The course has come to an end, two plays later. It's been quite intensive: 5 plays in as many days, and all the discussion during the day. Like always at the end of a course I am a little sad - one has grown closer to people and now they disperse and there is a good chance that I will not see them ever again. Franz is on his way to his family - last night featured only short and eruptive passion and quick satisfaction - like always when you do it on a packed suitcase before terminal leavetaking. There is a woman called Beatrix who I have grown closer, too, she is in her fifties but ever so bright and alive - I might try to stay in contact with her.

I am staying here for two more days to have a look at the town, walk through it leasurely and do a little shopping. I have no particular plans - I will just walk and see where this takes me. When I was here for my studies, this brought about some really good and sometimes awkward experiences. And there is some washing to be done - sooner or later I will run out of fresh panties.

This morning we almost overslept, Franz and me - we could not sleep long and were so exhausted. The play last night was great, "Richard II" by Shakespeare, at the Old Vic, all about men and power and shouting and fights. But a very modern production about today's world by Trevor Nunn, which I liked a lot. Franz maybe was encouraged by the play and brought into a conquering mood - but I must admit after a week of sleeping alone my drawbridge lowered rather readily and there was little defence of the castle. So it was easily taken and his flag rammed into willing soil. However we had to laugh when we looked at each other during today's course and were yawning simultaneously.

And the typical thing: in his eyes I could easily read the word REPETITION - doing it again tonight, while I have not even decided yet if I want to do with him EVER again.

This afternoon, after the course, walking up Tottenham Court Road, together with all these people - and Franz, the nice guy from our course - a plastic bag with books I bought at Borders, all intent on reading them soon, Salman Rushdi, Zadie Smith, Hanif Kureishi, I felt like home again for sure. It was such a good time in my course at London University then, the share with the girls,the mad nights of love after going out. Some drugs - never much, but much more that at home in our alpine republic or even in neighbouring Zuerich. It's so good to be here again.

This evening's play was not so sensational, "The Philanthropist" by Christopher Hampton. The theatre room was attractive, and so was the acting, but the play is a little juvenile - fantasies of a young writer. The female parts are just horrible and stereotype - what the authour thought women are like, I guess. Still it was not a bad evening, and the Punjabi Meal before midnight was just delicious.

But I have a double bed in my room which is half empty and I think it would be just great one of these nights to fill the void.

The plug problem is solved - thanks, flcamfan, I got an adapter in a hardware shop from a guy who looked as if he had some hardware himself and thought of plugging me. But now all is fine and I am connected to the world computerwise.

Today after the course I walked through the streets, up busy Tottenham Court Road, and for an alpine village flower like me it was absolutely amazing from what a variety of faces I gained some smiles. I always feel at home here, I already did at the times when I was studying here a pretty long time ago. I was walking past a house today I once made love in, and I felt a little, well, homesick ?? LOL.

In the course there are mainly females, no wonder if it deals with the theatre and literature. Peter, the lecturer, is amazingly clever but as oversize. There is one guy in the group who lives in the same hotel and looks approachable - who knows if my homesickness gets too strong?

We are at the National Theatre tonight. I am looking forward to it a lot.

I have finally arrived in London an checked into a hotel. It's so easy to travel here and I am such a reluctant traveller. Luckily a good friend took me to the airport, so the rest was so easy. If I went with strangers, I would have such pretty offers to spend the evening already - but I'll explore the neighbourhood and do some late reading for my course that begins tomorrow. With it we will go to the theatre every evening and see a good play - the tickets are already in the hotel safe, together with my other precious things.

The first problem: I cannot plug in my laptop due to different plug norms here. So if I run out of electricity it's over with writing my blog. I think plugs should be built like humans - the thing to plug in is universally met by a part that can accommodate it, even different sizes. Imagine it was different and every nation had their own norm to plug into a girl - the human race might have died out. Or the guy who invented the adapter that could even transpose feelings would be a billionaire.

What a wonderfully sunny early autumn day. After dense fog in the morning, it has cleared up and the sun is so warm that I could lie at the pool for some time. In two hours I will go up to the mountains to enjoy the lovely area and maybe go hiking on the surrounding hills. I will be back Monday.

Reading your blog, flcamfan, I can see well that you are a doting, maybe even faithful husband who cares for his family and loves them a lot. I have a great deal of admiration for people who live like that and still think they fully live their lives and they get all out of it they wish. I think my parents had a fulfilled and happy marriage, too, until they were killed together in this fateful car crash.

As for me - I just do not seem to be the person for enduring relationships; whenever I made an attempt at it, I was disappointed. It's maybe the way I look or I am built, but sooner or later, usually sooner, men become protective and possessive and think, they have to decide for me. I guess they feel also supported in this by social customs and our patriarchal religion. Of course I notice sentences like "What a stroke of luck, that the woman he loves is also his wife" in McEvan's latest novel "Saturday".

People I love are never mine - but this does not mean I don't love them and that I am not loved.

What to write on a beautifully sunny morning like this, when everything seems perfect, I am neither threatened by war nor hurrican as the news tell me, when all is alpine peace and cowbells - and after a night of good sex and with this feeling in the morning like a well-fed cat on a warm surface - there is nothing more appealing in the world than a passionate, patient, but unpossessive lover who can enjoy the moment without thinking this gives him any further rights. Who does not spoil this time because he already talks about next time - who is pleased with this time even if there isn't a next time.

It's perfect bliss.

I got a message this morning from a guy who I chatted with the other day. He wrote that it was a pity my blog wasn't half as hot as my picture and if I could not spice it up a little by reporting what I did with that body my picture showed because he could imagine I did not leave it unused or it would be really a shame.

Of course I do a lot with this body of mine, and it is certainly not unused: It carries my mind, it transports me to places, it made itself felt on the saddle of my bike ... and yes, obviously, it is also used for sexual matters. So don't fear - all is well with me. And if anyone should be interested, I might even report how well.

From what I wrote yesterday you must have felt that Salvador Dali is definitely one of my favourite painters. Compared to Magritte, he is still more difficult to fathom, but when you read his pictures with your feelings and not with your mind, they can tell you so very much. So if ever I travel to Florida again, I will vist the Museum in St. Petersburg, not only Disney World.

Dali is actually one of my strongest childhood memories. In November 1979, my father was quite excited one day after reading the papers and said there was a great Dali exhibition at the Centre Pompidou in Paris. And the next weekend we travelled already there and stayed for three days; my father just locked his surgery and off we went. I was only 11 then, but I was deeply impressed. Still today there is a poster hanging on the wall to the basement of my house: the famous melting watches that hint at the fickleness of time.

Thanks for your kind message,
Alpina

PS: Thanks for your comment, too, Acey83