Days off in between finishing old job and starting new, meeting friends for lunch in Bloomsbury for Bea's piled high salad plates or on Exmouth Market for veggie burritos wrapped in silver foil. Lazy Sundays in Regent's Park, hidden in a secret garden behind a gate, electric blue peacocks and flowerbeds tumultuous with colour. Soft set, barely frozen gelato on Marylebone High Street, deliciously honey-flavoured, honeycomb studded. Fela at Sadler's Wells, the music coursing through me, the sheer, overwhelming desire to dance with abandon. Sweet lassis and rava dosas in a bhel poori house behind Euston. On a random Wednesday, air hot and heavy, an East London rooftop bar, views of Canary Wharf in the distance. Pizza on Primrose Hill, the views, the lights. Field Day festival in Victoria Park, live music, guitars, tambourines, a brass band in a proper bandstand, pear cider, paper bags of doughnuts, burritos (more) the size of small babies, dancing in packed tents or under a darkening sky, bumping into so many familiar faces. Pub lunches in beer gardens, rain part way through, British summer. Lemonade and lime, grey t-shirts with pigeons, bird of this city. Brioche french toast on a Saturday morning, syrup, strawberries, icing sugar. The Globe Theatre midweek for The Globe Mysteries, standing in the yard, imagining a time gone by. Green Park in the early morning sunshine, deckchairs still folded, stacked.