Attempting normalcy

Such a strange, surreal world. Yesterday, the weather matched the mood – raining, hailing. Now, the sun is out, the floors are in bloom, birds are singing. And in Ukraine, tanks have entered Kyiv. How does any of it make any sense?

I spoke to a colleague early this morning. He spent the night in the metro, which has been converted into a bomb shelter. And he’s not able to leave – nor are any of the other colleagues I work with on a daily basis – because men aged 18-60 have been called up.

I’ve done everything I’ve possibly could – donated, protested, written to my MP, checked in on everyone I know. And it still feels like nowhere near enough. I’m conscious that this isn’t about me, but how can anyone be calm right now, when everything we know is at risk of destruction?

And yet, life carries on as usual. I walked the dog. I had coffee. After joining yesterday’s protest, I even went to see a brand new musical, Broken Wings at Charing Cross Theatre. Impeccable timing, isn’t it? But it was a nice – albeit temporary – reprieve.

Tonight, we’re going to a concert. It feels like a joke. How can we go to a concert when people we care about are at risk of losing their lives? But we will go, and we’ll try to enjoy ourselves, because these two parallel universes can apparently coexist.

In support of Ukraine

My heart is breaking. This morning, we all woke up to war.

In my case, I woke up in the distant comfort of London, whereas friends, family, and colleagues in Ukraine woke to bombs going off.

How is this possible? Why has Europe allowed this to happen?

I don’t have the right words to express my anguish, my anxiety. But silence is complacency, and I refuse to be complacent as the Ukrainian people fear for their future.

24 February 2022, London

And now, it’s simply unfathomable to me that my life in London can continue unscathed while Ukraine is under attack, and the lives of so many hang in delicate balance.

But what’s important now is to avoid wallowing in despondency. Even if there isn’t anything we can do on the ground, we can offer financial support, we can write to our elected officials, we can attend rallies, we can protest.

And we will prevail.

Travels through England: Winchester, Ouse Valley

It’s been a while since I talked about any of our weekend trips, so lucky you – two for the price of one!

I wanted to start this blog post by mentioning that we’d been to Winchester before, but I don’t appear to have written about it and I can’t find any photos from the trip. If there is no photographic evidence, did it really happen? Did I imagine it?

Well, either way, we went back last weekend and do have some photos, so this latest trip definitely happened. But as we’d already seen the town (or had we?), we decided to have a wander on the South Downs Way. The entire path stretches 99 miles from Winchester to Eastbourne – I was even thinking to run it at some point. As we only had the day, though, we limited ourselves to St Catherine’s Hill.

It’s actually a fascinating place. 70m tall and overlooking Winchester, St Catherine’s Hill used to be an Iron Age fort, and in the centre is a beautiful copse of beech trees, where a 12^th-century chapel once stood. Not a very challenging hike, but worth it for the views.

This weekend, meanwhile, we joined my sister-in-law and her fiancé for a trip to the Ouse Valley Viaduct. The Grade II listed structure certainly lives up to its reputation as the “most elegant viaduct in Britain”, but unfortunately requires expensive maintenance. Most recently restored in 1999, signs warning of falling masonry still abound.

We hadn’t prepared for the trip by researching any walking routes, so the visit was limited to the viaduct itself and a Balcombe pub for lunch. Still, the weather was glorious and we did get amazing photos of the dog!

How I tried to quit coffee

As I sit here, dreaming of my second coffee of the day, I am confronted with the realisation that the only stocks I have are decaf. There’s a good – or, if not good, then at least logical – reason for this. A few months ago, I decided to quit caffeine.

My reasoning was simple: I don’t want to be addicted to anything. I’m not sure if it’s masochism or a way to regain control, but I’ve been giving up a whole assortment of foods and behaviours I felt were affecting me (or the planet) in a negative way.

In Summer 2020, I went vegan. I spent several months not drinking alcohol – which I’ve now carried over as a resolution for the entire year of 2022. I tried to (unsuccessfully) limit my screen time and (successfully) increase the number of books I read.

Coffee, I realised, was one of my most persistent habits, and I wasn’t enjoying it as much as I once had. It had become an addiction, rather than a daily moment of delight. So I quit cold turkey.

Credit: Unsplash

Immediately, I felt tired and sleepy, but that was to be expected. A few days in, I developed a fever, my head was pounding, I felt nauseous all the time, and my muscles were aching so much I could barely sleep. Given that we’re in the midst of the pandemic, I was convinced that I’d picked up Covid.

Two tests a day for a week straight returned negative results. What was happening to me? Google solved the mystery – apparently, this was what caffeine withdrawal looks like. I could never have imagined it would get so bad.

After a week or so, it got better. I had made it out the other side. The desire for coffee never completely went away, but the thought of ever going through the same experience again meant I held steadfast for a few months. But then, I accidentally ordered a non-decaf soy latte.

It was blissful.

The delight had returned. And though I then went back to decaf, I couldn’t stop thinking of it. So when work became increasingly stressful, I started craving coffee more and more. This week, when the pressure was at its peak, I gave in.

How this story ends remains to be seen, but I’m starting to think that, as with anything else, moderation is key.