My author love

Seven years ago today I married Oliver Balch. We're not together today (Ollie just flew from Bombay to Bangalore) but don't read an itch into that.

I haven't found India an easy experience, but I don't regret being here for one second. I love that Ollie takes me on these adventures, and for all the difficult days in Cochin we're having a very special family time which we'll remember fondly, always.

Seth's photos of Ol and me are mostly smudgy from his finger prints on the lens or just capture our tummies, both of which have gone a bit flabby and certainly won't be featured on this blog. So here's one from Ollie's Viva South America! event at The Travel Bookshop in January, which was our last date (and that was with about 30 other people). Aaah, for Argentina and babysitting on tap.

The message is in the post

Thanks to my Pa the postman has dropped off mail for us twice this week. Post was always hit and miss in Argentina and I love receiving letters (yes, that IS a hint), so this is very exciting.

Ollie has also promised to write to us while away on his travels. I have a collection of wonderful long letters from him while he was writing Viva! that I read over and over.

I must starting sending letters myself. First one will be to my Armenian grandmother, the most prolific writer I know, and for whom a letter on the doormat is the highlight of her day. She also knows just how it is to be in a faraway land, with two small boys and very little money, having done the same herself 60 years ago.