November

I finally got my own copies of the book I translated over summer. It's really nice to hold something that has my name in it. The book has been sold out to institutions and bookshops - both the Finnish and English language versions. Usually it's really hard for me to feel proud of myself, but this time is an exception. I know my mum'll be proud of me when she gets her copy, but I can't help wondering if Dad would be proud of me. He probably would, but I'll never know. Yesterday it was six years since he died. Every year I promise I'll start playing the guitar because I know he always wanted me to, and every year I manage not to. I listened to Layla though, hope it'll do :D

It's hard to talk about my dad. It's like people expect me to burst into tears when I talk about him, but I don't, because I didn't know him well enough. It's like I miss him through the same distance there was when he was alive. (England, Australia, quite a lot :D) The rest of the time I'm scared of other people bursting into years when I talk about him. Besides, it's hard to start a conversation that starts with the words "So, I miss my late dad.." And even if you succeed it's just a load of pity that I don't want anyway. I wanna talk about how my dad was the lead singer in a band, a genius at the guitar, drew me some brilliant cartoons and found out all different kinds of writing my name with pictures. I remember I freaked out when he brushed my hair because he had callouses from playing the guitar on his fingers. He always answered the phone "g'day stace" but never really got an australian accent that I can remember. Best of all, he came to save me when Jacqueline tried to perform brain surgery on me with a cotton bud. Thanks for that, dad.

Hope you like the book.