Being kind is not always plain sailing. 26/11/2016

Years back there was a woman,who,if scrubbed,would have passed for 50,yet looked good 70.Day after day,come winter or summer,she walked the streets in smelly clothes,feet wrapped in old rags.Always in a hurry,never looking at any-one,pushing a shopping trolley.Whenever I saw her I looked at her with encouragement hoping she would respond.She never did.She ignored me as she ignored the world around her until one day we faced each other at traffic lights.Our eyes met, I smiled and trying to be as inconspicuous as I could,handed her £10.She looked at me with hatred and hissed-I am not a beggar,I don't want your money.I am so sorry,I didn't mean to insult you,I said, standing there rooted to the ground feeling embarrassed with passers by staring.For a long time after that I could not bring myself to give money to any beggar whether he/she asked for it or not. A good deed never goes unpunished,a friend would remind me whenever she saw me reaching for a purse.

Flamingos lure a mate with 136 dance moves. 26/11/2016

Preening, marching,wing saluting and 17 elegant transitions between these poses.Now I know why I haven't found any-one to mate with me.I don't have the moves! Oh,no, there was a moment I had my flash of inspiration when cruising on Oceana last Christmas.New Years Day.The ship's own Headliners Theatre company performed Breakdown Blues.At the end of the performance some dancers came down from the podium and one of them,a handsome blond devil with snake hips headed straight for me,lifted me off my seat and yes,my two left feet never touched the ground! My fancy footwork was akin to an Immelmann turn-I looped,I rolled,I swirled,I swooned,I tiptoed, I heeled,throwing myself to a sweet abandon. Have you seen the two step- sisters to Lilly James' Cinderella move their feet in unison standing by the window waiting to try on the glass slipper? Stroke of genius.And so was my dancing. 136 dance moves? That January evening the flamingos had nothing on me!

Money,money,money,it's so funny,it's s a rich man's world. 26/11/2016

I have learnt a lot about money from my husband.That the money can be,and a lot of the time is, the root of all evil.People crave it, they cheat,lie,kill for it.I have also learnt that once you have earned it you must look after it.My husband never ever trusted any-one with our savings and years back,after the newspaper tycoon Robert Maxwell had squandered his employees pension on yachts,airplane,luxury houses for his numerous children,holiday homes and high living,and hundreds of people ended up after years of saving with nothing,my husband completely lost faith in any official body. And he would say-if something seems too good to be true,it always is.These words have kept me in good stead and if someone offers me a pipe dream I politely decline.I had to take care of our finances when my husband was ill and I have been taking care of myself since he passed away.I have come to rely on myself only,then should anything go wrong I have no-one else to blame.But so far I have made no decision I have come to regret.My husband had never passed a beggar without putting his hand in the pocket and handing the poor unfortunate what he could.He never judged any-one,never asked was this person an alcoholic,a drug addict or just someone down on his luck.A down and out was to my Olly a person who at that moment needed a helping hand and my darling husband would offer it.The beggars remembered him,he would stop and ask after their health.A sweater would disappear,a pair of trousers.Oh,they will come to light, he would say jokingly.And they did - on an old man sitting on the bench opposite Boots the chemist in Notting Hill! Olly, I would say with a twinkle in my eyes,you and him shop in the same place and have identical taste in clothes.Yes, we both have a good taste,but you still do not let me shop by myself saying I come back looking like a scarecrow!

I would like us to retire to Florida 22/11/2016

my husband said to me three years before he became ill.Would you agree? Yes,it would be wonderful. Soon after some money was put aside towards our new adventure and regularly more would be added.In the early years when he still had a notion of what money was,I would continue in this.Then the devastating illness consumed him and I knew we would never go to Florida. To date the account has remained untouched.

Tokyo has the cleanest rooms in the world, 18/11/2016

followed by Warsaw,Seoul,Bratislava and Sofia.I have only stayed in one hotel in Bratislava,the capital of Slovakia - Kempinski.It is is in a prime position by the river and near the old town and I like the feeling of familiarity so I stay here every time I am in town and always for one night only,often having the same room.I come in the evening, do not leave the hotel until the following morning when I depart for Schwechat,the Austrian airport an hour or so away,never quite benefiting from the facilities the hotel or the surroundings have to offer.And had I followed my usual course,there is where I would be tonight.But today I have decided to come at lunchtime and stay at the Devin.This hotel is one of the Communist era originals,it underwent substantial renovations some four years ago.I love new hotels and have been planning to stay here for a while but until today it had never quite worked out,so it is not new any longer.Am I happy? Yes. It is spotless.It does not have the luxury and the wow factor of the Kempinski, but I would happily stay here again.And it is literally a stone throw away from the old National Theatre.The next time I come I will try to get a theatre ticket.The old town is full of people, the Christmas season has begun,the main square has a podium for live music and the Mayor of Bratislava was being introduced as I was passing.The numerous stalls had on offer regional food,hot red spicy wine in various forms.I had a sausage the size of an arm with a large chunk of bread as light as feather and it was even slightly toasted so that it is served warm.Then I sat down in the most exquisite coffee shop called Cafe Mayer where the coffee was truly excellent, but the chestnut nest too sweet and creamy.My sister would have loved it, I prefer cakes of the Victoria sponge variety.The cafe was full of retired Italians.I was shown to a table next to two couples immaculately,expensively dressed,men of the old school.charming,pleasant,I smiled as I sat down and said buongiorno [good afternoon],they reciprocated.No-one does elegant better than the Italians,neither the Scandinavians, nor the French.The jewellery windows in St Marks Square in Venice have to be seen to be believed,truly unsurpassed in originality and style. And,by the way,London has the second dirtiest hotel rooms in the world,beaten to the prime position by Rio de Janeiro.

The naked civil servant. 17/11/2016

After I graduated I decided to take a trip to Honolulu.                            Why Honolulu,you may ask, when there were so many equally interesting places to visit that were far,far nearer,than the 7,223 miles away Hawaii.                                  Well, Honolulu I wanted to see, to Honolulu I went.                                  I flew to San Francisco,from there to Hawaii and returned to London via Los Angeles.In San Francisco I had my first ever clam chowder in a restaurant from where I could see Alcatraz.It was altogether an amusing and delightful experience,the menu written on the glass windows was the work of art,and the name clam chowder caught my eye.I walked in and there was no-one there other than an elderly man reading.I smiled, said hello and added - the door is open but I think the restaurant is closed.It sure is, said the man.The menu is beautifully written. You really think so? Yes,it is exquisite. What do you like about it the most? The clam chowder is very fancy,I laughed. Would you like some? I don't know what it is! Well,you will soon find out, he said,please sit down, and pointed to the nearest table.He disappeared into the kitchen and a minute or so later I was presented with a bowl of steaming hot broth with several slices of  best corn bread I had ever tasted.We talked for well over an hour.When I said I had to go and asked how much I owed him, he replied - you owe me nothing.I insisted but he would not have it.We parted like old friends.I have never forgotten this kind utterly charming man.                                     I love sunbathing in the nude. I am absolutely not an exhibitionist,but lying in the sun without clothes is a joy to me. There was a beach in Honolulu classified as a naturist beach and on my first day on the island I found my way  there. I settled at the far end.An hour or so later enjoying the silence, the sea beating against the rocks,large shadows appeared beside me.I looked up.Two police officers were looking down on me.                        My goodness,what have I done,I asked,smiling.Sunbathing in the nude is not allowed,said one.But it is listed in the book of all naturist beaches in the world.For me to be here on your beautiful island surrounded by the blue  water is something very special and to be able to sunbathe in the nude is incredible,I said.They looked at each other,smiled - you can sunbathe today, but not again. . .  Yes, thank you very much,you are very kind. My stay on the island was fabulous and one day soon I plan to return there.

A kibbutz is a Hebrew word meaning a group,a gathering. 15/11/2016

The first kibbutz, Degania, was established in 1909 and today there are 256 of them in the whole of Israel.I had spent about five months or so in such a communal settlement called Sedot Yam, near Caesarea, on the coast between Tel Aviv and Haifa.It was a wonderful, carefree life and I loved every single moment.Years later when I returned to Israel to say good-bye to friends  who were emigrating to Australia,I took a plane from Tel Aviv to Sharm el Sheikh.It was a trouble free, easy flight.Returning from Sharm el Sheikh to Tel Aviv was a different matter altogether.The queue was small,the people went through the security quickly.And then it was my turn.I was asked to step aside and empty my bags.That was easy,I travel light[I went to California and Hawaii with two and a half kilos,to Israel with a little less].Everything was touched and turned over and touched and turned over again.Step inside,said the customs officer and pointed to a closed cubicle. Why? So that we can search you. No.Please search me here. We looked at each other.The young officer knew things were not going to go his way.I am going to get the supervisor,he said.Three men emerged and were walking towards me.And I knew then that Mossad, the Israeli secret service, had a long memory.They were not going to let me out of their clutches.I let them change the course of my life once,I was never going to bow to them again.Never.In a flash I took off my t-shirt and untied the shorts letting them drop to the ground.I stood there in my white silk lacy knickers and a matching bra,legs astride,lifting both hands up above my head,staring at them defiantly.Then I turned round and back again.Do you want me to undress completely,I asked the largest man slowly, holding his gaze.One of them said something in Hebrew I did not understand [on a kibbutz I wanted to learn the language but as a Christian was not allowed to attend the classes ],but I think he swore.The airport in a shock,a deafening silence all around,every-one looking at me in disbelief.I picked up my t-shirt,turned it over and shook it,the shorts followed.Then I dressed,gathered all my belongings and with my head held high and staring ahead went through the security.Israel could not wish for a more loyal friend than myself. But Mossad did not think so. Being born in a communist country,Slovakia, I was considered to be an enemy and was treated as such.Yet to date I defend the country with the same vigor I have done in the past and there will always be a place in my heart for this part of the world where once I was so very,very happy.I stayed the night in a Tel Aviv hotel and the next day flew to London.Before the flight my luggage went through the same thorough search as every other passenger's.I was not asked to go to a cubicle.

Zanzibar. 14/11/2016

The last year of his life my husband would talk about Zanzibar.When I asked him where he would like to go for a walk,he would say -Zanzibar.It is too far,darling, I would say,but we will go there when you get better.When will I get better? Soon,darling,soon. Tell me about Zanzibar. I would tell him stories about this mysterious spice island with the loveliest of names and how we would walk on the warm beaches, frolic in the sea as we did in the blue waters of Malta, in the Bosphorus or the South of France.Can we take our little white doggie with us? Yes,darling,we can.The white dog was killed long time ago when he followed my husband out into the street.There was not the slightest possibility of taking my husband anywhere anymore.Familiar surroundings were the best and the only place for him.A week or so ago I was sitting with my Toshiba in Panta Rhei where I am now, when I had a phone-call from a friend who lives in this town and knew I was in the country - where are you now,she asked.In Panta Rhei. We will be there in a moment.A minute or so later she and another old school friend of ours,Maria, were standing by my side.My husband,my daughter and son-in-law went to Zanzibar for two weeks,I am free to do as I please,said Maria. Why Zanzibar,I asked. It seems full of mystery and is warm at this time of the year.

The US Presidential election in the news for so long 13/11/2016

has awoken in me desire to visit America again.My husband used to say that the Yanks are the most generous people in the world.He always held them in the highest regard and several times visited the country alone when I put my foot down and refused to fly.He loved Chicago.Both of us had permanent visas to visit the country but once my passport had to be renewed I did not apply for another such visa and maybe now the situation with visas is different anyway.The cruise to New York on the Queen Mary for the 4 July celebrations just over four years ago was the most wonderful experience not only because I sailed on one of the most iconic ships ever built,but because I fell in love with New York.The four days there or was it five, were far too few and it is my dearest wish to visit this beguiling city again for a month at lest and of course Philadelphia and New Jersey.[Bruce Springsteen,whose most excellent biography I have read without wanting to put it down,the best biography I have read for a long time.and apparently he had no ghost writer,lives in New Jersey.]The next year when all my responsibilities are dealt with and disposed of, I will sail to New York again.My heart is jumping with joy when I just think about it.Oh,my itchy feet.I must organize a little cruise.Canary Islands and a bit of sun? Heaven.

The night was long and lonely. 12/11/2016

After his death nights like these came often and merged into days until they became one.Slowly the day became the day and the night became the night again.But still when I am not looking the loneliness finds me.The days,those I can fill,but the nights when I long to be touched,held tight and kissed,oh those nights.those nights when my heart is full of love and longing and nothing but endless emptiness before me and my heart cries and there is no-one to make it better.

My younger sister 11/11/2016

has the most wonderful and at times wicked sense of humour. I would like to say it runs in the family,but even though my mother was witty and amusing,my father was not.Of my three brothers,one of the two younger ones,who passed away some time ago following a short and vicious cancer,was a superb raconteur with an unmatched sense of humour.And he was a dancer.Oh,how he could dance. In his arms I was floating,and my two left feet never touched the ground.When I am alone with my sister we talk about him.We cry a little as we did yesterday.She had an early morning business meeting and at ten was free to meet me.We sat in Panta Rhei where I am now and where I come every day after lunch,had excellent coffee,fresh orange juice, then took a short walk to my favourite restaurant to have lunch.Of all days when I wanted the meal to be super,it was disappointing,risotto somehow didn't come up to our expectations.I eat in the same restaurant every day and would never have lunch anywhere else as the food is mostly second to none, but there are days,like yesterday,when I wished I had chosen something else.After lunch we came back to Panta Rhei for another coffee and then went shopping.My sister bought a pair of ankle boots,identical to the ones I was wearing,only she chose white to match her winter parka.Then she could not resist a black leather Italian handbag big enough for the A4 papers she often has to carry.At 3 she took a bus home some 51 km away.I stayed and spent a little time with my Toshiba. A lovely day with a lovely sister. As my brother-in-law said when we visited our third sister,his wife,on 6th November - we do not do it often enough.

We were very poor when I was growing up. 11/11/2016

The life was hard for my father,small in stature but the heart of a giant.He worked on railways,away for at least two weeks at a time,he would come home for long weekends,the pockets hiding little treats for all six children.Gentle and loving, he would gather me in his arms and I would kiss his weathered tired face and tell him I loved him.He would tell me in which part of the country he had been working,I would ask him when he would take me with him so that I could also see the far away places full of mystery.When you grow up I will take you,but you must be a good girl,help your mother.I do,I do, I feed the chickens and the rabbits and never let one out of the cage.And I go to the shop with her and help her carry sugar and flower.And have you learnt any new rhymes? I would recite for several minutes and then he would pull out of the pocket the chocolate.Oh,the chocolate,the treat so rare and every time I thought - had he forgotten,had he not remembered this time,it is so long coming.But he never forgot.My dear father,the kindest man who ever lived.He would bring other things,too - the odd fork, a knife,a spoon,a door handle or a hanger.Sometimes clothes,a pair of shoes.I found it, he would say.Oh,the world he had come from,where there were many things to be found.People must be so rich there that they do not miss them,they lose things and never have to look for them.One day I am going to live in a place like that.

The village school 10/11/2016

where I went from the age of six to ten,consisted of one very large classroom.One week the two lower grades would come for their lessons in the mornings,then in the afternoons the two higher grades would be taught.The following week the grades would swap.We had one teacher only,he and his young family lived in the quarters next to the classroom.In winter during breaks we would walk outside in a circle,when the ground was warm we would sit just behind the school on a slope covered by grass.We had outside toilets.they did not flush,just a cold piece of wood covering two large holes in the ground.No wash basins,there was a little tap providing some water from spring to autumn,in winter months the water would freeze.The word hygiene could not have played a large role in the vocabulary of the local school governing body.I do not remember ever being ill, even though I must have been,like all children.None of this mattered.I loved school and the school loved me.Considered wise beyond my years,the teacher would trust me to go to his flat to collect some papers he may have forgotten or,when it was necessary for the teacher to leave the classroom for a few minutes,he would ask me to look after the little ones,even tough I was of the same age or younger.This special treatment by the teacher who was loved by all without reservations,had caused a lot of resentment amongst other children.One girl in a fit of a jealous outburst said that I may be the cleverest girl in school, but on Sundays I go to church in the same ugly dress I wear all week and my shoes were old and too big for me.The words spitting into my little heart.Every word so cruel and so true.It hurt beyond measure.The next day during a break when all of us were sitting in the warm grass eating sandwiches, I sat behind her and peed on her.She ran to tell the teacher.He called me in.Did you do it, he asked.Yes,I replied defiantly.I could see the disappointment in his eyes. He asked me why. I hate her,I hate her.She said all my clothes are old and ugly and my shoes are too big for my feet.I stood there in a red dress that had been worn by my older sister and my cousin,misshapen,faded,scuffed shoes two sizes too big with tissue stuffed in the toes,tears streaming down my cheeks.When I am big I am going to buy myself a new dress and new shoes just for me and I am going to buy warm boots for the winter and a warm coat.When I am big.

Aaaaar! 07/11/2016

 I was a little dumpling who could not pronounce R and L for a long time and it was not for the want of trying. I would sit for hours repeating L L L when all I wanted to say was R R R. When I could talk I was taught nursery rhymes. I learnt quickly and would repeat them with innocence only a child has to any-one who would ask just so that they could hear me mispronounce the letter R ! There was a little rhyme about an old man who had a little piglet as small as a chick and one day he went out into the yard and the piglet had grown overnight to be the size of an elephant.The rhyme had a lot of L in it and I was asked to recite it and did so readily, with my tongue acquiring a life of its own with each L coming a little out of my mouth.My aunt [my mother's sister] would take me mushroom picking, tying me with a scarf to her back,she and her friends would teach me new rhymes and would ask me to recite those I knew already,the one about the little piglet being firm favourite just so they could have a little chuckle over my L.

05/11/2016

We kept geese every year,sometimes ducks, too, always chickens and rabbits.The hatchlings arrived in spring.I would sit with them in a small enclosure,cradling the little yellow fluffy balls in my arms, talking to them,singing lullabies.I do not remember ever strangling one accidentally,so I probably did't,my mother would have been quick to meet out her kind of justice - a smack or two on the bottom.As soon as the geese were big enough,I would usher them along a narrow path running by the side of the river to a clearing just by the village cemetery about five minutes from the house, where the geese would feed for several hours on the soft green grass until my mother shouted it was time to come home. Emily would also bring her little charges as would some other children.I had to make sure the geese had water to drink and never strayed into the shallow river safe to walk in barefoot, but too dangerous for the tiny birds.By September they were big enough to toddle about by themselves and I was ready and eager to start school.From the very first day I loved school and could not understand why would any-one cry and ask for their mummy to take them home,when the classroom was full of wonder.Enormous drawings on the walls - I later found out they were maps,a large blackboard, a picture of our president, as the teacher pointed out the very first day.My very own new pen,a pencil,a notebook!And all those books full of words I could not yet understand but full of promise of something incredible. And a satchel to put it all in. Wasn't it just wonderful,I was going to school! Early September days were still warm and the door to the classroom was left open.About an hour after I sat for the very first time behind a desk,there was a sound of geese calling and suddenly the mother goose with seven of her babies behind her marched into the classroom and headed straight towards me.Are they yours,asked the teacher trying hard not to laugh.Yes.They can't come here, you know.This is for children, not for animals.But they are good, they don't bite. But are too noisy and we need quiet to study.Can you,please,take them home.You do not have to come back,the class will be finishing soon.I collected all my possessions and walked out with the mother goose behind me and the goslings following in a single file behind,cackling happily.

The childhood? 04/11/2016

I was born in a small village nestled between two mountains at the end of a road,a dirty river running through a few meters from our little house.A village school sitting high above the hamlet,just below the St George church that dates from the 10th century.I loved school and though I thought I excelled at nothing, was considered excellent at everything and soon acquired the reputation for being not only the best in class,but the best in school with straight A in all subjects for the first four years.I had two competitors only - The Boy and my friend Emily.The Boy was not local. He was not one of us,the village children,dressed in poor cheap clothes, playing poor children's games.He came from nowhere,the son a a government employee,arrogant,handsome,clever. And in that little village where he expected to impress us all, he met his match.He hated me with vengeance.Always so very,very good, never quite good enough to be the first. Emily was my only match.She was born 9 days before me,her mum never had enough milk to breast-feed, so my mother kept her alive. Our bond unbreakable. Two years ago she fell down in the street and found herself in a hospital room staring at a monitor,a male voice shouting I need help,I need help.Her artery was blocked.Had it not been for the best heart surgeon in town who was about to leave on holiday,she would be dead today.The thought of ever losing her is too unbearable to contemplate. She was terrified of heights but for me she would climb a tall cherry tree so that I could photograph her.And the poses she struck, a leg here, an arm there,her terrified little face trying hard to smile. And then when she could climb no higher I burst out laughing and said  there was no film in the camera!She chased me promising vengeance. Oh and the vengeance came. It came a week or so later when she said my fringe was too long and as she had learnt how to cut it,she would do it for me.With my head buried in a book I would have let her do anything. And anything she did.She left just a 2 mm stubble sticking out like a brush.Then she cut out a large circle on the top of my head leaving almost a bald patch.She said it was the latest fashion,she saw a picture in a magazine.When I got home my mother looked at me and said - who did this to you? Emily,it is the latest fashion.I don't know what your teacher will say,said my mother shaking her head.The teacher patted me on the bald patch - nice.Emily did it for me,it is the latest fashion, she saw a picture in a magazine.The Boy laughed and laughed and laughed. You are an idiot,you do not understand fashion,I said to him indignantly.

Memento Vivere Memento Mori 01/11/2016

Remember to live,because one day you will die.So live in the present moment.Live as if today was your last day.I have never been afraid of death.But I am afraid of being on a death bed and grieving for my life now at an end,life I had not lived to the full.