F*cking mosquito in the office!


I kid ye not… I have been bitten 10 times in the first hour in the office this morning cos this little MOFO probably got into the office last Friday and starved all weekend so now it’s feasting on me…

I mean, seriously?! I am wearing a dress but had to put socks and trousers on half an hour ago just so my skin isn’t showing, except my face – and the little blighter keeps buzzing past my ears, the twunt!

This is going to be a WordPress post today.

#TheLittleShit #DieMosquitoDIE #EveryoneElsesInsectRepellent



Written content is © All rights are reserved. August 2017.




Home. Funny word that.

Home is where my parents are. Or the hotel in whichever country I am travelling around. Or my bedroom in my flat share. Or my sisters’ flats, when they cook me good food. Or my friends’ homes, when I stay overnight.

I have always felt like I am still searching for home too. I am fluid, life flows, and so adapting to circumstances is in my blood. As you may already know from previous posts, my family has migrated from Middle Asia across to Europe, and back to the Far East, while others born all over the Middle East have travelled to Europe and the West. So, yes, to me, home is, in essence, this world, and wherever I lay my head each night.

I only mention this ability to adapt to circumstances because I know that there are many people out there who consider change a “bad thing”. People I work ‘with’ (ahem, work for…), or drink with… those whose families date back centuries, all of whom were born, lived, and died in one place, their little part of the world. Those who were “freed” when the Berlin Wall went down, but who harked back to the time when communism gave them a structure they could understand.

People are habitual. A lot of us will dig our feet in, trying to avoid those changes. I have done it too – in a spiritual sense; but that’s a different story I won’t tangent on right now.

So this afternoon, when I stepped off the plane and caught the bus back to the street on which I live currently, I was staring out the window at the beautiful autumnal colours of the cherry, oak, sycamore, birch and maple trees, and sighed to myself dreamily, “It’s good to be home.”

My next thought followed quickly: “It won’t be home for long.”

Changes are a’brewing. Winds will blow me to Northern Europe, in search of another home to bed down in, to get to know.

I know though, that wherever I am, I will always be searching for ‘home’.

Because home isn’t a place. Or people. It’s a person.

Despite all my cynicism, I am not ashamed to admit…

I still believe in love, and most especially, in companionship…

In wanting to spend time with someone who inspires, motivates, encourages, honours and respects you; someone who is attracted to you because you are emotionally, socially and financially independent, rather than someone who is needy, or simply a trophy.

Small edit to the paragraph above, 06 Nov 2016:

The same can also be said for true friends – for those are the ones who stick by you through thick and thin, see you at your worst and pull you out of that darkness; those who believe in you and your ability to help them, to hold them up also, and be there when they need you, just as much as they will always tell you the truth of any subject – “yes, [my] ass does look big in that dress, but that’s the point, isn’t it chicka?”

All of this is what a true companion is as well, except you get a bit more touchy-feely-ness from them; the cuddles in the early hours of the morning, and when you reach over in bed during the night, searching for that warm skin beneath your fingers. That is a much more intimate companionship, but just as acceptable on all levels.

This evening, I would like to raise a glass to all those strong, independent people out there, who are also searching for their own ‘home’, whether it’s a place, a person, or simply a state of mind.

Peace. Love.

Jojo xx

Image: Sunset over Luxembourg, November 2016

Written and photographic content is ©

All rights are reserved. November 2016.

Impossible relationships

Impossible relationships lead me to ask myself, “What is wrong with me?”

Following on from my previous post, Will it ever happen?, I keep coming a cropper* where relationships with men are concerned.

I mean, I really do wonder whether I have a sign hanging over my head – neon, that’s only visible to men, saying, “If you’re a single guy, stay away from me. But if you’re married, or attached, go on, flirt with me, try get in my pants – I dare you!”

And then they usually do, those married or attached men.

Continue reading “Impossible relationships”

Will it ever happen?

maybe i'm waiting - jarofquotes
Courtesy of http://www.jarofquotes.com

Will it ever happen?

So, while writing the email below to my friend the other week, I was wondering if anyone else out there felt the same – whether you’re a man or woman, but still experience – to an extent – the feelings that I detail below; would you let me know? Or am I alone in this way of thinking??

Moreover, the reason the whole email conversation started was because last week I had two blind dates, and today I discovered one of my oldest friends – and not so long ago lover – just got engaged; a friend and lover for whom I almost considered moving back to the UK!

…and yes, I did edit some of the email out! You can’t know everything about me, hey?! 😉

Continue reading “Will it ever happen?”

Thoughts on a postcard: revamped blog – what do you think?

Thoughts on a postcard: revamped blog – what do you think?

So… having woken up at ridiculous o’clock again this morning, I decided that it was about time that I sat down and actually chose a decent theme to my blog – especially as it’s The Sound of One Hand Clapping’s one year anniversary; yay!

Continue reading “Thoughts on a postcard: revamped blog – what do you think?”

A brief evening in Stockholm

A brief evening in Stockholm

A brief evening in Stockholm

Having landed later than expected, I was eager to get out the airport and into Central Stockholm as quickly as possible – 20 minutes! I couldn’t quite believe the ease of it. Getting off the Arlanda Express at Stockholm C Station, it took me all of 10 minutes to find tourist information and the bus stop, at which I waited for about 10 minutes in the freezing cold (-10 degree Centigrade – not common for me), the skies crystal clear above me getting darker, and the pink of the sunset reflecting off the windows of Stockholm’s grand building facades. The number 53 popped up, I climbed aboard, and then sat marvelling at the beauty of the City of Stockholm spread out in all directions from me.

Continue reading “A brief evening in Stockholm”