My friend Aurelie is back from China, and moving to Brighton this week. An adventurer, she is. I am thrilled to have her and her intrepid boyfriend stay in our flat for a couple of days, so she can tell me everything about her tribulations in Orient.

Boris, Aurelie and I spent the entire year of 2006 together, slaving away during this hard last University year that we shared. We went to protests together - even blocked a roundabout at 6 in the morning (1)-, created a Gender-focused ‘zine and had too many glasses of Cotes de Blaye, which is quite possibly my favourite white wine of all time. Conversation this year was understandbly sparse as her blog has been censored many times (even though I did commission a couple of her blog entries at work!) and well, phoning Nanjing was a bit over the top.

Needless to say, I missed her a lot.

(1) In which Boris, Aurelie and I woke up at 4.30 in the morning, walked across town to meet other protesters, walked on the highway and blocked the main roudabout leading to the city. The police arrived soon enough, and our little experiment brought us both cheers and encouragement from commuters, an equal load of insults, and a lot of hooking. By 10 o’clock I was back in bed, listenning to people on the national radio pestering against those “damn socialist students”. Good times were had by all.
[…and this is from July 2005:]

And old friend, and an old song

I met Aurelie at Old Street station around 10 o’clock. She is in London for two days, coming from Edinburgh with Amnesty International. It was great to see someone so familiar who knew me already (read: someone you don’t have o explain your life for the very beginning. She has the basic about me and more, vice versa. I was relieved to be able to talk to a friend face-to-face).

In a way it was a little bit like going back home, somewhere safe, secure, not challenging. I don’t usually appreciate ‘home’ per say, but I needed that.

We could only chat for an hour - over Baileys, hidden in some very gloomy pub- and parted ways in front of the tube again.

This damn fucking tube.

We hugged hard like only women seem to know how to, breast againt breast, all smiles. Not this ‘Oi you’re my boy’ kind of hug, but something deeper, emotional, silent, understanding (no homo-erotica in here, please).

I took the escalators and when reaching the platform I heard this guy singing. Turned round only to nice a dreadlocked man playing guitar with a real broken soulful voice.

I stared.

He was singing the worst lyrics ever.

‘I wanted to take control but love took control of me - it’s just another sad sad sad song - I have to let it go let it go’.

Somehow the whole thing was really sincere, and I was really moved. It made sense.

The train arrived and I smiled at him. He winked and did a ‘peace’ sign. I waved back. Got on the train, sat down, and as we left the platform, he waved again still playing guitar. I smiled. Life is a bitch but this guy made it more than fucking cool for one minute.