Santa in the sun

As I slip on my new favourite blue and white Havaianas, I grab my sunglasses and head out the door. It is another glorious day with not a cloud in the sky. An air-conditioned Metro train provides me with a brief, refreshing respite from the burning sun shining just above the surface. Back out onto the bustling street once more, a giant Santa Clause defiantly wears his warm woolly clothes and smiles through the heat. I see trees covered in baubles, penguins carrying presents and elaborate nativity scenes being played out, all in the Brazilian midday sun.
And that's when it hits me: I am 5,899 miles away from gloves and scarves, mince pies and mulled wine, ice-skates and log fires. A momentary pang of missing home wrings in my stomach and leaves behind a feeling that I just can't shake.
And then it suddenly occurs to me that a huge number of people in this wonderfully crazy city might not have ever seen snow before. I smile as I watch a snowball hurtling through my mind and go crashing into a happy snowman.
Shopping done, I trade in a mulled wine for a Caipirinha and sit watching the world go by. Our beautiful blue planet is home to over 7 billion people, all with different life experiences. But despite our differences, we all have the same beating hearts, hopes and fears.
And that's what makes us family.



As 2013 comes slowly to a close, I want to thank you for following my blog every week and being part of the journey. You add colour to my life and inspire me in ways you don’t know. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, and hope that 2014 brings you health and happiness!

With love!

Driving blind

And suddenly my ears pop; the sweet release of pressure.
Two and a half hours after leaving the city we begin to snake our way up through the mountain. I love to watch the world whizz by, getting lost in my thoughts. People and places wash in and out of my mind like a summer tide.
The weather is changing. Gone are the blue skies of earlier to be replaced by something else.
Carefully navigating a tight bend in the road, everything is suddenly smothered by a thickening white fog as horizon vanishes right in front of our very eyes. The car slows to a crawl as an eerie silence descends. I suddenly remember the foggy morning in East London that concealed Canary Wharf from view; a lost moment in time that now lives safely in my heart forever.
Higher and higher we drive, embraced tightly in the fog.
And my mind is racing. I can't help but wonder if, with all the challenges and choices in life, we don't all get lost in the fog sometimes. There are days when the sky is cloudless, blue, we know exactly where we are going. And then there are times when we just can't see the wood for the trees.
But sometimes a fog is there just to remind us that, as long as we stay true to ourselves and trust our intuition, we will eventually find our way through, once again breathing under a blue sky.
And just when I think that we are never going to get out of this, we turn a corner and discover a bright burning sun once more.

The people in the picture

The afternoon sun is scorching. With barely a cloud in the sky, the only respite from the searing heat comes from an odd gust of breeze that randomly circles around the square and disappears just as quickly. 

And there he stands; brush in hand, bold of stroke. Framed either side by a row of majestic palms, I stand mesmerised by his poetry. The colours are bright and the paint, thick. He seems oblivious to everyone who dances in and out of his periphery. The only thing that exists is the Catedral da Sé in front of him. It captured his imagination and is now being brought to life through the canvas. They have a connection that I will never have. He switches brushes. I watch as he coats the hair in yellow and continues on, adding more detail to his creation. Passers-by stop momentarily to watch. And then I suddenly notice the people in the painting, frozen in a moment. I wonder where the man in the red top is now. And the child in the buggy. And the woman in yellow. Did she make her way up the stone steps into the cathedral, or did she disappear down into the Metro and is now standing on a crowded train homeward-bound? 

As I eventually say goodbye to the man and his canvas, a thought occurs to me: we encounter so many people on the journey through life, our paths cross for only a second. Sometimes we share words, sometimes just a glance. But regardless of whether people live inside a painting or in our heart, everyone has a story to tell, and underneath it all, we are family.

Spectacles spectacular

"Can I help you find somewhere?” the voice behind us speaks in a soft Portuguese accent. We must look a little lost in this new city - this city that I'm starting to fall in love with. I turn around to see a beautiful woman with a warm smile standing there. Our guardian angel chuckles to hear that we are looking for the 'Museu dos Óculos'. She puts us back on track and waves us on our way.
Eventually, we find ourselves walking in through the door of a stunning white and blue house lifted straight out of 1900's Italy which has since been converted into an opticians. After a few words with the receptionist I am relieved to discover that the museum lies just up some wooden stairs.
We are soon greeted in Portuguese by Ivani, a middle-aged woman with reddish curly hair. She has a warm face and an infectious laugh.
And so she walks and talks. We journey through the ages past silver monocles and ivory fans, across the 60's, 70's, 80's, and up to the designer sunglasses found in Vogue Magazine today.
There is something very lovely about this woman; we instantly have a connection.
After our personal tour I find out that she has been curating the free museum for over 17 years now with the love of her life. She gave up being the journalist for the Mayor of São Paulo and this was her personal collection.
We thank her for the tour as she gives us a tight hug. Suddenly she tips her head and says "coffee?"
Over steaming espressos we talk about travel, fate, and my love of Brazilian telenovelas. It was a perfect afternoon. We laughed a lot.
Then with one last hug we say goodbye to our new friend. She wishes us happiness on our journey and I'm suddenly touched by her kindness.
Walking out into the blazing afternoon sun once more, I can't help but smile.
It's strange where life can take us sometimes. The places we go and the people we meet along the way change us forever. And that afternoon, it only took 700 pairs of glasses to see that these little random moments are what makes this big crazy world so utterly beautiful.

A perfect drama

Beautiful men and glamorous women drink out of champagne flutes and talk in a language that I don't understand. I watch as words float poetically out of their perfect mouths and I'm caught up in the elegance.
Someone says something...and suddenly everything stops. The room falls silent as mouths fall open. Something is seriously wrong! What is going on? My brain can't make sense of the situation. After a minute or so of stunned silence, the screaming begins. The guests lash out at one other and start to claw viciously at expensive clothes. I need to know what's going on.
After some much needed translation, it turns out that the party was the pre-wedding dinner for the daughter who was about to marry her father but didn't know, then she finds out that he was not actually her real father anyway.
Alongside this, it was revealed that the man with perfect eyebrows had watched his sister deliver a baby in a bar toilet and had taken the baby off her to give to someone else to adopt. Well, now it turns out that he actually put the baby in a dumpster and left it there...well, that would account for the hysterics. My jaw is on the floor!
The mother of the man with the perfect eyebrows disowns her son and he is pushed forcefully down the stairs into the broken glass...
And then the credits roll against a backdrop of dramatic music.
I might just have witnessed the best telenovela in history, ever!
Laughing loudly against the theme tune, I realise something: no matter how difficult and challenging life can be sometimes, compared to what I've just witnessed, I'm living a doce vida.
And it's blissfully simple!

Early hours of a new day

As cool rain beats down outside my window and splashes onto the empty pavement below, I open my eyes. It is still dark. Reaching out towards the wooden bedside table, I find my phone and gently press the home button. The screen jumps to life with a brightness that stings, and I watch as time flips from 00:59 to 01:00. The phone dims, and once again I am in darkness with just the sound of the downpour to keep me company. There is something deeply comforting about the noise filling the sleepy room. 

A memory of sitting in my dad's brick conservatory listening to the rain beat down onto the roof comes and goes, leaving me with a longing to see him.
I notice a small beam of street light spilling in through the shutters and have a sudden urge to see the city in the rain. And so I step sleepily out of bed and walk over to the window. As soon as I pop my head out into the night air my senses are awakened as Brazilian rain finds its way onto my face; it feels cool and fresh and lovely. 
I glance out over the sleeping houses and glistening trees, I think about the past few months and the thousands of miles I've travelled, physically and emotionally...
And as my eyes begin to feel heavy once more, I can't help but wonder what else there is out there to experience...

Sun and Samba

I'm up on the 11th floor looking down. The buzz of the city wafts up on currents of warm Brazilian air and carries with it bouncing Samba beats from musicians at a private party somewhere down below.

Today I spotted my first wild Parakeet. Flapping gracefully past the lush foliage, its beautiful bright green wings seemed to glint in the early evening sun.

And today I had my first Caipirinha. The lime infused cocktail that made my taste buds explode and awakened my senses, left me with just the right amount of afternoon sleepiness as we stepped out of the bar and into the sun.

The streets of London seem a million miles away now. I crossed over the Western Sahara and the Atlantic Ocean just to be here. And now that I am, the world suddenly seems a few degrees brighter than it did just a few short days ago.

The sun that I love so much beats gently down onto my body as it gratefully laps up every last ray. A sudden wave of happiness rushes over me as I realise that I'm right where I'm meant to be.

They say that home is where the heart is, and as I think about all the people in my life that I love so very dearly, I realise that no matter where I go, and whatever I do, I will always carry them around with me in my heart, never leaving, nested inside my travelling home.

Boxed up

In just over two weeks I will be up in the air again. Flying high above the Atlantic Ocean. A stranger will be sleeping in my bed. She will have no idea of the dreams that came to me in the small hours.
I will no longer be seen sitting outside on a Saturday morning, steaming coffee in hand, writing, and watching the Geese fly by. No more leaning-over-the-railings chats with my friendly neighbours. I will never get to see the opening of the giant school that popped up and suddenly blocked my view of Canary Wharf. Memories of walking home in the dark from the Closing Ceremony that beautiful summer will never leave me - A spectacle that burnt it's way into my heart forever.
I watched the communal lawn being cut short, only to be covered in a blanket of crisp white snow a few weeks later.
Loved ones entered my home to dance and talk and drink and laugh and cry and eat and read and sleep. Every wall, a witness to a chapter of life.
I ran along the canal and pulled a muscle. I cooked Sunday brunch and burnt my finger. I woke up sleepy in the early hours of a morning and stubbed my toe on the way to the bathroom. All these things make up a collection of memories that I will never forget.
And as I seal up the final box with brown packing tape, I can't help but wonder what lies in store 5,885 miles away...

The change

The air is chilly. Something has changed. There were no fireworks, no announcements...just a simple glance downwards to spot the lone golden leaf adorning the evening pavement.
Trees will soon be bare and sunsets will arrive just that little bit earlier. And so comes the change.
The carefully packed boxes in my lounge suddenly make me realise that in two weeks, I will no longer be here - here in this flat, looking out over towards the glistening canal.
I will be gone.
As I watch summer skip merrily away for another year, I can't help but wonder what this new season will bring. Who will I be when the snow starts to fall?
A cold breeze whistles across my body and makes it shudder. Then as I zip up my hoodie, I look over towards the water. It is still flowing gently like it did the day before.
Then I realise something: As much as change can be scary, we have no choice but to embrace it. Whether we like it or not, everything on our beautiful planet changes every single day. It's meant to be that way. Every sunrise and season brings with it new opportunities; a chance to smile, to dance, to grow.
The cold pulls me out of my thoughts and I head inside. I lock the door, close my blinds, and turn on the lamp. The room is instantly bathed in a warm glow...and suddenly everything changes.

Gone fishing

I didn't know if it was the beer, the blazing sun, or a combination of the two, but I suddenly felt sleepy out on the river bank. It was nice to be away from the city for a few days, and for the first time in ages, I felt my mind soften around the edges.
As I finished the last of my drink, my friend turned to ask if I fancied doing a spot of fishing...A smile crept across my face as I found myself out on the deck of their narrow boat. After a quick lesson in the basics, my friend hopped back onto solid ground...and there I stood, alone in my thoughts, looking out across the river. The peacefulness of that moment was beautiful!
It didn't last long!
I watched the lure fly gracefully out across the water to land with a gentle splash once again...Then I felt my line pull...hard. The rod began to bend, and for a moment, I wondered if I had managed to get it caught again on some weed at the bottom. Within a few seconds, to my absolute horror, I pulled the line out of the water and found myself staring at a thrashing 25lb pike!
With that, I screamed, my friends came running, and passers-by stopped to see what was causing such a commotion. And so the battle to release the giant began...
The mere sight of its razor-sharp teeth coming towards me was enough to have me climbing up the railing away from it.
After what seemed like an age of twisting and struggling, I watched my friend bend down to place him back into the water from whence he came. He was finally home. Safe. Free.
Then as I looked down through the ripples, laughing with relief, I realised something: In life, there will always be challenges. Things happen unexpectedly to take us on a different journey. Sometimes we find ourselves in an unimagined future where we don't always get what we want...but occasionally, get just what we need.
And that night, as I looked out of the car window into the starry sky, I couldn't help but smile. This would forever be the day that I wrestled with a river monster, and won!

Rainy Tuesday

Tuesday evening rain splashes down onto cold pavement. It has been like this all day and looks set to carry on into the night. 
As the door to my office clicks shut behind me, I breathe deeply and watch my umbrella pop open...and so begins the commute home towards drawn blinds, soft lighting and a comfy sofa. 
I love these moments! Music pulsing through headphones down into my ears, I join the strangers on the street, and walk. I can't remember the last time I didn't feel at home here. Nights of feeling alone and scared in a big city seem like a lifetime ago. 
As I approach the corner to cross, I notice a massive, muddy puddle spilling out from the kerb into the road. I know this corner, and I see what's coming...As I take a step back away from the edge, people around me suddenly understand my movement and follow me in quick succession. We share a knowing smile with each other just as the bus trundles past and splashes the puddle up and out. 
Moments of random connection remind me that we are all related. 
And so I continue on towards the tube. I know that it will be packed down there this evening. A wave of peace washes over me in anticipation of the warm cocoon that awaits. I can get lost in the crowd once again and feel the mass of beating hearts. 
We see so many people every day on our journey, some familiar, some not. Sometimes paths cross to turn into something more meaningful, and sometimes, one glance is all we ever have. 
And as I begin my descent to the ticket hall, I can't help but wonder where all these strangers are off to tonight - strangers with their dripping umbrellas and soaked newspapers.

The final burst

The final rays of golden sun shine directly onto my face; it is too bright to see anything in front of me. And so, blinded by the light, I close my eyes and feel the warmth gently embrace my entire body. 
I love evening sunsets; everything slowly winding down for another day. Lost in thought, I suddenly feel a slight drop in temperature as the sun is momentarily hidden behind a passing cloud, giving me space to open my eyes once again. It takes a second for them to adjust. Light reflects off the river and bounces out across the city. Sitting on my concrete ledge, I watch as one by one, people pass me and lean against the barrier above the sun-sparkled water. Everything seems to slow right down as we all join together to watch the last of the day's sun give one brilliant final burst across the city. Towers glint in the distance and water is sprayed up by a passing catamaran. And on we gaze, all connected in the moment. Still. Grateful. At peace.
My attention is drawn down towards a tiny boy who runs past me into his daddy's arms. As they both chuckle to each other, I get a fleeting glimpse of my own son. If I had one, we would sit out here together and watch the sun go down over the horizon with Cutty Sark resting majestically behind us. 
It will soon be time for me to get up and meet my friends in the restaurant...
But for now, I'm smiling at this gift of spending a little time on my own. Time to just be. To breathe. To love. To smile. And sweep back my wind-ruffled hair.

My little book of moments

When I started my blog over two and a half years ago, I had no idea that the journey would change my life, forever. 
I vividly remember the first time I hit the 'Publish' button. Suddenly the words were no longer just inside my heart...they flew out into the world for all to see. Since then, I have received many emails from a variety of followers: some funny, some heartbreaking, all beautifully honest. I continue to be touched by every single one. 
After a while, I started reading suggestions that I should write a book based on the blog. At first, I was incredibly touched...Then after a few more followers mentioned the same thing, I began to wonder...
And so 'The Little Book Of Moments' was born. 
It is a lovingly chosen collection of a few of my favourite pieces, with a few new ones written especially for the book. Every piece has a beautiful hand-drawn illustration to accompany it.

Keeping the feel of this blog close to its heart, my book takes a sideways look at love, life, and everything in between. The bite-sized moments will take you through the everyday/ordinary and open you up to the life lessons hidden within every situation.
I thank you all, from the bottom of my heart for following my blog every single week and for being the most important part of the journey. 
Love and light always!


'The Little Book Of Moments' is out now on Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.com, and Amazon.eu

Morning chatter

Sunday morning, and a chorus of Wood Pigeons call in the distance. It is the first thing I hear as I wake. Still dozy from sleep, I listen as one repeats the same three notes over, and over again. Then another joins in, this time with five. It is all I hear until they suddenly stop. Stillness. 
Then in the silence, I yawn. My tummy rumbles. And the pigeons return. Then a Crow. Then a Sparrow. Then something else I can't identify: a strange, deep squawk. It was definitely a bird of sorts, but not one that I have heard before. Or maybe it was a child. 
As I listen on to the orchestra of sounds, my mind suddenly skips back to another time: London Zoo, a light drizzle falling onto my face as I stood listening to the Peacocks. Trying hard to mimic their call, I began repeating back exactly what I heard, subtly adjusting the quality of my sound each time until eventually we merged and became one. I smile at the memory of seeing the rest of my drama school friends all doing the same thing. The next day we would find ourselves back together in class, all laughing at the strange looks we received from the rest of the visitors around us, before making the room come alive once again with lions, and tigers, and Peacocks, oh my! 
I chuckle at the seeming randomness of life...
And as the birds continue to chatter outside my window, in between the squawking and singing, I begin to drift off once again into a deep morning sleep.

Homeward bound

As the train speeds through the tunnel, music floats into my ears. Scenes from earlier splash into my mind and begin to overlap: My friend's sweet little boy roaring like a monster, her lovely twin daughters randomly discussing Hula Hoops, us reminiscing about days gone by, and the rain that began to fall lightly over our picnic, making us pack up and call it a day...

Then I suddenly remember the old man playing a piano in the main concourse of St Pancras station just moments before we said goodbye. We stood there transfixed, watching him lost in his music, us getting lost in him.

My reverie speeds up time, and before I know it, I am standing on the wet evening platform once again, close to home. I watch the train disappear into the distance and suddenly realise that there is no one else around. I feel the light drizzle on my face and stand looking up into a darkening sky. Right at this moment, my friend and her family are speeding out of the city, whilst the piano man is settled in his seat, dozing peacefully as his train sways onwards.

And as I walk down the length of the platform towards the stairs, a thought occurs to me: even if I had wanted to, with all the will in the world, I couldn't have orchestrated this exact evening: The piano man, the picnic in the rain, the moments we laughed; all set against a dark blue, late August sky.

And all it takes is a second...a second to stop, a moment to realise, that we have so much more to be grateful for than we will ever know.