I am the victim of a hate campaign from an otherwise peace-loving nation. It is not a nice experience. I am being inundated with emails, comments and facebook messages from extremely angry Swedes. The reason for their anger? An article I wrote for the Daily Mail in 2006 on the eve of Sweden’s world-cup football match with England where I was rude about my former home country.

These Swedes have clearly failed to understand the first rule of journalism: simplify and exaggerate. Of course I don’t find Sweden as boring as I wrote, if I did why on earth would I go back there for the summer whenever I can? Why do I go to IKEA every weekend? Why do I make the effort to speak Swedish to my children. But for the purposes of the piece, I wrote about the negative aspects of the country. And it is true that I would never consider living there again. In part because it is so boring, but mainly because it is too bloody cold.

I have been shocked by some of the emails. Offensive, abusive and, worst of all, terribly badly written. Most of them are rants about how horrible England is and how I belong there and never deserve to set foot in glorious Sweden again. And then more abuse about me. How I am certainly not Swedish as I am so unpatriotic not to mention boilingly ugly. And how COULD I be so disloyal?

I sent a few to my mother (who is 100 per cent Swedish). She told me to ignore it, or better still, write another article about them.

Anyway to any Swedes reading this whom I have inadvertently upset: I am sorry. I love many things about Sweden and I may have been a bit harsh in my article. But at least it got your patriotic juices flowing and gave you all something to complain about apart from taxes and the snow.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

We were at the hairdresser’s yesterday reading short story entries for the magazine’s annual short story competition while Hassan transformed our lanky hair into luscious locks. Here is the outcome:

And here is an email Bea wrote to Rupert, it is vintage Bea….

Hey papa,I just got my nails plus toes done the colour is beautiful sparkly pink. I love you so much and soon I will be home say hi and how’s your work did you write a new piece in the paper ?Will you please call olivia’s phone when your on your way back home I <3 u (love you )sooooo much sorry to disturb you your probably in the middle of work right now did you know mummy had got a huge hat on her hair ? Well I better get going I have a lot to read so does mummy love you daddy and work hard quick question, r u gonna have your piece on the front page tomorrow?

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

While I was in India last week I interviewed the writer Amit Chaudhuri. He was charming and interesting and terribly middle-class. He comes from a middle-class Bengali family, grew up with “servants” as he called them (interesting note we PC Europeans would not think of calling them that but I just arranged for our maid’s visa and in her passport under job description is written just that) and went to private schools.

In a poem I read by him he said that: “My problem was how to suffer, for I knew suffering to be essential to art; and yet there was little cause for suffering. I had loving parents and everything I required.”

This is a sentiment Rupert and I have often discussed. OK so we have had our share of suffering but we have often wondered if we are just not angst-ridden enough to be serious writers. Actually all I ever wanted to be was Jilly Cooper so not much need for angst but you get the idea. Chaudhuri laughed when I asked him about his lack of suffering and said, “I suffered because I didn’t suffer.”

I am pleased to report that Leonardo will be able to call himself a serious writer. He is still suffering because of his “girlfriend”, the feckless Eloise. In fact the total angst and suffering knows no bounds. He won’t even CONSIDER the option of another girl and cries at the very mention of her. Here he is looking dreamy on the beach at the weekend.

The only sign that he is toughening up was that yesterday, after weeks of pleading from us all, he proudly told us “I haven’t called her for two days. Normally I call her every day, all day. Now she’ll be thinking ‘why hasn’t he called?’ Ha. I’m doing hard to get.”

With advisers like his canny sisters, there is no way his strategy can fail. And if it does, it will just be fodder for more poetry.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

If I were to be reborn I would like to spend my childhood, or at least some of it, in Abu Dhabi. While I am mad about a kind of ‘Swallows and Amazons’ upbringing in England I wonder how possible that is any more and also if life as a child here also has its unforgettable elements.

Last night we were invited by the Abu Dhabi Tourism authority to the final event for Gourmet Abu Dhabi. This is a food festival running over two weeks, with lots of top chefs and expensive dinners and wine-tastings. Tickets are normally around £100 each so I was relieved that we were invited, especially as we had all five children with us, as well as Miranda, Leo’s friend.

The children ran from stall to stall picking up delicacies like giant prawns in lemongrass sauce and pineapple flakes with ginger ice-cream. They were fussed over by everyone. The setting was the gardens of a magnificent five-star hotel on the beach with a huge pool in the middle at the other side of which a band was playing.

We immediately recognised the band as the one Bea, Leo and I had seen (and met backstage) in Dubai so the children went to talk to the singer during the interval. Minutes later they had secured their spot on stage. The pictures are not great, but you get the idea. I am proud to say they all danced and grooved and there was not a moment’s stage fright.

When I was their age my pop star practices were limited to a shampoo bottle in front of our bathroom mirror. My point is that this is not only a land of opportunity for adults, most of whom come here to earn lots of money and secure their financial future, unless you’re a journalist of course, but you do then get in free everywhere. But it is also in many ways a land of opportunity for children because you never know what might happen.

I know in England, for example, that Health & Safety would soon have put a stop the appearance of our budding pop stars, even if we had managed to get close to the singer in the first place.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

I went to Cairo for the second time a few weeks ago and hated the poverty, the traffic and the chaos. This morning I landed in Calcutta. It is, if anything, much more chaotic. But for some reason I love it.

There is possibly less pollution, at least the air seems more breathable, but I think there must be more to it than that. Instead of seeming irritating and dusty and nasty, the Calcutta chaos feels vibrant and colourful and exciting. I long to wander down the little lanes and explore, to talk to people and to see how they live. Instead of finding this chaos irritating I find it inspirational. Here are some pictures I took on the way from the airport. I particularly like the Calcutta Ferrari, look for the famous horse.

Maybe my enthusiasm for India is in part due to its people. They are noble, gentle and kind. On the plane I met a gentleman from Hyderabad who asked me what country I belonged to. He then helped me get a taxi and made sure I was all right. When I thanked him he said; “It is my duty to help a foreigner in my country”.

This afternoon I am interviewing the author Amit Chaudhuri and then I fly out at the crack of dawn back to my babies. I can’t wait to see them and to bring them to see the charming chaos of India soon

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

Carla said this morning at breakfast that we should always remember this trip and how wonderful it has been. For example, if we get captured by Somali pirates we should think about how happy we were at Shreays and how beautiful it is.

I think these past few days I have understood must be what it is like being a princess. We are alone in this luxury retreat and treated like royalty. We probably wake up a bit earlier than your average princess, but that is to do yoga, so I don’t mind.

In case I ever do get kidnapped by Somali pirates I am going to list some of the special things about Shreyas here so I can remember them:

The tree opposite the yoga pavilion which I focus on when I do my tree pose

The flowers strewn over the tables at mealtimes

The ginger tea

The smiling zen staff

The sound of my yoga instructor’s voice when he says ‘balance’ and ‘be aware of’ whatever part of my body I am meant to be aware of or ‘very good’ which he doesn’t say very often

The amazing food; day after day

The dinners, always candlelit and in a different part of the garden

The crisp, clean, elegant swimming pool

The little garden with flowers and a tree in it outside our tent which is almost part of the bathroom (there is no wall)

The tall palm trees swaying gently in the wind

The massages from Jason who has magical hands

The library where you feel you could spend a lifetime reading all the books (not all, there are some terrible ones, left behind by people I assume when they realised how bad they were)

The morning and evening sun by the pool

The sound of birds all around

And just in case this list isn’t enough, here are some more photos…

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

It is said that women of a certain age discover either God or gardening. I have instead discovered yoga. I can’t imagine life without it. And in fact looking back, one of my earliest memories of my mother is of her with her arms under her legs in some impossible position with her chest and head flat on the floor.

I don’t quite know what took me so long. OK so I dabbled before, but now I really think it is something I need to do every day and something I will keep doing for as long as I can.

Here at Shreyas of course we do it twice a day. Yesterday was amazing. I even got my nose down onto one leg in a forward bend. Something I never thought I would be able to do.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever done that,” I told the teacher and Carla. We are the only guests here right now, total heaven.

“You’ve got to have a very big nose,” said Carla.

Between yoga sessions, massages and writing part two of my novel (12902 words done so far) I am reading up about yoga and what it means. The word itself means union; which makes sense. It is the only exercise I have ever done where your body and mind are united.

I suppose in some ways that makes it a bit like sex. But if I had the choise, right now I’d opt for yoga. I guess that makes me a woman of a certain age…..

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

So far the Shreyas retreat has come as close to my idea of an ideal way to live as I have ever experienced.

Set in the lush Indian countryside it has beautifully landscaped gardens, a yoga pavilion, lovely swimming pool and little tree-houses where you can chant, or just chill and read a book.

The food is outstanding; all vegetarian Indian. There is no alcohol but actually I don’t even mind.

The day begins at 7am with yoga, then breakfast then meditation and chanting. Following this there is free time until lunch when I work on the novel, have almost written 5000 words, not bad considering my brain is a little mushy to say the least. There is another yoga session at 4 and then dinner at 8. Dinner is in the garden, candlelit.

There are lovely touches all around, like flowers strewn on the tables and every time you take your shoes off to go inside someone comes and turns them around for when you come out again.

My friend Carla has arrived and it is lovely to be with her. There are also some lovely people staying here. I guess in a yoga retreat you’re unlikely to get any real plonkers.

OK there are times when I want to giggle, like this morning when I was sitting cross-legged with my fingers in my ears chanting. Happily Carla was in another class (the easier one, natch) so didn’t see me or I would have collapsed.

But most of the time I am really into the whole experience; the exercise, the breathing, the chanting and the feeling of total and utter blissful relaxation. They say in the literature that a holiday is actually a holy day. I’m not religious but this is as close to holy as I have ever felt. I can’t believe we have another week to go…..

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

Tomorrow morning at 4am I fly to Bangalore and my yoga retreat. I am not travelling with the wife of the Swiss ambassador this time so have taken the precaution of upgrading myself for a cost of around 100 euros. This is not something I would normally do, but my husband told me to. And as I am a very obedient wife I followed his instructions. So although flying at that hour is terrible; it is made a lot less terrible by the thought that I will be in sitting in the part of the plane I normally only look longingly at.

Tomorrow I start in earnest on finishing the novel. I have worked out that if I want to finish it while I am there I need to write 5,000 words a day. Between sleeping, yoga, chanting and chatting to my friend Carla this may prove tough, but I will do as much as I can.

As I now live a life with no expectations (yeah, right…) I am not expecting anything at all from my trip. I will just go with a Zen attitude and accept whatever I find. Except for the business class flight and lounge of course – that had better be damn good. But if it’s not I can always blame Rupert….

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010

Heaven knows what this means but I don’t want to be number 100, so please can you vote for me and ensure that I get to at least number 99….

Here is the link and then you have to click on HOT 100 and ‘click here to nominate’.

www.ahlanlive.com/18417-2010-hot-100?img=97220

Meanwhile the really big news here is that out of three goldfish bought 10 days ago, two died today. What can be the reason? Poisoning? Boredom? Overfeeding? Lack of attention?

Typically Olivia’s is the sole survivor; just like Sushi Sam who is swimming about in a cow trough in the Savoie with his friend Sausage John despite a kidnap attempt and below-freezing temperatures.

He would win the Top 100 goldfish award, that’s for sure.

Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2010