Look, I know that the grey skies and rain are back again, and that most of you probably spent a good part of the Bank Holiday weekend freezing your socks off under union jack umbrellas next to a murky river (I certainly did), but for a couple of weeks we had sunshine. Beautiful sunshine. So beautiful that the entire office seemed to depart en mass for the park each lunchtime, taking far longer away from our desks than was really decent, buying ice creams from the kiosk and making daisy chains which would later wither quickly next to mouse-mats and tape dispensers.
The first of the sunny weekends M and I hopped on a train south to Richmond, avoiding the rugby, choosing instead the buttercup strewn riverbank, Isabella Plantation and confident deer. In the evening we listened to the London Symphony Orchestra perform live in Trafalgar Square as the setting sun cast a golden glow over players and audience alike, then headed to the river for drinks on a boat. On the Sunday a friend and I walked through Soho without jackets, ate lunch at Princi, then saw the Lucian Freud at the National Portrait Gallery with a friend, followed by our first Snogs of the season.
Someone told me recently that bluebells are the hardest flower to photograph, that capturing their blue is tricky, elusive. I think they were right.