Thursday 31 December 2009

• A sky full of burning lanterns, silently soaring at midnight, soundtracked by drunken roars of Auld Lang Syne from a balcony across the way. A good start to 2010.
  Catching up with a much missed friend, on a flying visit back from the southern hemisphere. Coffee, coffee, prosecco - a liquid lunch in style.
• Hucking a pile of oysters. Fiesty wee beasts.
  Sporting a new harlotty frock. First outing after opening the christmas package. Thanks Ma.
  Resoundly whupping the boy's ass at cards. Satisfying.
  

Wednesday 30 December 2009

• A smile through the window as I walked up the road.
• Red wine and ham croquettes in the Landseer.
• Ted's photography, in two forms.
• Bacon butties and Take That for lunch.
• My bed, together.

Tuesday 29 December 2009

• Plotting a meal of celebration, including caviar and confit and champagne and chocolate, followed by Harry Potter.
• New pillows.
• Singing along to Rent.
• Sitting on the floor by the aga. Home sweet home.
• I think I might love Girls Aloud.

Monday 28 December 2009

• A Bicester day. A successful Bicester day.
• Cantucci and dessert wine for tea.
• Styling up the cape.
• David Attenborough's Life. Fab.
• Rousing chords as we drove through the cutout of the M4.

Sunday 27 December 2009

• Fun with a tape measure. 'Measure my nose, measure my nose!'
• Rescuing Katy from the fate of braised cabbage.
• Shithead on the plane.
• Making blini to have with champagne and smoked salmon back at the ranch.
• Such a comfortable bed.

Saturday 26 December 2009

• Roast potatoes and coffee for breakfast, with a side of newspaper quiz page. Breakfast of champions.
• Hours and hours of parlour games.
• A late night wander through Oldmeldrum, with everything sparkling in the moonlight.
• Sherry and trifle.
• Silly silly jokes.

Friday 25 December 2009

• A family affair in the kitchen. A well rehearsed outfit.
• A reaction to the mere suggestion of champagne.
• Bread sauce for the thousands.
• A phone call, while standing the snow in the 'Pleasure Park' at the end of the road.
• A cape!

Thursday 24 December 2009

• Champagne (and banana daquiris) and canapes with a glamorous auntie.
• Speedy garden centre shopping.
• Midnight carol singing.
• Clapshot and pickle.
• Touched by Scotland, in Oyne. What's not to like?

Wednesday 23 December 2009

• A successful snowshovelling mission, allowing the car to actually make it up the road.
• A long lunch with pizza and wine and quizzes in the airport.
• Aga toast with lashings of butter and marmite.
• Expert budget airline tactics.
• A Bourne trilogy book. Filth.

Tuesday 22 December 2009

• Lunch with a happy and relaxed Nick, full of stories of love and music and travels and palestinian labourer's shirts.
• A gift of za'atar. Very exciting indeed.
• Playing the role of glorious Pickard girls.
• The moment at which, after 45 minutes on the doorstep, my keys finally worked.
• Hurtling through snowy fields on the train home.

Monday 21 December 2009

• An epic washing up session, leaving the kitchen sparkly clean. Very satisfying.
• Bumping into a old colleague from years gone by, making what turned into a several hour long bus journey better than it should have been.
• Snow flurries so heavy my coat became encrusted.
• A new frock.
• The moment I kicked off my icy boots and slid into warm, clean and dry clothes.

Sunday 20 December 2009

• Arriving home after an obscenely early scuttle down the road, whereupon I crawled into bed with a hotwater bottle, coffee and a book. Bliss.
• Using all but a two inch scrap of a roll of wrapping paper to wrap every single present. So satisfying.
• A family roast dinner at home. Good food, much wine and whisky, and very fun company. I like where I live.
• Books sorted. No more boxes on the floor (now at ceiling level instead). Next challenge is to put them in some logical order.
• Blue tits in the tree outside my window. So busy.

Saturday 19 December 2009

• Up and about early doors in the bright crisp sunshine.
• The wonder of Upper Street.
• A giggly afternoon with the middle Pickard, including a shameful video from the Tate to the youngest Pickard. Oops. (Confidential to Harriet - there was no wine involved at all. I think that might make it worse?)
• Learning chinese from the dim sum menu. Not really that useful.
• Mario Kart. Oh, yeah.

Friday 18 December 2009

• Chips and salad for lunch.
• A christmas present solution.
• Dinner at Le Mercury.
• Taxi, taxi. SHOCKING.
• Territory marked?

Thursday 17 December 2009

• The best Christmas present shop in the word.
• Hash browns and soup for my tea.
• Pretty snow (only recognised as pretty once I was safe and sound, wrapped up in layers, at home).
• A tangerine.
• A bag of precious things rescued. (Thanks mostly to the very nice station superintendent at East Finchley's 2am text. What a hero.)

Wednesday 16 December 2009

• Making a northerner laugh. Infectious.
• Festivities with several different rarely seen friends.
• Chips and gravy for lunch. Pure filth.
• A charity shop round the corner that sells books for 50p. Very rare in central London. However, also very dangerous for my already overlaiden shelves.
• Earplugs. Preventative measures now available.

Tuesday 15 December 2009

• Genuine pleasure at confirmation of gossip.
• Pub hopping, from gang to gang.
• Enforced jollity that provoked proper belly laughs.
• Slight inebriation in the office. Gin, champagne and gluhwein, all before 2pm? Oops.
• A dress that makes me look tiny (accessorised with Bob the terrier, which is always a bonus).

Monday 14 December 2009

• Selecting the perfect secret santa present, which allowed me to make a geeky joke. Mission accomplished.
• Leftovers mixed up for tea.
• Homemade hummus.
• Clever people talking about books.
• Fresh air and a wander into town with Ellie after a long hot day.

Sunday 13 December 2009

• I love Sophie Calle.
• A little bit of Christmas shopping, achieved without bloodshed (unexpected, I know).
• Sunday evening slumping in the 25 Canonbury Lane.
• Hood up, head down.
• Smutty hangman on the tube. F I _ T_Y / B _ G G _ R.

Saturday 12 December 2009

• That glorious feeling of a slightly panicked wake up, followed by the sweet sweet realisation it's Saturday.
• A hunter-gather return with breakfast goodies.
• A new hot water bottle, to warm my other bed.
• A cryptic phonecall, enquiring about my microwave status.
• Blue sparkling lights on on Holloway Road. So pretty, so incongruous.

Friday 11 December 2009

• Team festivities: including ice sculptures, pop-up shops and some blue paintings of economists on the way back to the office.
• Scattegories! God bless a bookish childhood, which endowed upon me the gift of a sprawling vocabulary.
• An old favourite pulled from my wardrobe. Loving the dead doll look.
• A bus that takes me direct from work to home in 15 minutes, on a cold, dark and damp evening.
• A 2am text of adventure.

Thursday 10 December 2009

• A year of small things!
• A good poem.
• Tiny red painted foldback clips. Simple pleasures, no?
• A quick drink in the French House, followed by a slower drink in Highbury. Good timing all round.
• Excel wizardry.

Wednesday 9 December 2009

• Noisy alphabet! Via Sarah Brown.
• Marlene Dietrich's hair in Blonde Venus.
• The moment I hopped into bed, and felt every single vertebra in my spine sigh with relief at the end of the day.
• Ticking things off my list.
• Poppadum, poppadum.

Tuesday 8 December 2009

• A salvaged evening, in the Norfolk Arms.
• A much needed coffee break, up the road.
• A favour completed, with the bonus of walking through town in the crisp sunshine.
• Caperberries and oysters!
• The decadence of a taxi home.

Monday 7 December 2009

• Chips and ham for tea - menu enfant, achieved through the power of suggestion.
• A smile at the end of a long day, as I was observed interacting with a stranger.
• A quick drink before geekery.
• A new cotton bag. (Could be a new favourite, too.)
• There's something about the co-op in Archway that makes me quite silly.

Sunday 6 December 2009

• Colcannon, fried up in a little bit of duck fat. God bless leftovers, and those who bring them to my fridge from parties I bunk.
• The perfect breakfast - a sausage, a veggie sausage, two hash browns, some salad, a coffee and the crossword. I've cracked the ultimate formula.
• Sliding into a bed so tightly made, it almost cut off circulation to my toes.
• A good answer.
• Finally - finally - seeing the glory of Stacey. (Still haven't seen her sing though.)

Saturday 5 December 2009

• Feeling established enough to just say no. (A wise decision, by all accounts.)
• On Golden Pond. Particularly timely, following a breakfast crossword conversation yesterday.
• A penguin classic bought on the way home.
• A day of popcorn, tea, hot water bottle, 80s movies and clean sheets - restoring my spirits from an epic hangover.
• Oh my god. A shock in The Thick of It.

Friday 4 December 2009

• Sunshine on a day off. Is it possible to be full of the joys of spring in December?
• Great art.
• Introducing the boy to Primrose Hill, several months after the idea was first mooted.
• Oh, the horror of Christmas parties. Fab people watching though.
• Standing on the balcony of the National Theatre, plotting a route of drunken destruction via this building. (Didn't actually end up there, mind - looked far too staid for our nefarious needs.)

Thursday 3 December 2009

• An inspiring meeting in Brixton.
• Playing the part of chocolate cake fairy.
• Giggly drinks (and an indulgent end to the night).
• Oh, Ipod, how I missed you.
• Confirming gossip.

Wednesday 2 December 2009

• Pottering in someone else's kitchen.
• A productive work day.
• A ridiculously large chicken escalope for lunch.
• Getting the giggles at someone else's mockery towards an offensive man's overly loud music.
• Hangman.

Tuesday 1 December 2009

• Christmas for the littlest Pickard sorted. Am quite green eyed over one part.
• Early morning career guidance.
• Interview with a Vampire - the book. It's good. (Clearly, I have succumbed to vampiric nonsense.)
• Black and white prints. (Link to come once I've uploaded)
• A door closed.

Monday 30 November 2009

• Making it by the skin of my teeth.
• A wardrobe clone malfunction. Oops.
• Guards in St James (and Gideon, looking particularly Blow Up). Relatedly, I do love talking to random people.
• A pit stop for a glass of beaujolais - before heading home to find leftovers.
• Revelations.

Sunday 29 November 2009

• Hashbrowns (yes, I do mean four, please).
• Hiding from the pelting rain by scuttling into the movies.
• Matching feet.
• Bed with a book.
• Two gothic cross dressers, lost, on my doorstep.

Saturday 28 November 2009

• Lazing on the sofa with the papers and the decadence of pizza during the day.
• A last minute, late night dash to the Landseer - with a sense of anticipation entirely linked to the last time I was there.
• Blitzing the Times puzzles - clearly a lower level of smarts required to read that particular paper.
• Flashcards. I am geek, hear me roar.
• Looking like a pixie in my duffel coat.

Friday 27 November 2009

• Hiding away at Hideout.
• Lunch with a disconcertingly familiar voice.
• A reclaimed afternoon.
• Felicitous timing (for me, not for the poor soul who walked four miles home from Wood Green).
• 'Get out with your bad fashionable self'. (I probably shouldn't have replied that the three scarves are a corollary of the weather, not a style statement, should I?)

Thursday 26 November 2009

• Vintage bridal fun and games.
• The New Rose, in two stages (including a pub quiz that elicitated a roar of 'Maddy!' when the books round came up. Gratifying.)
• Late night pasta medley, made from a concotion of freezer goodies.
• A shared roll of the eyes at a ratty wench 'concerned' about standing on bags. Really?.
• A cotton bag solution.

Wednesday 25 November 2009

• Another stage in a horrid process down - faking it til I make it.
• Buckets of champagne and canapes at the Tate, providing sustenance for the Pickard sister double act.
• Advocating (once again) slightly over excitedly (once again) for the wonder that is Roger Hiorn's Seizure.
• Finishing my book in a comfy chair upstairs at the Harp.
• Lashing of red lipstick - armour against the outside world.

Tuesday 24 November 2009

• Masters results back... a distinction! 77% for my blasted dissertation. Hoo-fucking-rah!
• A big old bear hug at the end of a horrid, horrid day.
• A new pen.
• A moment of quiet with a small glass of wine and an out of date Style magazine before I slid into bed.
• Broccoli, cooked just so.

Monday 23 November 2009

• A parting kiss, while I'm half asleep.
• Mushroom soup in a jam jar. Genius.
• The fascinating horror of The Apprentice, USA. What is with that hair?
• Aussie cooking - meat with a side of meat.
• Marmite flavoured cashew nuts. I haven't yet partaken of this joy, but I'm happy just knowing they exist.

Sunday 22 November 2009

• Fish scrubbed and cleaned and shiny. Much overdue.
• The warm fug of soup making on a Sunday - I potter more for the feel of domesticity than the (admittedly tasty) final product.
• Making the decision to haul my frozen ass out of bed to fill a hot water bottle. Wise.
• Discovering Misfits.
• A fit of flat cleaning. The bathroom hasn't twinkled in so much bleached glory in a while.

Saturday 21 November 2009

• Architecture and biology combined.
• An extended-family coffee-stop in South Ken.
• Dinner above the French House (followed by random conversations with random punters downstairs).
• Involuntary laughter at a rain drenched victor - after a speedy run back to rescue an abandoned bag.
• Such pretty things in the V&A shop.

Friday 20 November 2009

• Sneaking out early to look at art - here and here and here, and here, and here.
• MarioKart!
• Pringles and buckets of red for my tea. Served with a side of minor self-loathing.
• Being called clever.
• Stealing lumps of chicken quorn from monkey-pyjama-clad boys.

Thursday 19 November 2009

• The mental image of my partner in crime in red sequined hotpants - there's no place like home, indeed.
• A new place for libations.
• People watching, oh the people watching. Who were they, and what were they doing?
• Discovering taramasalata in the shop. Lunch, sorted.
• An invitation to the opening of a long-awaited project.

Wednesday 18 November 2009

• A job well done, with no crises and no awkward moments.
• A brilliant fact: one single tree provided all the veneer for both auditoriums at Kings Place.
• Prosecco at 5pm.
• An antisocial hermitty evening.
• Westminster, all abuzz with the opening of Parliament.

Tuesday 17 November 2009

• An impromptu steak dinner.
• Letting my fingernails grow just a little bit longer. It's quite a novel sensation, really.
• An eclectic mix of music in the background - Tchaikovsky to Dylan.
• Confirmation of next steps in a hellish process. Finally.
• The look of a large and slightly unwieldy crochet blanket on the bed. Shabby chic - I like it.

Monday 16 November 2009

• Pop ups! I love Robert Sabuda.
• Going into fix-it mode.
• School-canteen-style lunch choreography.
• Sobriety in the pub, sliding into accidental giggly drunkeness on the sofa.
• Networking, baby.

Sunday 15 November 2009

• Rescuing dinner when the oven broke halfway through baking and roasting and cooking. I just about held it together, I think. (Much duck fat smoothed the way.)
• New nail varnish, shiny and red - as per usual.
• Convincing a less than sceptical flatmate that I was about to give the goldfish colonic irrigation. Really?
• Fresh croissants, log fire, fiendishly difficult crossword. One of these things has now been banished from my life.
• Giving into the blinding whiteness of winter. Fake tan, I think I might miss you.

Saturday 14 November 2009

• Sleeping and sleeping and sleeping. I blame Alf for putting on the heating.
• French toast and coffee brought to my bedside.
• Sporting a chunky knit that is becoming much beloved.
• Two bottles of entirely drinkable wine for a fiver. Whoo, and indeed hoo.
• Malcolm Tucker demonstrating his particularly spectacular and malevolent talents moments after I explained just why I love him.

Friday 13 November 2009

• A large, fresh and clean carrot abandoned on a wall in Clerkenwell. A small bite had been taken off the end, and left by the side. So very orange, so very out of place.
• Sparklers at midnight.
• Other people, with demonstrable talent, singing around the piano.
• Not losing my lipstick, simply because it was recognised as mine. Does that make me classic, or predictable?
• Monkey Shoulder and a very pretty cup of tea.

Thursday 12 November 2009

• Managing to make my ipod sync podcasts after a too-long hiatus. This American Life, Stuff you should know and Sandi Toksvig - how I've missed you.
• Popcorn and soup. A surprisingly good combination.
• "Get your ass up here". Ok.
• Writing with pencil. There's something so satisfying about the glide of a lead pencil on lined paper.
• Hair tutorials. Who would have known braids were so covetable?

Wednesday 11 November 2009

• Cerys Mathews in Trafalgar Square, on the way to work. Random.
• New shoes!
• Sushi, sushi (and some tempura prawns).
• Boys in uniform.
• Not shoplifting (though it was a close call. Turns out, it's quite easy to forget that you threw on a black tshirt over your dress in order to see what the jacket you were actually considering looks like. Fortunately, you'll realise, when you take off your own jacket and scarves to try on something else, that you're wearing a large and unattractive top over your little blue frock. Phew).

Tuesday 10 November 2009

• Sacking off a literary event to go the pub. A necessary grump-cure.
• Prancing around M&S at Waterloo like a couple of fools.
• Lunch in the Crypt. An unexpected lull in my day.
• Playing I Spy via the medium of googlechat. Genius.
• A successfully cobbled together outfit, from my very own drawer.

Monday 9 November 2009

• A spare half an hour used to play with perfumes. I smelled pretty.
• Coffee in bed.
• A very early arrival into the office. Oh so quiet.
• One too many glasses of wine with an old acquaintance.
• Being rescued from my littlest hobo station on the front door step to watch An American Werewolf in London.

Sunday 8 November 2009

• A mass effort to complete the crossword.
• Soft skin.
• Curling up in the back row of the movies.
• Participating in flatmate banter through the warm fug of cooking and washing. Ah, domesticity.
• Roseanne on Youtube. (I was looking for Booker, to no avail. Still - belly laughs.)

Saturday 7 November 2009

• A new walk.
• A crush on the plumber. Relatedly, it turns out that a toolbox is a very seductive thing (insert screwdriver joke here).
• Sewing in the sunshine on the balcony, followed several hours later by a spectacular firework display across the whole of London, observed (standing precariously on a chair) from the same spot.
• Dozing - food-filled, knit-clad, fire-warmed.
• A bath hot enough to leave my skin looking like Neapolitan icecream.

Friday 6 November 2009

• A fish finger sandwich consumed in good company.
• Excitement in the office. 'Crime scene investigators'. I'll say nothing more.
• Accidentally flashing a man in a tree as I scuttled to the bathroom.
• Fortuitous timing, leaving the house just as the rain ceased.
• An easy Friday night with pizza, a real fire and a Kenny with a mask. No black velvets though...

Thursday 5 November 2009

• An Aberdonian speaking Doric to me in the pub. I may sound as middle class and south-eastern as they come, but I still understand enough Scots to get by. Gleikit, indeed.
• Truly, truly shocking lyrics. Oh dear.
• Hangover avoidance tactics successfully implemented. Mmm, noodle soup for lunch.
• An evening spent with an equally curmudgeonly soul.
• A brilliant first paragraph. Oh, John Updike. How I've loved you.

Wednesday 4 November 2009

• An onerous chore semi-completed.
• Frozen lasagne - sometimes leftovers are a good thing.
• An ersatz lunch club.
• A domestic trade - clean undies for an ironed frock.
• A hidden mammoth ivory bead.

Tuesday 3 November 2009

• Birds of prey in Trafalgar Square.
• Shifting from cold crisp white to warm warm red.
• A walk around the church.
• Not going postal with a spork in a meeting. Restraint is my middle name.
• Someone who will say fuck it with me on the spur of the moment.

Monday 2 November 2009

• Roasted butternut squash, tempered with sour cream. Too sweet for its own good, really.
• Studiousness.
• A present! V exciting. I may have squealed in excitement.
• Meandering through town with la Hartwell - running errands, mooching around the shops and eating peanuts.
• An old dress restored, with a splash of citrine green.

Sunday 1st November 2009

• A book consumed in its entirety before leaving bed.
• Pottering in the kitchen while listening to Radio 4. Domestic bliss, resulting in buckets of tomato soup and a sense of zen.
• A surprisingly good movie.
• Watching the traffic and moon pass through the dark night from the front steps.
• A sly peek.

Saturday 31st October 2009

• A new game to play: goth, hen do or halloween. Bonus points awarded for a combination of any two, and a Mars Bar if all three are spotted in one package.
• Archiving clothes.
• Perching in the kitchen, reading out crossword clues, while bacon sizzled for butties.
• Sewing frocks to fit. There ain't nothing I can't do with a needle and spool of thread.
• A can of stella and some pringles. Filth.

Friday 30 October 2009

• People who pronounce bourgeois in a very French accent - rolling Rs and flourishing finishes.
• An impromptu meeting - flavoured with books and Euclidean geometry and displacement.
• Champagne and steak frites.
• A whimsically gothic black feathered bird.
• Perfume high jinks in Fortnum and Mason.

Thursday 29 October 2009

• Walking through the manicured grounds of Valentines Mansion at dusk. Unexpectedly lovely in the middle of Ilford.
  
• A conference of geekery: social theory, politics and the arts. So good to be back in a lecture hall.
• The perfect shade of red lipstick. It makes my eyes so blue - how does that work?
• A galeless autumn has led to coloured leaves falling to the ground in perfect circles around the base of trees.
  
• Cherry tomatoes in a can. How exciting.
  

Wednesday 28 October 2009

• Incredible drumming followed by ethereal singing. In fact, a great concert in two parts.
  
• Midnight mac & cheese.
• New blue silk underwear.
• Spying the little black door by the Royal Courts of Justice I've been looking for for a while.
• First poppy of the year.
  

Tuesday 27 October 2009

• Faux bitchiness, via the medium of instant message. Just an excuse to be amusing, really.
• Being taken to the Japanese restaurant I've been meaning to go to for years. You know, the one under Centrepoint? Sushi and edamame and miso and tempura and some very polite bowing.
• Walking all the way home.
• A decade on from yesterday, referencing the 30s.
• TV flavoured banter in the canteen.
  

Monday 26 October 2009

• A Mary Poppins sky.
• Duel incomprehensibility.
• The clean snap of celery.
• Running errands in the sunshine at lunchtime.
• Channeling the twenties via vintage primark.
  

Sunday 25 October 2009

• An extra hour to while away between the sheets.
• The wonderful Stoke Newington bookshop.
• A cup of tea in Ellie's kitchen.
• A magnificent lasagna.
• Hearing that a friend has absolutely behaved as I thought she would - in fact, has been stellar.

Saturday 24 October 2009

• The smell of clean ironing.
• McGuyvering dresses.
• Holding my own in a gaggle of smart women.
• A smile across the room.
• A bizarre interaction with the man who sold me the papers.

Friday 23 October 2009

• A burrito in the park.
• A professional compliment.
• Fun and (card) games at a theatrical after party.
• A better interior than exterior.
• Crossing Blackfriar's Bridge, just at the point the moon was glowing and the sun was setting.

Thursday 22 October 2009

• Correctly interpreting a handwiggle as 7.30, to the shock of both the handwiggler and an impartial observer.
• Not being locked in.
• Slumping on the sofa to mock terrible tv with Alf. Fearne meets Paris, really?
• An all time low weight (a transient moment, but gratifying all the same).
• Apparently, I'm emotionally stable. That's a good thing, right?

Wednesday 21 October 2009

• Eight years of dirty flirty online banter.
• The light of a setting sun over Westminster.
• Drunken revellry.
• Warm fingers, cold skin.
• Nuked potatoes and cheese and rocket.

Tuesday 20 October 2009

• Finally waving the littlest Pickard off on a great big adventure.
• Tolerance towards my grump on the way to work.
• Walnut oil.
• Being gently quizzed.
• Big deep drags of fresh air after a couple of hours in training on an oxygenless floor.

Monday 19 October 2009

• Kate's green shoes / green coat combination.
• Chips and steak and mushrooms and peas.
• An ersatz monkey shoulder moment.
• Vicarious shopping.
• The smell of Autumn in the air.

Sunday 18 October 2009

• Street lamp light through yellow autumn leaves like an Orla Kiely pattern.
• Playing with my hair. Too 'cute because you've tried something that doesn't work and it looks funny'? (Hmm, thanks Alf?)
• Success at Spitalfields Market.
• Having my tea unbegrudgingly cooked for me at midnight, while I perched on the bin and nattered inanely.
• A sign of commitment to splitting my time across two locations.

Saturday 17 October 2009

• Sliding back to bed in a decadent manner.
• A bag full of goodies: eighties movie classics, cheese and red wine, brought to my front door.
• Good lighting.
• Being called on the fact that I was behaving like a wee menace in the kitchen.
• 4OD in the bath. Hee!

Friday 16 October 2009

• Half an hour in candlelit quietness with my book, with a little bit of surreptitious people watching thrown in.
• Catching up with Ross Head over lunch.
• A smile from the man laughing with (at?) me as I scuttled for the bus.
• Flock of Seagulls references.
• An unconsciously lascivious glance.

Thursday 15 October 2009

• A bottomless cup of inky black coffee.
• Chattering in the kitchen, perched on the worktop.
• Ticks on my to do list.
• The power of a slick of red lipstick.
• Sinking into a hot bath before facing the day.

Wednesday 14 October 2009

• A battle between gull and crow, swooping above my head with mewing shrieks that just about stopped me from fully succumbing to morning crankiness.
• A gaggle in the Marquis of Granby, where I provided the intersection of a venn diagram of grey layers and hoxton checks.
• A techy budget problem resolved by my hero.
• An extended conversation about the interesting bits of football.
• The unexpected warmth of new lino flooring under my feet.

Tuesday 13 October 2009

• A very large and perfectly spherical man precariously riding a wobbly wee bike.
• Perfidious. A very, very good word.
• A perfect glass of chilled white wine to decompress over at the Norfolk Arms.
• The lovely Matthew Taylor, strutting his stuff at the RSA.
• The return of my partner in crime.

Monday 12 October 2009

• Long wintery shadows across Trafalgar Square in bright morning light.
• A fit of the giggles while hiding on the staircase.
• A moment on the top deck of the bus, realising I was going home with no hangover, no work and nowhere to be. Slightly unsettling, quite liberating.
• A quick glass of red and a chatter.
• The smell of clean washing infiltrated throughout my big soft scarf.

Sunday 11 October 2009

• Coffee with La Hartwell in a secret sitting room.
• A pit stop at the Camden Arts Centre.
• Web access from my phone. Never fails to amuse me.
• Chattering to the flatmates for ten minutes on my return home.
• The golden evening sun over H&I tube station.

Saturday 10 October 2009

• Spotting a new routine - crossword in the cafe.
• Rose champagne and porcini crackers.
• Cooking up a frenzy (and going a shade of puce to prove it).
• Bread sauce, bread sauce - in HP's honour.
• Reading by the Aga.

Friday 9 October 2009

• A smuggled bottle of wine at the back of a horror double bill.
• Wardrobe reconfigurations.
• Peanut butter toast picked up on the way to the office.
• A moment of quiet in the mizzle, orangle light glowing in the puddles.
• Alex, flooding my inbox in true Stein style.

Thursday 8 October 2009

• Homemade cream of tomato soup (and an excuse to use my handblender. Always a pleasure.).
• A green smelling candle, sitting pretty on my green bookshelves.
• Melting into a big bear hug at the front door.
• Two twittering girls at the bus stop. Like, Islington's version of Valley girls, yeah?
• It's a lie - the drugs do work. Thanks, generic Day Nurse capsules.

Wednesday 7 October 2009

• Hot water bottle, tea and the sofa.
• The shine of my leather satchel, post-weekend polishing.
• Rose flavoured vaseline tucked in my pocket.
• A wardrobe-clash warning via text.
• Lunch delivered to my desk.

Tuesday 6 October 2009

• Having my tiny mind blown, thinking about the universe.
• The gang in the pub.
• Grey legs and silver shoes.
• Porridge for lunch.
• An assessing look.

Monday 5 October 2009

• Weeping with laughter.
• Learning stuff (did you know the word scientist didn't exist until the 1830s? Thrills and spills, huh).
• Pizza bigger than ... well, bigger than the table.
• The broken window in the building across from my desk refracting and twinkling in the rainy light.
• New shoes and new books on my desk. One solved the problem of an absence of literature on my person, the other solved the problem of the presence of very soggy ballet pumps.

Sunday 4 October 2009

• Chocolate icecream. Surprisingly desired and surprisingly good.
• A day of dozing.
• The light at dusk towards Archway.
• Blue halogen light through dark green leaves.
• A twitch, in the palm of my hand.
  

Saturday 3 October 2009

• Making up fairytales for a 21st century London.
• Discovering the answers behind the mystery of a croque monsieur.
• Chips for breakfast (oh, the shame. (In my defense, it was 1pm and they were served with a breakfast-ish sandwich and buckets of coffee)).
• A single girl Saturday night.
• A flat filled with the scent and warmth of tomatoes roasting with spices.
  

Friday 2 October 2009

• A single rolling movement, from bed to home to work.
  
• The wonder of Time Out. Evening plans sorted in a couple of clicks.
• A stunning venue, filled with lovely sounds.
• A heroic arrival with a large cup of coffee.
• A perfectly constructed dirty martini.
  

Thursday 1 October 2009

• Oysters (and - perhaps more importantly - a shared appreciation of the wee beasts).
• Impromptu dinner plans, filled with laughter, references to childhood rivalry and a few bottles of red.
• Doubled up duvets.
• Clever packaging.
• Starting my day in London's Living Room, with cracking views across the city.

Wednesday 30 September 2009

• An amazing story about a Glaswegian call centre, a long lost father and a half brother.
• A lovely new scarf.
• The fish shop is still open. Hoorah. As a reward for cleaning out the blasted tank this weekend, I may buy myself a new little fantail.
• Revisiting a pub that I hadn't been to for years - and discovering a heated and twinkling garden.
• A knowing grin?

Tuesday 29 September 2009

• An unexpected but hilarious look of shock and horror.
• Standing - still - in the middle of Charing Cross station, watching the crowds swirl around me.
• A friendly orange cat.
• An evening of bumping into people. London grows ever smaller.
• Teen angst.

Monday 28 September 2009

• Mindless humour, delivered by Simon Amstell.
• My new flatmate is a whisky drinker. I think he'll fit right in.
• The graphite of a propeller pencil, worn down just enough.
• A double espresso on the way to work - consumed without throwing it down my front. A victory!
• A perfect fit.

Sunday 27 September 2009

• A new pancake recipe. Beaten whites, indeed.
• The feel of the heat-soaked wooden balcony floorboards through the thin cotton of a starched shirt.
• A square of dark chocolate.
• A vat of happily bubbling chickpeas.
• The most comfortable sofa in the world.

Saturday 26 September 2009

• A exchanged solution to a mutual breakfast dilemma.
• My bed made for me - tight enought to bounce a nickel.
• Reading on the front steps, curled up like a cat in the sun.
• Steak tartare and frites. Mm mmm.
• The golden wash of light as I walked west along the north bank of the Thames, from the City to the Southbank Centre.

Friday 25 September 2009

• Mushrooms on toast for lunch, basking in dusty sunlight at the Jerusalem Tavern.
• A medley of greys, silvers and little black dresses. Stuck in a rut, or just timeless and classic?
• The New Rose.
• Brixton in the sunshine.
• A show of affection.

Thursday 24 September 2009

• My charmed life - an evening of champagne and beautiful people at a party at the V&A.
• Apple green satin round toed high heels.
• A little bit of social matchmaking.
• Sunshine in my eyes.
• Bank card reclaimed.

Wednesday 23 September 2009

• Performing a feat of magical intrusion.
• Broccoli and lettuce and cheese sauce, in a pyrex bowl. Wonderful but appalling.
• A splurge in Oxfam - eight books in fifteen minutes. I knew there was a reason I avoid bookshops.
• Bumping into an old aquaintance(while clutching an armful of books - see above).
• A different walk home.

Tuesday 22 September 2009

• A stolen few hours, filled with paintings and pigs and photography.
• Macaroni cheese for two.
• Lemn Sissay reading his thoughts, arm involuntarily in the air.
• A moment entwined, breathing the same air before succumbing to sleep.
• A twinkle across a seminar table. A kindred spirit, I suspect.

Monday 21 September 2009

• Lunch in the park, making the most of a blast of an Indian Summer.
• A guilty secret on in the background while I sorted out some domesticity.
• A new blue felt tip pen.
• A buttery crumpet.
• Successfully managing red nailvarnish on the bumpy 91.

Sunday 20 September 2009

• Getting the giggles as I stared down the barrel of a camera - sultry, indeed.
• A big old choir (and orchestra and folk bigband and brass band and bagpipes...).
• A dinner party in my flat, at which I was a guest. Much fun and an easy route home.
• Bumping into the middle sister on the Southbank.
• My shoe collection was admired by a four year old. I think I've made it, sartorially speaking.

Saturday 19 September 2009

• Making up intricate stories about other people's lives.
• Drinks on a balcony overlooking Westminster as the sun sank in the sky.
• Being perky and blonde for good karma.
• Hunkering down and avoiding the rain.
• Waking up to a blue blue sky and the sound of pages being turned - realising I was at home.

Friday 18 September 2009

• A brazen wee fox wandering through Clerkenwell at 11am.
• Spotting my new favourite advertising poster. Thanks Dixons.
• Yearbookyourself.com - I look surprisingly good as a 1950s jock.
• Baby, oh sweet baby, you're the one.... A Dirty Dancing tribute night.
• Busted? Spotted while squeezing in a quick glass of red in the sunshine.

Thursday 17 September 2009

• Cup of tea, candles, hotwater bottle and a book - a quiet half an hour of anticipation after midnight.
• Fajitas and margharitas.
• A black cat curling around my ankles as we sat on the curb kicking the leaves.
• Breaking out the playing cards (on the glass table. Eek.).
• A pitstop at home between meetings to get changed. A wise, and warm, move.

Wednesday 16 September 2009

• A yellow padlock on a black gate.
• Old friends, standard haunt, good chatter.
• An unexpected (and, in retrospect, slightly regrettable) gift of a couple of bottles of red. It would have been rude to say no...
• Being given a book as a present, and a pavlovian response about an inscription.
• A tidy desk! (Well, as tidy as it ever gets)

Tuesday 15 September 2009

• "I carried a watermelon?". RIP Patrick Swayze.
• A literary-nerdy morning - with references to Robert Frost, a dictionary search and grammatical confusion (hither and thither indeed).
• Conkers on the pavement. Shiny and fat brown conkers.
• Setting the world to rights over dinner with a gaggle of girls.
• Being collected from my perch on the pavement, where I was waiting like a small damp waif.

Monday 14 September 2009

• Lay your sleeping head my love / Human on my faithless arm. (W. H. Auden's Lullaby)
• An ingenious solution for individual portions.
• A perfectly ripe pear.
• An evening of calm in a candle lit room, flames flickering through the porcelain and glass of a mismatched collection of teacups.
• Drunken geniality.

Sunday 13 September 2009

• Rejection (not of me, I hasten to add) by Burger King and McDonalds. In a row. KFC was the next option, I fear.
• A long, slow and easy morning, scattered with debauched behaviour.
• Replacing another pair of holey plimsolls. I may have tracked down the last pair of size fives in London.
• Dim sum gluttony.
• Helplessly giggling the afternoon away - a familiar path trodden with a usual partner in crime.

Saturday 12 September 2009

• Lunch in the sunshine, chez famille - punctuated by simultaneous hiccups from across the table.
• A leather dress. Yeah, I'm not convinced either.
• The perfect Saturday night.
• Sunshine on my neck at Watford Junction.
• Ridiculous underwear.

Friday 11 September 2009

• Indoctrinating a protege into the ways of the Big Red.
• A decking garden hidden in Morningto Crescent that provided tapas, wine, good company and the occasional twinkle across the table.
• Beef flavour hula hoops. Awesome.
• Being able to say, 'let's go home' and be taken there in a mere hop, skip and a jump.
• Retreating under my duvet briefly between the end of the day and the beginning of the night.

Thursday 10 September 2009

• A quiet half an hour, waiting with a new (to me) book.
• Dissolute behaviour at the Dolphin into the wee hours.
• Ripping strips off a boorish man.
• The evening light through a gas storage tank in near Broadway Market.
• Answering our location questions with google on my phone and an a-z. Hoorah!

Wednesday 9 September 2009

• I love Nick Cave even more than ever.
• A wave and a smile across the pub
• Sliding into bed, all tangled up, after a long day.
• Dim sum prawns in many forms.
• A favourite dress found in my archives

Tuesday 8 September 2009

• Plink, plink, fizz.
• A wide North London sky, filled with an ever changing moon, stars and the glow of Canary Wharf.
• An equal match. Hoorah.
• Basking in the park at lunchtime.
• Walking through London backstreets, buildings glowing in Indian summer sun.

Monday 7 September 2009

• The panoramic view from the escalator at Nice airport. Astonishing.
• What I wore today (via Belgian Waffle).
• Catching up with an absent friend, sharing jawdropping gossip and generally raising a little bit of havoc.
• A restorative coffee and croissant, consumed in wordless early morning companionship.
• The gelatinous feel of an evening primrose oil capsule undulating between my fingers.

Sunday 6 September 2009

• Reading (whisper it now) Harry Potter on the beach. Oh, the shame.
• A long meandering and aimless walk after dark which took us past the beach and fouind us settling down to watch the world go by. Easy adventuring is all I can ask for on a Sunday evening.
• Tomatoes and rosé on the balcony, watching goldfinches flutter and chirp.
• 'That's going to get you into all sorts of trouble...'
• Having the sun moved to comply with my petulant desires. It's not often that a girl gets her own way in such a dramatic (or comedic) fashion.

Saturday 5 September 2009

• People-watching in the old town over beers and citron presses, as we gently poached in the sunshine.
• Being lulled from a doze by tales of the Fitzgeralds' escapades along the 1920s Riviera.
• Oysters.
• The moment a man walked past and laughed at the scale of my (then divested of lobster carcass) plate. In retrospect, I was eating from something the size of a very large salad platter.
• The colour of the sea, spied from way up high. Nice is just beautiful.

Friday 4 September 2009

• A lunar corona. Amazing.
• Walking along the moonlit pebbly beach, absorbing the sounds and smells of the sea.
• Champagne and chips a l'ancienne on the balcony.
• Dozing on the sofa, windows and doors flung wide open.
• Circling around the twinkling Baie de Anges before, eventually, coming into land.

Thursday 3 September 2009

• A cool breeze blowing away the fairly significant cobwebs.
• Typographic geekery.
• A texted photo, torturing me with my weekend destination.
• Strong, viscous and vicious coffee brewing while I was tackling a very careful shower.
• Socks. Warm woollen socks.

Wednesday 2 September 2009

• A chance meeting on my way home. Such trouble.
• The clack of my necklace as it runs through my fingers.
• A family portrait of DIY products (my partner in crime and I both came to the conclusion that we'd like to be paint and varnish stripper above all other options)
• An animated conversation encompassing all things great and good: dating scenes, art, spirit levels, magic tricks and Slovenian swear words.
• Purloining, by proxy, Penguins.

Tuesday 1 September 2009

• Shiny red shoes.
• An impromptu birthday lunch for Holly - flavoured with wine, pizza and gossip about boys.
• Domesticity punctuated by John Hughes movies.
• Mastering the knack of burrito folding.
• The wonder that is google chat, providing me with the opportunity to idly talk to a bored Libya-bound sister.

Monday 31 August 2009

• The heat of a late August sun on my back (misjudged outfit and all).
• An afternoon gazing at lovely things in the V&A.
• Time to potter at home before heading out again.
• A beautiful pair of tiny black curlicued scissors, to be worn on a necklace like a slightly eccentric spinster aunt.
• Learning the collective noun for starlings. A filth. A filth of starlings. Spectacularly pleasing.

Sunday 30 August 2009

• Conkers on the pavement as I wandered home after a summer's day.
• Playing word games by candlelight, sitting in a lavender scented garden with a gaggle of friends.
• The heat of a flaming barbeque blowing against my skin.
• The slow, warm ache of a morning well spent.
• Acting as a nexus (undeservedly, admittedly).

Saturday 29 August 2009

• A long, hot shower once back from breakfast with the papers in the sunshine.
• Accumulating books as I pottered around town.
• A fish finger sandwich. Filth, wonderful filth.
• Sitting on the back row in the dark, sinking into comfortable silence.
• Big paintings.

Friday 28 August 2009

• Being mocked for my glee over a triple rainbow through the kitchen window.
• The dark and changing sky above Trafalgar Square at dusk, seen from the vantage point of the National Portrait Gallery bar.
• A positive feast of Chinese food.
• Making up a story about the couple next to us - only to discover that I was pretty much spot on. He's a guru, she's his UK contact, there's unrequited love and - in reality, hypnotism.
• Chattering all the way home.

Thursday 27 August 2009

• Half an hour in a a playground / park, with a juice box and pen poised over listings to plan my weekend.
• Curling up with a bowl of popcorn and junk US TV on 4OD.
• Walking through the door to install that a new (ish) shiny shower had been installed, after much blood, sweat and tears. No longer will we have to fear the prospect of burly builders ripping down our bathroom walls.
• A can of coke at 4.30. A whim satisfied.
• A shared appreciation of the ridiculous and the horrifying.

Wednesday 26 August 2009

• A paperback James Bond novel in my bag.
• Propping up the bar in very good company, with perfectly chilled glass of beaujolais nouveau. Not a bad plan b.
• Caught: bespectacled and dishevelled on the front steps, drink in hand and long past my bed time. A knowing smirk was sufficient comment.
• A lovely, supportive email.
• Saying hello in the middle of the BFI.

Tuesday 25 August 2009

• A gig, a free bar, a very random chance combination of people.
• Presumptiousness.
• An email, subject line 'my to do list', that read 'Apparently my next job is "Maddy and Holly are the best". strange', popped up on screen during very dull website training. I almost slipped over the edge into hysteria.
• Three (blind) mice on the tube platform.
• Slipping into double act banter, to the slight bemusement of a new acquaintance.

Monday 24 August 2009

• Five postmen, in formation with trollies, coming out after each other in perfectly spaced intervals from the sorting office. The Red Arrows of Holloway.
• A good smile.
• Realising, as I spoke it out loud, that I'm not quite as flighty and unambitious as I feel sometimes. In fact, I may have scared the man from Fairplace. Strategic, indeed.
• Cheese and rocket and potatoes. Tasty goodness.
• Treasures in the pockets of my cardigan.

Sunday 23 August 2009

• A cup of coffee made for me, just as I was about to leave the house.
• Curling up, like a cat, in sunny spots around the flat. The windowsill, the doorsteps, my desk. Varying degrees of heat and precariousness.
• Reading, reading, reading. So lovely to hide from the world and spend time book in hand - guilt free.
• Watching Alf effortlessly lift two large boxes of academia up to ceiling level. I'd almost killed myself half an hour before, standing on a chair, buckling under the weight of the box. He just hoicked it up. Job done.
• Chickpeas, eaten by the handful.

Saturday 22 August 2009

• Tumbling back on to Skystation outside the Hayward, legs in the air - whereupon my foot became so freaked out at its great distance from the ground that it went into spasms of cramp.
• Beers in the sunshine, chattering to passing strangers, flicking from lazy conversation to book to Time Out to peoplewatching.
• Apero hour on the Southbank, dinner in Oval, a party on Liverpool Road. A truly London evening - all impromptu, all good fun.
• Pomegranate seeds.
• Modelling what appeared to be a large and shaggy dead sheep. Particularly chic over my shorts and shirt combo. Mmm hmm.

Friday 21 August 2009

• Terrible jokes. Really terrible jokes. (Though I did get the opportunity to tell my favourite joke ever. Hee!)
• Sitting in a candle-lit and lavender scented garden, watching the stars and planes overhead before meeting the usual suspects at the pub.
• A stolen couple of hours in Soho.
• Picking up shopping on the way home - restocking the vital essentials of lettuce, peanut butter and pitta. What more does a girl need?
• Just five minutes more between the sheets before I faced the day. And then another five. And another...

Thursday 20 August 2009

• Blue eyes for no apparent reason.
• Sushi, sushi for lunch.
• An impromptu catch up due to the cultural hub that is the Southbank.
• Kate as raconteur. I wept with laughter.
• Northern soul on the northern line, momentarily unplugged to hear a Northerner tell me I'm beautiful.

Wednesday 19 August 2009

• An interaction with a couple of Americans, travelling without their husbands.
• Cider in the sunshine.
• Meandering chatter over a bottle of red.
• The brilliant unexpected hilarity of a email forward. Anagrammed names prove frighteningly accurate.
• Panko covered sushi.

Tuesday 18 August 2009

• Sitting on the floor of the kitchen, talking stats, while a small dog snuffled around my ankles.
• Stars in the London sky.
• Curiosity sated, predictions proved accurate.
• Shimeji mushrooms. Like something from a fairytale.
• The familiarity of the walk to work, this morning in glorious sunshine.

Monday 17 August 2009

• Perfect London transport timing. Hoorah for buses.
• Sunset over the Lea Valley.
• Extra strong tictacs. Reglisse. Who would have known? (Also - they make me sneeze. A lot.)
• Notes left for me on my bed.
• Home.

Sunday 16 August 2009

• Finding my favourite duvet cover from my childhood. A rabbit-patterned Habitat little wonder from the early eighties.
• The BIG spider reappeared. It's so big, it's not even frightening. It has a personality (grumpy and sardonic) and a name (Jerome).
• Aperitifs on the lawn after all the cleaning's been done, catching the last golden rays of sunshine.
• More eau de nil tea cups. I spy a slighly pointless collection.
• A couple of hours drinking coffee, watching the world go by at San Cere brocante. Spot the Brits... (what's with the socks and sandals look, old men?)

Saturday 15 August 2009

• Books, books, books. So much so that, when looking for the pile I'd accumulated in the kitchen, I realised I couldn't find it because I'd read them all. Utter, utter bliss.
• My mother's absolute hysteria, and the requisite explanation of the jokes. The Ramblers Association and shoe shine. Turns out, we all have our own quite esoteric sense of humour.
• Mushroom spotting around the loop - shaggy ink caps and puffballs.
• An encounter with an old friend, looking happy and healthy. Job done, as he would say.
• Hiding from the tractor drivers as I lay melting in the sun. Too hot to resist sprawling, really.

Friday 14 August 2009

• Finally finding the right house, and being recognised therein.
• More tomatoes than any one girl should be able to shake a stick at.
• Cooking for other people, always a pleasure (especially people who are quite good at local gossip).
• White preserved asparagus, sucked down on the hop.
• Doing battle with the fauna of the house. I was victorious.

Thursday 13 August 2009

• Merry waves from the many people who now know us by name, despite having waved at each other for the last twenty years.
• Piecing together relationships, and revealing more history of the hamlet. Three bars at one time indeed. (There are only half a dozen houses!)
• Peanut flavoured crisps. I'm still not entirely convinced they're not quite wrong.
• Taking up position on the front doorstep, my favourite place, coffee and book in hand, post early-morning walk.
• The enraged response to Benjy le chien peeing on a box of trays. 'Oh la la, il a fait pisser', followed by something I'm pretty sure translated roughly as 'the little shit'. Such anger, I had to hold the giggles in til I got home.

Wednesday 12 August 2009

• A truly stunning sunset. The sky was glowing.
• Stretching my french with octagenarian farmers. Not nearly as terrifying as anticipated. Quite good fun, actually.
• Inadvertantly making eyes inappropriately. Oops.
• Messing around in Sousceyrac with carambars and bad french jokes.
• The weight of the sun on my skin.

Tuesday 11 August 2009

• A little bit of a tan with my red frock.
• Shooting stars. Lots and lots of shooting stars.
• Reading companionably at a safe distance from the pool in the midday heat.
• Watching my sister in full-on socially acceptable chat mode.
• Falling asleep curled up on a chair, again.

Monday 10 August 2009

• Dressing up like the statues on the front gate. Sadly, there may be photographic evidence. Hee!
• Polkaing around the kitchen.
• Lying on the front path, playing beat the intro.
• Accidental drunkenness.
• Tomatoes. I bloody love tomatoes.

Sunday 9 August 2009

• Rosé wine, Dolly Parton and cabin fever. There are worse ways to spend a rainy Sunday.
• Revisiting Au Dejeuner de Sousceyrac - the same menu covers, the same 'dark sauce'. It was perfect.
• Green glass teacups from Teyssieu brocante for two euros. A bargain.
• Cher in Mermaids. A suitable ending to a day of Kate's film choices.
• Texts that made me smile.

Saturday 8 August 2009

• My ma, giggling with us from HP's bed like we were all in a dorm room.
• The glow of the setting sun on the barn roof. Moureze, you're lovely.
• A wonderfully low and orange moon (and reference to my sister's horror at the proximity of 'Mars' years ago.)
• Citroen sorbet and cocquelicot icecream in a waffle cone.
• A cacophony of bird song as I set out.

Friday 7 August 2009

• Cooking with Kate, skating around the kitchen in synchronicity.
• Finding honesty growing in the wild.
• Being left to sleep until I woke up (albeit on the hardest mattress in the world).
• A meal with old, old friends.
• Chattering and laughing as we walked the loop for the first time this holiday.

Thursday 6 August 2009

• A road sweeper blaring 'Give it up, baby give it up' as I wandered across the road. Amusing.
• Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better. (Beckett, 1983)
• Sitting around the kitchen table.
• Reading on the steps by Liverpool Street station, feeling like I'm on holiday.
• The first songs on my podlet, as I sat waiting in the warm dark air after landing, were Leonard Cohen, the Mamas and the Papas and Oasis. All proper France music, all by coincidence.

Wednesday 5 August 2009

• A follow up to this story.
• Lunch in the canteen.
• Hip-hop-food flavoured banter.
• A magnificent barney as I walked to the pub. Couldn't have been more X-Rated Eastenders if it tried.
• A cool corona when I stopped for the day, accompanied by entertaining conversation, cashew nuts and the moon marking time as it moved through the sky.

Tuesday 4 August 2009

• An encounter with a master plasterer with particularly mobile eyebrows. God bless the habituees of the French House.
• A texted image of Tim, arms a-flying, playing the piano. Wish I'd stayed.
• The hideously ironic timing of a mis-sent email. Turns out, I really will never learn.
• A greasy, greasy cold samosa - bliss.
• A minute on the steps looking at the moon, while the road was silent.

Monday 3 August 2009

• Wine and home made cheesey nibbles on a slightly precarious perch under the Fourth Plinth.
• Initiating another believer into the glory of Beaujolais.
• Inadvertantly entertaining the couple on the table next to us (a couple who had been intriguing me no end) when they caught my protestation about just one more drink. I really did have to go home and clean the poor fish. (However, I still didn't actually do it. Am bad, bad, bad.)
• Giving the gift of books. Such an easy way to make friends and influence people.
• A promise that I would not be indoctrinated into the ways of sci-fi nonsense. What a relief.

Sunday 2 August 2009

• A north London soiree..
• Bacon and maple syrup in the sun. Bliss.
• Brief Encounter, cheeseburgers, ginger ale, blanket, Ms Hartwell. Day after the night before, perhaps?
• The moon, the night before it's full.
• We like short shorts... my earworm of a theme tune today. Hmm. Maybe the short / shirt combo was ill advised.

Saturday 1 August 2009

• Reading fiction. How I've missed stories.
• Cava and pringles at 4pm. Why not?
• An orange, eaten with sticky fingers on the way up Holloway Road.
• A very male interaction around a £20 pair of reebok classics. I'm going to take a wild guess, and assume that they 'fell off the back of a lorry'...
• An unexpected but welcome denoument.

Friday 31 July 2009

• Dissertation finished.
• Dissertation printed and bound.
• Dissertation handed in.
• Bottle of red.
• Drunk.

Thursday 30 July 2009

• Garlicky prawns and polenta. Delicious and only five minutes in the making.
• Beginning to clear the decks of paper. I've got stacks that come up to my knees.
• My ipod fizzling out just as I put the key into my front door. Good timing, Eugene.
• A pot of coffee at 3am, some typing, and then watching dawn rise through the trees.
• A chocolate waiting for me on my desk.

Wednesday 29 July 2009

• Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep. I'm tired and want to go to bed.
• This story... 'The only side effect was that the treated mice temporarily turned blue'. Hee!
• The renewed vigour provided by a long hot shower. Warm, dry and clean.
• A couple of minutes sitting in the dying sunshine on the back step, listening to AB potter in the kitchen.
• Learning when to just step away.

Tuesday 28 July 2009

• A Zaha Hadid skeleton at Stratford.
• Help, advice and guidance (and some grammatical tutoring).
• Trying, and failing, to remember mnemomics. Futile.
• Finally sliding into a nest of sheets, pillows and limbs.
• Piecing together broken bits of cement with my toes.

Monday 27 July 2009

• Gold embossed lettering on oxblood leather.
• Chinese food in a box.
• Pro-Epil complex. Who would have known such a thing was possible, let alone desirable? Not me, apparently.
• Gossiping by the kettle. Cliche much?
• Falling asleep to the soothing tones of Radio 4, in the pitch black.

Sunday 26 July 2009

• The birds singing as I went to bed.
• Waking up to an unexpected text that made me smile.
• Sweetcorn cooked with cumin seeds.
• Rearwindow-esque spying on the flats opposite.
• Oh Lord, I love my hotwater bottle.

Saturday 25 July 2009

• A lost squirrel.
• Gazpacho.
• Playing with a stanley knife.
• Nina Simone keeping me going into the very small hours of the morning.
• Pockets in my cardigan.

Friday 24 July 2009

• A Superman-esque wardrobe change in the loos. From sixties poppet to Hoxton twat?
• Standing, barefoot, in the rain, watching the sun shine through the heavy water. So pretty. (So wet - My shoes may be irretrievably soaked.)
• Gideon has re-emerged!
• Someone to listen to me spit feathers with rage, and not only employ some fairly effective calming techniques but give me some actually quite good insight.
• Bumping into a fellow dissertation-sufferer, and commiserating with each other about the hell that is working and writing and writing and working. Not long to go now though.

Thursday 23 July 2009

• I watched this three times in a row, trying desperately to supress an enormous grin. Hee!
• Trying to imagine what, possibly, a cosmic cassoulet could be... (In my defense I have no idea how such a song has made its way onto my podlet)
• Prunes, prunes, prunes.
• A good meeting this morning - reminds me what's exciting about my job.
• The weight of a wedge of printed paper - satisyingly solid.

Wednesday 22 July 2009

• Walking through town with Timbo.
• Rocket in a bag. Spicy green goodness, and only TEN calories.
• Working, working, working til 4am, then hopping in the shower.
• Striped undies under a serious black dress. (Is it bad that it was an unexpected surprise? Surely a girl should be able to remember what underwear she puts on in the morning.)
• An elderly tourist hugging a PCSO in thanks for directions. The PCSO was gracious in his acceptance, despite the alarm in his eyes.

Tuesday 21 July 2009

• Lord Puttnam walking past, clasping a Daunt Books cotton bag. Hoorah for bookishness.(Relatedly, today was a day for celeb spotting - Marcus Brigstock at Leicester Square looking bemused and clutching papers, and Louis Theroux on a bike by the British Museum (Swoon). I also thought I saw Ian from Eastenders. It wasn't him, but not quite the same calibre of intellect, I suspect.)
• Feeling slightly like a cartoon school girl with my clothing choice - I think it's the ink-blue and black stripes, maybe?
• Banter between two cabbies leaning out of their windows in a traffic jam on Euston Road. "I like your cab, son - well nice". I wonder if they were brothers?
• Hotdesking around the other side of the building. I miss Holly.
• A recipe,an old favourite, remembered and cooked speedily before hitting the books again. Tasty.

Monday 20 July 2009

• A beautiful green-blue sky behind Kings Cross.
• Studying in the gastropub opposite the bus stop home for a couple of hours. Many bonuses - avoiding having to cook, a limited break in my workflow after being turfed out of the library, and minimal distractions of the domestic type.
• Moths really are very stupid, aren't they?
• The morning after a terrible night's sleep. Sometimes, it's a relief to have to get up and go.
• A twinkly grin and wave of a cafetiere, spotted out of the corner of my eye.

Sunday 19 July 2009

• Realising before I got all the way to City library that it would be shut. Several hours spent ensconced in the cafe at the British Library instead.
• Wonderful charts to illustrate my data. Am a geek.
• Homemade pesto.
• Phone calls to check that I'm still alive. (Only just...)
• A blue glass pebble tuckled in amongst the many treasures in my pockets.

Saturday 18 July 2009

• Standing on the sunwarmed terrace at the British Library, drinking tea and watching sparrows hop and flutter around.
• Discovering a packet of rainbow mentos in my pocket.
• An involuntary afternoon nap that allowed me to work way into the wee hours. I fell asleep listening to a podcast from the wonderful Stuff You Should Know boys, examining just how important sleep is. Subliminal messages, perhaps?
• Channeling Edward Gorey through my clothing choices.
• Moments between the sheets before the day started for real. Just five minutes more...

Friday 17 July 2009

• Laughing and laughing and laughing at Ross being silly about Britney.
• The moment I spied the whole gang through the pub door.
• A cup of earl grey on the hop.
• A lovely photo.
• Giggling to myself about a really, really awkward handshake moment. Why am I so inept?

Thursday 16 July 2009

• A freezer forage that resulted in hot cross buns with milk. Don't knock it til you've tried it.
• Blitzing through piles of washing. (It's the little things, right?)
• A can of Italian lemonade.
• Sneaking spirits.
• The weight of my duvet, clad in crisp, clean and cool cotton.

Wednesday 15 July 2009

• Having my tea cooked for me.
• A three year pass! Unexpected, but a bonus nonetheless.
• A quiet moment working in the half light, having been abandoned for bed.
• The feel of the light and air through an open window at 5am as I made a pot of coffee and flicked through Time Out.
• The rose I found on the pavement while on a midnight dash to the shop has bloomed, wide and pink.

Tuesday 14 July 2009

• Meandering home in the sunshine, picking up thrifty purchases on the way - including four books from the Friends of Russell Square stall.
• Being read to from Fowler's Modern Usage.
• Another stage finally met in the slow cruel punishment that is a restructure. My options look okay.
• Maybe weeping a little bit at Katie and Peter: Stateside. What is wrong with me?
• Jeff Buckley in the dark.

Monday 13 July 2009

• A pavement find. I think it's a bathroom shelving thing, but it's now holding stacks of books (colour coded!) by my door.
• Braided hair.
• Music playing in the background all day long.
• A phone call to solve a problem (hopefully).
• A cup of coffee and a parting kiss while still cocooned in bed.

Sunday 12 July 2009

• Coffee and a croissant in a very lovely cafe, before my day began properly.
• Tea in a pint measure (and being questioned about it with a slight hesitancy... as if the answer could be even odder than the reality.)
• Listening to AB laugh at (the utterly mysterious to me) Alan Partridge.
• Curious wardrobe combinations - over=knee socks, night dresses, cardigans, stripes, pinned-buns in my hair. Clearly shouldn't be allowed to spend too much time on my own.
• Five piles of papers at the foot of my bed.

Saturday 11 July 2009

• This is probably a shameful admission, but I appreciate the Argos shopping experience. I google something I need, price it up, reserve it online, walk 4 minutes down the road and - with no human contact until collecting the aforementioned items of need - have my purchases in my hand within 10 minutes of ordering online. It's the perfect meld of real-life and online shopping. Relatedly, I'm now the proud owner of a dictaphone. Whoo, and indeed, hoo.
• Asparagus soup.
• Kittens in the flat below. Oh so cute (but oh so smelly - I'd been wondering why the hall smelt of poo recently).
• The bus journey from Holloway to Hackney. There are many things I love about this, from the snatched glimpses of views way across North London, to the mix of people seen in different parts of London.
• A pavlovian response to tv, a sofa and a bottle of red on a saturday night.

Friday 10 July 2009

• Proving, once again, that nachos are indeed a meal.
• An excel triumph (with major props to JT) - the vlookup formula may be my new best friend. (I don't get out much, clearly.)
• Discovering chai teabags in my cupboard, promptly consumed by the pint.
• Frozen grapes.
• Listening to the soundtrack of my room - the bubble of the fish, the whoosh of London traffic, the hum of my computer. It's quite soothing, really.

Thursday 9 July 2009

• Pulling on a soft blue fruit of the loom hoody that must be (do the maths now...) twenty years old. Wow. I love it muchly, despite that fact that I resemble nothing so much as a butch gnome when it's donned. It's done me well, in the eleven or so years it's been in my possession. Thanks Dave.
• Parmesan grissini.
• Actually using the British Library resources. Guess where you'll find me on Saturday?
• A purple dress with my (currently ubiquitous) white plimsolls.
• Spending far too much time with ABChao's photos.

Wednesday 8 July 2009

• The squeak of grilled halloumi between my teeth.
• Weeping with laughter within seconds of putting down my bag and taking off my jacket. The champagne and stories about Dave the cat helped.
• Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail as characters in Watership Down. So close, yet so awfully far. Brilliant.
• Trying to explain the wonder of the Big Red. My audience remains unconvinced.
• Dredging the keys for Arundel from of the bottom of my bag, and so being able to let myself in.

Tuesday 7 July 2009

• Lightening so close it fizzed and crackled at the window, shooting through a dirty yellow sky.
• A fly-by encounter with the Mancunian. Interesting timing.
• A chivalrous (and unexpected) umbrella-related appearance at my desk.
• Alf taking on board that I'm at breaking point, and helping me to fix a crisis at midnight.
• An evening of opera and interesting conversation with a friend not often enough seen.

Monday 6 July 2009

• Taking the time to walk through Trafalgar Square this morning to see the first One & Other plinther. It was surprisingly striking.
• Bumping into a semi-neglected friend on Upper Street, and making an executive decision to catch up properly over a drink.
• Purloined cheesy balls!
• A stunning moon, moving with speed through the sky.
• The irony of a spectacularly badly timed email appreciated by the recipient. Oops.

Sunday 5 July 2009

• Vimto. Lots of Vimto with bubbles. (Inspired by two different Andrew Bs, bizarrely.)
• Watching a wee fox curl up and go to sleep on a sunbaked rooftop in the garden behind mine.
• A concerned late night email - clearly I have an unhealthy relationship with my phone if a few hours off the radar leads to fear of my early demise.
• A mad moment at 1am - sleep deprivation I suspect - wherein I drew myself a magnificent handlebar moustache, with liquid eyeliner.
• Really very good lemons.

Saturday 4 July 2009

• The feeling of leaving the house for a summer evening - freshly showered and scented, wearing a flimsy frock, basking in the feel of evening sunshine on moisturised skin.
• Falling off a chaise longue relatively elegantly - no damage to anything other than my equilibrium.
• The view from Crouch End Hill in daylight at each end of the night. The return journey was soundtracked by birdsong, the outward journey by northern soul.
• Sitting in the doorway in easy companionship with partners-in-crime old and new, contemplating the world in a red wine fug as the sky lightened over the lawn outside.
• Giving wardrobe advice via text. Just call me Gok.

Friday 3 July 2009

• A start to my day so slow it allowed me to learn, after years and years, the name of one of my favourite pieces of music. Cheesy, much?
• Spontaneous cava and edamame beans on Highbury Fields with Ellie. Hello summer.
• Ineptness at Angel. Twenty minutes after I arrived at the station, sitting reading papers in the sunshine I began to wonder where Miss Hartwell had got to. Upon calling to assess her location, I heard her answer her phone - on the bench RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. She had also been sitting, happily reading in the sunshine for the past twenty minutes. To add to the amusement, the man who had been sitting between us laughed and laughed and laughed - and then picked up his phone to call the person he was meeting. Just in case.
• Temperatures suitable for a fifties frock.
• A funny fish-tank cleaning reference.

Thursday 2 July 2009

• A plastic model of a woolly mammoth on top of the recycling bin at Homerton Station. Bizarre.
• Sun warmed metal on bare thighs - skirt slightly too short, perhaps?
• White wine spritzers made so long they were pint-sized.
• Mastering eyeliner with a brush, not a felt nib.
• Consolidating a new friendship.

Wednesday 1 July 2009

• A tomato-red dress, with pockets. It hits all the criteria I had for a red frock - effortless, alluring and pocketed.
• Lunch in the sunshine.
• A couple of hours at home, in a golden-washed room.
• New bank cards!
• My latest earworm? In Denial. (Indoctrination, some might say...)

Tuesday 30 June 2009

• Recounting a ridiculous and wierd conversation in real time, via gmail chat.
• Cat out of the bag - and a stamp of approval.
• A lovely Soho evening - drinking in the street; eating falafel in the square, serenaded by a gaggle on a piano; an ArtAngel opening in a beautifully shabby building featuring white wine and nudity; a French Resistance pub and then a hidden late night den of iniquity. Topped off by hula hoops on the bus home. Perfect.
• Hedgery, tamed. I no longer have to commando crawl up the garden path to get home.
• A look of appreciation as I slid, half awake, from between the sheets.

Monday 29 June 2009

• Meandering at lunchtime with a couple of amigos, ice lollies in hand.
• A dried allium head on the road - skeletal and seventies-hued.
• The third in a series of bookish connections. A surprising connoisseur of Albert and The Lion revealed himself. Previous episodes involved the Reader's Digest Book of Strange Stories and Amazing Facts (1975 edition, with end papers by Jan Pienkowski), and Brewers Phrase and Fable.
• A long, late dinner in the garden with Holly and AB, lit by tealights. Relatedly - I made my first ever paella. A triumph.
• Washing the day away before bed.

Sunday 28 June 2009

• Sitting at my desk - novel in itself - next to the wide open window, looking out at a sky and skyline that could be an illustration in a children's picture book.
• Paper tulips.
• A candle that smells so familiar, yet I can't quite put my finger on it. It's a scent from being 14 at an all girls school - a make up, or perfume, or an Impulse bodyspray or something.
• A clear waterproof plaster. I feel almost as grown up as when I have stamps in my wallet when I have plasters to hand.
• Stacking my version of tschotkes on top of picture frames - artists badges, tailor's chalk, perfect pebbles, a candle and a magnetic marble.

Saturday 27 June 2009

• Do Re Me... made me grin from ear to ear.
• That same old 10pm impetus to work. Every time.
• Thunder and lightening and hail and rain. I popped out, just to be in the rain, and the water was running up to my ankles, with each raindrop or hail stone making the water splash to knee height.
• A quiet flat with every single window wide open.
• Waitrose peanut butter - better than Sunpat. Who'd have known?

Friday 26 June 2009

• Albert and the Lion - recited in broad accents inside my head.
• A useful MA meeting.
• Walking through town with different companions at different times.
• A slow start to the morning, tangled limbs in half-wakefulness, punctuated by the incessant beeping of alarms.
• Catching an eye as gossip was bandied about. Also, a well-timed pinch to the initiator of the conversation. Muppet.

Thursday 25 June 2009

• We love you so
• Quiet, so quiet - walking through Northampton Square and up towards Angel.
• The view up Holloway Road, all the way to Hampstead Heath (I think), from the top of a bus. Never fails, no matter what time of year, to make me grin.
• Summer drinks with Ross Head.
• A few minutes sitting on a flight of stairs before beginning my day, with a coffee at the perfect temperature and yesterday's paper.

Wednesday 24 June 2009

• A bus journey at dusk through East London. The buildings were glowing.
• Not only starting my day in an educational way (ha! got to love a double meaning), but being able to articulately recount the salient details. Brownie points.
• Googling images of sheep. Laughing slightly helplessly at my inappropriate, puerile and repeated use of 'sheeps'.
• Freesias on a whim.
• Taking the time to provide an ear to listen.

Tuesday 23 June 2009

• A lone balloon, floating eerily at shoulder height in the middle of the road, in the dark, soundtracked by Leonard Cohen's lugubrious tones.
• A wave from a fireman - spied through a small window - dressed in day-glo, running on a treadmill to blaring techno, in the middle of Chinatown. Hysteria set in after we realise he wasn't running in a restaurant kitchen but the back of a fire station.
• Sharing two of my favourite things: paperwrapped prawns and Le Beaujolais.
• I asked Hank Williams how lonely does it get? Hank Williams hasn't answered yet.
• Sunshine on a street corner.

Monday 22 June 2009

• A hotwater bottle, despite the climate.
• A couple of drinks with colleagues after a twelve hour day in the office.
• A professional victory - my argument and associated paper won the battle.
• An old dress repaired and reworn - it's nice to have it back in circulation.
• Scraping myself off the sofa and avoiding the traditional route of passing out in an exhausted hayfevery mess. It's the little victories that keep me going.

Sunday 21 June 2009

• A pair of pigeons grooming (preening?) each other on the ledge outside my kitchen window. Each submitted to the others ministrations in turn with what appeared to be patient affection.
• Word games on the front doorstep, dictionary and wine in hand. My favourite moments include knowing the meaning of comodegenic, the first word I was given, before all the syllables had been fully formed, and working out the meaning of grubstake - much to my competitor's shock.
• Being recognised by the man I buy vegetables in a bowl from with a hail of 'two lettuces!'. He was right.
• Chickpeas and aubergine and spinach in excess.
• An unexpectedly wistful farewell.

Saturday 20 June 2009

• Fixing my computer - thank god. The moment that little orange light flickered on was one of overwhelming joy, and may have elicited an overly loud 'amazing!'.
• A recipient for my hungover and affectionate state. Only gentle mocking was applied in dues.
• Russell Brand made me giggle. In fact, I'm kind of ashamed to admit this but saturday night tv made me giggle - a man dressed as a hamster, tumbling over again and again was shamefully but irresistably funny. I hate myself sometimes.
• Pasta and pesto - restorative and tasty.
• A small boy laughing and laughing and laughing at his teenaged companions' cat-calls and attempts to lure me to come and play.

Friday 19 June 2009

• Ellie giving the game away by asking me a question during a phone call to a third party, when quite clearly she was supposed to be travelling, on a bus and alone. I wept with laughter for the next twenty minutes at the spectacle of her face - aghast with realisation halfway through the query.
• A stolen afternoon in Covent Garden, pottering.
• A dutiful phone call.
• An endearingly chatty bedfellow this morning - unusually perky due to excitement about that evening's plans.
• A funny story, with physical recreations of shock and awe about a 45p book in Oxfam. Sadly, the tale did not end well.

Thursday 18 June 2009

• A middle aged man in a suit, caught in an embrace by a tall and elegant hooker - without realising what he'd got himself into. On having the photographer across the road pointed out to him by the aforementioned lady of the night he whirled around, still clasped in her arms, spotted the insalubrious doorway behind him and broke free - dashing down the street with a cry of 'I am NOT doing THAT' trailing behind him. Such merriment.
• Darth Vader, in a floral frock, on a Dutch bike.
• Meeting a variety of interesting people - culminating in Gavin the Irish poet with mad eyes and a handlebar moustache, reciting at me while I was sitting on the bonnet of somebody's car drinking a bottle of beer.
• Brandy and coffee on the front step, dissecting the night that had gone by, wrapped around a warm body and full mug to keep the chill air out.
• Belly laughs at work.

Wednesday 17 June 2009

• Photos back - sadly, not many beautiful shots.
• Learning at lunchtime.
• A satisfying start to the day.
• A doughnut, hula hoops and lucozade. Followed later by sushi. Hangover, anyone?
• A shower before bed. Clean skin, clean sheets.

Tuesday 16 June 2009

• A smile across the top of a row of desks.
• A man utterly, utterly fixated by my cleavage at dinner. The amusement provided to my companion was worth enduring his shameless stare.
• Drunken hipsters at the French House.
• Well-matched and game. A good combination.
• Impromptu drinks with unusual suspects.

Monday 15 June 2009

• A nifty duvet storage solution - on top of the mattress, under the sheets. Not dissimilar to sleeping on a slightly chunky cloud.
• An elegant dress with many bangles.
• Painting my toenails by candlelight at 2am, on the front doorstep listening to the rain pour down and the buses fly by.
• Telling stories about the aforementioned dress, namely knicker-flashing at funerals. The shame is slightly tempered by the genuine laughter the ridiculous tale provokes.
• Two lovely cards in the post.

Sunday 14 June 2009

• Bob and Roberta Smith admired my brooch. Vindication. (Sadly, or possibly for the best, I didn't tell him that the brooch is called Bob.)
• A wry grin and entertained twinkle, intended to be over my head, about my existence.
• A new bracelet - called Terence.
• Beer after beer after beer in the sunshine at the Vauxhall art carboot sale and the wider sphere of East London.
• Bumping into a whole heap of people from different moments in my past and present.

Saturday 13 June 2009

• Two bird foraging in the garden, and above my head - singing at each other, chips in mouth. A proper Holloway romance.
• Five cats in a row.
• An informative techy phonecall.
• A perfect risotto. In fact, a pretty darn good meal - salmon, asparagus, cheese, wine, port.
• An Affair to Remember for the second time in about 12 hours.

Friday 12 June 2009

• Being woken by the sound of ducks on the river right outside my window.
• A couple of hours of really good work on the train, despite a lack of air con.
• A penguin classic picked up in a Kendal charity shop - an illustrated Stern.
• A Moureze reunion - food, wine, Girls Aloud, hours at the dinner table.
• Data received!

Thursday 11 June 2009

• One Art by Elizabeth Bishop. The art of losing isn't hard to master.
• A mini bottle of wine and a very large bottle of water on the train.
• Bird foot prints in concrete.
• A mirror on the pavement, reflecting the sky like a James Turrell or a Anish Kapoor.
• Holding the hysteria together as I walked through a deathly quiet (but very pretty) Kendal alone after dark. Giggle, giggle.

Wednesday 10 June 2009

• Walking to work as usual, past all the irate commuters.
• A useful dissertation meeting.
• Another in a series of regular sushi dates with Kate.
• The pretty barman is back at Benugo.
• Walking to the Southbank from Farringdon, chattering to an old friend with some good news.

Tuesday 9 June 2009

• Dinner at the Lord Stanley. Hoorah!
• A coffee before my commute. A ritual I should rehearse more often.
• Giving the gift of fibre-tipped pens, wrapped in a ribbon.
• Mailing a surprise box of books.
• A sleepy encounter.

Monday 8 June 2009

• Reading John Grisham at 5am.
• A hoopoe on the way to the airport.
• Mini cheddars and the Leitch Review on the plane.
• A dash into town to buy a new phone, and then being back in communication with the world.
• Company later on.

Sunday 7 June 2009

• Squeezing in one last meal on the lawn, because the clouds had lifted, and the sun appeared.
• An incredible moon above the fields.
• Calf-corralling.
• A feast fit for a king.
• Walking the loop.

Saturday 6 June 2009

• A stolen couple of hours in San Cere, just being in France.
• State of Play. All of it. Fab.
• The fire blazing when we got home.
• A swallow on the telephone line, spotted as the first and last thing I saw in daylight.
• Pretty patisserie.

Friday 5 June 2009

• Citron presse and frites mayo on a terrace over looking a huge drop at Rocamadour.
• A big eagle soaring above.
• Stained glass and red votives.
• Whisky and cards into the wee hours.
• Sourcing a long-desired antique poster.

Thursday 4 June 2009

• Dangling my feet in the water of a rediscovered lake.
• Cava for breakfast.
• Dragonflies and buzzards.
• Taking Heat magazine to bed. Wonderfully awful.
• A striped ice lolly, dripping down my wrist.

Wednesday 3 June 2009

• Swallows swooping and frolicking over the pool.
• Diving into cold salty water.
• Stars above the washing line as I tipsily brought in the dried sheets.
• An airport switchover.
• The first of many many games of shithead.

Tuesday 2 June 2009

• Driving in the sunshine, windows open, Burt blaring.
• The first citron presse of the summer.
• Sitting on big stones in the river.
• Tomatoes, so many tomatoes.
• A revelatory text on a moonlit stroll.

Monday 1 June 2009

• Lying on my back in the dark on the warm pathway, staring at the stars to the strains of Top Gun.
• White wine cut with soda, taken on the lawn about an hour after arriving, upancking, cleaning and just generally sorting things out.
• Windows and doors open in the house.
• Ross and Ellie, grinning from Wetherspoons wearing each other's hats.
• A surprisingly good coffee at Tottenham Hale - bought simply because I'd spectacularly kicked the mug I'd made at home, just too late to put on another pot.

Sunday 31 May 2009

• A day in the garden, most of it in just my knickers - to the slight shock of my companion. He soon got over it.
• The perfect twister ice lolly.
• Sleeping until I woke up, and realised the horrid dreams weren't real.
• One scarf, two ways: as a blanket on sunwarmed paving; and, later, as a surprisingly chic dress.
• Adding a street-found rusted key to a long necklace.

Saturday 30 May 2009

• A jay at arms length. Such a blue.
• A toddler on the train, smiley and happy - and desperate to touch a strangers hair.
• Being gently harrassed into waking up by a body returning to bed in order to curl around me.
• A Lea Stein green terrier, called Bob. I love him muchly.
• An evening in the East: dinner in the garden, dozing on the sofa, a mug of tea in bed.

Friday 29 May 2009

• A new game. Hours of fun, making co-conspirators inveigle themselves into really, really awkward situations. Poor old AB didn't have a chance.
• A productive lunchhour in the sunshine, and a sweet encounter at university. Relatedly, a deadline met for a long-ignored and begrudged piece of work.
• Cider in the park.
• A bubble of joy lodged in my chest for the latter part of the afternoon, becoming almost overwhelming as I scooted down Farringdon Road, plotting my evening. I was positively giddy.
• Sitting on the curb in the sunshine, four in a row.

Thursday 28 May 2009

• A pretty accurate character-reading in The Book of Birthday Fortunes.
• An impromptu drink in Highbury - a glimmer of things to come.
• A piece of work finished (even though it was at 3am - punching through that midnight slump was a little grim). A deadline should therefore be met. Nothing quite like taking it right to the wire to keep me buzzing in the small hours of the morning.
• Rapid-fire email banter between offices, from the mundane to the, quite frankly, filthily surreal.
• Some very, very good news from a friend. A wedding in the North East will follow this evening's Hampstead Heath proposal.

Wednesday 27 May 2009

• My book-based tactics acknowledged and lauded.
• The more I explain it, the more I work out that it might just be what I want. I think that's a good thing.
• An academic breakthrough - a data source for my dissertation.
• A tidied desk before I left the building. Satisfying - and unusual.
• Rolling over in bed this morning and just giving into the heaviness for a little while longer.

Tuesday 26 May 2009

• A different walk home.
• A car for next week, sorted.
• A chatty phone call from an all too distant partner in crime (conducted while wrangling two iceburg lettuces, an open packet of hula hoops and - eventually - my front door keys. Sometimes, being an octopus would be a good thing.)
• New shoes! (Well, second outing, but close enough...)
• Being given a box of multivitamins. Kind of a backhanded show of affection, I feel.

Monday 25 May 2009

• A dress that makes my eyes particularly blue.
• A handmade solution to a coffee pot dilemma. There's nothing I can't do with a pair of pliers and a coathanger. (The downside? I only came to the realisation that I was in need of a solution after the full bubbling pot had fallen over. Spectacularly. Twice.)
• A fit of the giggles half way through (Hollywood voice) Star Trek: The next generation (/Hollywood voice) at the Imax. I think the combination of the scale and the inadvertent campery got me.
• Coming home to a tidy room, quiet but for the sound of the fish.
• Studying at the BFI, glass of montepulciano and pen in hand.

Sunday 24 May 2009

• A lazy morning puddling in a Hackney garden, with all the accoutrements of Sundays: coffee, papers, idle chatter, abandoned sudoku.
• A long and rambling walk with Miss Hartwell, resulting in weary limbs and pinkened skin.
• Summer - oh, summer.
• The implication of a bar of dove soap.
• Champagne and rollercoasters at midnight.

Saturday 23 May 2009

• Appropriately, this video made me grin widely in the wee hours, a year to the day after this wedding. (Fab wedding film via Mighty Girl.)
• An easy evening, curled up with a bottle of red and a warm body.
• Stratford at dusk. Beautiful.
• Ross Head in silver leggings. Monstrous or wonderful?
• Wandering through a weekend Westminster plugged into twinkly Jens Lekman.

Friday 22 May 2009

• Warm concrete on bare skin.
• Returning to civilisation (albeit in Kilburn) - dinner with relaxed company and good theatre.
• A box of photos.
• An encounter with a once-crush.
• An afternoon bath with a book, a pencil and silence in the flat.

Thursday 21 May 2009

• The fish cleaned, finally.
• Picking up a sought-after book. Why are artists poor, indeed?
• An ersatz cheese and ham toastie. Close enough.
• A double take and subsequent twinkle.
• Lime cordial.

Wednesday 20 May 2009

• A moment of perplexed silence as I walked away from a policewoman this morning. I'd stopped to say "This is the daftest thing I've said in a while, but there's a bird stuck in a fence up opposite Downing Street, and I know there's probably nothing you can do about it but I just thought I'd let you know...". Her response was "You don't mean, like, a pelican, do you?" A pelican? No. I don't mean a pelican.
• Being found just before I got lost.
• Nachos!
• Passing notes like school children.
• New underwear, with such pretty buttons.

Tuesday 19 May 2009

• Dappled sunlight across green scarves.
• A new Time Out.
• Sleeping with my window open. Cold air and warm bed.
• The solution to my hated light fitting. Long-desired and a semi-ideal compromise. Despite being in place for a few weeks, it still needs tweaking, but is close enough for the moment.
• Angel Delight (butterscotch flavour, naturally).

Monday 18 May 2009

• The mop top pulled back into a very sad stubby little pony tail - dear god, I need a haircut.
• The golden glow of evening through my bedroom window.
• A 'Cadbury Single' - the tiniest chocolate bar in the world.
• Phone calls to check I'm still alive.
• A clothes-horse covered in stripes of varying but coordinating shades and widths.