My bed cave in London, today.

I'm currently going through a re-decoration phase. It's all part of 'digging my toes in'.

I've just painted my bed cave (the alcove that keeps my bed cosy) white and dove blue. Now I lie here waiting for the paint smell to dissipate and the walls to totally dry before I move to phase 2.

It looks a little like a cell right now, but it's going to be very pretty, very soon.

Stay tuned.

And London, today.

I wore new red shoes today to a secretive speakeasy nestled out the back of Earl's Court. We ate sliders, mac & cheese, and drank potent cocktails under naked light bulbs.

London, today.

I want to capture London as she is for me, every day for the rest of the year.

Here's the side of her I saw today. A particularly misty evening walking across London Bridge.

A new corner of London every day

You could do something new in London every single day for the rest of your life and still die not seeing everything. It's one of the many reasons why this city is so truly wonderful.

On one particular weekend at the start of August, the Franconia ladies ran with a floral theme.

First it was Kew Gardens in the sunshine and occasional downpour.

Then the next day it was back-to-back coffees, fluffy hydrangeas, and overpriced 'antiques' out east on Columbia Road.

Festival season

More than I've ever discovered in any other countries I've lived in / visited, this one goes nuts for festivals.

Every year, when March rolls around, the posters start to go up, and the emails hit inboxes. Line ups are announced, annual leave is booked off.

Of course if you're off to one of the big festivals, Glastonbury, Isle of Wight, Reading and so on, then you'll already be mid-way through planning by spring. But for those of us that feel a bit old, tired, or clean, for three days of mud, there are plenty of other options around.

So one brilliantly sunny Saturday morning, four girls took a train to a village just outside of Hastings. Broadstock is a wee festival which happens once a year, in someone's 'backyard'. They sell 300 tickets, pink cider, and hearty beefburgers; bands play the day away while the villagers, neighbours and out of towners sit around soaking up the mini-festival atmosphere. There are even apple trees. Seeing fruit on a tree is more of a novelty for a Londoner than you can probably imagine.

Once the kids go to bed, and the bands have packed up, the forested dance area opens up and DJs take over the night, until the early morn.

 

We all had a very lovely time at our very civilised, non-muddy festival where there was always enough toilets, running water, and cups of tea, on hand.

Summer 2012

So much fun, so many occasions. Sunshine, sangria, sunflowers. Beautiful gardens (roof top and not), pink cider, pop-up bars, and even a bit of Olympic beach volleyball.

So much summer fun, it's just so difficult to know where to begin with the highlight report.

More adventures with hats

The crusade to bring back hats continues...

The face of excitement pre-Queen spotting at Ascot

Ladies that 'hat'

Sailing the seven seas. With hats on.

Happy birthday (now not so) baby Beth

 

 

Five years ago today, I landed at Christchurch airport to news that we had a new member of the clan.

When I met her, Elizabeth Ruby was just a tiny wee thing. All legs and arms, and big gasps of air. Hidden away in that protective plastic shell in the neo-natal ward, we all marvelled at how such a delicate little girl could survive such an abrupt introduction to the world.

Five years later and she's taking the world by storm. Whether she's frantically climbing up high things with zero fear, sliding around the living room on her new Rollerblades, or holding court with her rendition of Annie's 'Tomorrow', Beth is our little superstar.

Before we know it she'll be borrowing the car and getting a mortgage. Hopefully still blasting out the chorus of 'Tomorrow' as she does it.

The pages of life

Friday's artichoke remnants

Once a month, usually somewhere in residential South London, a bunch of women get together to talk books. And eat. Mainly we eat, but occasionally we try to get books into the conversation somehow.

Despite the recent trend for pregnancy, the majority of us still manage to consume a sufficient quantity of beverages according to the time of year. Gin & tonics for the current sticky, damp summer; large glasses of red when there's snow resting outside the kitchen window.

This collection of sometimes intimidatingly intelligent women, who spend their days teaching, researching, saving lives, being a social worker, lawyer, art curator, and now a mother, has found a special spot in my life. We now share joys, heartbreak, laughs, and a whole lot of food.

Last Friday found us right near Loughborough Junction de-flowering steaming artichokes, sipping a Costcutter sauvignon blanc, and talking through the mastery of Angela Carter's bloody tales.

It's near impossible for me to think of a better way to end the working week. Even if I consistently end up stuffing the two days beforehand full of book because of my disorganisation.

Back to wartime

Last weekend we went back to wartime. 

Down under of Waterloo Station, there's a set of tunnels which on Saturday night, played host to a D-Day celebration. Not a pair of jeans, or mini skirt in sight; it was all victory curls, braces, flat caps and a lot of military uniforms.

We drank champagne from wide rimmed glasses, and danced to all the greats from the 1940s. 

Some soldier even offered to sell me some nylons at the bar.

I now want to wear hats on a daily basis.