Old Jewish Cemetery, Prague

Here's me, on a cold day in 1993. What extraordinary gloves, and why am I wearing a denim jacket when it's -22 outside?

What advice could I give my younger self? Get a winter jacket?

I lived in Czechoslovakia which became Czech Republic and Slovakia whilst I was there. My home was a shoe manufacturing town in South Moravia, called Zlin (or Gottwaldow, during the totalitarian regime). I was a teacher of English at the State Language School, and taught teenagers, adults, factory workers, former teachers of Russian who were being re-educated to teach English. Life was hardly ever dull, because everyone wanted to know me. My liver probably became hobnailed that year, too. Drinking slivovice (home made plum brandy)is acceptable from getting-up time onwards. Compare that with Scotland, where you can't even get a drink before 10 am ...

This was January, and my younger sister K flew out to stay. We met in Prague, spent a few days there, and then headed back to my home town of Zlin. I remember that I took her to a disco in a former nuclear fallout bunker, and were taken to a hotel in the hills to eat pork, cabbage and dumplings (the national dish) and afterwards walked on a pond that was frozen solid. Or did we eat deep fried cheese that day? Of course, K also visited the Shoe Museum in Zlin. Who wouldn't have? Bat'a shoes were made in Zlin, and exported all over the world. Well, sort of. Maybe not to the richest countries.

I hadn't intended to blip this, but K was looking out some old cat photos, and sent me this one too. It's almost exactly twenty nine years ago. Half of my life away...

In other news, the singer Meatloaf died. Rest in Peace, Meat. And while I'm still testing positive for Omicron, Steve's now joined me in isolation, having tested positive too. He hadn't gone out since Monday, being a responsible person. At least it's not -22 outside, and we have enough food and drink.