Grapefruits, guidebooks

Early finish at work on Friday, meeting a friend, walking to St James' Park for thick hot chocolates in the cafe. The sunlight on the water is beautiful, geese overhead, but I am without my camera. A detour via Daunt Books on the way home, where I purchase a Japan travel guide. A late night at a friend's party, wearing my new I-know-it's-January-and-I'm-saving-up-for-Japan-but-this-was-in-the-Butler-&-Wilson-sale-when-I-popped-in-last-week necklace, milky white glass, green beads, heavy round my neck. Two night buses home, air cold, sky clear, but C is with me for company. This weekend, citrus breakfasts, reading a Skye Gyngell cookbook frugally borrowed from the library, dreaming of summer salads, pansy scattered. Baking a Saturday morning soda bread, out of the oven in the time it took to wrestle with my grapefruit segments, eaten still warm with fast melting butter, strawberry jam. Dinner at a friend's, delicious. Bagels bought en route on Seven Sisters Road for Sunday morning, to accompany raspberries and the remaining grapefruit half. Marylebone farmer's market, three bunches of pink tulips, white edged, squeaky stemmed. Later, in the supermarket, a small bunch of narcissi too, because standing there, in the fresh produce section under the strip lighting, I can't resist their scent. Stopping by my parents' flat to pick up post, amazed at an orchid that used to be mine, an abundance of bright flowers from a single stem. Radishes at lunchtime, the inverse colourway of the tulips.