British Theatre, Hogmanay, Marathons and Swinging...

Do we invite the devil in and give him dinner without fully realising who he is? Are we all so preoccupied with worrying about the presence of evil that we fail to see it when we encounter it? Perhaps what is right in front of our faces is just too awful to comprehend.

But how can I worry too much about such heavy issues when the Sugarplum Fairy is just a twinkle away, spinning on her toes in Covent Garden? My eyes start prickling as soon as the overture starts and those gorgeous red velvet curtains split apart the Royal Crest and reveal Drosselmeyer scurrying about his workshop and wrapping the Nutcracker up for Clara. How can all fail to be right with the world?

But then again we live in a world that drags innocent animals into our conflicts, allowing them to be riddled with gun fire and torn to shreds on barbed wire. Did you know that over 8 million horses were killed in the 1st World War?

You might think I've been sitting idle but I've been on an emotionally exhausting tour of British Theatre. From the neat Swiss play 'The Anarchists' at the Royal Court, which explores the dangers of appeasement, to the Royal Ballet's 'Nutcracker': A delicious treat of almost heartbreaking loveliness which reduces me to a simpering fluff-ball every time I see it. And then 'War Horse' at the National Theatre. It can be no mean feat directing and staging a play when your main character is horse called Joey but they did it. And not only did we totally believe that the contraption of wire and wood, manned by three whinnying and snorting actors, was a real horse but we cared deeply for it and I do not think there was a dry eye in the house when Joey finds himself caught up in the barbed wire of no-man's-land and stumbles across the front-line trenches. But then the National always pulls em out of the hat like that.

I know I keep saying it but I am a very lucky girl. Determined to make the most of having me right where she can see me, Mum has been busy booking tickets to see all sorts of things. The National again tonight, Glyndebourne in the summer... there is no end to the treats.

But how fast time flies once routine locks you into a daily rhythm to which you move without much consideration. Mondays become Fridays, all too soon Fridays become Mondays and Januarys become Februarys and it dawns on me that I have been back for over 2 months and what happened to my blog?! The longer it’s left the more daunting a job it becomes so this is me doing some serious bullet biting.

Christmas passed in a tinselly bubble of boozy, gluttonous fun, I saw in 2008 in Edinburgh attempting, rather poorly, to Strip the Willow and got caught up in a couple of Gay Gordons (I leave you all to decipher your own imagery). It is a beautiful city though set on two levels. Half is intricate medieval streets winding up towards the castle; the other is grand sandstone Georgian architecture with wide streets and elegant squares. I wandered with Daisy, and her two old school friends Russell and Anthony, around town on New Years Eve, stopping to sip a pint, absorb the festive atmosphere and, of course, buy two 4 foot-long Highland swords, real of course, from a shop that would let you walk out with machetes pirate cutlasses or those spinny spiked balls on chains usually swung by ogres. I was amused to see that "No glass is allowed on the streets" but anything you can find in an antique armoury is fair game. Boys and their toys... Any reservations I might have had, however, were abandoned when I realised the full extent of photographic (and dramatic) potential of such props and I think I spent the rest of the night knighting people whenever possible.

And then it was January and I got a job. One that had been lined up since Christmas and has had me tossing and turning and breaking out into cold sweats ever since. My mission, which I have chosen to accept, is to raise as much money as I can for a small medical charity called Endometriosis UK. I will spare you the details of endometriosis, if you are interested you can look it up on www.endometriosis-uk.org. They have a place in the London Marathon granted to them by a new Sliver Bond scheme which allows smaller charities to get in on the marathon scene which has always been a major fundraising and profile boosting hoo ha. Having been granted a place on the great philanthropic treadmill, and a chance to nose at the troughs feeding the big boys like Breast Cancer and NSPCC, they ought to prove themselves and demonstrate how they mean business by raising £10,000 on the back of their marathon runner. That is where I am to come in, well, we hope. So I have spent the last month writing letters, phoning people up and trying to organise a party as well as jollying along my runner (who is injured) and doing my best not to do anything stupid like get us kicked out of the race... (The least said about that the better).

Of course my social life has sauntered along, picked up speed and broken into a run. My parents lie in bed in the early hours of Saturday and Sunday mornings awaiting the clip clop of high heels down the steps, key in the door, chain on, light off and kitchen door shut. The next day I am greeted with an exact account of my coming in and timing down to the nearest minute. I have decided that for all concerned it is kinder to have a friend's house to sleep at when I'm out dancing until kingdom come... I am reunited with all my friends and there are dinner parties, club nights, reeling sessions and roller discos to be visited. I even went swing dancing the other day (well witnessed might be more accurate) in a dark sultry club in the city full to the brim with people who clearly to little else with their time. There are exhibitions to see, markets to peruse and cosy pubs to snuggle in, restaurants to eat in, cocktails to drink and people's houses to invade.

Next week is Valentine's Day and exactly a year on from my flight from London to Delhi. I finished re-reading my travel blog the other day and that reminds me, I'd better book that travel writing course...

Ttfn. x