Tried several times to update this page -- Blogger isn't happy.

The recap: Andy G. came to London in March and spent a week keeping me up late, eating curries, shopping, and barhopping. I had a tremendous time. It's a bit of a stress having houseguests, but it's also time we can catch up with everything (we hadn't really spent that time in a couple of years) and I missed that we used to be closer.

Organic went through another round of redundancies. This kept me hugely occupied and anxious for the whole of March. As a department head I was in some very difficult discussions. We had a voluntary programme in London, however, which was far gentler and allowed people to make a decision to have a life change.

To combat the stress of the whole thing I went to Paris. Stayed in Montparnasse and shopped, walked, ate, and flirted with the French -- especially the very dapper Benoit. I just adore Paris and hope, at some point in my life, to live there. Not that I don't adore this country, but Paris is an altogether more sensual place. The trick will be to live a Parisian life in London.

I'm trying to not use exclamation points after someone pointed out how often I did!

Had a domestic weekend. Went to see the gloriously gothic Shockheaded Peter with a colleague and her visiting boyfriend and spent the night in the bar at St. Martin's Lane Hotel getting reacquainted with Ketel One martinis. Then bought a Dyson vacuum and realised how little dust and debris my old vacuum was picking up (it was disgusting.)

That's all the news I'm going to give anyone. More soon.

Hello from the land of burning sheep.

We've got terrorist bombs, a collapsed NHS, persistent Tube strikes, a farm animal epidemic, a tumbling economy, terrible weather, exorbitant rent, and oh nonstop Big Brother on the tele.

Yet, for some reason I'm agreeing to another two years here!

More of the same. More work, more stress, more weight, more hairloss, more no sex, more exhaustion, more drinking too much, more dull client meetings, more soppy rainshoes, more black phlegm, more tourist madness.

Yet today, in a mad dash in a taxi we rounded the Trafalgar Square roundabout and the sight of Nelson's Column, the National Gallery, and St. Martin's in the Fields, made my heart leap and I couldn't help but smile.

I still love it here, fool that I am.

Bombs and Chocolat. Sunday morning a car bomb exploded in front of the BBC building in West London. The explosion injured one, caused damage to the buildings in the area and reawoke the possbilities of bombings in everyone's mind. The Real IRA (an IRA faction group) was blamed for either trying to damage the suffering peace process or for retaliating for a stinging Panaroma exposé. I was unaware of the explosion until I was attempting to get home from shopping at Habitat on the Tube and many of the lines were closed for safety concerns. It seems impossible in this day and age and in this country that terrorism be a factor of daily life. And we return to days of security alerts at tube stations and panicking at the sight of empty bags on the sidewalks.

Last night a group of us ate dined at a rather informal Thai restaurant in Clapham Common, then went to see Chocolat. The movie has gotten mediocre reviews and we had low expectations, but I found is absolutely delightful. Juliette Binoche , one of my favourite actresses since I saw Blue, is one of the most radiantly beautiful women. It's a story set in a small town in 1950's France of a wandering chocolatière, Binoche, who sets up shop in a small town stifled by its "tranquilité" whose desires are awoken by this mysterious Mayan chocolate. There is a shop in the Parisian left bank that sells mayan chocolate and it's magical. Judi Dench deserved her nomination for her role. Johnny Depp is lovely to look at, but didn't quite manage his Irish accent which only appeared once he said he was Irish. Go see it. There's no sex, only a little violence, and few special effects. But there is Binoche.

I'm feeling increasingly uncomfortable in my flat, for no apparent reason. I see flickers of light through windows in the kitchen and think someone is there in the room. It's wildly irrational, and mostly to do with the sinus congestion, but it's meant that I've not relaxed fully at home. Maybe it's age, or insecurity, or stress, or the winter wind. I'm looking forward to Spring.

Haven't written lately because work's been busy. A lot of pitching business so that we can stay afloat. Strange weather today -- hail, snow, rain, and sunshine. No wonder I have this cold, and have irrational moodswings. Spent last night thinking someone was trying to break into my bedroom window, only to realise it was a loose roof pad across the garden.

Maman à Paris. One of the best memories in my life will be the look on my mother's face as we rounded corners and she found herself up close to the monuments and places she never thought she would see in her life. She loved Paris.

At first, it was bitterly cold in Paris, and we gave up our plan of walking through Paris for an afternoon at the Musèe d'Orsay. We apparently came across a famous French footballer who had hordes of art-bored schoolchildren following him around as he absently talked on a mobile phone. I'm not sure any of them actually saw any art. After the museum and a night walk along the Seine we searched out Le Navigator, a restaurant in the rue Galande I had been to with Scott Palmer. I've discovered that whilst I have passable french for doing things like getting tickets and asking directions, I have no culinary vocabulary and mom made do with what little things I could translate from the menu. Luckily I understand the universal language of wine.

We went to the Louvre, braving the crowds to stand and admire the Mona Lisa. It's always been a mystery to me, however, how this is the penultimate painting when da Vinci's Virgin of the Rocks, is so much more masterful. It's quite easily to be massively overwhelmed by the sheer volume of art and to miss the building itself. After a three hour walk through the Louvre, and as much about 17th century painting as I could remember from the dodgy recesses of my art history training, we left the Louvre to walk in the brilliant winter sunshine up the rue de Rivoli to the Paris Opèra and lunch at the Galeries Lafayette.

At night we had dinner at la Coupole, the Montparnasse brasserie were the cafe society of the 20's met and ate. Had a fabulous meal, more wine, and a brilliant conversation. It was typically Paris -- historical, loud, flashy, well-dressed, joyous.

There were other highlights: Napoleon's tomb, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame. We returned exhausted, overfed, feet blistering and glowing from a great weekend. That's probably only something that I'll experience once in my life -- the joy of watching my mother experience Paris for the first time. It felt good.

Welcome to London. My mother flew into London yesterday for the first time -- and I'm getting sentimental over the days when arriving in London was exhilarating and new! I guess the downside to living here is seeing all of the things I take for granted. It is infectious, however, and I can't wait to start showing her around. Friday morning we're off to Paris which will really blow her mind! We're staying the St. Germain de Pres and I've already picked out the intinerary and restaurants. I'm hoping she'll have the time of her life!