It’s been a whirlwind couple of weeks and I can barely sit straight anymore. I long for a vacation and above all I long for a dose of summer heat. I can’t even remember what it feels like to be boiling hot, I seem to have been freezing way too long. I long for that feeling of dizziness, the way my clothes cling to my skin, the light head rush caused by the humidity and heat that hits me in the face like that very first drag of a rollie cigarette, as soon as I get off the plane. But what I long for most is arriving at my mother’s house in Kenya and seeing the glittering Indian Ocean from its breezy terrace. Meanwhile back in the real world I have been moving along swiftly. I just got back from Germany where I had a whale of a time. I could tell you about the spectacular Juergen Teller exhibition at the Kunsthalle in our neighbouring town I wizzed through. I could describe the comic experience of my second book signing/interview session at one of Regensburg’s local book stores. For someone with such tragic handwriting as myself it was a somewhat disconcerting experience. I could tell you about being photographed bouncing on our ancestors swan bed for my upcoming newspaper column or my TV appearance together with the ultimate punk Highness, Nina Hagen. All that however does not compare to my great day back in the beating game. Yes on our boar shoot this year I insisted and went out into the bush not once but twice. This time I braved the early morning hour, the cold and the rain(!) to head out with all the shots. I felt superbly sporty and fiercely independent. Beating is no place for little girls or spoilt and pampered huntsmen in their smart attire, it’s real lads business. As a beater you are at the forefront of the game without us there is not much business. The other option for a girl is to accompany a guy onto the high-stand and watch him shoot. Ok if you are head over heels in love you can just about manage to be sitting behind the monsieur ignoring the squealing sounds of the pigs, otherwise being a simple accessory is not my idea of a good time. The beaters on the other hand are the foreign legionnaires of every shoot and to me that in it self makes it the coolest activity of the day. Aside from that it’s quite a thrill tracking through the woods as the wild boar can be ferocious especially when they are injured. (Anyone who read my first FQR piece ever will know what I am talking about.) So this year I was allowed back into my beloved beating game. I had to promise to only bring a very selective entourage rather than hordes of giggling girls as I had done in previous years. So I asked my dear friend Juergen, since he had never been on a bore shoot before, as well as my  friend Giada and the wonderful Anabel. Geared up and dressed to the nines my friends took my cues “cold” and “dangerous” very seriously. Juergen arrived in east London chav gear. You could not have topped his outfit if you tried- hooded Parka, chunky camouflage trainers and tracksuit bottoms- piggies beware! I for one was dressed utterly inappropriately in skinny jeans and Uggs. I didn’t bother looking out of the window to see that it was raining (it was 7.30 in the morning!) The whole “danger” who-ha seemed a little blown- out of proportion as we didn’t even encounter a single boar all morning. It was however a pretty great walk through the rainy forest. We enjoyed it so much that we went out in the afternoon as well. Patience is a virtue as we all know and that time round we encountered plenty. At one point we even divided into little groups and tracked through the thicket after them and suddenly three little boars whizzed past us. The best thing about beating is that chatting, singing and squealing is part of your job. Towards the end of the beat we even encountered a little dead boar that had neatly passed out at the side of the road. He became the model of an impromptu photo shoot with non other than Mr Teller himself. Bet you didn’t see that one coming little piggy?

I for one was thrilled to have made a point out of beating again. It makes the whole weekend so much more fun. As we sink into the warm hut for tea in the afternoon the hearty ham sandwiches taste so much better and at night I was so refreshed I danced till the early morning hours. Honestly a day in the woods is an efficient and cheap power spa. After all nothing beats the beating game.

Have a wonderful Christmas my dears and see you all in 2010 xx

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