Chelsea Flower Show

The Chelsea Flower Show was great fun this year, the day only being slightly marred by lots of travel complications on the way home. But until four o’clock we had a lovely day wandering about in the sunshine. It was much busier this year, perhaps because the weather was so much better than last, and so we spent much of the morning huddled between ladies in their summer frocks and elder gents, Show Guides in hand, peering at the show gardens over shoulders. I spent a lot of time on tiptoe – pointing my phone over heads in the hope of getting a photo that showed at least some of the garden.


We voted for an early lunch (mostly because I hadn’t had any breakfast and was beginning to feel it!) before heading back out in the afternoon and fortunately getting a better look. I ended up with a head full of ideas, feeling really rather hot and with sore feet – definitely Pimm’s o’clock. It was glorious to sit back under a tree and sip a nice tall glass.

I was happy to see a wide range of designs, lots of fun new ideas and some new variations on familiar ideas. I especially loved the Un-Tei Garden of Clouds (although so did everyone else - there was always a hoard of people standing around it admiringly)! There was a "Where the Wild Things Are" garden - complete with boat and bed of grass (real bed that is). Then there was the Chetwood's Urban Oasis - a fantastic solar powered "flower", which opens and closes and pumps water around the garden. Probably wouldn't fit in my little patio though.

Of course, heading back into London a while later was rather weird. From greenery and gardens to the smog of Slone Square! But then disaster struck, on the tube we were told that Victoria station was closed, so started heading for London Bridge. Of course, Sod’s Law, halfway to London Bridge I saw that it was only Victoria tube station that was closed, but we were nearly at London Bridge so didn’t see the point in turning round. Heh – until we got to London Bridge that is! A trackside fire (which the tube driver helpfully didn’t actually tell us about until we got to the station) meant that the station was closed. So out we trooped, across the platform and back the way we came. Then a long walk along to Victoria, along with lots of other people, until we finally caught the train home. There was snoozing, and not much chatter – we were just glad to have got a seat!

Fortunately by the time I got home, foot sore and knackered, my head was still full of alliums and rills, beds in the sunshine and silk parasols galore. Fantastic!

adventures in town

This week has been a bit of an eye-opener. I suspect it’s the fact that I’m in town during the day now, rather than stuck off in Falmer, watching squirrels and commenting on dandelion growth. In town, “things” happen.

Like last night, when we were 20 minutes late to Stewart Lee and therefore weren’t allowed in. OK, so we shouldn’t have been late (slapped wrists etc), but surely theatre's and cinema’s have been coping with late arrivals for decades? Couldn’t they have just let us in at the side, I’d have promised to be quiet. But no. They couldn’t. Grumpiness followed.

Which reminds me of last Thursday, when Katharine and I popped to the Dorset for lunch, and finally got it, 50 minutes later and wrong. I’ve decided their Eggs Benedict isn’t that nice, I’ll just go to Bill’s next time.

Today has been the turn of car related incidents. I jumped out of my skin on my way home at lunch time when a truck suffered two blow-outs opposite St Peters Church. The driver though, was very entertaining: he got out, checked his truck, shouted at the sky and drove off – tyres flopping against the road and wheels all buckled. Lord knows how far the loony got!

And on my way home, along a very near stretch of road was a Domino’s pizza delivery chap, having been knocked off his moped (I think, he look shocked, there was a smell of petrol, an over-turned moped and a couple of ambulance men). Fortunately my head was full of spreadsheets at the time, so I managed to cope with all this excitement just fine.

So tomorrow I’m going to leave exciting Brighton and head off to the Chelsea Flower Show. Nothing is likely to happen there, except perhaps a glimpse of Charlie Dimmock and or a wilting allium. At least, I don't think anything is likely to happen.....

and so to work....

Shameless plug time! For those of you who haven’t already seen it elsewhere (and have at least a vague interest), the dConstruct 07 site is now up, running and looking rather fab thanks to lots of hard work from Paul in the Clearleft office. I’m really looking forward to it, not only will it be my first conference, I’ll also be helping organise it, and will have the great pleasure of flying back from the desert and San Francisco to attend. (OK, that bit I’m not looking forward to quite so much!)

Tickets will be available from July, so subscribe to the RSS feed for regular updates.

Right, that’s enough plugging from me! Back to the joys of the weekend.

so sleepy..

I am absolutely exhausted. My head is full of Gantt charts, numbers from lists of invoices and PO’s. I’ve finished day three of my first week and I can barely keep my eyes open, but I am really rather happy.

It is typical that I start my new job in the week that we are getting out and doing the majority of our festival stuff. After a lovely weekend up in Leeds visiting Julie & Jonny (with a lovely day at the Forbidden Corner followed by the best ice-cream I’ve had in a long time), we spent Monday evening in the Udderbelly watching the Caesar Twins. I wasn’t really sure what to expect, having been told various things about half naked men in baths (poor Tom didn’t look impressed!) but the acrobatics were really rather fab – if a little painful looking.

Yesterday we headed out to James’ Telling Lies night, where I giggled about Bill and the mice with placards, and laughed until tears streamed down my face to the wonderful “pig heart boy” song. I will do my best to make it to the “Poetry in a Brothel” readings, firstly it sounds like great fun and secondly because it’s the first time I’ve had a chance to visit a “massage parlour” – not that I’ve ever really felt the urge to before, but you need to try these things I guess.

This evening though I have a night off, I’ve ordered pizza, I’ve blearily eyed a DVD for the evening and I plan on closing the laptop, ignoring the phone and curling up on the sofa with my bears. I wonder how long I’ll last before my eyelids give up on me and the snoring starts? (Not that I really snore, you understand. No, never. Well, maybe after a couple of beers.. )

drink pimps

So I woke up this morning, looked around, groaned and thought, “yes, I do really have to get up.” It wasn’t nice, and I blame the rhum entirely. Last night we took my parents out to Drink Pimps at the Hanbury to (really rather belatedly) celebrate my mum’s birthday and give dad a chance to show off his cocktail making prowess.

We arrived, sat at a table complete with shaker, slop bucket, ice bucket, knife, strainer and muddler and were given a free cocktail to get us in the mood. Wehay! This was followed by a brief presentation on La Mauny rhum and how it’s made in Martinique (with lovely photos of the Caribbean, just to make us green with envy). And then the tasting; white rhum, amber rhum and old rhum (aged in bourbon or cognac barrels). Yum!

It was about this time that I thought to myself, “mmm, there’s rather a lot of rhum here, I suspect tomorrow morning will be painful”. Wow, my powers of deduction are unsurpassed! This morning was definitely ouchy.

We were given our secret ingredients and sat down to invent the “Caribbean Spray”. It involved bashing a lot of fruit about, squeezing a lot of lemon and lime and commenting on the fact that guava juice wasn’t all that helpful. I hasten to add that we didn’t win, but we did get wonderfully sticky fingers!

an exciting update

What a week! Things have been remarkably like a roller coaster for the last couple of days, but it’s Friday and I think I finally have a clear enough head and a couple of minutes to tell you all about it.

On Monday night, still recovering from a rather heavy weekend courtesy of the MacKriell’s, six of us headed out to the Jooglebury for a Catalyst Club special. Ken Campbell regaled us with highly amusing tales of the Liverpool Science Fiction Theatre, how buying a parrot is only slightly more expensive than a computer and the joys of decorating dog poo (I kid you not!) It was really very funny, if a little weird, and cheered me up good and proper.

The lovely Mr Glasnost came around for dinner on Wednesday, complete with two bottles of red and in perfect timing to coincide with a fantastic job offer. Drink I did, and was merry (if somewhat distracted and liable to shout “woohoo” at inopportune moments). So yesterday I dashed about, handing in my resignation letter, trying to explain my new job to numerous people and being stopped in car parks, corridors and toilets and asked, “what are we going to do without you?”

What will I be doing now, you ask? Well on the 14th May I start as Studio Manager/Project Assistant at Clearleft. I am a combination of very excited and a just a little bit scared. I’ve been at the University for over five years now, so working somewhere else is a bit of a daunting prospect. But it is my ideal job, with a bunch of great guys and in the industry I want to work in – what could be better?

And now I shall go back to grinning happily at people and occasionally shouting “woot!” Me? Chipper? Good Lord yes!

bargaining

On Wednesday evening Tom & I headed out to the theatre to see The Bargain, a new play by Ian Curteis based on the imagined conversations (i.e. blackmail) that took place between Robert Maxwell and Mother Teresa when she visited London way back in 1988. I’m not really sure what to say about the play, the jokes were fairly obvious, a lot more could have been done with the characters (Maxwell was the typical tyrannical capitalist). Mother Teresa was slightly more interesting, and came off as a cool, hard businesswoman rather than meek and angelic.

It’s not so much that I didn’t like the play (I only gave it a 4), but I’d decided to wear my pointy shoes and they were a little distracting. I mean you do need to make a bit of an effort to look good when you go to the theatre. At least, that what I’ve always been told. So to make up for the fact that I was wearing jeans (I had a minor crisis trying on a number of skirts and failing miserably to like any), pointy heels and a pashmina were my saving graces. Unfortunately my little toes didn’t really agree. They got somewhat squished. And the pashmina? Well apparently that’s just a scarf!

So last night, when all the girls bundled onto the sofa, wine or jasmine tea in hand, it was a great relief to be in a big cozy jumper and slippers. Me, style? But of course! I have a style all of my very own.

dark energy

Yesterday evening we headed out to Café Scientifique at the Branch Tavern to listen to Bob Nichol answer the question “Has anyone seen our universe?”

Now me and maths, and physics for that matter, just don’t get on. I did try but for some reason each lesson became a struggle to keep my eyes open, to concentrate as equations and theories went way over my head and travelled off into the distance. And brown: there seemed to be a lot of brown involved in both maths and physics. Brown shirts, brown trousers, brown floors. However I was greatly impressed to understand (all bar the equations of course) the premise behind dark energy.

What really got to me though were a couple of small sentences. Firstly, what if the mass within the universe has enough gravity to stop it expanding? Will it then stop and reverse the expansion? Hold on! I thought, does this mean that we’ll end up being squished out of existence? And then my brain went down the whole, “but if we’re not here, and the universe isn’t here – what would be left?” series of questions, which make my brain boggle and the rest of me feel slightly disorientated.

Secondly there was supernovas, and how if one happened near us we’d have a whole two seconds before our atmosphere evaporated. “Don’t worry about global warming or your mortgage!” we were told. But somehow I have a feeling that the bank might get a little bit shirty if I told them that I didn’t want to pay the mortgage anymore because a supernova could happen at any minute and then we’d all be dead.

Fascinatingly though, I learnt that gravity may work in a different way when dealing with space-time. In fact, whole chunks of gravity may be leaching off into another dimension. String theory and the eleven dimensions are apparently not just way beyond my mathematical abilities but everyone else’s too, and so five dimensions seems a sensible place to start. Five? I thought. And then decided to stop thinking and go home and have some dinner.

picnic

The first picnic of the year, and boy was the weather lovely. I've decided that picnics are the way forward this summer. There was something simply glorious about finding a patch of warm grass in Brighton, away from the hoards where you can lay down your blanket, nestle against your boy and only have the gulls to fend off.

We settled in Queens Park at lunchtime, having climbed up Southover Street panting (me) and admiring the view (Tom). After a quick look around we decided on a patch of grass near the pond, in sight of the ducks but far enough away from the nearest group of people. And then we began, tearing apart the loaf of soft white bread, smearing it with delicious dolcelatte or brie, fingers greasy from samosas and glugging on ginger beer. Personally I really don't like ginger beer, but glug I did, and only having drunk much of a can in one go did I let out a "yuck". No one can say I didn't try.

It was glorious, and since then I have filled my head with images of picnics in fields of long grass, picnics by the river at Barcombe, picnics on the sand in Camber... and of course without the lashings of ginger beer. There's nothing quite like them, and with a "garden" I can only describe as a walled-in area of concrete, they are likely to be the only times this year I shall be able to feel the grass between my toes.

I know how the green woods laugh

It was the perfect start to Easter Sunday, a walk out along the farm track at the bottom of the paddock. The track leads along by fields of bright yellow oil seed rape, blue sky above and the warm sunshine beating down on the cracked earth.





We walked along to the end of the track and then up and around the fields, before picking our way through the yellow to a patch of woodland. Under foot the branches cracked, primroses, celandines and bluebells a carpet under still leafless trees. There was no noise at all but the bird song and hum of bees. And there we stood soaking it up and dreaming, my boy and I.

barcelona

Tom and I headed off to Gatwick at around 4pm on Thursday, dashing through the rain, eager to start the holiday on sunnier soil. We landed in Barcelona at around 9:30pm, picked up my bag and headed through the dark in a taxi to our hotel on Carrer del Bruc. A brief unpack and change later and we were headed into the city for a lovely meal at Ciutat Comtal and a night of exploring Las Ramblas. We drank beer in a bar with bicycles hanging from the ceiling, spent time wandering through the narrow lanes and remarking on the number of people trying to sell us beer in red cans.

Friday dawned bright and sunlit and after finding coffee and breakfast we headed out to the Gaudi park. Despite much searching, we only saw a couple of kittens but spent the morning wandered through the gardens, sun on our backs. We caught the metro to Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s cathedral, which stands tall and grotesque, surrounded by cranes. With fascination we walked through the unfinished arches, staring up at windows, the façade, the gargoyles, through squinting eyes. It is an amazing structure, but one that leaves me feeling slightly unsettled.

We dined by the port, braving the cooling air until we had too many goosebumps and headed back for cocktails in a basement bar. We found a gem, the Palace Hotel, which served us mojitos with a pile of crisps and let us sink into the sofa for a few hours to talk.

On Saturday we caught up on shopping before heading to the zoo. What struck me particularly was the lack of fencing. There sat this pride of lions, tails flicking at flies and blinking into the sunshine, with only a trench and a short fence between us. Fortunately they looked far too lazy to make an escape, but I wondered if, had one of them been feeling particularly peckish, they’d have made short work of trench, fence and a tasty looking small child. Just as the rain started to fall we headed back for a snooze before dinner at Dom’s, delicious Thai curry and lashings of wine. It seemed fitting that we head back for one last cocktail at the Palace on our last night, wandering through the darkness and making plans.

spring

Spring certainly sprung for me this morning as I walked home. Although there was that slight chill in the air, fresh and clear, there was a definite promise of warmth to come. I shut out the hum of traffic and just listened to the bird song gloriously rising from trees and gardens along the road. I can hear it now, above the tap of keys and ring of phones.

It is one of those quiet weeks in the office, where we stop to drink coffee and catch up every so often, gathering by the window to look out across the Downs. I keep hoping to see green on the trees, and look out daily for the first signs. The tree directly outside drops seeds over the course of one afternoon later in the year, which looks like snow falling. They stream through the open windows and cover the floor in a carpet of white fluff, but that isn’t until May.

If I had to choose a favourite month, it probably would be May. When the weather finally gets to the start of summer, with the first hot days. The flowers all seem to burst out in chorus, petals bright. It has a deeper significance to me now; one which makes the weather warmer, the days hotter, and the flowers seem even brighter than ever. It is truly wonderful and makes my heart sing.

of many spartans in leather pants...

It was another productive weekend for me. I spent a lovely evening on Friday with Katharine & Lyndsey, drinking wine and chatting. Katharine told us of her new found fame, she may well be appearing with Sam (or perhaps just Sam with his dragon and no Katharine at all) on the television in May – something to look out for.

Despite the wine I managed to get up early on Saturday and head out onto the quieter streets with my bike. It started off wonderfully well, no traffic at all, but having navigated the terror of the Vogue Gyratory I then realised that the A27 is in fact a ghastly wind tunnel. I found out what all my gears do (not a lot in the face of so much head-on wind!), and peddled forth bravely until my legs could take no more. On the plus side, the cycle back was much easier and I felt gloriously angelic for the rest of the day.

I met up with my boy, and we headed into town for pizza at the Atlas Lounge, delicious and many cheesed. We braved the cold and stalked around the town, buying trainers and trousers before heading back home for a doze.

The evening was spent in the charming company of Dan, Lucy, Ken, Rach, and Paul, settled in at the front of the cinema for 300. Many fights, many battle cries “Spar-tans!” and many pairs of leather pants… oh, and a rhino and a strange goat (although I’ve been told it was Pan.. not sure about that one). I liked it, but I suspect some of the others were hoping for something a bit more “epic”. Sin City, I admit, was better.

Next it was on to Dangermouse Dave’s birthday party. We guzzled cider, caught up with more folks and thoroughly enjoyed a party at someone else’s house for a change. Then we realised that, due to the clocks changing, it was in fact far later than we’d thought, so we headed home, fell fast asleep and didn’t stir till Sunday lunchtime. Further naps followed and a remarkably quiet and restful Sunday was had. Glorious!

spring cycling

On Saturday, whilst the weather was still warm and the sun was shining brightly, I took a wander into town with my boy for a spot of breakfast. We sat down in one of the window seats in The Dorset and people watched whilst I munched on eggs benedict. We talked bikes. I had decided, a day or so before, that a new bike was the way forward. I used to cycle around the countryside as a kid, and teenager, but after I passed my driving test all thoughts of such exercise were banished – the car reigned free!

I still love my car, it’s beautiful and is especially so in the summer months when I take down the top and speed off along country lanes, dual carriageways and the like. But there is something rather lovely about cycling along on a spring afternoon. At least, there is in my head.

So after breakfast we took a short walk to Baker Street Bikes, where I was introduced to my new hybrid; open framed and a shiny dark red. It wasn’t love at first sight, but there was a definite appreciation there. I added mudguards and a helmet to the list, a bike chain and lights and left it there to be fitted up.





This left us with an afternoon of sunshine, and a short trip out to Streat. The sun was indeed shining but the weather was also still cold, and it was with quiet determination that I drove back along the A27, fingers frozen to the steering wheel, wind blowing through my hair, bullishly refusing to put the top back up. An afternoon of sunshine, and the English go ever so slightly mad.

faust

We got off the tube at Wapping, finding Wapping Lane easily whilst I gulped down the last bit of my prawn and avocado sandwich. Finding number 21 was a little more difficult; we stopped along the road to consult a map that made no difference at all, and giggling we reassured ourselves that it was just a little further along. It was. There, on the right hand side of the road, opposite the Tobacco Dock Pirate Ship, stood 21 Wapping Lane; a sign on the side proclaiming “WARNING: dangerous structure keep out”. With fifteen minutes to go until Group 4 opened the gates and let us in, we wandered about a little, admired the pirate ship and remarked on how the evening and suddenly become somewhat more obscure than a usual trip to the theatre.

At seven they let us in, and we took the long walk around the warehouse to the entrance, clustered into the worn and dusty hallway area before being led down into the dark. Here we caught a brief glimpse of the bar before each being handed out a white mask that covered our faces entirely, then herded into a lift and whisked up to the third floor. At each floor a number of us were shoved out into the darkness and told to be brave before the lift gates slammed shut and the few of us remaining went down to the next. On the first floor we were all out, letting our eyes adjust to the darkness and beginning our adventure.

For three hours we wandered through the dark, over five floors in near silence. We met the old Faust, the young Faust, Mephistopheles, Gretchen, Angels and an Evangelist. We walked through 1950’s diners and bars, through rooms that smelt of musty old fabrics, rooms where white linen hung from the ceiling. There was a corridor of almost complete darkness, lined on each side by candles and statues of the Virgin Mary, black tassels of fabric hanging from the ceiling and noises coming from barely visible rooms on either side. A room entirely filled with racks and racks of what looked like old tape cassette holders led in to another room, pentacle painted on the floor. There were floors filled with pine trees, a fallen church spire on the floor. An attic room that was filled with the scent of lavender and a mannequin hidden in the corner that would make you jump out of your skin.

In between this wandering, we caught glimpses of the story. Followed characters for a short while on their journeys, or watched entire scenes play out. We were all present at the final scene, acted out in the basement and lit by a blue light. We watched as the characters danced, hanging by their arms from the ceiling, or leaping onto cage walls, and still that darkness and near silence.

It was the most exciting play I’ve ever seen, and certainly the most adventurous. Leaving the audience to wander around, finding their own play within the play, being able to follow whichever character they wanted and yet knowing that they would never be able to see the whole story, that other sections were happening elsewhere in the vast building. A truly fantastic night out.

developments

With a couple of early nights under my belt and finally having the wallpaper up in the sitting room (thanks Mum!), I am finishing the week in a much better mood than I started. I find myself curled up on the sofa, yet again watching rain splash against the windows, but with the whole weekend ahead of me. The lovely Donovan & Sam, just back from Australia, will be visiting this evening along with upstairs neighbours Lyndsey & Owen. Then tomorrow is Ikea followed by Amy and Em’s party whilst Sunday I intend to spend nestled somewhere quiet with a book and my boy.


Top most on my mind this afternoon though, is the news that the entire back of the building needs to be re-rendered as the current rendering has blown. This is hardly surprising; the maintenance so far seems to have consisted only of patching up cracks rather than dealing with the problem properly. It’s not an entirely unexpected development, but one that leaves me clutching at my wallet and wondering just how much it will cost. Perhaps replacing the kitchen will need to be put on hold for a while. But this work does need to be done, if the builder who looked at the building today is anything to go by, it hasn’t been for the past forty years! It’ll save time and money in the long term, but means that I won’t be decorating the bedroom just yet. There is damp coming in through the wall and I want to wait until any work is done before I start on that room.

So as I look up at my new wallpaper, and marvel as its lovely iridescence, I’m fully aware of just how much I will appreciate having one room done. It may be a long while yet before I can do anymore.

home and dry

Today is a day when it’s good to be home and dry. I can hear the rain lashing against the windows, watch the drops run down, glistening in the streetlight and all the while hear the gentle tick of the radiators warming up. Zack, who is a bear of much sense, is nestled on a cushion next to me, occasionally opening his eyes to give me a look before stretching out a paw and letting his chin fall back into place.

I have found myself thinking more often of living in the countryside over the past few weeks. This evening is one I can imagine being perfectly spent in front of an open fire, watching the flames crackle and snap whilst knowing full well that the downpours continue on the other side of the walls. The church bells I can hear ringing from St Peters I imagine are from a village church, nestled between yew hedges with a graveyard full of stones bearing barely legible epitaphs.

It is fortunate that I have nothing planned for the evening but to cook lasagne and curl up on the middle of my sofa, cushions and blankets and bears at the ready with an Agatha Christie or P D James and nothing to interrupt but Mr Zack’s slow purr. I have prescribed this night of self-indulgence to help ease the melancholy that has slipped over me for the past week or so. I shall refuse to let the grey clouds past the windows, instead basking in the soft light and tempting smells of browning mince and garlic.

valentines

At just after seven we loaded the car and headed out, headlights popped up, along the A27. Over the Kingston roundabout and on, past Beddingham, Selmeston and down the winding lanes to Alfriston, shrouded in darkness bar the occasional lit window.

Our hotel lay behind a long and smooth lawn, lit up to guide us in. We parked the car, dropped off our bags and walked the short distance along the pavement to The George. It is a beautiful pub, oak beams bringing the ceiling down low, a roaring open fire and leather sofas making up the quiet snug. We supped on delicious local ham, roasted garlic, warmed balsamic vinegar and home made bread. Then fillet steak on half a toasted muffin with home made béarnaise sauce, thick cut chips with a sprinkling of salt. Finally there was chocolate ice cream for my boy and an enormous board of cheese for me, crackers sloping off the sides and thick creamery butter. We drank red wine and talked low in the candlelight.

The phone never rang, there was no car in sight and walking back through the night we marvelled at the brightness of the stars. And how delicious to wake up to bird song and out of the window the river, winding back and forth across the fields, trees bare of leaves and not a sound of traffic or people to be heard. Perfect.

a return

Dear Readers, I do apologise for my recent lack of posting. Life recently has been somewhat busy, on those occasions when I have found myself with a brief period of peace my brain has only come up with utter nonsense. “Oh yes,” it will say, “ice over the road and breed slightly lop-sided penguins. Then we can indeed invade France and steal all their cheese!” Not, perhaps, the most helpful of ideas, but I admit to being somewhat fond of French cheeses.

I have, however, finally got the sitting room painted. It is now a delicious pale greeny/blue, which brightens up the whole room. I have found myself picking up the rolls of wallpaper and holding them against this glorious colour, smiling gleefully. I’m crossing my fingers that it won’t be too long until this final bit is done and can then move onto the bedroom and that beautiful golden Chinese dragon print.


Last Wednesday I had a lovely visit from Katharine and Lyndsey. We spent an evening drinking wine, trying on my fabulous new corset and gossiping in true girly fashion. With the flat beginning to look more like a home and less like a storage facility, more visits from friends are in order. This evening Joh is popping over, and tomorrow James. At last, visitors!

My brother is having a very exciting day today, he has completed on his own house along the coast in Eastbourne and is now, I hope, settling down to the traditional fish and chips amongst his own set of boxes, hunting frantically for a fork and a bottle opener. I shall have to pop over and visit soon, though I suspect allowing him a week or two of settling in would be appreciated.

So far, I admit, I haven’t hinted at much busyness. But in between the painting and the visits from friends I have been to birthdays, sat in pubs drinking beer and getting excited about Burning Man. I’ve cooked rösti for my boy with delicious bratwurst brought back from Switzerland. I’ve drunk cocktails with Jane and found a new gym, eaten Japanese takeaway with Pete, had dinner with friends and driven out to the country. It has been a lovely few weeks, but I do feel guilty for not posting for so long. I do promise to do better, dear reader, and not neglect you for so long again.

evening in

Although it’s the Brighton Bloggers Meet Up this evening, I’m feeling achy and cold, my nose is running and I feel generally rather sorry for myself. I don’t want to be ill, I hate colds, and so in an effort to stop any further germination I’ve decided on an evening in, with a cup of lapsang souchong, the furry cushions and Zack to keep me company.

I’ve also decided that the best way to fill my evening is surround myself with candles and dig into The Shadow of the North, one of a collection of new books that arrived from Amazon yesterday. Yes, I know I said I couldn’t buy any more books until I’d got the shelves sorted, and I know that I haven’t done that yet and am still deciding on paint colours, but I forgot! I was swept away in the moment. Books, I said to myself, I must have those books. And so I bought all of the Sally Lockhart series and I don’t feel sorry at all.

I’m trying to resist the lure of take away, instead leaning towards the lure of hot soup and eggy-bread. When I have a cold, well when I can still breath and have a cold, I find it increasingly difficult not to just shovel food down my face. After a weekend of doing much the same, although without the excuse, I can’t really justify phoning Murasaki Bento… or can I? I am feeling a little under the weather after all, what better time to dig into gyoza and chicken katsu? I must be strong. More tea, I think, and the next chapter. That’s bound to help.