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The Sulphur Baths The marinating process has begun. I am cocooned in layers of shlopping and pattering sounds that reach me at different intensities, the ceaseless and formless sounds of water. It is a dank and foggy cocoon. I am melting in an eggy fug. The walls are like mud. The ceiling is domed like a church with a cylindrical crown on top where one would expect to see frescos. Instead, a grimy glow comes from a window that hasn't been cleaned for decades. I'm in a blue-tiled pot. Simmering, stagnating, steeping in sulphur steam. Flesh is all around. We turn into dough. Russian and Georgian echoes from the naked masseuses. I have deeply seeped into oblivion. "Girl, come." I am laid on a concrete slab. I'm kneaded and crushed, slapped and stretched. I am scrubbed in coffee grounds. I feel like I'm in a burrow, condemned to damp gloom. No shame here. Legs wide open, women shaving pubes. Folds are lifted to access various crevices. The water splatters down. Th...

A few days prior to 26th May, my Georgian colleagues darkly joke that this might be one of the last independence days. On the same day, my friend tells me he wants to live in Europe because he is sick of living under the constant fear of a full-scale Russian invasion. This stress of insecurity has intruded on his whole young life. His childhood village was in South Ossetia which was stolen by the Russians in 2008, robbing him of memories that once were simply part of a happy childhood. Now it's painful for him to remember. I am squashed within the patriotic crowds. Children are on men's shoulders and wave Georgian flags clutched in sweaty hands. It's getting hot. Children clamber up pillars and wave flags on the ledges. I see a kalashnikov tattooed on someone's neck. Children are crowned with flowers and wave the flag of the European Union. I can smell puffs of garlicky breath. Sweat beads on faces. Children's backpacks, of the flowery or ladybird or superman variet...

Recently reflected on how I've spent most of my work life shovelling excrement. Horse, cow, rabbit, ferret, pig, human, dog (does snail count? Used to own two African snails, god bless, Peter & Judith), bird, and most recently, mouse. My brother kindly reminded me of this fact when we were catching up outside at home. We were sitting at the table looking out over the view of hills that roll far beyond. A slice of field, yellow with flowers, cut through the green. I wasn't really listening to what he was saying and interrupted, reminiscing about the time when during his GCSE 'revision' period (he was mostly taking selfies for his insta) he had come downstairs to this very same table when my mum, dad and I were having tea together. He had gazed into the distance at the aforementioned rolling hills. We all thought he was gathering himself to recount his hard day's findings on Heller's Catch 22. Instead, he breathed out deeply and said, 'I wish I was a cow...