Sometimes I fear all I photograph is flowers

I saw Black Swan on Wednesday, it set my heart racing, made me hide behind my scarf in fear. When the end credits began to roll, I sat speechless, awed. Thursday I went to The Book Club, did some craft in the basement to a soundtrack of live music, sellotape, paper plates, lollipop sticks. Friday night Anna and I had tickets to Twelfth Night at The National, I enjoyed it, but wasn't overwhelmed, though thought the set was beautiful. Saturday Mum, Dad and S were down, and we walked through London, collars turned up against the cold, hats, scarves, hot chocolates in the Tate Britain cafe. Winchester on Saturday evening, boarding the train clutching a bottle of chilled white and a bunch of roses and freesias, a belated Burns night celebration at some friends' house, vegetarian haggis for me (pleasingly, surprisingly, good), two types of mash, brownies for pudding, running groaning, stuffed full, to catch our train, just missing it, half an hour waiting on the platform in the bitter cold. Columbia Road, again, this time with the family, my favourite place to be on a Sunday morning. Bagels, more hot chocolate, a bunch of mixed tulips for S and I to split. S and her dramatic earrings, Mum and her 'country' coat. One of my Christmas presents, from M, comes out with us, a Diana with instant film. A couple come out well, others less so, I am still experimenting. Later, Primrose Hill, visiting some family friends, I see blue sky and sunshine, and am grateful.