small things

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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