Tag Archives: Oslo

Why I love and identify with L’Occitane en Provence

Disclaimer: L’Occitane is not paying me to write this post. I do it out of love and gratitude.

L’Occitane en Provence is a French personal care, beauty and cosmetics brand founded in 1976 by Olivier Baussan. However, in those days it was a far cry from the International stores which are so popular today. In fact, Olivier Baussan started his business selling essential oils in an open air market in Provence. The first actual store opened in 1978 in Provence and in the 1990s L’Occitane saw International expansion. Today L’occitane shops can be found in over 90 countries in North and South America, Africa, Asia and Europe.

The products are organic, not animal tested and plant based except for beehive products that are used in the manufacturing process. L’Occitane is also practicing traditional ways of cultivating and harvesting ingredients and in the making of the products themselves.

Most ingredients are sourced directly from Provence though the popular shea butter series containing shea butter is purchased directly from women groups in Burkina Faso as Fair Trade.

I love L’Occitane for several reasons. First of all, the products are nice and my skin loves them. And using them makes me feel beautiful and refreshed.

Secondly, L’Occitane makes their products accessible to blind people. I remember the first time I was in a L’Occitane store in London getting quite emotional because picking up a product and being able to read what was inside it was a completely foreign and beautiful experience to me.

Thirdly, I support what the L’Occitane foundation (La fondation D’Enterprise L’Occitane) is doing. Namely to support visually impaired people and the economic emancipation of women.

L’Occitane works with NGOs to reduce avoidable blindness, particularly, but not exclusively in Burkina Faso. But they also do other things to empower visually impaired teens, such as running perfume schools every year for visually impaired teens from all over the world in Provence. If only I had known when I was a teenager…..

I have always loved the brand because of their accessibility efforts, but I’ve only recently started using it for almost every part of my beauty routine. I wasn’t aware of just how good all the products where, how much the company supported causes I have passion for and I thought it the price tag was high. However, having recently been to an L’Occitane members evening at the L’Occitane store in Oslo, I found out that it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Plus I really don’t mind my money going to this company.

I also like the friendly treatment I received from the L’Occitane staff at this member’s night. They advised me on what my skin needed Rather than telling me I needed a million products because they needed to sell. I came away with a lot of shea butter products.

As an artist who works in Africa, is blind and working on setting up a foundation to help blind people in Nigeria with education tools, L’Occitane is the kind of company I dream to one day be one of the faces of.

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Episode 10. Arlette’s story

Arlette‘s story
June 10th

The home where Arlette Johnsen lived did not look like a stereotypical institution. It was a red and white wooden house surrounded by a lush green garden with benches and tables and tidy flower beds. I was excited as I walked up the path to the house

As I entered, I was reminded of an English country house. There was no proper reception area, so I entered into something I assumed was a common room of sorts. There were two sofas and a few chairs along the walls, and a flat TV screen on one of the other. The sound was mute, but judging from the pictures, it was showing a news report. Two old men sat in two of the armchairs. One was watching the TV intently, and one was reading a newspaper. I wasn’t sure how to get a nurse’s attention, so I stood there for a while hesitating before the man reading the newspaper looked up and saw me.
“Who are you here to see?”
He asked, funnily enough in American accented English.
“I’m here to meet my grandma,” I replied. “But it’s my first time, so I don’t know my way around here.”
“See that door over there mam? You go knock on that and someone should be able to help you.”
He pointed towards the wall to my left and for the first time I saw that it was in fact a door. The paneling had blended so perfectly with the wall that I hadn’t seen it, but now it was obvious as I spotted a door handle.
“Thank you sir,” I said.
“No bother. My name’s Captain Henry, but they all call me Hank.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance”, I replied and felt as if I was having one of these types of conversations you read in English literature from the colonial era, where page upon page is filled with platitudes.
I knocked on the door. And it was almost immediately opened by a plump woman in her fifties with a round friendly face and laughter lines around the eyes.
“You must be Sandra,” she said when she saw me. “I am Astrid, whom you spoke to yesterday.”
She held out a hand and I shook it.
“Arlette has been dying to see you since yesterday afternoon.”
“Mam, One more brandy and soda over here please”
It was Hank.
“Nina will be along with your medicines shortly Henry,” Astrid replied in Norwegian.
“A brandy calms the nerves of a captain,” He half said, half sang to himself.
“Don’t mind him,” Astrid said. “He served as a captain in the marine during most of his life and he’s got dementia. But a mild form of it. Still though, he thinks he’s bossing his crew around.” She laughed. “Although he’s very sweet our old captain.”
She led the way out another door and down a corridor. There were pictures on the walls. Some were of people, I assumed of people who lived there. Some were taken recently and showed them old, and smiling. Others were older. One was even a poster taken out of an old version of Vogue. Other pictures were scenery pictures. It looked cozy, like a home home. Not an institution home.
“This place is lovely,” I remarked.
“It’s privately owned. We don’t have many residents here, we like to call them that instead of patients, but the ones we have, we have a very good relationship with and we want them to feel that this is an actual home.”
She stopped outside a door with a wooden sign saying “Here lives Arlette,” and knocked before she opened.

Arlette Johnsen could only be described as a magnificent woman. She was wearing a cream coloured dress that was matching the arm chair she was sitting in. Her hair was long and white and looked like it had been freshly curled into neat ringlets. She was even wearing mascara and red lipstick and nail polish. She got up and I noticed she gripped the armrests very tightly as she straightened up into a standing position.
“Is that you Sandra?” she asked, walking slowly towards me. Her smile reached her sea green eyes which were looking directly at me.” ”Hi,” I said walking towards her to meet her half way. “I am Sandra.”
We stopped right in front of each other and she held out her hands. “I’m afraid I’m blind. So you need to come closer so I can have a proper look at you.”
I walked a couple of steps and took her hand. She released it and traced up my arm and shoulder to the side of my face. She cupped it gently as she touched my forehead, nose, ears, cheeks and chin. I closed my eyes, enjoying her cool hands on my face. She touched my throat and traced backwards towards my neck. She paused at the birth mark. I usually hated being touched there. But for some reason, I didn’t mind now. She touched my hair before putting her arms around me in a hug.
“How pretty you are,” she said. “You resemble me when I was around your age. The high cheekbones and forehad. And your nose.”
Astrid, who was still by the door, cleared her throat. “I suppose you two would like some privacy, but shall I get some tea and cakes?”
“Oh yes please,” Arlette said. “Green tea for me please.”
“For me too,” I said.
“Come and sit down,” Arlette said and walked stiffly back towards her armchair. I noticed the room properly for the first time and it was lovely. There was another armchair opposite hers and a walnut coloured coffee table between them. Along one wall was a bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers on which stood a digital radio. Along the other walls was a small book case with books that looked like they were in Braille. There was even an en suite bathroom
“I like your room,” I said admiringly and seated myself in the empty chair.
“Me too.” I have lived here for five years now and I don’t regret it for a day.”
“Where did you live before?”
“I lived in a nice top floor apartment in the city centre of Kristiansand. But I had an accident five years ago and my knees have never been quite the same since. I need a wheelchair if I’m going out of this room. And being blind and using a wheelchair, well it was just not practical to live alone any longer. So I found this pearl of a place owned by a woman whose diseased wealthy mum requested in her will this was made a private home for the elderly.”
“And did you become blind in the accident too?” I asked.
Arlette threw her head back and laughed.
“No!” I was born blind. Nothing they could do. But I’ve done alright. I used to be a model in my young days. You saw that Vogue poster outside?”
I nodded. “That was you?”
“Yes, it was. But let me start from the beginning.”
“I was born in Homborsund in 1932. I had a happy childhood. My mother expected me to chip in at home just like my two sisters and I was a daddy’s girl. Always went out fishing with him. He was the local fisherman when I was seven, I was sent away to a school for the blind and I only saw my family during the holidays. The teachers at that school didn’t know what to do about me. I wasn’t good with my hands and I am completely tone deaf. So for me to become a basket weaver or a piano tuner was out of the question. Thank God.
Then, one day when I went on holiday to Oslo with my sister Karen to visit a friend of ours who had married there, I was spotted by a photographer at a cocktail party. He was the friend of our friend’s husband and he wasn’t put off by my blindness at all. I was seventeen then and had been out of school for a while. I had taken a typist course, but there weren’t any jobs going at the time, so I was bored at home. I ceased the opportunity and very soon I was living a glamorous life in the capital. The work was hard, but the money was good and everything else that came with it. I traveled a great deal too. I saw London, Paris, Rome and Berlin. But I imagine all those cities are very different nowadays.
I met Sven in 1951 when I was back in Homborsund for my eldest sister Amalie’s wedding. Sven was so attentive, witty and charming. Nothing like the boyfriend I’d just broken up with back in Oslo who was dull and wanted me to leave modelling so I could marry him and be a stay at home wife. . Sven was a Taylor and I met him because he was the one who made the bridesmaid dress I wore at the wedding. We fell in love and started an affair. We didn’t see each other as often as we wanted to, but it was all the more passionate when we did manage to steal some time. I knew Gerda, his wife, but not well, because she was quite a bit older than me. She didn’t suspect anything for the first two years. And she’d never suspect her husband to have an affair with me. I was after all, the blind girl who probably could do no wrong. But then I fell pregnant and it put a stop to everything. I tried to hide it for as long as I could. But when I started showing, I realized I had no choice, but to move back home to Homborsund until the birth.
My parents were not happy about the pregnancy at all and refused to take me in so I moved in with my sister Amalie who lived in Grimstad. I told her everything including who was the father. She was horrified but promised not to say anything. She was meant to adopt my child when it was born so that I could continue my career. And when I’d given birth, I left for Oslo. But, the people I’d worked for before didn’t want me back.
Not able to find new work, I moved back to Grimstad where I raised my son. There was a lot of talk. Even if Amalie didn’t say anything, it somehow came out anyway. And then, mid-summer of the year after Frank was born; Sven disappeared only a few days before he was packing up to leave Gerda for good and come stay with us. I came forward during the police investigations and admitted that we’d had an affair. Karen, who was left in Homborsund, told me that Gerda had been mad when she found out about frank. She even made Karen forward a letter to me which begged me to let her adopt him. She had had miscarriage after miscarriage and so believed she couldn’t have children. she later had a son who died as an infant. I refused to give up my son of course. Why should I? She had no rights to him whatsoever. Gerda kept sending me threatening letters. That she’d come and get him. That he should be rightfully hers since her husband was the father.”

“I finally had enough when Gerda one day showed up at my door and tried to take Frank with her. Frank was only two then and didn’t understand what was happening. He cried and clung to me for dear life. In the end, a neighbour got tired of the noise and rang the police. I had to move, or I was scared of what would happen to Frank. So I started applying for jobs in Kristiansand and got a typist job for a small solicitor’s firm. I changed my surname to my mother’s maiden name. Frank had his father’s name. I couldn’t bear to change it. But Gerda no longer bothered us. I guess she’d remarried by then and I know she adopted a boy after her own child died.” ”
“Frank grew up, did well in school and got a job at Grimstad daily news when he finished his journalism exam. I begged him not to go. To look for jobs in Kristiansand which is a larger town, but he wanted the job and so he went. And he did well. He stayed on for years, met your mother and they married. I was horrified to find out that your mother was from Homborsund, but what could I do? Only hope that Gerda wouldn’t bother me again.
One day, Frank was looking for something in the archives when he came across the obituary of his father. He knew who his father was. But apart from a few questions, he’d never really been that interested. But the article sparked curiosity in him since it mentioned that this was the third mid-summer disappearance in Homborsund. So he started playing detective. On the day he disappeared, he called me to let me know he thought he’d know who’d committed two of the three murders. He also mentioned something about baby Sven not having died of a heart failure, but that he’d tell me more when he saw me as the phone was not a safe medium to share such information. He was on his way to mine when he disappeared. And I haven’t seen him since.

A single tear ran down Arlette’s cheek as she uttered those last words.
“Do you miss him?” I asked.
“Terribly. You get used to living without someone. And I’m able to have good and bad days now. But I’ve never managed to be truly happy after Frank disappeared. It’s been lonely you know. Sure I had friends, even lovers, but I didn’t want to tell any of them about the past.And I cut ties with most people in Homborsund except my sister Karen who never married, nor had children. You have know idea how happy I am to have you in my life. And I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

On the way home later that day I was so deep in thought that I nearly missed my bus stop. Astrid had come in with tea and cupcakes after Arlette had told her story and we had enjoyed it in comfortable silence. There was so much more I wanted to ask my newly found grandma. –But she looked tired and I decided to let her rest.
“Promise to come back soon,” she’d said when I got up to leave.
“I’ll come back this Sunday and I’ll bring Emma too.” I promised. I was already looking forward to it. In the meantime, I had to arrange another meeting with Merete. She’d love to hear what I’d just found out today about my father and brother.

Episode 3. The text message

The text message
June 3rd.
I was paddling. The sun was shining and the sea was calm. Not a single wave. I loved the feeling of my tired core and arm muscles as I kept paddling on and on. I don’t know how long I had been going for, but I was starting to feel very hungry. Emma was supposed to make paella that day. And the thought of the paella made me paddle faster. I had done my favourite round. I could see Nellevine the lighthouse perhaps a hundred meters ahead. Not long now till I was home. But as I approached Nellevine, the sea suddenly started moving under me. First the waves were small, but the closer I got, the bigger the waves. I sat frozen with shock as my ore was yanked away from me as if by a pair of invisible hands. The waves were rhythmical in a strange, disconcerting way, as if the ocean was chanting something.
I was clinging on to the sides of the kayak for dear life. I didn’t want to fall into the water. I knew it would envelop me like a shark dragging its victim to the bottom. But something much worse than me falling out happened. The kayak with me inside started sinking. I was powerless. I would never come back to Emma and her paella now. I would never see Melissa again. I would never…. My frantic thoughts were interrupted as I suddenly understood what the ocean was chanting.
“Sandra, you’re guilty
Sandra you killed her
And for this you will die, die, and die.”
Nellevine’s revenge. I knew it. It was my turn now. I closed my eyes and accepted the inevitable.
I woke up by the sound of music next to my bed. My phone. My heart was beating fast as I reached out to check the caller ID. Deborah. Wiping the sweat off my forehead I replied “Hello” trying to sound awake. What time was it anyway?
“Sandra. What’s up?”
Deborah sounded concerned. Norman told me you’d had to rush off for some family emergency and that you weren’t sure when you’d be back exactly. I just wanted to….” She trailed off “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind me calling. It’s just that, you didn’t seem yourself after receiving that phone call. And you’re never usually away, so I was wondering if there’s anything I can do for you?”
“I’m fine Debs,” I replied in what I hoped was a calm, reassuring voice. “As Norman said, I had to go away for a family emergency. I’m in Norway and I’m really not sure when I come back.”
I felt like a parrot only repeating what Deborah had said. “Norway? Wow. Well, I hope whatever it is will sort itself out. It’s boring without you here in the office.”
“I am sorry you know.” I said and meant it. This had happened at the most inconvenient of times. On Friday, the mayor was going to open a new centre for under-aged alcoholics and drug users. A project that had been going on for a while and surrounded by a lot of controversy. We’d worked nonstop and had even been in the office Saturday and Sunday of last week. Something that should probably have clicked in my brain on Sunday suddenly became very clear. For Him to have called me in the office on a Sunday, he must have spied on me to know I was in. Nobody randomly calls an office on a Sunday. And if he had I decided not to dwell on that right now. Though the possible realization wouldn’t let go. Spied on me, did that mean He now knew where I was?”
“Sandra, you there?”
“Yeah, Thanks,” I said with a little laugh. “I’ll keep you posted as and when I know what’s going on. “
“Ok. Cool. Well, take care of yourself and I hope you get to enjoy a little of Norway. And it’s fine. We don’t choose the timing of these things.”
Norman had said the same when I’d rushed to tell him that I had to go. “You’ve worked hard and although it’s a shame you’re not gonna be with us for the opening of the centre, it’s more important you take care of your family back in Norway.” Not many other press secretaries would have reacted like that.
“Thanks. I’ll do my best.”
The time was already a quarter past ten. I wonder why I kept sleeping in so late. Especially because I’d had that awful nightmare. I figured it must have something to do with the long kayak trip I’d been on yesterday. I’d stopped in a quiet little bay and had a swim. I’d had enough sense to pack my bikini in my haste to leave London. And even more so to put it on under the wetsuit. The water had been a little cold at first, but as I swam, I had gotten used to it, and I was refreshed when I lay drying in the sun before paddling back.
Emma had already arrived home when I returned. She’d made us omelettes we’d eaten at the kitchen table, and I had told her what mad Gerda had told me about Nellevine’s revenge.
“Nonsense!” she’d exclaimed and started laughing. “As if she has a hotline to the spirit world. Well, she’s just trying to frighten you for some stupid reason. Don’t take any notice of what she’s saying. Remember, she has quite a few screws loose.”
“But what about the mysterious drownings?” I said. I was prepared to let Nellevine off the hook, but the drownings sounded like she didn’t make them up. Emma had stared pensively in front of her for a while, picking at her tooth with a tooth pick before she said, “I suppose that’s true yes. I wasn’t alive for some of them, and only a little girl when her two ex-husbands disappeared. But everyone was talking about it. I remember that clearly.”
What were they saying?” I asked.
“They all happened close to the lighthouse Nellevine. That’s true. And…. There is one more thing. Apparently they all happened on mid-summer eve. The 23rd of June.”
Emma had again left a note on the kitchen table as I went downstairs. I wasn’t feeling hungry. My stomach was tight and I was tense, so I found some oranges and strawberries and made a smoothie.
Sorry to be a bother, but would you mind going in to Lillesand and change the top I bought in Belinda? I need it in one size bigger. The note said. Next to it stood a fancy blue paper bag with Belinda written in intricate raised silver letters.

I was on the lookout, but didn’t see Gerda as I was walking down towards the jetty and Emma’s motor boat. Despite everything, I was looking forward to taking the boat into Lillesand. Like when I was kayaking, being in the motor boat, feeling the wind in my hair and the smell of petrol filling my nostrils made me feel completely relaxed and care free. I guess I’d been either a fisherman/woman, captain or perhaps even a pirate in my previous life.
I was a little nervous about going to Lillesand in the boat by myself since there had been a few years since the last time, but apart from going a little astray at one point, I got there in one piece. I even managed to moor the boat to the pier, though I did struggle and at one point received questioning looks from a couple of men further along the pier.
It was still early June, but the summer residents from Oslo had already started arriving. The wives of the posh shipping and oil company CEOs, or whatever their stinking rich husbands were doing. They were so easy to recognize. And they all looked more or less the same. Slim bodies as a result of various crazy diets, hours at the gym, and in some cases, I suspected plastic surgery. Tanned from either sun beds or fake tan. Statement jewellery and handbags. And bored looking faces behind skin perfecting makeup and fake smiles.
Belinda was the latest boutique that had opened in Lillesand to cater mainly for these types of women. It was still so newly opened that I could smell the paint as I walked in. The shop was empty except for a middle-aged woman at one of the dress wracks and a young blond woman behind the counter who smiled and got up when I came in. After having changed the top for Emma and bought an overpriced summer dress that looked really good on me, I walked around a bit before I found a café. I ordered a cappuccino and sat at one of the tables outside. I was happy. Enjoying a perfect summer afternoon.
I felt something vibrate in my handbag and I dug out my phone. Probably Emma who wanted to ask me to get something else while I was out.
“”Did I scare you? Well, I’m sorry, but you knew you’d hear from me sometime. I know you’ve travelled. I spoke to one of your neighbours just now. I’ll find out where. We need to talk?
The number was withheld, but I knew who had sent the message. Suddenly, my perfect afternoon felt less perfect.

10 things I love about Norway

Just before leaving the UK I did a post on 10 things I love about the UK
as well as a post on 10 things I dislike about the UK
and I promised I’d do the same regarding Norway. Though I’m born and raised here, I’ve spent so much time away that even after four months, I feel relatively new to Oslo, but in a good way. It’s nice to rediscover and actually quite enjoy the city I was desperate to leave at the age of 19.

But let’s get to the list!

1. The chocolate! It’s not too sweet an there are so many varieties from the pure milk chocolate to the one with bubbles and the ones with crunchy/biscuit fillings or soft fillings. When I lived in the UK, I made sure to bring a stock of Norwegian chocolate which I hardly shared with my friends because I enjoyed it so much. And as I’ve resettled in Norway, I still can’t get enough. However, I’ll happily share with friends now as I need only walk for 10 minutes to buy more.
2. The nature. As a child, I groaned and moaned when my parents made me go for a Sunday walk in the forest. BORING! But now I really like it. I had a couple of friends from London visiting me earlier this week and on their last day; we went for a walk in the woods near my house. As we sat down on a picnic bench in the sun, listened to the birds sing and the ducks walking close buy, feeling the fresh air and the smell, I was proud of living in a country with such lovely nature. I am by all means a city girl, but a walk in the Norwegian nature, be it forests, mountains or parks, with or without skis on, will always clear my head and lift my spirit.

3. Oslo. I love it especially in the summer when the main street has a market, buskers and other street artists from all over the world doing their thing, the restaurants on board boats down at the port and, well I could go on forever. It also has the multiculturalism I love so much in the form of shops, restaurants, cafes and people from everywhere. There is also a lot to see, so it’s a great place for tourists.

4. The water. It tastes great and it doesn’t have that white stuff in it that London water has, so washing up is easier. The water is so good; I don’t by bottled water unless I want sparkling stuff.

5. Norwegians. My people are not fuzzy, down to earth and honest. You don’t get that oh so annoying British politeness and I find that if I’m ever lost and Norwegians offer help, they do so without all the “I’m ever so sorry if I intrude” or the “are you absolutely sure?” if you decline. If I had any criticism, it has to be that I wish there was more warmth between and towards people like you find in other parts of the world, but Norwegians are generally quite friendly.

6. Everything is very organized. Buying and selling property is very easy here. It took me only 3 weeks from I saw the flat I wanted till it was mine. And it only took that long because we waited to sign the contract on purpose so that it could be done on my birthday. Otherwise the whole thing would have taken less than a week. Also there are not all the middle men involved in buying and selling like there is in Britain.

7. Good quality houses. In the UK, I often got the feeling the houses and flats were not built very well on the inside. I remember my heavy glass shower door falling over me one day I was cleaning without me even moving it. I also think the doors and wood of the walls were bad quality which would need frequent renewing. And carpets! I hate carpets! Rugs that can be moved I like, because they can be cleaned. Here I have a feeling more thought is put in to the building and the quality of what’s inside the houses.

8. Food quality. I’m not really talking about the Norwegian cuisine itself, more that the food usually is nice, clean and of good quality. And I no longer have the 5 extra kilos I seemed to carry in the UK.
9. Beauty. I know this is both biased and boasting, but Norwegians are generally quite pretty and dress well.

10. There is no class divide. Sure we have rich and poor, like anywhere else in the world, but there isn’t quite the working class, upper class thing there is in the UK.

Watch out for my post on the 10 things I dislike which I’ll do my best to put up tomorrow!

My big decission

I haven’t been posting here for a while because I spent some lovely days in Florence, Italy where my fantastic boyfriend comes from. I absolutely love Italy and will probably write about it in later posts, but I would like to share a big decission I made, rather rushed, today.

As you may or may not know, I’m a Norwegian and for 7 years I have been living in the UK. 3 years in Edinburgh and 4 in London. And what a time! I went from being an insecure student, to being saved and baptised in a pentecostal church. I went to London, stopped the church thing and lived a little on the wild side until I got a job in the BBC where I stayed for 3 years. I had to leave because my department went to Salford and I didn’t wanna move. I got back into a wonderful church as well and my faith is stronger than ever.

Ok, so I decided on the freelance thing and it’s still something I’d like to persue, but I’m also realising that I really have nothing here in London. I have a social life and friends, but I don’t have key people I need in my life, like family. Because I do really believe that we all need family. If you’re raised without a family, you’ll naturally do anything you can to make a family around you in one way or another. And although I am a very capable and independent girl, I am blind and I do need people around me I can trust to help me with the few, but crucial things I need help with. I would also like to go back to university, take a masters degree and get a job, perhaps do the freelancing on the side. Whether I’ll stay in Norway forever or join my other half in Italy, only time can tell. There are some lose plans of a Tuscan future, but for the next few years at least, I will live very happily in Norway. And if the future plans don’t work out, I hope he’ll come stay with me. I’ll have family around me, university is free and my chances of getting a job is much bigger when I complete a higher education as very few disabled people with master’s degrees in Norway end up unemployed.

Will it be easy? Probably much more so than moving to the UK back in 2004. It’s after all the place I was born. I speak the language there and I have a network.But I won’t leave London without feeling sad about the fact I’m leaving a couple of very close friends and my church behind. I will also always have a part of Britain with me. After 7 years, you can’t help but being somehow shaped by somewhere you lived.

But I think this is the right decission. I have felt unhappy about living here in London lately and worried about my future. I will hopefully go back around Christmas or new year, so everything will happen quickly. But I’m confident this really is the right thing to do.

My one worry about leaving London, is that my studio recording will have to end. I hope this is not the case and that something can be worked out. Being a Christian, I’ll pray on it and hope the producer doesn’t feel I betray him by going away. It’s just that at present, I need more than a few studio sessions to keep me here.

But, everything sorts itself out for nice girls. Hmmmmm, I’m known to be more naughty than nice though, so need to work on that? 🙂