it's about time. Still, nobody is born entitled to anything, and just because you go through some shit doesn't then store that in the Karma bank (sorry Buddhists), so I still count myself lucky.

For my entire life up until I met Timo I was deeply suspicious of the "and then they lived happily ever after". And until we do, I obviously won't be in any position to guess whether we will. But I had reached a point where I didn't believe I was ever going to dare take a deep enough emotional risk to have a go. Timo changed that.

We'd love to live in a nice house with more than one room. Preferably at least two bedrooms. For a real dash of luxury, I'd love a spare room to set up as a home office and workshop. My work stuff and project stuff sort of needs its own place. There is something charming about how we live now, literally surrounded by stuff (I saw this documentary where they interviewed a mad professor and our flat looks not too dissimilar to his live-in library with piles of newspaper cuttings and bottles and magazines and books and computers). But charming quickly turns into an euphemism when you have to live it. You know the old saying "Oh, I love kids as long as I can hand them back." Kind of like that.

I'd also love to have an actual kitchen - not just a kitchenette. I'd love a kitchen table; a long, old-fashioned kind on which I could roll out pulla (bun) dough with a rolling pin. For a couple of years now I've gone to the trouble of making traditional imelletty lanttulaatikko (swede casserole) and perunalaatikko (potato casserole) from scratch. The process takes 2 days and in our tiny kitchenette, I haven't got enough room, so I have to juggle dishes and trays in and out to the main living area. They end up on chairs, our bed, on the tiny little table next to our TV. I also make Finnish star tarts (tähtitorttu) filled with plum jam. I cheat and buy the puff pastry and plum jam from the annual Finn-Guild Christmas fair at Rotherhithe.

Maybe next year we could move. Maybe we could spend next Christmas in an actual house. I already tried that once, but with the wrong guy. Even at the time, I kept worrying that it could all be snatched away.

What about this time? We live in an eccentric over-filled little love nest. We're happy here, but as Timo keeps saying: "I do look forward to the day I won't bump into your chair every time I come out of the kitchen."

What if we are stuck here for an indefinite length of time? Can we stay happy? Or what if we find a nice place, but we lose the magic? Or could it be that one day we might be lucky enough to have a proper home and a happy relationship? It seems like too much to hope for. I'm allowed, right?

In which I convince my husband that "höpö höpö" is an acceptable answer to everything

Quite some time ago, I bought my (then) new half-Finnish man a Finnish language CD-rom and course book. He'd expressed regret at never having learned the language at home. His mum spoke it and Timo and his two brothers did make some Finnish noises when they were children, but the language didn't really stick.

He didn't really get very far with the course materials. His version is that I was too bossy when trying to correct his pronunciation and whilst learning all the swearwords was of some use, he didn't feel inspired enough to continue.

Now that we're married and the course materials have gathered quite an impressive layer of dust on the top shelf of our bookcase, the greatest thing ever has happened: Katja's newly minted husband has declared he wants to learn Finnish. He's English through and through. Voilà, my husband now feels like this is some sort of challenge; the gauntlet has been thrown.

With his mind thus properly focused, Timo has made impressive leaps towards being able to understand the finer points of Viivi and Wagner and can't be too many years off being able to understand the other great literary W - the Finnish national treasure, Mika Waltari.

Current progress is still mostly focused on greetings and suchlike. So, okay, we're some distance off reading Sinuhe (The Egyptian) in the original language. But I'm convinced with his new found motivation, he will get there!

Whilst reading out loud some words intended to stretch the foreign mouth's ability to handle Finnish vowels, Timo fell in love with "höpö höpö" (which roughly translates to "poppycock" or "nonsense"). It's one of those delicious words (well, a pair of words really) that sounds appropriate for the intended purpose. Just like the English "poppycock".

The following chapter - on questions and appropriate answers - was highly entertaining because, in the style of "that would be an ecumenical matter", I suggested "höpö höpö" could be used as an answer to everything. Just try it and see!

Meanwhile, we've been trying to think of where to take Timo's Finnish cousin and his girlfriend when they visit London in November. I don't really want to see Avenue Q again (as brilliant as it was, we've got the soundtrack now and may have over-played it juuuuust a little. But then, can you blame us? "The internet is for porn" is even on my iPod). Anyway, I've suggested Monkey. Now that it has moved to its dedicated venue, maybe we'd stand a chance of getting tickets. I was so gutted for having missed it the first time.

Things I have realised today

1) It would make me feel more comfortable, if I were to internally agree that there really is such a thing as talent. And that you either have it or you don't. And that I may be talented in some of the things I so desperately wish to pursue and excel at.

The alternative is a bone-crushingly weighty reality of how little I really know about... perfumery... cosmetic science... writing... and that without the comforting concept of "talent", I may never be able to "catch up".

On the other hand, regardless of the mindset at the starting line, one thing seems to really be true: You can do stuff by just doing it. (A sentiment I know Neil Gaiman is fond of. I really get it now. It's taken me ages. Lots of other people get it too; some of them have even tried to advise me).

2) Speaking of which, at work, I've been very busy - travelling a great deal and so on. But I've also been writing. A lot. I'm concerned I've not been writing well enough (and what the hell is this all about - the more I write, the more concerned I become about writing badly, even though on some level, I must be getting better), but if one were to measure success in volume of output, I'd be doing rather spiffily, actually. Since May this year, I've effectively written a book. Shame it's not about alien planets, or grotesque insects. Realisation: If I wanted to write about alien planets, or grotesque insects, I could write the first draft in under a year, even when really busy at work. I'm running out of excuses.

3) My mother was a hedonist and didn't care for the worries of the next day. She was a master of pure seat-of-your-pants existence, which worked for a while, but became a really bad strategy (or lack thereof) in her later years. However, one of my most pervasive feelings of "being a child" is always being told to "look that up in the dictionary", or "don't ask me, find out yourself"; of being given educational toys, taken to complex foreign language plays and operas, a kind of Frasier Crane childhood.  It's impossible for me to ever know whether any of this was guided by the preferences I showed, but most of it must have been dictated by my mother's wishes. She exuded  fun and  she wanted to at least appear carefree, she picked the parts of the Communist Manifesto that suited her style and ditched the rest (granted, so did the Communist powers that be), she was delighted when she got lost in the woods and I - the "little miss young adult" at under 10 years old - found the way home; she loved to tell that story. So why did it seem that every activity of mine, even a simple conversation with my mother, had to more often than not be loaded with some kind of functional element. What kind of purpose or function can be derived from activity x? She taught me a lot. She didn't teach me how to have fun without care. Or maybe she tried and it was the seeing of the consequences of her lifestyle that made me so serious and determined. Or maybe I was always serious and determined and she simply accommodated me.

I've always had this unnerving feeling of being of such different raw material to my mother; not even chalk and cheese as they say here in England, but of different origins, from another planet.

Maybe I could write my first book about alien planets, aka, my mum and I.

Yet there were many things that (especially now with hindsight) I share with her. I love bold colours. So did she. And I seem to share her ability to remain naive and childlike when confronted with new ideas. I explore the sides that those entrenched in a rut or weighed down by too much experience may miss.

4) And that brings me to realisation number four. In the disciplines I wish to develop, but feel intimidated by due to my lack of knowledge or education in them - perhaps the way in which I combine a naive curiosity (beginner's luck + childlike "what if...?" wonder) and a smidgeon of talent (given that I'm allowing myself to believe that such a thing exists), perhaps, perhaps, I might be able to produce wonderful things after all. And surely the whole point is to continue learning and discovering all the while? And no master chef can possibly know everything there is in the whole world about cooking. They can still produce masterful dishes.

5) I seem to also be like my mother in one aspect - taste in perfumes. I've finally admitted to myself that her favourite scents (Shalimar by Guerlain and Y by YSL) appeal to me too. But in one aspect I am different; she used to stick to one perfume at a time, I, on the other hand, am a self-confessed perfume obsessive and collect perfumes. I'm mostly content to smell new ones, but some of them I must own. They enter the "wardrobe" and rotation.

6) There are few more lovely things than Finnish-style apple pie. Here's one I baked earlier:

7) There are a few more enjoyable and purely "fun" things for me than playing a really good computer game. Or, in some cases, a console game. There aren't many functional aspects to playing them that I can think of. If you know of some, don't tell me. I'm going to spend the rest of the evening playing Final Fantasy XII. I spent the earlier part of today studying my current Open University course "Understanding human nutrition", after which I baked the apple pie. Oh, and I finished reading "Just One More Thing" by Peter Falk (the book was lovely. The man is lovely). I haven't really done much today, but the trouble with studying and reading is that they make you think a lot. Which is why I'm here now, writing this, when I should be having fun.

What I did on my holidays (or: orcs in my face and lemon verbena up my nose!)

I've had a week off and now that it's coming to an end, I am just about starting to twig that this is a ho-li-day. Having said that, I've had a really good time; going to the theatre, planting herbs and flowers in the garden, reading books, playing Lego Star Wars (the complete saga) on PS3, baking and cooking... and making perfume. What I haven't managed yet, is a single entirely leisurely day. No, I'm not surprised either. But then again - if doing nothing = boredom and if boredom = torture, then why should I have to subscribe to the idea that relaxation means doing nothing. Maybe I've misunderstood. Maybe the relaxing kind of doing nothing is in fact, intensively focused meditative "doing nothing", in which case it really is "doing something" after all.

So, about the orcs. We went to see Lord of the Rings musical at the Theatre Royal (Drury Lane, London) on Tuesday just gone. The stage design, lights, choreography and circus skills were breath-taking. The whole stage (and some of the viewing boxes immediately around it) were encased in twining wood-like structures. We sat on the second row off the front and the effect was particularly strong; it felt even more participatory than theatre normally does (and, erm, more about that aspect of this experience shortly).

Some of the more challenging aspects of the LOTR story - the riders, Balrog and Shelob - were shadow-puppet-like, live silhouettes on stage, aided by excellent puppetry skills, smoke, light and sound. The battles were similarly stylised; some more circus-like, but all adrenaline-inducing and a joy to witness.

There were some oddities that snagged on the otherwise beautifully put together tapestry. The ents (always my favourite in this tale) were cleverly executed and the costumes were a fun interpretation, but they seemed to be on stage for a disappointingly short time, considering the effort that must have gone into putting them together in the first place. I didn't understand why the actor playing Frodo had adopted an oddly strangulated, nasal style of delivery (is that what Hobbits are meant to sound like? None of the others spoke that way). I wasn't sure about some of the casting choices. And the story and dialogue were delivered in a kind of a hurry; I wondered how hard it must have felt to tackle this epic at the beginning of the script writing process: "Guys, we have to squeeze thiiiiiiiiiiis many words into, cough, a couple of hours."

Having said all that, the cuts and adjustments they'd made were good and what they'd done towards the end in particular, by keeping in some of the important symbolism and commentary present in the original work, was excellent.

One of the most delightful elements of this LOTR version was the music. Although only one gorgeously melancholy and contemplative song seems to have stuck in my head like a song borne out of true musical theatre would, and the others have just left behind a general impression rather than their melody - nevertheless, the musical portion of this theatre production was superb. It added Tolkien's folk-song flavour, the elves' melodies and the atmosphere of ancient lore told through music and only imagined in our heads when reading the original books. Involving the Finnish ensemble Värttinä in the production of the score is a lovely correlation to Tolkien's love of Finnish mythology, although according to the members of the band, their addition to the project happened more by chance (scouring world music and chancing upon this song) than by intent (on being true to the roots of Tolkien's folklore research). Influences of Indian music could be heard throughout, which is not surprising, as the other half of composing came from the famous A.R. Rahman.

There were two intervals, the second of which was not long enough for people to get out of their seats, so instead... there was some interval entertainment in the form of orcs galavanting around in the audience! I was sat by the aisle on row 2. When the level of hubbub-hubbub-hubbub of general interval noise had raised to normal sort of standard, I spotted an orc about 6 rows behind us, staring down some poor tourist. So I turned my back to the aisle and said to my husband:

"Look! Look! There are orcs in the audience!"

Husband: "Um, honey?"

Me: "Look...loo... what?"

Husband: "Behind you."

Me: (turning to face the aisle): "AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Everyone within 2 mile radius: "Ahahahahahaha!"

There was an orc wearing one of the best pinhead-meets-hobgoblin theatrical make-up and costume ensembles RIGHT IN MY FACE, growling and drooling. Ok, maybe not drooling.

Afterwards, husband couldn't stop laughing: "I swear he enjoyed that."

Me: "Well you certainly did!"

(The orc actually came back to me for round 2 a moment later! For some reason I couldn't entirely concentrate on the show for the first few minutes once the curtain lifted for act III).

LOTR musical closes on 19th of July 2008, so you can still catch it! I recommend staying alert during the second interval.

For the rest of the week, I've not gone on any great outings, but I've gone a bit Bree Van De Kamp and baked, made food from scratch, tidied and brought in some cut roses from bushes I've grown over the last 2 years from little stumps in my garden.

And most evenings, I've allowed myself to indulge in perfume making (I say allowed because due to the still-quite-unbelievable-have-to-keep-pinching-myself turn that my career has taken, perfume making could now be considered "work" and I'm supposed to be on holiday. But I am too obsessed about scents to consider it work in the sense of "something one should ever stop thinking about". And I've been too busy on more important things with deadlines during working days, so I haven't really had the time or energy for concocting much).

The result is a scent I feel quietly hopeful about. I like it very much, but wonder whether it would be liked by others. I'm hoping to finish it soon and put it to the test. It's a heady mixture of Lemon Verbena, Orange Blossom Absolute, real Nectarine essence, Jasmine Absolute and soft woody amber notes. The opening is like lemon sherbet and summer fruit. It then warms to a sweet, honey-like floral (like a night garden full of white flowers) and dries to the smell of sexy, sweet skin. There is a home made perfume strip with today's batch notes written on it hanging from the makeshift "clothesline" above my computer. As it's a pure, undiluted concentration, the whole room smells of it now. Oops. I wish I had a lab.

I'm off to make some muffins now!

In one of those Life's waiting rooms again

I've been really, really busy. Good busy. I've been in work-and-career mode for months. It's been a little more intense in the time consumption department than anticipated due to some unforeseen circumstances, but things are finally moving along. I should find out some pretty big things in the next couple of weeks. Now we wait. And continue to juggle.

The things I have overlooked: housework, social life, writing group (hi, Gaie!), Smart meets, contact with all but a handful of friends.

The things I am trying to do, but not very well: Healthy eating, exercise (Timo and I tried to establish a regular swimming routine. We should try harder).

The things I have almost overlooked, but have managed to keep in my life (because without them it would be a bit pointless): having a relationship with Timo (if we don't have one, yet get married, we'd be heading for divorce before you can say Honeymoon), reading (I'm happy that it's not just work-related either; fiction lives!) and having duvet days (I need the occasional day where not a lot happens. I sleep in, do small chores, potter around, read, watch TV and play computer games - and spend the day Not Talking Much. It's a much needed balance to what most of my days are like).

If you are a friend, an aquaintance, a blog reader, anyone nice - hi there - who has been wondering what kind bottomless pit I've fallen into; please don't worry. And hope we can still keep in touch. To Be Continued...

I need a holiday to sort my chores out

I've been busy (good-busy, but still, you know, busy) and certain things have had to give. Such as regular blog updates (for now - that will be remedied in due course) and various paperwork chore type things to do with the impending wedding (impending surely can't be the right word, but it amuses me to use it in this context, so go with it).

I've also reached the stage where my solicitor has asked me to gather all the material evidence for my NHS clinical negligence case.

Not to mention that I would love to have a few days in a row off, especially after the Christmas rush at work.

I've just booked some holiday from work - a week in February and another in April. Very, very happy about that.

More another time; I have some good things that are ready to be written about.

You'd think there were no supermarkets here... or something

Considering that this year (in stark contrast to last year) I feel very well fed indeed, one might find it a little surprising that I apparently needed to stockpile food today. Alas, it wasn't just any food - today was our annual visit to the Finnish Christmas festival, held at the Finn Guild in Rotherhithe. Timo and I now have the bread, mustard, porridge, lingonberry preserve and, of course, chocolate to see us through the winter season. Or thereabouts. I've asked him to hide the bulk of the chocolate until Christmas. I'm going to try to be good.

Unfortunately they'd sold out of one of the key products I use in traditional Finnish seasonal cooking. It's nothing that amazing; it's a type of syrup, but there really doesn't seem to be an English equivalent. Bugger. Maybe I could ask for someone to send me a tub of it.

I really enjoy the long process of making really old fashioned Finnish Christmas dishes. I don't even attempt to make all of them for one occasion, but there are a couple that take up to 2 days of preparation and cooking time. It's a kind of journey, deeply filled with nostalgia. Smells, textures, ritual. Especially since I seem to have a bit of a knack for it all; everything tends to come out "just like my grandma made them". I still have some of her handwritten recipes.

Looks like I may even be able to have 2 to 3 days off for Christmas this year, which would be absolutely amazing. Such a luxury! The downside of having any professional involvement in retail is that you're there to make sure everyone else's Christmas is great.

This time of the year is bittersweet. Last year's fledgeling attempts to inbue positive thoughts, warmth and fulfillment where all those hollow, sore spots were was a success. I hope to add more this year. And the next. And perhaps, bit by bit, the strangulation of old pain will lessen to nothing more than a chilly undercurrent.

Turns out the Chinese invented Breakdance

Shaolin Monks was great. A mixture between Martial arts prowess, energetic dance and stagemanship; it was a Martial arts circus. Definitely something to see (I could add the nauseating: for the whole family). There were spectacular shows of well-practiced moves, the circus-element of brick-breaking and balancing on sharp spikes seemed to appeal to the younger audience and there were moments when the cartwheels and rolling on stage held a striking resemblance to Breakdance.

The highlight of the show was a double-act by two very young boys - they looked like they were under 7 years old, but their size might have been misleading. They effortlessly sparred, skipped and hopped through complicated Kung-Fu moves with the sort of ease that usually follows years and years of tireless practice. Watching them was like an optical illusion that made the audience gasp time and time again; it was like watching miniature adults.

We did notice one thing - the audience was completely different from the last Sadler's Wells production we went to see. Yes, lots of families, but also people who looked like they'd never set foot in the theatre before. Many people arriving really late. Or talking during the performance. I don't care if it's your first time when you're 48 years old, but you could at least observe some polite common sense rules on how to conduct yourself.

Heheh. I know. I can be so snooty. But seriously. Granted, not everyone was taken to their first concert/opera/theatre performance at under 5 years old, taught to sit still and focus, taught to figure out the plot of an opera sung in another language from looking through the programme booklet, but I do idly wonder whether common sense about certain things has to be taught too. Is common sense something you can, or have to teach?

It seems that many Finns still value opera, classical music and the theatre in the sort of way I was used to. In that you don't have to be wealthy, or in any kind of particular social category to take yourself (and your kids) off to see the latest production of The Magic Flute. At least that's the impression I get from the delightful film "Pelikaanimies" (Pelican Man), a film we watched yesterday. I bought it on our Finnish trip this summer, but we hadn't got around to watching it until now. Pelican Man is a simple, but delightful fantasy aimed at children, but entirely watchable by adults. One day a pelican decides to turn himself into a human by landing on a beach and putting on human clothes. The film explores human perception, what it's like to be an adult and what it's like to be a little boy whose parents have just divorced. There is lovely Finnish scenery and a beautiful feel to the whole film.

I'm going to head into work soon. It'll be a late night (stocktake). Tomorrow I'm partly working in store, partly from home. I need to finalise Christmas rotas for the store, as well as complete a number of forms and other paperwork. So far, this retail Christmas has been vastly different from the previous ones I've had as a store manager. I feel like everything is ticking along well without becoming a big burden. I reserve the right to change my mind in December.

In a couple of weeks I will be taking another work-related trip. After that it'll be more or less a straight run through to Christmas without stopping.