Saturday, 13 February 2010

What is so wrong with sitting in a cafe on one's own, with a glass of wine and a man with half a face sat next to you?

In Pamplona, where the city streets are bare on the afternoon of a winter's Saturday, I am waiting for the Ear and I am curious why in Spain people gaze at me with a mixture of wonder and amused disgust. What, with my hair and alabaster skin (through which you can see my blue blood), I am immediately identifiable as a 'giddy'. Only worse. A giddy with a book and with a pen.

Possibly this is a crime here.

I am a guilty giddy who doesn't mind my own company. In fact, I am probably growing too used to it.

Me, myself and I. (Plus laptop, book or brightly coloured fineliner)

When my job finishes in May this will officially have been 9 months of utter idleness as a result of following love, to no avail.

A woman must learn to live on her own at least once, even if she doesn't like it.