on holiday

We are on holiday. I should be having a time of my life, but my back got much worse and I can hardly move. I could cry. I honestly could. Each time I am trying to do something it kicks in and don't want to go away.

I am really worried about getting back to England. It is a 14-hour journey to London and then another 4-5 hours in the car. I hope it will get better before that.

holiday

We are going away today and I am not even packed. I hate packing and unpacking. I wish people could travel without all this hassle. A long way is ahead us. I have bad back.

I suppose everything will be as it is planned to be...

Sunday... late morning

I remember the time when we used to write in normal notebooks. The diaries were personal, cherished and hidden - not as public as nowadays, when everybody can read them at their leisure.

Today is Sunday. I am sitting with my little boy. He is watching Thomas the Tank Engine. He is dancing to the songs and he is laughing. These are the moments to remember.

Feeling hot and in the mood for writing... What does define a perfect woman? Glamour? Beauty? Inner strength? £65o worth of sandals from a designer's shop?

Creams made of placenta... horrendously expensive... Aren't we going in some crazy direction? Is there a limit to what we are prepare to do?

The sky is very heavy today. I am cooking dinner for my absent husband and hopefully for Marta. She is coming and I have wine. A lot of wine in fact.

Italian

Papavero rosso... I have finally started to learn Italian. At last. I actually do like my life when I am not so tired...