Elena Vidal

I'm Elena Vidal, I'm 27 and I live in Russafa, a neighbourhood in Valencia, on the third floor of a building with no lift. I've shared the flat with my friend Marta for four years. It has a balcony over the street, a kitchen that won't fit two people at once and a hallway where my bike sleeps.

I started the violin at six because my cousin played clarinet in the village band and I wanted something that was only mine. I finished my degree at the conservatory with more nerves than glory, and since then I've earned a living however I can: in the afternoons I teach kids between seven and twelve at a music school in the neighbourhood, and on Saturdays I play in a string quartet called, with very little imagination, Cuarteto Turia.

I have stage fright. Not the kind you can see from the outside, but the kind that makes your bow shake on long notes and leaves your hands cold even when it's thirty-five degrees. I've been negotiating with it for years, and some days I win.

I go everywhere by bike, weddings included, when they let me. I love the sea in winter, when Malvarrosa beach is empty and smells of seaweed. I love the oranges from Marta's aunt, Tuesday films in the original language and markets first thing in the morning.

This blog isn't about anything in particular. It's about me, which is mess enough.