People tend to think they break up because they get tired of the person they’ve been with — that it’s someone’s decision, either yours or theirs. But this isn’t really true. Periods in our lives end the way seasons change. That’s all there is to it. Human willpower can’t change that — which means, if you look at it another way, that we might as well enjoy ourselves until that day arrives.

- Hardboiled, Banana Yoshimoto

i’ve been to berlin and back.

i’d like to describe it in touristy detail, but unfortunately i spent a lot of the week in ikea and bauhaus (literally, buildhouse, a monstrous hardware store). and also trekking around the junk shops filled to the gills with salvaged furniture, clothes and kitsch from dead granny’s flats. they were great.

we decided on a new game while out there. in august, when i’ll be there for a month, we’ll play the alphabet game where we have to eat at places according to the letters of the alphabet without repetition. 26 different places, that’ll take aorund 2 weeks if we include breakfasts and lunches into the game. but perhaps it’ll only be dinners. we’ll see.

coming back to london is always a relief, but i hold my breath (not literally, though) until i swing the door of the flat open and see that everything is still there. one of my greatest fears is to arrive back at the flat and see nothing.

anyway, as i’m still on holiday till next week, it’s been catching up with reading and pottering on the balcony. salads are in sprout, as are tomatoes. the herbs have been divided/re-potted, and the chillies are rallying round to the warm weather. i’ve managed to finish i capture the castle by dodie smith, and am three-quarters of the way through the mandarins by simone de beauvoir.

next up: a second reading of the magus by john fowles, or finishing the naked lunch by william s. burroughs which i’ve left languishing for the past year or so.

can i just say, that i absolutely love bak kut teh, and why i don’t make it more often since those spice-packs are so readily available, i really don’t know.

i’m still waiting for my rice to finish steaming, and for my pork-ribs to get tenderer, but i’ve had some sneaky sips and ohmygod i love love love!

the ribs are the biggest i’ve bought so far EVAR - they’re longer than my 15cm ruler - and i only just about managed to manipulate them into my cast-iron pot (i figured since i didn’t have a claypot, cast-iron would be an adequate replacement). i bought these ribs from a butcher at broadway market, and it’s highly likely that these are from a much older pig than those from the supermarkets. i’m quite pleased about that - not just because i get more rib, but i just like the thought of a more developed pig.

i scoured all the fruit and veg stalls at the market, but none of them stocked watercress (i know they’re not in season, not particularly popular in england, but still, a girl could hope.). that was a terrible disappointment, and a great gaping hole in my perfect pork-rib soup dish.

so i went to the toilets in The Dove and had a good cry.

no. i didn’t. instead i walked into broadway books and bought (1) my name is red, by orhan pamuk, (2) the mandarins, by simone de beauvoir and (3) freakonomics, by steven d. levitt and stephen j. dubner. half my book tokens used up, another £20 worth of books to go!

i really like broadway market on cold and bright saturdays. i like it even more with a cup of coffee, croissants and a paper.

so it’s mid-november and it’s finally cold.

cold enough for the leaves to turn bright red and orange and to scatter across the sky and the streets, leaving us wading through drifts of crackle.

cold enough to break out the gloves and scarves and hats leg-warmers and 50-denier tights, and to live almost permanently under 3 layers of clothing.

it’s also cold enough now to start having roasted squashes and other vegetables as staple foods.

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in other news, the cold has reminded me that christmas is coming. oh, okay, i’ve been reminded since sainsbury’s started their christmas aisle at the end of september (full of chocolates in fancy boxes, £5 gifts of tea-sets, spices etc, and baubles and tinsel for decorating your house at halloween).

but i’m worried now because i still haven’t used my christmas present from Matt’s mom from last year. she gave me £50 of book vouchers, and i haven’t used them yet. i know, what am i thinking? what am i doing? but trust me, it’s not so easy to just go out to a bookstore and buy books.

i have a library 5 mins away, and it pains me to buy a book when i can borrow it. and worse, what if i bought a book that i don’t like? or a book that i’d only read once and once only and never more? the waste! not just of money, but of effort and time and my braincells.

bookcovers lie, and the inside sleeves rarely reflect the true tone and manner in which a book carries itself. i know some people have said to flip to a random page and read what’s on it to know if it’s the right book for you, whilst some others read the first and last pages. i haven’t found a surefire way of deducing whether a book will grab me by my collar and plunge me into its depths, or merely bore me until i finish it off.

so, this might just be a futile request, seeing as i usually only get very irregular comments, but are there any books on any of your highly recommended lists that are absolutely to-die-for?

as some indication of my reading habits, here’s a list of books that i’ve written down in my notebook i ought to read again, which i’ve previously borrowed from the library or from friends:

+ foucalt’s pendulum
+ breakfast at tiffany’s
+ kafka on the shore
+ norwegian wood
+ the time-traveller’s wife
+ vile bodies

a book that somehow or other might fit into this strange selection will be considered for purchase, so make your choices known!

i might even give out prizes for the recommender of the book i will eventually buy, as a thank you for making long winter nights a bit less tedious and letting me suspend (dis)belief for the duration of that book.

Yeah yeah, exams are looming, i’m supposed to be revising Intellectual Property Law, but what am i really doing?

Reading things like Dissent Magazine, New Statesman and The Spectator, that’s what.

I ought to burn in hell for liberal thoughts.

restlessness like a spider scuttles up and down, in and around.

a discomfort with being still. of sitting here. of being this.

i need to go go go! somewhere or other. before its too late, and i’ll be left with .