how many things we all have..

I've been reading Richard Brautigan and his character says "I have nine things, more or less" then he lists them, .. they include a child's ball and "a lock of hair that needs washing".

Right now, I probably have nine books that I haven't read yet and I can't remember what they 're called , even though I'm looking forward to reading them so much.

I don't know and don't want to count how many necklaces, CDs, t-shirts, pairs of socks I've got.

There was a time, when I was young, when I first left home, when I could count the things I had: two bracelets, one watch, two pairs of jeans - I didn't understand why a person might want a third pair of jeans. One nice skirt for going out. One coat for winter. One handbag.

The thought of all the things in my world makes me feel dizzy. Where did it all come from and why does it matter?

let me tell you about Austria.

it's Thursday night now and I've been in Austria since Tuesday afternoon, so maybe this isn't the most in-depth view of Austria. But it's my first time in this country and I need to tell.

There was the arrival in Salzburg; tram-ride from airport to station. The scenery may have been beautiful but the man sat nearest us on the tram lay back in his seat, exposing vast hairy stomach, red face, tattoos, piercings and unzipped flies. Is there a possibility that as the scenery gains in beauty, so the population lose in style?

Kaprun itself is so fantastically attractive, the sun actually hurts your eyes. It's a beauty beyond supermodels. In terms of scenery, this scenery is so fabulous it doesn't have to lose weight, curl its lashes or even buy a new frock. Mountains and glaciers erupt out of the town. The sun blares down. The small church bursts out of the centre of town, built on some rocky outcrop so that -from the right angle - the church, symbolically, stands higher than the mountains that surround it.

Every house is a chalet. Every chalet has blinds and wooden bits and gables. Every chalet is a hotel and every hotel seeks to be slightly more charming than the last hotel. There's an awful lot of charm around for one small town.

birds fly over the sea..

So I was sitting there, having my morning coffee by the sea - not really quite warm enough to do this yet, but when the weather isn't good enough and there's nobody around is when it's most special. So my coffee is cooling and I'm looking out over the sea and there's a skein of birds - a v-shape, the same as you see geese flying - only these birds are small, maybe the same size as a starling flying in the V-shape very fast, very determined, just a couple of feet above the sea.

I watch them, mesmerized: could they be following something? But then they are blurred against the sea, and then by the West Pier and then gone...

Home on a Friday evening..

A brutal cold dark-grey and rainy day, followed by dark dank evening....finishing off the last emails of the day, realising that in fact I don't care and never have cared about competitive analysis.... selecting Shut Down on the computer... there's a moment, a second or two of emptiness.

The room fills with the smell of the potatoes baking, I've chopped the salad, the wine is chilling in the fridge, the shutters are closed tight and the weekend is a warm and friendly presence, like a dog you've had since it was a puppy - a little bit predictable but there's always the prospect of fun, nice times, something to smile at..

That strange spacey feeling when you get back home after a nine-hour flight

.. almost sleepless, almost blind with thirst, those are the days where the sun glitters across the beach, the flat is a sea of glaring light, and Sunday afternoon in Havana seems more tangible than the beige sofa with the new cushions that I'm actually sitting on.

I can still feel the hot pavement, still hear the music from the bars.... there was a moment there, in Havana, yesterday when the real Havana suddenly and spontaneously coincided with the Havana of my tourist dreams. Music poured out of the bars; the sun was shining; families sauntered through the streets, children dressed in their best; in one of the squares a dark shy bride and groom climbed into a horsedrawn carriage.