There was cricket at the Oval, cider and smooth grass, but no cricket whites. Dinner at Riding House Cafe with my parents, gin, elderflower and cucumber cocktails, figs and goats' curd. Brunch at a friends then, later, juice and slabs of cake at Jak's in Knightsbridge, air hot and sticky, crates of oranges glimpsed through windows. An evening spent in North London, dinner at some friends', we drank our own version of a gin, elderflower and cucumber cocktail, ate Nigel Slater's peach and blueberry cobbler for dessert as the sky darkened and swallows (or swifts?) dipped in and out of the gables of the house opposite. Watched Coldplay perform at Glastonbury on the BBC, reminded me of being a teenager, owning their albums. Sunday we hit Southbank, drank iced drinks from Dishoom pop-up, sat on the rooftop garden of the Queen Elizabeth Hall, melted and melted, enviously watched the children screeching and running in the fountains, then escaped to the air conditioned Hayward Gallery with J and H to see the Tracey Emin. I actually really liked most of it, didn't think I would, but I did. The quilts especially.
Sunday night M and I took ourselves up to Primrose Hill with a couple of takeaway pizzas from Marine Ices, a few bottles of beer and a picnic rug. Sat and talked as the sun went down, to the background chatter of other visitors to the hill, and the chords of a nearby guitar.