nicolette kaponis

There’s a reason New York City was considered the fifth character in ‘Sex and the City’. There’s a reason people know what you’re talking about when you say the City of Light. There’s a reason you can visit Notting Hill and still see the ‘blue door’. It’s because London, Paris, New York are big, beautiful cities that add depth, romance, adventure, glamour, to life’s stories. They’re the locations you for your characters, to give them a fighting chance of making sure anything, anything at all, can happen to them. Whether it’s falling in love with a film star, discovering they’re a wizard, cultivating the life of an ‘it’ party girl or just, well, being Parisian, these cities are the places to BE. The places where you can get whatever you want, whenever you want it. Or so I thought.

Forget Christmas.  Yes, it may have the gifts and the longer holiday, but when it comes to the important stuff, like food, Easter, and its culinary delights, absolutely rule the year. Nowhere is this more true than Greek households the world over, and especially (because I’m not biased AT ALL) at Chez Kaponis. Yum (Those of you with first hand knowledge of what I’m talking are nodding your heads and salivating right now, aren’t you?) From the youngest age, Easter for me was a time of both excitement and one long, loud groan, because as much as Easter spoilt me with delicious treats, it also made me work hard for them. Firstly, there was the issue that Easter itself was a moving target. It didn't occur at the same time as 'normal' Easter, save for every fourth year or so, and I found myself eating chocolate eggs either way before or way after my friends. (This, I realised much later, is because Orthodox churches use the Julian calendar for Easter festiv

I’ve been with you for twelve weeks now, and we’ve ALMOST never had a row. I expect that’s ‘cause I knew it would end, just before I went ‘round the bend. I’ve developed a bit of a twitchy eye, and rarely make it outside to see the sky. Still, there were highs to the everyday, though not enough to entice me to stay. Oh how I long to be back with my writing, instead of on the footpath fighting to buy my lunch with the rest of the crowd, though I guess I should feel pretty proud. I was again part of this Bird’s flock, but thank F I’ve only got eleven days left on the clock.

Celebrities! They’re just like us! And when spotting one in real life, act cool and don’t-lose-your-shit-because-they’re-just-people-and-it-would-be-inadvisable-to-become-a-hysterical-maniac-in-front-of-one. The above mantra is, I’m sure, how most people think when they find themselves in the orbit of famous people, especially in cities like New York or London. Whether A-list or Z-list, a celebrity spotting should be a brief moment of eye contact to confirm that, yes, you’re aware of said person’s status, and then you’re supposed to move on with your life. Self-respect intact. Much like living in London/New York, you’re not supposed to run around screaming about how much YOU LOVE THIS TOWN/CELEBRITY. You’re supposed to just keep calm and carry on. My I’ve-just-spotted-a-celebrity-in-the-wild reaction hadn’t really been tested prior to my move back to London. I like to think it was because I wasn’t bothered, but it’s more likely that I was just in the wrong place at the