Tomorrow could be boring

Speaking of food...

I have food on the brain after the Special K discovery (see last post) and so what could be more appropriate than join in on the National Zero (food) Waste Week orchestrated by Rachelle at the Little Green Blog.

We, in the developed Western world, throw away sickening amounts of food every day. Big supermarket shops encourage us to fill our trolley with far more than we need. According to WRAP, 8.3 million tonnes of food is thrown away by households in the UK every year.

That's just in UK. That's just household food waste. That's disgusting.

There's a separate website for the Zero Waste campaign here and you can join in this week by letting Rachelle know what you're up to. I'm going to keep a close look on how much we buy, how we cook and what we can do to reduce or eliminate food waste at home. I'll blog about my progress later this week.

One of the important things manufacturers and individuals should realise is that all that waste contributes significantly to the possibility of climate change. If more produce and packaging has to be produced than needed; if our waste has to be recycled and processed through the system - that all uses up energy and resources.

If the whiff of eco-warriorism is putting you off, there is one very good reason to eliminate food waste from your household: it's a terrible waste of money!

Disclaimer:

Whilst I fully approve of Rachelle's truly admirable efforts in encouraging the nation to reduce household waste, I must at this point state that I find it frustrating how some bogus treatments such as homeopathy are promoted at the Little Green Blog.

That is the kind of association that makes many people lump environmental campaigning, use of herbs and other valid issues into a giant hocus pocus pile, thereby invalidating great many a completely valid thing.

The excellent book Trick or Treatment co-authored by Professor Edzard Ernst, the world's first professor of complementary medicine, should answer all of your questions about which alternative therapies actually work and pass proper clinical trials. The answers might surprise you.

Many of the medicines we use today without batting an eyelid (aspirin and penicillin to name just a couple) are of 'natural' origin. Because they worked and were shown to have an effect beyond placebo/regression to the mean - they are now considered part of actual medicine. I'll leave you with this:

Once upon a time I was virtually cool

The trick to Sky's 'free broadband' offer is that they don't provide you with any. That's what it's beginning to feel like. We moved here on the 21st of December and through various trials and tribulations managed to finally get a broadband activation date for the 4th of February. This itself is horrifying for internet nerds like us. We've been surviving on the dial-up dongle.

It is now 13th of February and we still haven't got broadband and don't know when it'll be connected. Good job it's FREE!

Meanwhile, our alter egos on World of Warcraft are twiddling their thumbs and kicking around tumbleweed. There they are, in their shiny (then) top of the range gear, which we earned through many late-night and weekend hours of end-game raiding. Once upon a time we had a very high gear score. Now, with two new patches between the time we were able to play and the time we'll eventually be able to log on, we'll suck again. We'll no longer be top-of-the-range virtual heroes. We're behind! The guild we were in has disbanded and our raiding buddies have scattered across the server.

In November, I said to Timo: "This is the first time since we've been playing that I feel we're actually not playing catch-up."

I kind of jinxed us, didn't I?

I did get Spore for Christmas and was so excited by it that I ordered the extra parts pack and Galactic Adventures too. Unfortunately Spore has some fatal flaws. Its early gameplay is by far the most enjoyable; swimming around in the primordial soup and evolving your tiny cell. The creature stage is a lot of fun - collecting parts and designing your creature (in a way that has nothing to do with actual evolution, since you can just rip off your limbs and start again if you find suckers instead of hooves and fancy those because they give you better stats). There are millions of possible combinations. I spent hours over Christmas creating all kinds of bizarre monsters and cute two-legged cows.

It's the space-stage that makes this game suck big time. Nonsensical gameplay design aside (you can't build a proper fleet of different ships for starters), the bugger keeps randomly blue-screen crashing on you. And there is no autosave. I'm yet to complete a single game. Instead I keep designing creatures in the designer. That's fun, but then you want to do something meaningful with your critters.

There is a patch that's meant to solve the space-stage crashes, but I'd have to be able to download it online. I've tried logging on with the dongle connected, but no patch seems to want to download. Either this is Electronic Arts' fault, or down to not having a proper internet connection.

Either way my gaming-hobby has certainly suffered lately! It's just about the only thing that stops my brain turning over work-things, so I hope I get it back soon. Everyone needs down-time.

Snow Totoro

The good side of snow - you get to play in it. Last week when we were forced to dig out the car from what resembled an igloo, I continued getting myself wet and cold and made a snow Totoro.

 

And then it started to rain. R.I.P. snow Totoro.

Moomins next year! (Or next time it snows this heavily).

I must admit I am relieved that the roads are a bit clearer again, but childish winter fun has been almost worth the hassle.

'tis the time for scanners and printers to explode!

We've moved to Farnham. It's an old market town, fairly rural, but still close-ish to London. Timo's new journey to work will take about an hour by train and another half an hour by tube. My trip to Poole will be shortened significantly and will take similar sort of time if all goes well. So geography certainly influenced our choice.

Yet there is an extra quality about this place - something I was trying to explain to Timo before he'd been - it's a little bit out-of-time, an imaginary England not quite stuck in the past, but neither apparently present in our world. It's how I imagined England to be before I came here, almost 18 years ago. Of course my ideas were quickly crushed by Streatham, Old Kent Road, Elephant & Castle, New Cross Gate, Peckham, Morden and all those lovely South London places. Years living in greasy flats above chip shops, damp basements and ex-council blocks made me hate London. I'm sure I would have loved London a lot more, had I lived in a W8 terrace.

And I do love London too. I love its theatres, museums, colleges, parks, shops, buzz, ideas and people. The mishmash of cultures and languages. But like a rich pudding, it can only be enjoyed in small doses. I have always had a tendency to absorb a great deal from my surroundings and it's useful when creating because inspiration and ideas seem to fly out of my head with ease, but there is a saturation point. This point is reached very quickly in London these days. It's too stimulating. Exhilarating in small doses.

Our new home is a dinky one bedroom house. We're renting it for (what what we hope for is a) shortish period before buying our own place around here. The mortgage and housing market is scary at the moment, so these plans are not much more than hopes for now.

There are beautiful woods and parks, cobbled streets, old architecture, friendly people and nice little shops. We do now live right next to the train track, so the current nuisance (still preferable to a chip shop) is the house-train-effect. Every time a train goes past, the building vibrates. There are several cracks on the walls and ceilings, which the owner pointed out to us when we moved in. I definitely wouldn't buy this place.

Timo and I have decided that at night, when we're drifting off to sleep and the train rumbles and the house vibrates, we imagine that we're on a big sleeper house-train, journeying somewhere new and exciting. It's that, or constantly stress about the noise. 

We seem to be on a neighbourhood cat-path. There's a tabby, black, bushy ginger and a half-moustachioed Poirot cat. They skulk past our patio doors to the woods opposite.

I finally have my new computer. We can't get broadband connected until mid-January, so it's been a little ironic to stare at the shiny new machine without being able to do much on it. Not to mention the irritation of troublesome new printer installation. Well, we've not managed to install it, put it that way. It's driven Timo to declare he never wants to see another bit of technology again (a threat which was immediately broken as he hurried back to his game of Civ).

And there's another kind of headexplody-risk around here - this one for the idea-rich/time-poor/impatiently wanting to try and learn and do too much-type Barbara Sher calls Scanners. At my fingertips in this town, I have opportunities to rekindle Russian (something I've wanted to do for a long time), learn to ride a horse (something my mother promised me when I was a child, but then never followed through), go on drawing and illustration classes, learn yoga, go to theatre, go see sock puppets, opera streamed directly from The Met, learn pottery, fabric printing, jewellery making... and I could go on. I have had to force myself to put all this to one side for now and argue that it'll all be still there once I've completed my perfumery and chemistry studies, written my nonfiction cosmetics industry novel and finished my picture book. I am wearing a wry smile as I write this, but the crazy part is that there is a crazy part in me that believes I can do all this stuff. This place is a scanner's dream or nightmare. Depends on your outlook.

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.

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!

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.

Shaolin Monks

Timo and I don't get out much. Apart from going to work. A lot. Yes, we're exactly as sad and getting-long-in-the-tooth 30-something couch potato-workaholics as those statements imply. I'm not sure how much I mind.

Occasionally I dream of us away somewhere, on a beautiful, relaxing holiday with no computers, televisions, shops, or any of our modern trappings in sight. I had one such a dream last night. It was warm and sunny, but not so warm that we would both get heat stroke. Maybe I was having wishful dreams of our honeymoon. We're hoping to be able to take a week's holiday about a month after our July -07 wedding and go somewhere nice.

Occasionally we manage to have an evening out. And not just any evening; I'm not talking going to the pub, or the cinema (mostly because we rarely do those things either). Our next such excursion will be to see the Kung-Fu master Shaolin Monks at Sadler's Wells. We're going on the 30th of October. Absolutely can't wait! I love the theatre, opera, ballet, performance, stage - and I love Martial Arts. So as soon as I saw this advertised, I shoved the ad under Timo's nose: "Wanna see!".

Twenty Shaolin Monks and five young trainees have travelled all the way from the Shaolin Temple in China, to demonstrate their martial arts expertise.

In a crescendo of kung-fu sequences, the Shaolin Monks are lifted aloft on sharpened spears, splinter wooden blocks with their bare hands, break bricks on their heads and fly through the air in a series of incredible backflips and spins.

This show is the Shaolin legend made real and is definitely NOT to be tried at home!

How cool does that sound? I'm really looking forward to it!

If I can fit it in/afford it; I've been looking at Tai Chi classes locally... but on the other hand, Karate has always drawn me in. Just didn't like the local class being mostly full of adolescents (nothing wrong with that age group, but I really felt like the odd one out). Not sure yet. It comes down to class availability and money.

I'm going to work on a late shift tonight. Got to cover for late night opening and then stay behind to change our promotional displays, ready for Friday. I've spent my morning today arranging November events for my store (we're attending some out-of-hours fairs with stalls & entertainment), planning the next month's rotas, booking my staff on training courses and confirming interview appointments. I've got to be out of the door in an hour. Just sitting here with a face mask on (I look like the Swamp Thing) and sipping a cup of coffee.

There are very exciting things going on, professionally speaking, but I can't mention any of them here. As mentioned in previous entries, they're the sorts of things that I could once only have dreamed of happening. And they're the sorts of things that wouldn't be available to all - not for any kind of price; I have been pinching myself a lot recently because I think I must be dreaming. I feel very, very, very, very fortunate and humbled. I know I've been working hard, trying to reach the right path, making mistakes along the way, and somewhere deep down, I've held a hope - no, a belief - that you simply have to be able to make something of yourself with effort and the right attitude (despite sometimes seeing evidence to the contrary)... and yet, when the possibility of Something Big is now almost within reach, I'm a little stunned. It could all still just be too good to be true.

Hello from HelSTINKI

Just a quick "hi" from my friends' computer at Helsinki's Punavuori. It's been a mixed visit so far. I am over the moon about being with my family (that's who they are, really) and it is wonderful to eat lots of Finnish chocolate, sleep enough and mill around aimlessly. Kind of like being on holiday, oddly enough.

But there's a melancholy tone to this visit. It breaks my heart to see a certain kind of veil - part dirt, part apathy - covering what used to be my old hunting ground. I've posed a question to my dear friends: what the hell happened to Helsinki? More to the point: what the hell happened to Finland?

The standards of maintenance, availability of fresh produce and type of customer service you might expect now resemble any random European country, but before they used to be better. It really used to be true when we described Finland as a clean and pure place. It doesn't appear to be true any more. I'm so saddened by the drop in standards that I've considered sending a letter to the editor of Helsingin Sanomat (Finland's largest daily newspaper).

Anyway. It's not all doom and gloom! I guess I'm just feeling a little odd at the moment. Trying to establish how much of this is the outside-in effect of coming back year after year to an ever changing country and how much of the change is actually for worse.

Meanwhile, Timo and I have started to make real wedding plans. We're meeting a Finnish wedding planner tomorrow and we might end up booking their services. Depends how complicated an affair it's developing into. We're still not in favour of pomp, but it seems that Timo has a guestlist three times the size of mine, so we may need some help in arranging even a simple kind of party!

I'm not really on the computer much this week (we'll be in the countryside tomorrow, swimming in a lake somewhere), so apologies if I don't reply to comments until I return to UK.