One day

I can honestly say that no words can be enough for 'One Day'. It's made me laugh out loud without embarassment (I always thought laughing on the tube while reading a book can look a bit ridiculous so I am a little self conscious about it, but really it's like pretending you don't like snogging in public until you're with someone you really like and then you don't care who's looking) and it's made me swallow down tears and curse that my station's up and all I want to do is keep on reading, and reading and reading.

I like to think of myself as a select reader. I don't pretend to like a book just because it's a classic or because it's in. I only like books with soul, books that talk to me, that are telling me something, that are making me laugh and weep inside as if I was made or words, and ink and paper.

I also like to think I'm one of the fortunate people who's life has been blessed and enriched by a number of exquisite, beautiful and impactful books. 'One Day' is well high up with the best of them. From classics like Charles Dickens and Dostoyevski, Gogol and Hugo, to wonderful and incredibly talented contemporary authors like Salman Rushdie, Milan Kundera and Khaled Husseyni.

I must confess that despite being reluctant at first to read books that have sold millions of copies worldwide (I am yet untouched by the Stieg Larsson trilogy, the Harry Potter phenomenon or the Da Vinci Code - although mind you I do like the genre as I devoured 'Foucault's Pendulum' of Umberto Eco in a matter of weekly commutes) , I have fallen hopelessly in love with some of them. Probably the best example is 'Shadow of the Wind' which I read with an unsatiable hunger and the thought of finishing made me very very sad. I also really, really loved 'The Kite Runner' but after reading 'A Thousand Splendid Suns' I felt even more adoration for the person capable of putting such a tale into words. I was bewildered by how a story can be so excruciatingly tragic and yet ever so tenderly told.

'One Day' is even more special because in a very deep sense it talks a lot about me. I know we all see pieces of ourselves in the characters we love, but I am still shocked of how much of Emma Morley there is in me...

I've always worn spectacles and dreamt about making the world a better place. I have always been clever and even a bit arrogant about it, but with no confidence in me as a woman, whatsoever. Like Emma, I've been a singleton for almost all my life, but a good friend to have around. I've always fancied being a writer and like Emma (or maybe an earlier version of her than the accomplished writer she became later) I started a lot of projects and finished none. Like Emma, I like to think that I am funny and I believe I was blessed with an excellent self-deprecating sense of humour. Like Emma, I can just decide to go to Paris if I so wish but never do...

Anyway, like I said, we all see pieces of ourselves in the characters we love. But there's more to Emma than pieces of me... So if you haven't read the book yet and decided to sleep with it under your pillow too, get to know Emma. She's an amazing woman and a faithful friend...

Amy, it's not even cool...

When I heard the news yesterday, I was a bit shocked. Just for a split second. It's like receiving some news you're expecting. There's a moment surprise. But then it's gone...

And that's the saddest thing about it I guess: the whole world knew it was going to happen one day. It's not even cool anymore. The world is tired of another talented young person killing themselves in drugs, pills and alcohol. It's so uncool that I am struggling to feel something about her death. I can't... How come other celebrities with amazing voices manage to be successful and lead perfectly normal lives. Being rock'n'roll these days is not a pre-requisite to being famous.

What are these people even angry at? What's the trauma that they are fighting to drown in drugs and alcohol?

I've been thinking about this for quite a while now and it's not a great surprise that our generation is drowing itself in drugs and alcohol. It's because we have never done anything extraordinary, have never been through something terrible, have never had to struggle, fight a war, live in poverty, worry about food and shelter, you know, this kind of things... Our generation is desperate to feel something... Or at least that's my theory. And when I look at Amy's life all I see is a beautiful girl with heaps of talent and nothing but a bright future. How did she get where she did? We all know the story, it's been all over the papers, but the real question is why did she allow herself to get there? Low self esteem, bad influence, the need to feel something?... I don't know, all I know is that this just isn't cool...

I will give her a moment of thought and will pray for her soul. But the one before the horrible tatoos and the bad skin, before the missing teeth and the breast implants, before she lost all her curves and dignity... For the beautiful Amy we would have all loved if only she stayed...

O Roma mia!

It's safe to say (and hardly anyone could argue) that Rome is the most beautiful city in Europe. It lives, it breathes, it's been there almost since the beginning of time. It's almost scarily beautiful.

It's my second time in Rome and I am grateful I got the chance to see it again and still keep my convictions. Despite the 'Roman centurion' tricking me into taking a photo with him for 2 euros or the Romanian woman asking for money on the pavement in Romanian (!!) it didn't spoil it for me. Because I hardly did any of the touristy stuff and I think that's important. Otherwise Rome is reduced to the same thing - a race agaisnt the clock to tick all the sights on the list which I believe makes her majesty the city of Rome frown a little bit down on the little bit too zealous tourists.

Instead I took pleasure in strolling aimlessly when I had the chance and eating. It may almost sound like a cliche (especially since I read Eat Pray Love already twice) but the food really made me close my eyes and imagine I'm in heaven. And the cold limoncello. And the cheap squares of pizza from the take away shop. And the gelatto (did you try the pistacchio one next to Fontana di Trevi - well you must!!), and the espressos and the Monte Negros. And even the tramezzinos from the coffee shop downstairs for goodness sake!

Somehow unexpectedly though, this time I didn't imagine myself living behind one of the windows with a charming display of fresh washing in Trastevere. See, I used to do that a lot. Everytime I went somewhere on holiday, especially in hot climates, I would try to imagine myself how it would be to actually live there. And on my return I would linger a bit on the idea that maybe one day I'll go back there for good. And despite the freezing cold waiting for me back in London, I didn't even get upset. I don't know what happened but I somehow came to the conclusion that every place has its share of misery. At least I got a bit numb to the level of misery I experience in London and that's these days pretty bearable. If I'm honest, the only way we could probably avoid the misery would be living everywhere for 3 months at the time. Before the misery settles in... The misery of rain in London, the misery of being way too hot and the traffing being a bitch in Rome, the misery of being too busy in New York, the misery of being too quiet in my home town... You might as well stick to the misery you're used to. So no, I didn't fantasise about living in Rome this time but I did plan to go back. Hopefully over and over again...

There are many films featuring Rome, but somehow my favourite is "The Roman spring of Mrs Stone" - the old version with Vivien Leigh and Warren Beatty. There's something there: something which starts like a promise and ends up in misery... When I found myself in front of the Spanish Steps I could almost imagine her somewhere on one of the roof terraces embracing Rome with all the heart. Let is be a while until misery settles in...