As soon as it became light after 6 in the evenings there was no need to take the metro home straight after work. Instead I met Ana on Khreshchatik (between the ice cream stall and the breakdancers) and we walked up the hill from Besarrabskii market - past the statue of Lenin - to sit on the benches in Taras Shevchenko park. We sipped apple juice bought from a kiosk, and relaxed as the sun went down behind the trees. Every day a chess tournament would take place under the pagodas in the corner of the park. Dozens of old men in dark grey felt caps observed the boards in front of them, oblivious to the rain, concentration etched onto their faces. We spent one Saturday with Lyuda in Lisova, a district at the very easternmost ... read more

After four months below freezing the temperature has risen above zero - spring has arrived. My body feels more relaxed with some warmth inside it; sunlight, not pains in my back, wakes me up at 7 each morning, but I still stumble from my bed to the shower via the biscuit cupboard so clumsily that vulytsya Melnikova's other residents must think that Chinggis Khan's Mongol horsemen are invading again. The view of the Orthodox Church from my balcony - my favourite part of the flat - is disappearing spire by spire behind one of the dozens of construction projects which are dotted across the city. My kitchen now looks not toward one of the last standing splendours of Tsarist Russia but at dirty grey scaffolding instead; eventually I will only have another post-Communist housing block to ... read more

Ana's mother came to visit at the weekend. We weren't sure what to show her in a town where we are running out of ways to pass the time ourselves, but Nadezhda Vasilievna wasn't expecting a grand tour; she has chased me from her living room sofa in Popasnaya often enough to know that I'm not at my most energetic at weekends. She arrived after a gruelling sixteen hour train journey from Luganskaya oblast' as fresh as the home-made smetana cake under her arm. Within seconds of stepping into our flat she had emptied the contents of two bags of food onto our kitchen table and set about preparing brunch: plates were fetched from cupboards, chewy black bread, chicken, potent cheese and ham were cut into thin slices and placed on them. The choice of which ... read more

It became so cold last week that on Monday my peach yoghurt turned into a block of ice inside its bottle during the five minute walk between the shop and my flat. Ana bought me a pair of black stockings to go under my work trousers and keep my legs warm, but I had only just managed to wear them in before the temperature rose again to a little below freezing. Respite from the frostbite. The grim, grey, snowless sky is so low each morning that it almost rests against the top of the buildings. My kvartal has become quieter since the New Year's parties with everyone reluctantly returning to work. People on the street are outnumbered by gangs of ravens, their black feathers fluffed up to keep the cold out, a nuisance to superstitious Ukrainians ... read more

There is a problem with our cosy new flat which neither of us could have expected: the pesky static created by a small room which is full of fabric. No sooner have we stopped bumping into the kitchen cupboards in a sleepy trance during the cold dark mornings than we are sent jumping into them again aftter being zapped by a dressing gown or the sleeve of a work jumper. Never before has a goodbye peck on the cheek been so frought with risk; I now have a little scar on my nose. Tales of the underground But I've become rather fond of my 28 minute commute. I can afford to prise my creaking back from my bed - which feels as if it was carved out of the same material as the angel statue on ... read more