“It could be worse,” said the nurse as she shoved the needle in my arm. “Think of all those poor people in Kabul and Somerset.” I’d just confessed that I was more nervous about my jabs for Afghanistan than I was about the trip itself. But yes, it could be worse. I could be in…
Gig-branded from a fun and folky evening in Camden with friends, I’m on the bus home having one of those moments when the world seems really big and everyone seems really far away. Joyfully confident in the contented rightness of my here and now, I nevertheless feel downright sad that so many people who I’d…
Crying on public transport is always a bit embarrassing and it had been a while since I’d done it. Nonetheless, as I curled up on the Oxford Tube earlier this evening and watched the snowy surrounds of the M40 whizzing past, I found the tears streaming uncontrollably down my face. It was dark, the coach…
Remembrance Sunday has come round again. I’ve already managed to spectacularly decapitate my first poppy while putting on my coat, so I’m saving my new one for church this morning. One of my Spanish coursemates asked about my poppy (this was before it fell apart, as I knew it would), and refused to believe our…
Baroness Cox described herself as a nurse and social scientist by intention, and a baroness by astonishment. Beyond the fact that she’s a peer who speaks out for oppressed, persecuted and voiceless people around the world, I didn’t know all that much about her when I went to hear her speak this morning at ChristChurch…
I’m feeling the need to chart my culture shock. Partly because if it’s out there, I no longer have to carry it alone. I suppose this is a bit of a cry for help. And partly because I hope I’ll be able to look back in a couple of months and realise that I’ve moved on. Touch…
… is the title of a film I watched yesterday. It’s a great documentary about young people from India living in London for a couple of years, and it charts their lives, thoughts, experiences and aspirations throughout that time. The title is a quote from one of the young men who, like the others, lives…
Well exci(t)ed about my imminent move to London. Having never really planned to live there again, I am bizarrely warming to the prospect of return. Am not envisaging this voluntary resettlement becoming permanent, but one learns (reluctantly) to never say never. My hear(t) language, with i(t)s dropped ts and lazy grammar, bubbles to the surface and I…
Last night I free-wheeled back home most of the way. Enjoying the welcome breeze of coasting downhill on a bike and the foreign luxury of short sleeves and flip flops at night time. Wending my way through the empty streets and cosetted in the late June not quite yet darkness of 10.30pm. Occasional sounds seep from the houses.…
This road sign has always prompted a mini crisis. Even though I’ve driven past it a billion times, it always kicks off the same thought process. The thought process goes as follows: Firstly, I always read it as Central Asia not Central Area, and my heart gives a cheery little involuntary flutter. Hmmm, I then…
emilyintheworld 