The Olga-isation of Celina.

I have decided to attempt to start referring to myself in the third person. It adds an air of mystery I think.

Anyway, more or less, I attribute my recent lack of blogging to my Olgaisation. That is, the process by which a thoroughly modern, cafe hovering, documentary watching, inner city dwelling wanker is transplanted into a rural environment where, apparently, velvet shoes cease to become wet weather wear.

Here I am shown on a tractor. It is my belief that tractors are used for 'ploughing.' I am not entirely sure of what ploughing is having been carried off this particular tractor soon after this photo was taken when I realised I could not get down. This is in northern Finland. I am to understand that at this particular moment, this tractor is out of service on account of the fact that all of Finland is now under around 746m of snow. I'm back there next week.


Before we left Finland (about 3 months ago now) it had already begun to get a bit cold. Enough so that soon after this photo was taken my socks burned on my feet. This despite the sage advice of this particularly homicidal looking young man:


Indoor toilets? Flushing mechanisms? None of this fancy pants, fat cat life for me. There is a door, that is all you need.


After leaving Finland, which thrust me on the Olgaisation trajectory, we headed to Portugal. My entire immediate family descended upon the small Iberian land and the endlessly smaller 2 bedroom apartment in the Lisbon ghetto. It was here that my Olgaisation took on a more sinister and ethnically appropriate turn: Maria-isation.


Here you can see me and my similarly rustic sister stomping on grapes in my dad's farm in central Portugal. I had very much wanted to stomp grapes, but was shocked to discover that after about 5 minutes it starts to get boring. It ends up being pretty much just stomping. And there is something a little disconcerting about drinking something which is the product of you stepping on it. Especially seeing as I knew the amount of spiderwebs and other small insects which had miraculously got through my uncle's stringent quality control regimen.

And this is not me, but I feel the day is nigh.