London. Love.

M was in Japan, I had just sent off a job application that had been keeping me locked to my computer all week, and as I skipped from work on Friday afternoon London stretched before me, promising.

London, by way of Bombay, Tokyo, Hawaii as it turns out. God I love this city.

Friday, drinks on the Southbank at the Dishoom pop-up (Hannah and I both, twin shadows, flitting through the city, visiting the same places, sampling the same menus, usually within the space of a few weeks, sometimes within the space of a few hours, crazy!). Icy cocktails in shades of coral, taken up to the roof garden of Queen Elizabeth Hall as the early evening sun slanted across the Thames. Later, the sun lower, a walk across the bridge, up into Chinatown to meet Anna for dinner, Tokyo Diner, plastic sushi clock, no tipping just tell your friends policy (so here I am, telling you), simple, delicious Japanese food. A wander round Fopp, searching for Frida. I am reading The Lacuna, feeling inspired. The bright pink peonies and purple stocks on my dressing table help, the colours are vivid, vital, as I imagine the colours of Mexico must be. On the way to the tube, stopping for bubble tea on Shaftsbury Avenue, the pair of us getting into a conversation with the girls behind the counter, being given tasters, loving this mad city.

Saturday, baking, white chocolate and raspberry cupcakes, a friend's Hawaiian birthday party, flower garlands, ukuleles, Pimms, watermelon, ripe, juices dripping down fingers. Walking back from West Hampstead, dusk, roses tumbling over garden walls, the first fuzz of lavender flowers, still green.

Sunday, a day trip, boarding the Clipper at London Bridge, whizzing down to Greenwich, spray in our hair, a wander round the market, a long lunch in a pub garden, interrupted by the briefest of rainstorms, but otherwise glorious sunshine, blue skies, some scudding clouds. Fish and chips. Beautiful houses with tastefully coloured doors, more roses, spilling over brickwork. A walk through the park, through a rose garden, past a game of cricket, cricket whites, the smack of ball on wood, up to the observatory, city stretched beneath us. Another pub garden, the four of us sitting and chatting and soaking up the sunshine, the fleeting quality of Sunday afternoon.

Maybe I'll want to move away from this city in ten years. Heck, maybe I'll be fed up in five. But for now, there is nowhere, nowhere, I would rather be.