Here I am, sat in the back garden with a cup of earl grey, and thinking how this time last week, it was pouring with rain. Not that it’s overwhelmingly sunny, like yesterday was — a day when I came home from work in Islington exhausted, and flopped in the middle of Brockwell Park with Jim, feeling the late-afternoon rays on our backs.
We’ve been uncharacteristically busy today, for a Sunday lacking in social obligations. A walk around Nunhead Cemetery climbing around overgrown graves was finished up with a roast at the Rye Hotel in Peckham/East Dulwich with the Observer (and a roaring fire and shaggy dog nearby for comfort). I’m making a rhubarb and apple crumble for dessert later, but for now i’m determined to make the most of the approaching dusk calmness, and get a spot more vitamin D.
*Paul Smith carpet, via Agent Bauer*
*Blue and bright, via Things Organized Neatly*
*Purple giraffe, via Lonny via The English Muse*
*Birds and music, via Agent Bauer*
*Eames and paper lanterns, via Agent Bauer*
*Contained clutter, via Ruby Rhino*
*Salmon and steel, via Agent Bauer*
*Pattern and monochrome, via Agent Bauer*
Before our lazy weekend, the week started with a free ticket to see Justin Bieber (supported by Willow Smith, her brother Jayden, and err, Craig David) at the O2 with Kate, Gemma and Petah. Not our cup of tea musically, you understand, but it was a hilarious night. Save for the earpiercing shrieks of the venue’s thousands of 14yos, which caused us to cover our ears in pain.
Friday night was fun. I met Gemma and Darika in our beloved Scootercafe, where we shared some wine and Tunnock’s tea cakes, before travelling back in time to a ’70s local Italian dining room-style restaurant, and then on to the Young Vic for a nightcap of amaretto on ice and vodka sodas. I’ve turned into such an old lady though — 11pm rolls by, and I start pining for my bed.
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