In the middle of the Pacific

On Sunday 27th March, 2011, I am going to be reading at a fundraising event for Japan at the Millar near London Bridge. There will be both a comedy stage and live music stage and 100% proceeds are going to the British Red Cross.

My friend Helen is organizing this. It’s especially close to her heart as her sister was working in Japan when this tragedy struck and is still there.

Hopefully you can come. I’ll post more details on times, etc, when I have them but do keep that day free. In the meantime, if you want to give to the Red Cross, there are more details here: www.redcross.org.uk

As for me, I find it almost impossible to explain how I feel. I’m half way around the world. The images seem more like disaster movie than real life. And how can my worries compare to those of the people of Japan right now. I’m sure countless people feel the same.

So I wrote this…



I heard your house
was in the middle of the Pacific,
so I took a week off work to visit.

I thumbed a ride from an Apache
and parachuted to the water
James Bond Navy Seals style.

I don’t think they saw me wave goodbye.

You pull me in,
dripping wet.

You told me not to come
That it could only fit one
Two was too heavy
But I knew you wouldn’t mind

You have robes. And a hand towel.
You always were the perfect host.

I tell you I like what you’ve
done with the place even though it’s empty.
You had to lighten it, you said.
It needed to float.

You left your furniture in the hills.
Fuel for the forgotten, to warm hands
and brew tea.

To the man sat in the rubble of his house,
no windows or doors to seal,
you gave him your umbrella
to protect him from invisible rays,
and glowing rain.

Your pots went to a drummer.
There will be songs.

You gave your breath to the wind
to blow the fires out,
but it took too much (like always)
and your smile went too.

The water is tickling our feet. I didn’t expect it
to be so cold out of my wetsuit.

You’ve taken the windows out
and put them in the floor.
Your own glass bottom house.

The fish don’t entertain me.

We drink the last of your tea
brewed in yesterday’s sun.

I show you my new phone but not
how it works. I expect the ocean
doesn’t have a good data plan.

I brought you cans and food stamps.

But you broke your can opener
when you freed your neighbour
from their car and they’ve
shut off your gas and electric
since you’ve come out to sea.

And the stores are all closed.

But I see you’re not alone.
No one told me. It wasn’t in the photos.

You say it took days
to find the right conditions.
But over the crest of a wave,
a duplex surfed to join you.

Since then, there’ve been
sheds and plastic wheelbarrows.
Treehouses and trailers.

There’s been rumours
of a tower block
and a parking garage.

The water is to our waists.
It’s too uncomfortable to sit.

We stand to watch old Japan,
a three mile glow,
burning like paper lanterns to heaven

The water is at our necks.

I tell you I must be going
and thank you for the hospitality.

We wait in silence for the helicopter whirls
but they never return.

It’s all oranges and lemons in Relleu

It is officially day 4 of my trip away to write. This is probably the first time I’ve ever done this. So far I’ve been semi successful. I’ve written the outline to a short film (that I should have done a month ago), wrote 2 blog posts and completed the first 11 pages of a screenplay. I also played an entire game of Civilization, taught Karen how to play Cribbage, watched the first episode of Treme and re-read Salinger’s “For Esme – with Love and Squalor.”

I’m currently in the sleepy little village of Relleu which is about an hour from Alicante. They are known for their orange, lemon and almond trees and I was lucky enough to catch the end of the almond blossoms. I’m also lucky enough to be eating oranges directly from the trees. I can’t even describe how amazing they are. All I know is no other orange will compare.

I don’t have a routine yet but I have been lying in a lot and visiting with my friend Karen. Sadly, she went home this morning after being a month away herself. On my first day, she took me around the village and her Spanish is quite good. Mine does not exist. I really don’t know any Spanish and I seem to be becoming one of those ignorant tourists. The ones who talk English loudly and slowly as if that will make someone who doesn’t speak English suddenly understand. It’s idiotic. But yet, when flustered, I have no control of my mouth. “O-LA…THOSE…OL…IVES…PLEA…SE. THANK…YOU…GRA…CI…OUS.” Ugh.



After the village tour, we went for a little road trip. First stop, the sea. While sitting by the water, we ate some sort of Lobster/rice/broth concoction that this area is known for. It was followed by a good walk in the sand – you know, the kind where you really get your toes in? I do love sandy beaches. I’m still confused by rock ones. A beach isn’t a beach unless you can run around on it without your shoes. Those who do that on rocky beaches are just crazy.



Of course, we finished off with a sorbet as we walked back to the car. That is the proper end to a walk by the sea. Or so I’ve been told.



As a last minute decision, we went to Benidrom also known as Elephant and Castle-by-the-sea. As you drive up the road, these insane towers appear out of nowhere. It’s surreal. We likened it to the feeling Dorothy had when entering OZ. Pointed towers clustered by the sea.



We drove through and back out to head home and got stuck in a series of T-junctions built in empty lots. The waste lands of dream homes never to be. It did give us a good view of Benidrom – tall and thin, the town barely left the water’s edge. Only 5 minutes drive and it was mere horizon.



The last place we visited was the mysterious village of Finestrat. Now this was only deemed mysterious as Karen kept seeing signs going to Finestrat but never found it. So our last mission of the day was to go there. Karen assumed it was going to be a tiny non-town and this build up would be for nothing. Instead we found a cute little mountain village with a bustling main street AND you could see the sea.



The day we visited, it was carnival. As we wandered the winding streets of Finestrat, we heard music somewhere in the distance. Following the pipers tune, we came across a street of children in costume and a car blaring out top 40 hits. A parade! We followed along as the children and parents went up one hill and turned to go up another. We left them there with a little wave and headed back to the car. The sun was setting and we didn’t want to get lost in the dark.

So now Karen’s gone and it’s just me. I’ve been left on my own with my lack of Spanish, my computer, Internet that only comes on for an hour once every two days, some random books, my iPad and my imagination. Now that I’ve procrastinated with this blog post, perhaps I should get back to my screenplay. Or go for a walk. Hmm…a walk sounds good.

Why I'm giving up alcohol for Lent

Wednesday is the start of Lent. Last year I gave up caffeine for a month. I was sneaky as I love the taste of coffee and as I could drink decaf it wasn’t like I was giving up much. I’m not very caffeine dependent to function - I’m pretty high energy and frankly should stick to decaf anyway.

This year I’m giving up alcohol.

My relationship with alcohol is a funny one. And not funny ha-ha. There are alcoholics dotted amongst my family. The fact they are alcoholics is never discussed but it’s there. As are some very heavily stocked liquor cabinets. Of course, that’s their story to tell and not my place to tell it. Instead here is my story. It’s something I’ve told very few people. But I think it’s something worth sharing.

At Uni, I went over the line with drinking. I was in a different city and all my upper level classmates used to party a lot. Sundays were the main party night as they didn’t have classes Mondays and the sessions wouldn’t end until 4 or 5 in the morning. As I was in the lower class, I did have school on Mondays and my classmates were amazed I made it through the days after the nights before.

I also hated school and it started to make me deeply unhappy so I went to my doctor. As both my mum and dad have had issues with depression, he put me on medication. You are not supposed to drink when you’re on anti-depressants full stop. But I asked my doctor what to do if I happened to have a drink or two. He said if I did, then take an extra half a pill. I took that as permission to continue to drink and party the same as before but with the added “pleasure” of anti-depressants. I was in a daze. What they don’t tell you about those pills is not only do they deaden the sadness, they deaden everything else. You feel like you’re floating but not in a good happy way. More like a zombie version of you who looks very much alive.

It all came to a head when I was 22 and found myself in a rock star’s hotel room after a night out on the tiles (clichéd I know). Frankly, the night before was fuzzy. I could only remember the night as if it were in randomly taken Polaroids. Probably still a bit drunk and very frightened, I went directly to my doctors. I must have scared the hell out of the receptionist as I’m sure my hair was standing up on end, my face was full of yesterday’s makeup and I was sobbing. She sent me straight in. My doctor took one look at me and said if I continued on the way I was, I would be dead in 5 years. It scared the crap out of me. I binned the pills and the alcohol and didn’t drink a drop for 3 years.

I moved to England when I wasn’t drinking and got a lot of flack about it. My first boyfriend when I was living here even said it made other people uncomfortable when I didn’t drink. After we broke up, drinking slowly crept back in. I drank very very occasional and continued that way for a number of years. I think it really didn’t get to be more frequent than occasional until I started working at PayPal. I had worked from home for 4 years before then so I had a pretty healthy lifestyle for the most part. But all of a sudden there were pub drinks and lunch drinks. Fried foods, cider, beer, wine. On Fridays they opened the fridges downstairs at 5:30 and we would drink til they were empty. We’d then head to the pub until it was so late you’d have to take a cab home.

Everyone did it and the world of alcohol crept back in to my life. One after work turned to two, to three, to…let’s just say I never knew what a Jagger Bomb was before I started there. It didn’t help that I dated someone from work who drank that way on the weekends as well so every time we were together excessive amounts of drink were consumed. The amount that I drank wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own, but I got carried on the wave of drinking until it was a normal everyday thing. And I mean every day. In England it’s a very easy thing to do. And it’s a very hard thing to give up when every function revolves around alcohol.

Unfortunately, drinking doesn’t just make you hung-over the next day. It also adds on the pounds. And the last two years of this lifestyle have added at least 2.5 to 3 stone on to my frame. It’s strange how that creeps up on you too. All of a sudden it’s there. How did that happen? But it does. Especially if you work 10 -12 hours a day and don’t leave time to exercise.

So. It’s Lent. Lent you’re meant to give something up. It’s supposed to be a sacrifice. You’re to give up those things that you love. But this Lent I’m going to give myself a gift. No alcohol for 40 days. Easter was the miracle was it not? Jesus rose from the dead. Maybe I can do the same.