Well. It turns out that the biggest ennemy of internet use is not employment, or parenthood, or the demands of marital emotional engagement and intimacy, but migraine headaches now starring in Your Howling Unresponsive To Panadol Agony on 5 days of the last 7. I have dozens half-written posts and comments, abandoned mid-sentence when the computer's light would mutate from Pretty Thing to Thousand Stabbing Demons. Oh well.

Anyway. I am newsly-emerged from my cave and here is a chronicle of all the places I've lived from the ages of 0-20, brought to you by A Cocktail of Prescribed Medication and 16 Hours Of Sleep.

( Clicky )

I think I'll pause here. If you feel inspired, tell me your own. (Preview of coming attractions, part 2 - places I've lived 2000-2009).

Hahahhahaha, too good not to share really.

Today I was running around my birth town, trying to resign myself to the fact that I'll need to be on medication for the next two years and distracting myself from that fact by shopping for Noblice and DVDs.

The newsagents in Belgrade are the most delightful institutions. Because there alongside with magazines, and chocolates and chewing gum and bus tickets you can also buy condoms and shampoo and DVDs which cost about 2 quid each [no guarantee they'll be willing to play mind you, but they were new so I took the chance].

And it was while I was divesting myself of my savings for purposes of entertainment that I came across a DVD of adult material titled Runaway Butts 5. As you might imagine I was instantly captivated by the title.

I mean, who wouldn't be? It's Runaway Butts! The fifth installment no less! It leads to so many burning questions. Who are they running from? Who are they running to? What happened in the previous four episodes? It's the butts that can't be caught! They just keep on running away!

So naturally I felt that I must own this piece of joy forthwith. And imagine my consternation when the newsagent man refused to sell it to me.
"It's not nice, sweetheart." he said to me. Several replies went along through my head such as "But Sir, I like it." and "Really, it's for my boyfriend" but I said nothing, and slunk away in defeat.

But then imagine the burn of unsatisfied curiosity! All the burning possibilities of runaway derrieres!

So off I went, to another newsagent, and slunk about looking at magazines while I gathered up my courage. I almost gave up, but rallied, and bravely presented myself at the counter with some carrot juice and when he asked "Anything else?", I firmly said "Yes. One copy of Runaway Butts 5, please".

A simple enough request one might think, but no! For this man also took it upon himself to try to talk me out of it.
"You can't be serious neighbour lady, he said.
I am totally serious neighbour man, I said.
Why would you want to watch that sort of thing? he countered
How could I not? said I. I mean come on, it's Runaway Butts! Number 5! It's the Butts that can't stay put, how can one NOT want to know what happens?
I see your point, conceded he and off I went with my prize and I've been in a state of excitement and consternation ever since.

I am puzzled. Why do people not want to sell me pron? Do I not look like a consenting adult? Is all of Yugoslavia current and ex, really just an extension of my father?
Will the Runaway Butts ever stop running?

So many questions. I'm dying to know.

The weekend has been dedicated to Feeling Shit and nursing my Symptoms Of Imminent Illness before they tipped over into Big Bad Flu/Throat Infection*, and as such has passed in a haze.

Today, the day has been full of sunlight and melting snow. I have spent it largely in the blessed manner of an infant (albeit one that doesn't howl, and is toilet trained) by eating and sleeping, and falling asleep soon after a meal. In a way, this Illness business is almost restful, reminscent of the fantasies I had of spending a stint in hospital dozing in morphine-induced bliss (this was of course before meepettemu shattered the illusion, as my dream did not include cantenkerous old people as roomattes, nor did morphine make you vomit).

Still, despite my underlying belief that Illness on Vacation is a collosal waste of my time off, it has felt good to just collapse and do nothing. Catch up on all the rest my body craves. And to be sure, aside from the fact that Sleep Is Good, the day has been full of splendid discoveries.

1) Bras

A few days in my Whirlwind Tour of Belgrade, I took the visiting Brits to a flea market**, where tjej bought legwarmers and shineys, and I got felt up by a nice lady who sold me two bras, and sweetly told me that if i wasn't pleased with the fit I could always come back and get felt up some more exchange them.

Today I tried them on and they fit like a Bra Dream ( A Delight enhanced by the fact they cost only £3 - up yours Marks & Spencer!). Not only are they pretty and lacey, but they give perfect lift AND hold ( a fact which i have tested extensively by bouncing), and now my only burning question is should I go back and get the ones in hot pink and lime green.

2) Hair

Being ill has also meant not washing my hair for days, so imagine my gratification to discover that despite this I woke up with the best of Good Hair Days, where my cranberry locks were tumbling, and sexy and tousled in a manner that it normally takes some dedicated gay men and a lot of overpriced styling products to accomplish.

AND on top of all this joy I have discovered that the earrings tjej bought me match my sweater. Could I be any happier? Well, I could if I was healthy say, and could breathe without wheezing, and earning a decent salary in England, but that would be just nitpicking.

And to round off all this joy plans for tonight include cough, sleep, eat, and watch Alexander because it contains Angelina Jolie AND the promise of being spectacularly bad. I am looking forward to it immensely.

*although I am not in the habit of blaming people for my misfortunes, if miss_newham likes I can give it a shot

** Flea market is a slight misnomer, because the stuff in there is all new although probably got there by being smuggled and falling off the back of vans and whatnot. Still, you can find there an amazing and crazy assortment of stuff.

Today I went on a shoe-and-rug shopping expedition, which was partially succesful as I failed to find a rug but bought earrings instead (ooooooh! dangly! shiny!). The rug was really just a passing fancy to make the floor less cold, but the shoes were an utter necessity, so I hauled home two pairs.

1) were slippers, which in the golden days of yore I actually had, until my mother gave them away to Kati (the dog), on the pretext that *they were falling apart anyway* even though I remember for a fact that they were in a pristine condition until Kati started using them as toothpicks. But! no matter, for I walked away with a pleasingly warm and cheap, and above all ludicrous looking pair of slippers, so I am satisfied on all levels.

My next purchase was some warm and waterproof boots. I'd been hoping to find a sensible black pair I could tread through puddles with, but instead all that was left in my size this late in the season was a pair of brown ones with a shiney golden sheen, so I'm blinging. (Take that shoewawa with all your strappy golden heeled sandals, you are small fry).

I had a highly interrupted conversation with Z (where the phone connection kept getting severed every two seconds), in which I got to be pleased by hearing his voice and admire his persistence against what were clearly imposing odds. The raod to mobile phones is paved with good intentions.

Outside of Belgrade the sky is shedding snowflakes the size of 50p pieces, but in the White City climes are more moderate and the snowflakes are a tiny and industrious flurry. One of my favourite things about snowfall is looking up, and for instance all the falling flakes make it seem as though the world has somehow been tipped into slow motion. Every new snow feels like a privilige, to see the city so prettified and still and make a trail of steps as ephemeral as rainbows across a stretch of pristine white.

Had I not been staggeringly drunk (and staggering being a keyword here, what with all the snow and ice) I would have walked down to St. Sava's Temple not becuase of any latent Orthodox urge but simply because I like snow and cities at night. As it was though, I just channelled all my effots into walking home, into the warm embrace of my dial-up.

Goodnight sweet world.

Today I spent a large portion of the day sleeping, as the novelty of slumber still hasn't worn off.

I did not realise how tired my body was until I came here and stopped having to do a zillion things and suddently it felt like my every sinew and muscle ached, but I feel better now a bath and a sleep later.

I started off the morning with a near adventure by tripping and falling against a glass display cabinet, managing to catch myself at the last minute to prevent myself going headfirst through the glass. Instead I just smashed my knee and my toe (nothing broken, just mangled) and the dog showed her commiserations by wagging her tail and chewing on my hand.

The snow is lovely, crisp and deep, and away from the city streets it is still inviting and white.

We went out for drinks and I met friends of friends, and then we walked back home along the near silent city streets and the crescent moon followed me home.

I love the city by night, its particular quiet. I feel relatively safe since I live centrally and the streets are fairly well lit, and their emptiness is strangely inviting. It is almost as though each night the city sheds its skin and turns into another place altogether, quiet and pensive and mysterious where the moonlit snow and the tall quiet trees beckon like gateways of another world.

The announced appearance of tjej, miss_newham and mzdt is causing much stir and excitement and people are already planning to take them to places of terrible music as a cultural experience. It really is something that has to be experienced, however briefly, and as a bonus there should also be there a congregation of many bleached blonde women with silicone-enhanced breasts and ludicrously short skirts (like Newcastle only with nicer accents, and prettier people). Although having said this Yug women seem to have a remarkable natural beauty and an even more remarkable ability to ruin it with application of makeup (since most seem to belong to the Jodie Marsh school of slap).

Really, why a blonde pale skinned person would want to apply lipstick which makes them look like a corpse is beyond me. Or perhaps I'm missing something, and Necrophilia Chic is the new black.

I had a bit of a kerfuffle getting to the airport on time because the minicab got a flat tyre (although thankfully not on the highway, and so we didn't careen and spin and smash into things in an interesting way) although it did leave me with the problem of exactly how the fuck to get to the airport and using a variety of transport and swear words I made it there with 45 minutes to spare, and cried and cajoled so that people let me queue jump and I got to Belgrade after all.

I spent most of the flight asleep ( I was tired from all the work stuff and the fact that Z and I had been watching a tape of Jerry Springer The Opera until the wee hours of the morning), but I woke up when someone dropped a hot sandwich into my hands, and once more towards the end when we were coming in towards Belgrade.

I had a windowseat and the view took my breath away. Everything, everywhere, as far as the eye could see was a blanket of white dotted with trees and cut through the occasional black tendrils of roads, and the fat snake of the river dotted with ice floes like glittering scales.

It was beautiful. Like another world entirely, and everything seemed curiously slowed down, like the world inside a dream.

We landed gently as a leaf does.

And there weren't any crowds and I was reunited with my baggage, and duly met at the aiport by my mother and a friend where we ascertained that we were all pleased to see each other (well that is until my mother ascertained I had forgotten some letters I was meant to bring her), and at home my grandmother had outdone herself with lunch for 7 people (rassolnik kidney and salted cucumber soup, roast turkey, herring, pirogi , mayonnaise and vegetable salad, carrot salad and chicken and sardine pate sprinkled with paprika and shaped like a fish). And other people contributed to these proceedings sparkling white wine and a big cake, which meant that a combination of being stuffed and being knackered, and being drunk sent me soon after lunch into a coma that lasted for the next 5 hours.

Most importantly I met Kati, the new family dog (she's a 4 month old golden labrador) who was the colour of wheat and flax, and as beautiful as the snow.

she's very friendly and cute and showed her affection for me by chewing on my hand and my jumper and my feet with her little razor sharp, baby-shark teeth and I patted her and secretly fed her bits of turkey and chocolate cake. (Really, if her teeth rot, we might have some skin left). She's incredibly fluffy and cute and has eager puppy ways and a warm puppy belly.

The weather is milder than I've been led to believe, and the flat is warmer than I dared hope (although temperatures are set to drop again on Tuesday) and I've got a little puppy heater, so even though I'm still feeling like a zombie, at least it's a zombie that's happy and snug.

It's good to be warm home.

Right, I've just had further metereologic reports from my secret agents in Belgrade and they say that:

Most days the temperatures in the morning are -16/-15 C and during the day they climb up to about -9 to -3 C. During the month of February the lowest predicted temperature will be -28 C, and the highest +3 C (they failed to specify whenabouts in Feb this would be happening though).

There are several things to keep in mind at these temperatures.
The worst thing is wind chill . IF there is no wind then the temperatures are actually quite bearable, and the cold is more brisk and stimiluating and pleasant than murderous. However, the wind is murder. The wind will find every exposed piece of your skin and make you regret it (I remember my eyeballs being cold), and it is really important to have big scarves you can wrap around your face (for breathing in freezing air is murderous). Also gloves. Bring at least two pairs, for the buggers are easy to lose and impossible to live without.

Also Hats, especially ones that can be pulled over the ears. Breathing in cold air can give you a headache, so it's another reason why scarves-over-face are a good idea.

The Second Worst Thing is the Ice. This is a bastard as the melting snow /falling snow freezes and very often the city streets are treacherous for they are in fact largely just one huge skating rink (and falling on your bum, on ice, is supremely painful, so I advise against this).

Therefore, to cope with this, and with piles of snow you must have good footwear. Ideally, footwear that is waterproof (or else the snow will leave you soaked in an eyeblink), and a sole with grip. If you've got fur-lined insoles you can slip into your shoes so much the better.

Bring lots of tights and socks. A typical layering for me might be: tights, two pairs of wool socks, jeans, warm shoes. And then at least two layers of clothing + sweater/sweatshirt.

Bring a heap of socks. The warmer the better. In colds like this I will tend to sleep in tracksuit bottoms and a long sleeved shirt and have a pair of socks on at all times, except in the bath.

tjej you are on the right track with your longjohns, miss_newham and mzdt may also want to bring some. And your warmest wind-proof parkas and coats.

Therefore when packing for Siberia Serbia it is most important that you bring lots of warm clothes and lots of layers, and reliable shoes (for once even I am planning to sacrifice prettyness for something that will keep me from broken bones and frostbite)

Althouhg, happily There is enough snow to go sledding, so watch my inner kid come hurtling out and throw itself down slopes.

In Belgrade there is snow on the ground and it is -16 degrees Celsius.
mzdt, tjej and miss_newham, you have been warned.

I suggest you bring all the warm clothes that you own, lest you return to Britain as alcoholics since most Yugoslavs substitute lack of central heating with plentitude of brandy.

Pregnancy test = negative, and I've never been so pleased to have stomach flu in my entire life.

Last night, Z and I celebrated not having babies by having wine and long baths instead, and it was a good thing for health and safety because I was so drunk had I been left to my own devices I would have probably passed out and drowned.

I washed my hair and the dye made the bathwater turn red, but thankfully neither Z nor I turned red despite marinating in it like a couple of Easter Eggs.

Between our respective vacations I won't see him for a month now, and I'd be all mournful except I'm so tired I can barely think. And I'm alone in the office, which means it's very hard not to be asleep.

The last time I was alone in the office and this tired I crawled under the desk for a nap, only to discover that although underfloor heating is very pleasant I had an allergy to the carpet which made my eyes swell shut. So I don't think I'll be trying any of that today.

This morning I got short-changed by a man in the shops which I only ascertained after I got back to the office, so I retrospectively hexed him with pox and haemorrhoids.

I rang my exceedingly nice osteopath yesterday and he's exceedingly nicely given me an appointment for Thursday whereupon I shall pay him some money and he will make my back do scary noises and then afterwards I'll be able to walk again.

My NaNo fell down with a hamstring injury at 48k, a mere hand's breadth from the finish line and alas! I did try to finish but I was drugged and dazed and confused and one handed typing was too much of a trial. I feel a little bit sad about it, as I have no pretty winner bar I can flash, but still I am consoling myself with the thought that I could have made it were it not for accidents, and I may well pretend to inhabit an alternate NaNo-verse in which the task is to write 48k in 28 days, so it's all right then.

Despite me having 48k of text (and I'm pleased that I didn't write crap for the pure sake of it, I may ditch bits of text if I can't make them link to the finished whole, but all the words I have are words I'm happy with) I have managed the astonishing feat of still lacking a beginning to my novel. I have a notion that this entire thing may be easier if I actually had a chapter structure to follow, rather than worked my piece as a colour-coded mosaic. I have scenes and concepts in my head, and I develop them as they occur to me and make them different colours (for instance war sequences are in red, tom and jude are blue and so on) so that when I scroll back through the text, it makes it easier to cut and paste when the time comes to magically link the bits together.

It is December and I'm feeling a tad depressed about it, as I'm not overfond of this time of year. It will mean running about like crazy persuns at work and outside it, it will mean horrible festive songs being blared in my ear and no proper snow and being far away from the people I miss and want to be seeing.

I love November, it's full of the crazy NaNo rush and hectic people, and December just seems a bit anti-climatic, and rather vaguely sad, like the day after a party.

I feel the sadness of having been away from Yug for such a long time this year. I haven't been back home since June, which oh my god is almost six months. Last time I was there in October, and then after that in January. I was happy both times, ludicrously so, I was in love and I felt loved and those months were full of adventures and that magical high of feeling like anything is possible. January was knee-deep in snow and N. & M. and I celebrated the Serb New Year by going down to St. ( More Nostalgic Remeniscences )
My old city is a beautiful one, and dearly beloved, and as the days wind down upon themselves ever-tighter, I miss it.

Well after four days of kicking my ass in varying degrees cluster migraine has eased, and I no longer feel like my head is being split with an axe and having to dope myself to the eyeballs in order to keep functioning.

However, one of the positive aspects being that four days of feeling too quesy to eat has had definate positive effects on my figure, and now I have a flat tummy again and my trousers are looser than they used to be.

( Pictures of Belgrade )

In which I have to read and tidy up a 93 page single-spaced document (by tidy up means to structure it and sort it out into some sort of semblance of order and sense).

It's not to bad really. I'm enjoying it so far and learning more than I ever wanted to know about the Dental Oral Health Behaviours of Minority Ethnic Populations in England and Wales

My brain has turned into allergy central and anti-histamines have been putting me to sleep and I feel very drowsy and slightly zombified, entertaining thoughts of curling up under my desk and hoping nobody notices.

Weekend was good. Friend stayed over to indulge his compassionate impulses and nurture me and my allergies and hangover which= food + cuddles, which = happiness.

My house smells madly of lillies, and so does my skirt a little. My skin smells of sunlight and Davidoff Cool Water for Men.

I have been experiencing terrible longings for Belgrade and I can't wait to steal some vacation time. I feel crazy urges to be in my land, to walk around the ruins of the Kalemegdan fortress in Belgrade, or to sit on the banks of the Danube in the dappled shadows that leaves cast, and watch the Sun setting on the river and listen for the distant rumble of spring and summer storms. Or to walk barefoot in Montenegro, to feel the long grass under my soles and climb trees to shake the figs loose from them; I want to plait flowers into my hair, or to climb onto one of the flat roofs at twilight and lie on my back watching the moon's ascent and the bright fall of shooting stars.

But mostly lie in my bed in Belgrade with all the windows open and listen to the sounds the city makes, while the voice of a part of me says I'm home