Notes from *any* divorce.

I've been thinking a lot about last weekend's Emma Forrest article.

I agree with her wholeheartedly that: 
"The thing I find most painful about divorce is that there is no marked spot at which to leave offerings."

In the end, I can only conclude that the best thing we can do is to write about it.

Emma's writing has always helped me, perhaps because I relate far too heavily to all of it. I have read her memoir Your Voice In My Head probably more times than I've ever read anything else. It's certainly influenced my current writing a lot.

When she got married I literally started a scrapbook of her Elle columns about marriage. 'If she can do it, maybe I can too,' I thought. 'Maybe...' 

However, as always, her words tap into a comforting place, no matter how sad the topic. I was also reminded of the time my friend Ali and I followed a man around Marrakech for an entire afternoon because we thought he might be George Michael. He was not George Michael.

I'd like to be in Marrakech right now. It was a place I long dreamed of before I ever went there. It was more magical than I would ever have expected. For years, I thought I'd end up being like the mum in Hideous Kinky one day. I don't think that any more.

This week a year ago my dog died and I went to Switzerland with a boy I barely knew.

Anyway. Observations today include that spicy-pickling carrots is always an excellent decision. I'm also heavily into aubergines right now (sprinkle them with sumac and roast them). I've been reading about meditation, which I am quite bad at. I'm prepared to try.

Tomorrow I am 30 days sober and have been instructed to buy myself a treat.

My life has been quite small, lately. It's been domestic and cosy, and I have enjoyed it. I'm starting to feel the itch to do bigger work, though. Maybe because I watched Brene Brown last night and... if you know, you know.

What I've been up to.

It’s been a quiet cosy time, but it also feels like a productive time.

I have been making a lot of stuff. Kimchi, oat milk, hummus, chocolate spread. I have been pickling a lot of things. The olive tree in the garden has yielded an abundant freak crop of Brighton olives. I’m trying to make us into a zero waste household. I’ve planted some carrots. I’ve started using a natural deodorant and I don’t even seem to stink.

I went to a gin festival and drank coffee.

I’ve been to some nice gigs. I highly, highly recommend checking out the ED Fowler Band and Peter Cat, two of the best things I’ve seen lately.

I re-read The Outrun by Amy Liptrot and The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy, both of which are beautifully written and highly inspiring. This is the sort of thing I’m in the mood for these days.

I went to a Belinda Carlisle drag queen contest and it was a lot of fun.

I went for a massage, on a whim. Never done it before, best decision ever.

I’m trying to do yoga every single day, and it is helping.

I watched all of the new series of Stranger Things in a 24-hour period. I cried profusely at the end. Rare for me these days; I don’t cry nearly as much as I used to.

I hate shopping but I’ve suddenly taken to buying second-hand clothes on the internet. Getting parcels is fun. So is having a lot of jumpsuit options, it turns out.

I am in awe of my wonderful friend Harriet, who has made a book and a baby in dazzlingly quick succession. She is one of the most beautiful writers on this earth, and you should definitely read the book.

Emma Forrest has also – again – cemented her place as my favourite living writer and I cannot wait to see her film.

I’ve been listening to Domino Kirke’s beautiful record a lot and also aiming to be beyond waves. There’s graffiti at the end of my road that declares NO MORE DRAMA and I want it tattooed on my heart.

Today I am 28 days sober, like that film with Sandra Bullock.

100 days.

I am doing 100 days of not drinking. I am only on day 8, so I don't have any profound words of wisdom, but I like to write things down.

Actually, I've been enjoying not drinking. Unexpectedly so. I can't remember the last time I went over a week without having a drink.

During this week, I have been on a date night (drank tea!), been to the pub with friends (drank ginger ale, nobody particularly noticed or cared), been away to Edinburgh for the weekend (went to an awesome Stranger Things-themed pop-up bar and asked them to make me a 'very sour' mocktail).

I took my boyfriend out for a birthday dinner and thought there might have been a mistake in calculating the bill for our incredible three-course meal... then realised dinner is pretty much half the price if you don't drink a kir royale, then a bottle of wine, then maybe a glass of dessert wine.

I might start adding up how much I am not-spending on booze, and put it in a savings account. Or at least buy myself a treat. If I include hangover food in this amount, I might soon have a small fortune.

I am excited about doing jobs around the house and cooking and maybe taking up knitting again.

I am - tentatively - thinking I might keep this up.

I'm less than a tenth of the way through... let's see how I get on.

5 years of birthdays

33
The year I ran a marathon, went to Hydra, got my first 'proper' book deal. My dad took me out to lunch on my birthday and told the waitress my book was being published. We drank champagne.
The last birthday I would spend with my first serious boyfriend. I wonder now how much I realised it at the time. I spent every birthday with him from 22 to 33. Things fell apart very quickly after this one.

34
Alone, drinking wine in an art gallery in Hastings while I waited for my then-boyfriend to finish a meeting with a French lady curator. We got fish and chips on the way home. My first book came out the next day. I was hungover and anxious, and felt I couldn't complain.

35
A weekday and nobody to spend it with. I went to work. I was supposed to go out to dinner with my mum, but a mix-up meant we met for a very quick drink and I was on the train back to Brighton by 7pm. Alone, drinking wine and smoking in the garden. Had a little cry.

36
On holiday in Spain with my nan. Sea swimming. Much gin. Tying myself in knots over a boyfriend who turned out to be the worst one I ever had. Things soon got worse, then better.

37
Paris. Patti Smith. A garden full of pals. The last birthday I would spend with Lily. Things were pretty good, soon to get much better.

38
Tomorrow.

Nearly a year

It's my birthday on Sunday. I will be 38 years old.

'Do you remember what I said to you, this time last year? I knew it was going to be your year,' a wise friend said to me this morning. 'And it has been!'

It's been a BIG year, at least. A lot has happened. It's all happened quickly.

I've had a lot of adventures. I've been to some new countries. (Finland and Russia, since I last posted here!)

I've cleared out a lot of stuff. I've given up smoking. I've cut off all my hair. I feel Kon-Mari-ed to the absolute core.

Last year I had a birthday party and invited an interesting new friend. A month later we decided on a whim to go on holiday together. We've lived in the same house for six months now.

In my writing life, I've taken some risks that have paid off. I feel like I've made progress and got better at some of the things I do. I've started trying out some new ideas.

It's only been possible because I laid the groundwork first. When I turned 36, I realised that if I was not at rock-bottom, then at the very least things had to change. A month after my birthday, I called a therapist and when she asked how she could help me, I cried so hard I couldn't speak. I've been seeing her every week for nearly two years now, and I know that I wouldn't have the relationship I have or be doing the writing I am doing now if I hadn't made that call.

This time last year, when I turned 37, I spent the day before my birthday in Paris. I felt so much happier in myself but I also felt in flux, ready for things to change.

I know as well as anyone that life can change in a minute, for better or worse. Whatever happens, I feel for the first time like I'll be OK.

I am a solid fucking grown-up woman. It feels great.

Things I learned in Japan.

• Girls in Tokyo are wearing a lot of very wide-legged jeans and I am into it.
• Cherry blossom season in Japan is much more magical than anything you have ever seen.
• J-pop 4 ever (esp. Nucleus).
• Pizza man. OMG.
• I really like taking my shoes off and sleeping on the floor, wherever I am.
• Buy a jacket.
• Tap is my all-time Terrace House favourite.
• Breakfast cake.
• Get up early in Kyoto to see geishas.
• Why *not* just wear dungarees very day?
• I now genuinely miss having a lavatory that talks to me, plays music and has a heated seat.
• Harajuku is for real everything you would hope and dream.
• It's not as hard as you might think to communicate/get around/not be permanently confused, and you should definitely go. Definitely.
• Go and see Japanese wrestling.
• It's fun to pretend to be a rapper when hanging out in Roppongi.
• Pretty much everyone you see will be awesome and you will kind of want to be them.
• The deer in Nara Park are, as they say, everything.
• Plum wine highballs.
• MOS Burger.
• Read 'Strange Weather In Tokyo' with a pretty cover, ostentatiously, in hipster coffee shops all over Japan. Not even necessarily Tokyo.
• Vegan ramen is good when you find it.
• I would like to move to Japan.

How is Susie doing?

If I love you, I will show that love by sending you books, book recommendations and links to articles you never asked for.

Often these will be from the deepest depths of the 'Ask Polly' archive. I recently sent this one to a woman dear to my heart who I thought needed it in her life, then was so inspired I decided to post it on Twitter... and promptly received messages from three people who thought I had broken up with my boyfriend. I appreciated the concern but was mildly embarrassed at the fuss I had caused. I have not broken up with my boyfriend. Incidentally, I still think that article is useful for most women, regardless of the details.

In my opinion, the best books to give to friends having a hard time, depending on their sensibility and situation, are:

• Heartburn by Nora Ephron
• Your Voice In My Head by Emma Forrest
• The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion
• The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy
• I'll Give You The Sun by Jandy Nelson
• Riders by Jilly Cooper

You may already know about Nick Cave's Red Hand Files. If you do, aren't they beautiful, wonderful and life-affirming?

If you don't, here's a tip because I love you. Following his 'in conversation' events, Nick Cave has started a letter (I don't want to call this a 'newsletter' or an email, because it feels like a truly intimate, personal letter). You can send Nick Cave any question you want to, and you can sign up to receive all of the answers.

My question has not been answered yet, but - again - every response has inspired me, even if it is not a question I would have thought to ask myself.

This week's felt apt and, duly, I forwarded it on to a loved one. This time last year I was in Korea, on possibly the strangest trip of my life so far. This time last year, in a tragic and senseless accident, the world lost one of its best people, and is a far poorer place for it.

This song is in my head today. Written by Rowland S. Howard when he was a teenager and sung here by a baby Nick Cave, I think I would like it played at my funeral. Which, these days, I honestly hope is a long way away. We are so fucking lucky to be here.