Dear C.B.,

16Oct07

It gets dark here at 6.15 PM now. Today it rained so heavily and with such persistence that even the bravest, most addicted of smokers preferred to sit through three or four one-and-half hour lectures shuffling with agitation and nicotine deprivation than to smoke under the dripping oak tree by the road. It always seems to rain heavier under the canopy of that tree, and besides, the lorry spray…

I am living off steaming semolina pudding with cinnamon, a handful of dessicated coconut, honey and a little squeeze of fresh orange mixed in, and somehow it always makes me think of you. It’s the kind of thing I imagine you crave when the weather there is how it is right here and now. Keep up that friendship with the chef; bags of oranges and unwanted tea-bags are always a good thing to have at hand. Flutter your eyelashes, make him make you semolina pudding!

And keep writing. Write something in English for me, and sign it. When you become the next J.K. Rowling, I’ll wave your squiggle of a name in the envious faces of your fans, and tell them it all started with Random Shapes and blog-stalking, and then kiwis. (Are you still allergic?)

Soon I will write you a proper letter, I promise.

Love,

xx

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