catching up

I headed out to the Cella last night to catch up with some of the survivors of Black Friday. It was fab to listen to the lovely Dominic VonTrapp and spend an evening drinking yet more cider and laughing at Amy's lady beard.



It's been a busy few weeks but I'm so looking forward to a weekend in Dublin. With only one working day to go, I can see the light and boy is it glowing. We've made no plans, except to visit a comedy night, and I fully intend to just enjoy being able to amble about aimlessly. It feels like such a long time since my last holiday, so many things have changed since July.

This evening I'm heading out for dinner with the lovely Katharine, something I haven't had a chance to do for ages and so am really looking forward to it. However, with a very busy day tomorrow I must stop myself from getting into that holiday spirit too early!

lounging

Finally my beautiful sofa has arrived, and I am sat with feet up relaxing in a most comforting manner, marvelling at how I ever survived a month without one. It is enormous, in fact if I lie down there is still room at the other end, which is a most satisfying discovery. I suspect that any number of lazy days will be spent, sprawled out in comfort, book in hand, tea or gin and tonic within reach and head resting against cushions. Utter bliss.

Yesterday evening Tom and I popped into the Library to see the highly amusing Jon Ronson. I now have a strong desire to incapacitate goats with the power of my stare, but suspect I would have as much luck as the US Army. Still, I can but practice!

Rain

It is glorious to be inside tonight, as rain lashes the window panes and races down in torrents from the guttering, splashing loudly on the patio. What better than to be curled up with the bears on their bean bags, or watching them chase a wine cork around the flat, a glass of gin and tonic and Bach to keep me company.



I managed leave early today and came home to nap away the afternoon. It has left me feeling much more able to cope with making soup for Lyndsey and an evening of champagne cocktails and series six of Sex & The City. I am, however, still slightly concerned about my boy who has gone off to London to be brain-washed by a cult. But then I suppose anyone would be a little apprehensive, wouldn't they?

red and gold

I opened the car door this morning to the lovely early smell of autumn leaves, which coated the car park in their beautiful gold, yellow and red hues. It was glorious to gaze out over the roofs at the distant trees in Stanmer Park, russet red against the sky. This is one of the things I love most about autumn, those beautiful colours and the way the air suddenly starts to bite but is at the same time fresher and cleaner.

I want to pull on my wellies and kick up mountains of leaves, to splash through puddles with a scarf billowing out behind me, gloves pulled on tight and my nose and cheeks burning red against the chill. I want to set out on adventures mid way through Sunday afternoon, and come home in the dark to a glass of red wine and a bowl of home made soup.

It’s on days like today that I really miss living in the countryside.

oh for decorating

I am beginning to find that being surrounded by boxes is taking its toll. I feel as if I can only look at half my sitting-room, I do my best ignore the piles of boxes or I get this horrible sinking feeling.

Fortunately though, I have an entire Saturday without my boy to go trawling around looking for light fittings, wallpaper, paint and the like which will certainly help me to see the finished product more clearly. Unfortunately I won’t be able to start decorating the majority of the flat until January, but I’m looking forward to at least feeling as if I’m making some kind of headway.

It is going to be odd having bare walls and dust everywhere for Christmas, but I’m relieved that the whole process will be over as quickly as possible. The sooner the damp proofing is done, the sooner I can get the place looking spick and span. Although I’m settling in as the weeks go by, the colours are definitely not mine; sparse and blank they remind me of hospitals or show homes. I can’t help feeling that until I’ve made my mark on the flat, it isn’t quite mine.

a step back from it all

It has been one of those rare weekends of late mornings with pots of tea, wanders through the Lanes and afternoon naps. A glorious muddle of visits to friends and feasting on delicious food, with a spot of escaping from the world.

On Friday we popped in to see some presentations from local Flash developers at DScape, before heading off to Ben’s birthday gathering. We stayed, caught up with Dave and talked job interviews with Jane before heading off to munch our way through Japanese food at Murasaki. Saturday was started with a much-needed lie-in; followed by a lazy jaunt into town, lunch at the Fringe and a couple of hours spent in search of a shirt and a skirt. I managed to sneak in a nap just at the light faded, watching the darkness grow out of the window as I drifted off.

Saturday evening was pure and utter escapism, as we headed off to the Hanbury Club for dinner and an evening of black gloss chairs, gorgeous wallpaper and the fabulous feeling of being thrust back to the 30’s. It was perfectly relaxing to just sit there, tables far enough away to be unobtrusive, conversations not overheard, in our own cocoon of fabulous food, delectable cocktails and a beautifully crisp bottle of white wine.

Today I plan to spend immersed in books, with the occasional burst of tidying whilst I wait for the kettle to boil. I fancy a lazy day of slippers and warm socks, of curling up under blankets and keeping the outside world firmly on the other side of the double-glazing. Today is just for me.

of broken plates and scottish accents

Today I am glum, miserable and achingly gloomy. I feel heavy with weight, from the piles of work that surround me to the knowledge that I have to empty the dishwasher, a task which today seems insurmountable. I long for my duvet, to curl up, close my itchy eyes and let sleep wash over me. I long to nestle on my soft brown leather sofas, which of course have not yet arrived, thick socks pulled on and blankets on my knees with a pot of Earl Grey and an Agatha Christie. I long to be sat by an open fire, watching the sparks light up the chimney breast like miniature fireworks, breathing in the wood smoke and listening to nothing but the crackle and pop of the sap.

All these things seem so far removed from the dullness of my desk. Another day spent before it, bleak and utilitarian and offering up nothing to nudge my imagination. The chair makes my back uncomfortable and hunched, the table is cluttered with piles of applications that I can’t store anywhere else. And to listen to me roll off this catalogue of complaints is only exacerbating the glumness.

To make matters worse, my lovely new John Lewis plates have just arrived, and three out of four have been smashed into pieces on their way here. Fortunately I spoke to a lovely man, with a delicious Scottish accent named Kenneth (although in my head he is definitely Hamish) and a replacement set are on their way.

Oh for four o’clock when I can return home and bury myself under blankets and duvets and shut out the day until I am recovered enough from this misery to venture forth, in my new skirt and boots, to Gars with my boy. For most of all, today I want my boy.