Apologies for the delay in publishing anything new; I have been either ill in bed, working my way through a pile of translations, at home or exhausted for most of the last six weeks. I'm writing a new journal at the moment, "From Hell on Earth to the Moon of Dreams", which will be ready next week. In the meantime, a bit about the diary itself. The same information is true for all "bloggers" on TravelBlog - the ones which I have recommended (there is a link to them on my front page) have some fantastic photographs and stories. Boxes - [View Full Entry]

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It was a humble setting for an impromptu day trip. The countryside - far from the bright yellow corn fields and blue summer sky as it appears on Ukraine's flag - reminded me more of my clothes: the sky from which cold rain was falling was the same dull grey as my jumper, and the fields as dark, muddy and worn as my jeans. We passed filthy cargo lorries from all corners of Europe travelling in the other direction, on the last stretch of motorway before arriving in the city. Small factories unattractively fill the no man's land between city and [View Full Entry]

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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 [View Full Entry]

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Like most capital cities, Kyiv is home to people of all professions, nationalities and temperaments. But it's surprising the things which some have in common. One night in the autumn I was in a busy bar on vulytsya Zhytomyrska which formed the centre of a Venn diagram for "French people in Kyiv", "Russian-speakers" and "rugby fans" - the gathering of people with whom I spent this Friday night were just as intriguing: "Ukrainians", "members of the International Christian Assembly" and "rock music lovers". I imagined that you could fit everyone in this demographic into a phone box on Khreshchatik but - [View Full Entry]

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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 [View Full Entry]

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My life has been moving in slow, predictable circles lately; if only the same could be said about my ice-skating. Fed up of not doing anything creative with our weekends, we went to the "Bolshevik Arena" near Shulyavska for a Saturday skate. Everyone around us on the ice rink was in a good mood; teenage girls giggled and twirled past distinguished sixtysomething men in grey suits, who in turn glided past young couples, clinging on to fearless toddlers in bright woolly hats. Each accidental shoulder barge was met with a smile and a helpful push in the right direction. I just [View Full Entry]

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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 [View Full Entry]

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Red, green and yellow lights adorn Kyiv's buildings, from its expensive boutiques to the burned out or under construction housing blocks, to mark the new year, and a giant and generously decorated fir tree dominates Independence Square. The town feels even more wintry for the sharp wind that bites at my ears on days when I forget my woolly hat. It will soon be even colder than today's minus 13, but the only trace of the snow that covered the streets when I left two weeks ago is the white ice which fills the cracks in the pavement, like the froth [View Full Entry]

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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 [View Full Entry]

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When I found my way back to the office after ten days away - more tired than ever, and chastened as opposed to refreshed - there wasn't a heap of papers waiting for me on my desk as I had feared, but instead an important-looking, dark yellow and sky blue bordered cardboard work permit. I am now an official Ukraine resident; some acceptance, perhaps, by the country that is trying so hard to make me hate it. I knew that this week was going to be easier to digest than the two before it; I could get back to spending time [View Full Entry]

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