Marta's Journal

If any of my friends ever become Prime Ministers -- and trust me, with all their genius, some probably will -- I'll ask them to make a little, lovely bill, which will hopefully be passed, and which will prohibit parents from forcing their daughters to go surfing. Because, having been blackmailed (if I stayed at home, I wouldn't be able to touch my computer) and reminded of the fact that we've just bought a new wet suit for me and I'm not using it (fair enough), I've given in.

I have tried windsurfing and kite surfing before and I enjoyed them both, but, knowing my own weaknesses -- including "being really quite bad at all water sports" -- too well, I've had no desire to start learning another one. I couldn't be more right; it was pretty pointless and I didn't like a second of it. Or perhaps my attitude was just so wrong.

Whichever way we look at it, I have not even managed to stand on the board. Looking for a friendly, and perhaps not entirely sincere, soul, who would give me a word of kindness (say something about my undiscovered talents, for example), I confessed to the instructor that the whole thing was difficult. "Yeah," he replied, half-heartedly. His face was pretty much saying, For a person like you everything must be difficult.

Having said that, the instructor really tried his best to help me and I tried my best to avoid him. It seems that the instructors always sense my fear and then they see themselves as some sort of missionaries showing me that there's nothing to be afraid of, really, and that I'm going to be really good at windsurfing/kite surfing/simply surfing one day in the future (is it just me or does it really sound quite vague?). Just when I was trying to get as little assistance from the poor man as possible, i.e. reduce the embarrassment to minimum, I've heard my Dad saying, "I think she's got some problems with even getting her knees on the board. Maybe you could help her?" The instructor saw my face expression and almost laughed. Well, he smiled, at least.

And now I feel exhausted and my arms hurt. When you're really bad at something, it always surprises everyone around you that, after doing it, you're tired. It's not that I didn't try, it just didn't work. And somewhere in the back of mind I can still see my ten-year-old brother standing on the board without any huge effort!

Last but not least -- it's far more important than my little complaints, actually -- a Very Happy Birthday to my friend Viraj, who is seventeen today and who's had his first driving lesson already (this morning)!

I have read "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?' by Mr Albee. Great piece of literature as it is, it scared the hell out of me.

It has been recommended to me by my English teacher since I am planning to write a coursework comparing the presentation of marriage in two literary texts. And I do like reading plays -- I just love it. It always seems to me that you can read them much quicker than the novels although it might be a false impression (take any play from your shelf, look at the amount of free space on each page and you'll see what I mean). And imagining how it would all look on stage, seeing in your mind the faces the actors would make and the possible interpretations of play directions make it all a really enjoyable activity. My favourite read of this year so far (so far, I shall stress again since I've recently fallen in love with Mr Gaiman) has actually been a play -- the hilarious "The Importance of Being Earnest". So I thought it would be a good idea to write about "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?' in my coursework. I still do.

If any marriage at any time in history was as acid as the one shown in the play -- and, apparently, the main characters have been inspired by two of the scriptwriter's friends -- then I just pass. How could they enjoy stabbing each other with the hurtful lines and frightening manifestations? You may find out that you're done with it sooner than you'd expect but the vicious images and psychological games and mysterious appearances and revealed insecurities will stay with you for a while. Although I had realised what the truth hidden by Martha and George might be before I actually got to the major hint in the play, "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" is not a crime so it did not spoil the whole experience. I would recommend it to anyone interested in psychology and public intimidation, or maybe just in private drink parties starting after 2am. I definitely bore a thought or two after reading it.

Now I only have to find a novel showing marriage in quite a different light...