Tuesday, 8 February 2011
Coloured cotton, green shoots
I go to Norfolk at the weekend after another busy week, the theatre on Monday, a failed attempt to see Sofia Coppola's Somewhere (broken projector) on Wednesday, pizza with C instead, uneaten popcorn under the table, another supper club on Thursday with H, this time South of the river at Rosie's Deli in Brixton, most delicious rice pudding I have ever eaten, and Rosie and Steph are lovely. Hopping on a train Friday afternoon, stepping out onto a darkened platform, wind gusting, tugging at my hair, whipping the trees, Dad there to meet me, pulling up the drive to a bright kitchen, Mum, cups of tea. Norwich on Saturday to see S, my sister, smoothies at Giraffe, catching up on her exploits, losing track at romance situation number 3. Meeting Mum and Dad later, all of us heading to the cinema, Brighton Rock, the new adaptation, powerful, gripping, and wonderful lead performances, but I think it helps that I have just read the book and am able to project all the complex, tortured internal monologues of characters onto every half gesture, sneered remark. I must watch the original film too. Driving back to London Sunday night feeling almost homesick. And tucked around all this, the rest of the weekend, signs of life in the garden, winter leeks, grey-green, purple sprouting broccoli that I scoured for caterpillars last summer, earthworms, pink, in the compost bin, clusters of snowdrops under the apple trees, rhubarb, emerging, mossy walls, bright green. Shoots in the conservatory, hyacinths in glass jars. Sewing machine out in the kitchen, using fabric from the Liberty sale to make tiny cushions, and Muji handkerchief featuring old New York backed with velvet from an old skirt to make a large one. Lychees, dusky pink, sticky juice, Madagascar scented.