Dear Petra

It seems at last that winter is fading, giving way to spring. Most of the trees are still bare and damp, but there is the occasional dab of blossom on a cherry tree. Its been cold but very sunny all weekend, my spirits have been lifted despite the fact that war is bound to start this week. I find it interesting to see how immanent war effects the general public's state of mind. It certainly didn't effect me last time, during the Gulf War I was in San Francisco... I was 25 and spending what was to be a year in the states, I didn't have any troubles or worries or real responsibilities. The War was the background to my stay, we marched against it, and on the evening it started watched it unfold in lurid 3D computer graphics on the TV in an empty bar. I remember the graphics particularly, perhaps it was the first time I'd seem 3d computer graphics, or perhaps they just seemed garish and American compared to the more tasteful graphics on the BBC.

I think this is a different war, its a different century. The promise of war and the worlds other (related????) troubles have affected my general well being and happiness. The only positive thing that I can gain from it is that there has been - in this country at least - such an out cry against it. Its almost as if the general population is sick to the stomach with the idea of war, as if we are more thoughtful and better informed than ever.

On Saturday afternoon Connie's friend arrived, we pulled out the futon and let her sleep off her jet lag.. the effect of an early flight rather than any great distance travelled. Its been nice having her to stay and its been good to have a socialable weekend. Vimco and I tend to be so tired from the week that we don't get to do much at the weekends anymore. Interesting to talk to your American friends in the pub on Saturday night, to see Connie again, to drop into Ted's Studio as they were working on the new Ivy Go Heavy record... interesting for me to see the creative process that goes into a record like that. My music is made in such isolation with little or no input from others it was quite an eye opener.

The sun just kept shining all weekend and I was able to appreciate where I live, the short walk across the park into Stokie, a bar lunch in our favourite pub sitting out side the little back yard. Watching an older man in his 50s with a girl in her 20s, he was showing off.. using his age as an aphrodisiac 'in 1968, I was at the round house ...'he said (not something a woman could do)

I kept watching time, because time goes so quick.. suddenly it was Monday morning and I was in Grey Town Suburb again, walking slowly (in the dazzling sunlight) along the tube platform , up the steps, through the ugly shopping centre, and the suburban streets.

Ms Gunn

Dear Nessi

Yesterday I met my Danish friends in Brick Lane. It's been years since I've been there. Although they now have Camden style warehouses full of overpriced 'American retro' clothes, the narrow streets are still full of North Africans and Pakistanis, jostling for space to sell electronic wares, bootleg videos and DVDs, socks, tyres, tools and cleaning products. On the edges of the market, scruffy looking people spread out what looks like all their possession- old clothes, telephones, nick knacks. Unofficial market stalls - mere blankets on the sidewalk. I couldn't help thinking about how we are on the verge of war; what it will be like in this market once it starts? Brick Lane was attacked by the 'nail bomber' several years ago. A lone racist, who took planted makeshift bombs in black, Asian and gay areas. Anyone can make a nail bomb. You don't need anthrax to kill people. As we walked we talked; everyone is deeply worried about this war. It casts shadows even the bright spring sun can not help.

Later in the day pain started to creep in. I was not too concerned. I've mainly stuck to my no wheat, dairy, sugar, caffeine, tobacco or alcohol regime - the diet that has made my periods bearable for the last 7 months. But the pain got worse. I dug out the dregs of that very old op*um when I got home. Took some pills, and had a hot water bottle. I had already promised Miss Chaos and the Scuba Diver I'd meet them at Mr Flea's gig. It was an anti-war benefit. Much as I wanted to lie in front of the tv I had to go out.

On my bike the pain increased, as did my anger. This was not supposed to happen. All that discipline! And what for? I took more pills as I locked my bike. By the time the band finished I was hardly able to stand. Miss Chaos and the Scuba Diver walked me as far as Church Street, trying to get me into a cab, even offering to pay for it. I was stubborn and somehow peddalled home.

This morning I had a hot water bottle clumsily strapped around my middle, like a huge bandage over an open wound. It felt like I'd been stabbed in the stomach, and if I took away the hot water bottle, blood would gush all over the bus that I took to the doctor's office.

I have resigned myself to taking the Pill. It will mean no more pain. It will also mean no accidents. The more time ticks by, the more I want to leave things in fate's hands; should a condom break now, 7 years into this relationship, there will be no 'morning after pill'. But now fallible latex will be replaced by infallible chemicals. I hate the idea but I can't be a slave to this pain forever. And it's mainly so that this pain does not ruin our trip to Cuba.

Since I was too ill to take my bike, I thought I'd also return a pair of crutches that Quiffgirl left round here ages ago. The receptionist at the doctor said I had to take them to the hospital instead. I was in agony, and 'forgot' the crutches under the waiting room seats.

When I got home, the doctor's office phoned me and yelled at me about it. They said I had to go back and get the crutches. I was so ill I burst into tears. The doctor is far away; I never got a new one when I moved. I phoned Miss Haifa, angel that she is - she lives near there and will pick them up. We also talked about periods. She had fibriods, like you did; she said recently she also burst into tears when a heavy period came and she feared the return of her problems. She is 51 and never had children. Are we doomed to suffer period problems the rest of our lives, too, Nessi?

Ugh, I must go lie down now... I had more to write but it will have to wait.

Petra