clinging to the wreckage

Many Monday nights I would proclaim ‘Monday is the new Friday’ and, delighted to have survived the day, the alcohol would begin to flow. We’d flood into the Spanish streets and sip vast quantities of things as we tasted tapas and tried scruffy little bars in dark alleys. Thinking of those nights tonight I ask myself ‘who is this person?’ as I walk downstairs to our gym and start to jog on the treadmill after having pasta and vegetables for dinner with water. Last week was spent in sickness and it feels so good to be healthy again that I feel inspired. And yet it feels strange to write such light and healthy words, for I am often one with the dark… a lover of literature scribbled by the drunken pen… and music that flows from the bottom of the barrel. My Spanish doctor once proclaimed, ‘I know your life is good but please stop celebrating so much.’ One year later my American doctor told me that I was a high risk and that my lifestyle had to change. And, so, I raise m

So many people asked if I was prepared for the Boston winters when I was moving here from Madrid. I was born in Greater Manchester, England, and the winters in Boston are beautiful compared to what I grew up in. It is cold here but often beautifully sunny and blue. In Manchester we had cold accompanied by driving rain and endless grey skies. There is something of immense beauty in that too. There is nothing that can compare to going to an old pub that is hundreds of years old and has moss and the colour of centuries upon its walls. There is a smell in the air of freshness from a persistent rain wash. But yesterday, as I watched football from around England, I noticed that people were wrapped in thick raincoats and looked as miserable as sin as the rain soaked through to their bones. The inescapable wetness. I took a walk to the post office and was astonished by the brightness and the beauty of Massachusetts even at sub zero temperatures. My Massachusetts ID a

Sickness swoops in and slows down the day. The pace these days is incredible and guilt accompanies sickness or any time away.   Staring out of the window, across this crispy cold and clear courtyard towards the apartment in which Luna lives (Luna is the cat I take care of when her owners go on holiday) I see that there are no lights on and nobody is home. Someone once said to me ‘beware of cat people’ and I thought ‘what nonsense’. I asked why and she said ‘cat people have cats to be cool and then they are never ever home with their cats… and they justify it by saying “cats are independent.”’ Since then I have noticed that cat owners are never home with their cats. I owned two cats for eight years and I was a slave to their every whim, and I was almost always home with them. Cats love company more than anything (except food) but even food is a celebration of something that their humans give to them. If you have cats, don’t go out every single night. I have never understood people who

To my left sits a lawyer, telling his friends that he is being sued but that he will always have a Porsche in his garage. To my right is a punk rocker, drinking a beer rapidly as he watches the LA Kings Ice Hockey match on his cell phone. Before me, a cool Mexican guy nearly blows us all up as he torches the Orange whilst preparing an Old Fashioned for me. Outside, the kids ride motorized scooters along Ocean Drive and Santa Monica pier. It all fits into this image that I have always had of California, even as a child. For instance, my Lyft driver picked me up at the airport and was listening to a punk rock mix. So, inevitably, we spoke about punk rock as we made our way to the hotel at which I was staying. When I arrived there was a party underway and I jokingly thanked the hotel for arranging a party for my arrival. They told me that ‘shooting finished today and this is the wrap party.’ I didn’t have the energy to ask which film it was. Sleep is impossible. At the