Monday, 16 July 2012


{or, gooseberry and elderflower fool, a recipe of sorts}

Take some gooseberries, stew gently with a little sugar until softened. Allow to cool. Whip some cream. Fold fruit and cream together with some elderflower cordial. Eat.

Photos from last summer, hence lack of quantities. One of those posts I never got round to posting, and then it was winter and the last thing on anyone's mind was gooseberries. Have just done a search online, you may want to check in with Nigel for an actual recipe.

Wednesday, 11 July 2012

London Love: Tamesis Dock

Albert Embankment, SE1 7TP

Between Lambeth and Vauxhall bridges, on the south side of the river, there is a boat. A boat which is also a pub, Tamesis DockThey do food too, and have live music nights. A boat dripping with fairylights in rainbow colours, decks scattered with pot plants and mismatched furniture. Multiple decks to sit or stand on, sip your drink, gaze out at the water. Inside, fish suspended from the ceiling, pictures hanging on the walls, more mismatched furniture.  I first went in April, for a colleague's leaving drinks. Arrived in the early evening, pink sky, lights popping on along the river. Left in the rain, sheets of it falling, like something from a movie. Went back a few weeks later, in May, camera in tow. Bought beers and sat on the top deck, river calm beneath. 

I am a little bit in love with this place.

Sunday, 8 July 2012

Weekend Sunshine II

In what has been a summer so far characterised largely by rain, another weekend in which we were lucky enough to have some sun. The last weekend in May. On Friday, after work, a few of us had headed to the park, hazy with sunshine, sat drinking and talking, making daisy chains so long they wrapped seven times round my wrist. As it got dark heading south to Clapham to watch an Afro-Cuban band perform in a pub. Walking through residential streets with roses tumbling over brickwork, five of us and a bike. Warm air, and the orange-black city sky, and that wonderful light headed feeling that comes with a Friday night in summer. A pub courtyard, saxophones and white wine, a tiny sliver of glass in my foot which remained there until Sunday, niggling. Running, hopelessly, for last tube. Nightbuses home, shouting goodbyes into the darkness.

On the Saturday morning, bundling presents and clothes into a bag, dashing to the train, out of the city for my sister's birthday weekend. From the train window, hawthorn frothing in the hedgerows like David Hockney paintings. The Norfolk garden, lilacs in bloom, reflecting onto the still surface of the pond, full of shimmying tadpoles below. Forget-me-nots under the fruit trees, long grass, lying in the sun with S, both of us paralysed with inactivity. Dad doing the calligraphy on a mustard fancy dress costume. An evening barbecue, asparagus from the garden, skewers of tomatoes, jumpers on in the absence of sun. A birthday breakfast outdoors, brioche french toast, berries. Unwrapping of presents.