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

Beautiful Boston turns blue as our dreams of winter come true. The temperature is perfect for long walks through the city and last Sunday I went out to the institute of contemporary arts for a brief exploration of the new exhibits before heading for lunch and beers at Chart House on the harbour. The waiter was so excited in trying to show me photos of Obama’s daughter on her recent visit to the restaurant that he knocked my beer over. Amazingly, when he replaced it, he only replaced it with a little bit more than was left in the glass. Very unamerican. My date was from China but a long-term resident in the USA and we discuss each other’s fascinating and vastly differing cultures. The Asian culture is dramatically more gentle and patient than our British and American ways. Things seem almost too slow and yet when I am with westerners I often find them too fast, too aggressive. A few nights later we misbehave in the meeting room in my apartment building and sh

There are many memories of wonderful moments from this trip but the ones that stand out the most are those that I spent with you. I came searching for you on the third floor of the building where you used to sit and could not find you. When I messaged and told you that I was looking for you, you asked where I was and within moments appeared beside me… fresh and lively and looking so happy and beautiful as always. Happy in your uniquely gentle and subtle way. We walked to the kitchen and you poured a glass of water, I purchased a bottle (later, you sent me a photo of plastic waste to make me feel guilty, so typical of you). You sat before me and the energy was electric as it always seems to be. Your French accent, the way you pout your lips as you speak, your blue skirt and white and blue striped top, your elegance and grace, your intelligence and concern for humanity and the environment, all crush me as I stand before you, hopeless, consumed by your presence.

A wall of cloud fades away to another one as we bump through a puncture wound in the sky towards a lower altitude. The Boston skyline stretches out below and awaits our entry, its arms open in welcoming embrace.             I think of the one I love, a progressive, liberal, feminist. I think of the way that she does not walk around screaming ‘fuck life’ but rather saying ‘what can I learn today and how can I use this to improve the world, build community, and benefit mankind?’ She has a wonderful worldview. She tells me that this is the way of all female scientists, but I do not think so.             Yet, here I sit, chatting to various people around the world… a two-hour conversation with a friend in Madrid has just ended. I sip some wine and wonder why everyone is so afraid of doing nothing. The online world depicts us climbing mountains and snowboarding down them before we kayak along a river after which we run home in our shiny new shoes so that we can get ready for brunch an