Aurora Borealis

What a strange weekend I’ve had. You will recall that I told you about these weird antibiotics I’d been prescribed; the ones that absolutely forbid alcohol. Yeah, rubbish, I thought – tell that to the Marines. However, I’ve checked with two separate pharmacists and I've researched it on the internet and it’s true – this particular antibiotic really does not mix with the booze. I never thought I’d do it. However, so far it’s been refreshingly easy – so much so, that I’m thinking of carrying on when the antibiotics have finished. No groggy mornings; no time-wasting indolence; and no empty wallet! I’m getting a great deal more writing done too, as well as catching up with some reading (my ‘waiting-to-be-read’ pile of books resembles the Tower of Babel sometimes). Further to this, I’m re-learning Spanish and I’m sorting out loads of other domestic and administrative crap as well. Hurrah!

Of course, the secret to this has been to keep out of the pub (or more specifically, Edin’s); a solution which does have its downside, I admit. Apart from a quick cuppa in Lee Rosy’s on Friday, I haven’t seen a soul all weekend. Well, that’s not strictly correct because on Saturday I attended an elegant 8-hour long dinner party at my sister’s house (where it was most amusing to watch the other guests become more and more inebriated), and then yesterday I spent some time at my other house dismantling the fish tank. Whilst at my sister’s, I tried to catch a glimpse of Mr Fishy (and friends) by leaning into the pond and singing Mr Fishy’s favourite song, the chorus of which goes something like: “It’s Fishy Grub Time”, and which usually brings him waving his graceful fan-like tail to the surface, but he didn’t appear. No doubt he’s still stunned by the shock of it all and continues to plot my death from the bottom of the murky waters. Poor Mr Fishy.

I watched television last night. Well, it was only one programme (or two, if you count The BBC News) but it was relatively worthwhile viewing. Joanna Lumley travelled to the Arctic Circle in search of a spectacle that has fascinated her since she was a young girl – the Northern Lights. It was a very personal journey for us both – everyone who knows me will be aware that I’ve held a lifelong love-affair with the country of Norway and so for me, the charm of the programme was not only the spectacular photography, nor the unflagging enthusiasm of the highly articulate Joanna Lumley, but also the unfailing hospitality and generosity of the Norwegian people. I can’t look at images of that country, nor meet its people, without feeling immediately safe and happy. Whenever I see those red-painted houses nestled into the craggy forested hills, and whenever I hear that delightful sing-song accent, I am instantaneously transported back to the realms of my trouble-free and hopeful youth.

It’s difficult to uncover a negative side to watching this programme, but there is one (of course). And it’s this: Whereas it's hard to find a more enjoyable travelling companion than the clever, charming, indefatigable and idiosyncratic Ms Lumley, it’s nevertheless disconcerting to realize that here is a television documentary which – if I’d made the right decisions all those years ago – I should have made, not her. Oh well, some other time, maybe.