The Last of the Autumn

{or, how many different types of fungi can you spot on a single walk?}

M and I walk up to Hampstead, Saturday morning two weekends ago. Grab a flat white (him) and a hot chocolate (me) from Ginger and White then head onto Hampstead Heath.

It is as though the autumn is giving a final fanfare, going out in a blaze of glorious colour and light. And the mushrooms! So many mushrooms, in such a range of colours and shapes. We visit the pergola first, beautiful as ever, with its creeping vines and views over the treetops. Then we cross the road to the bigger part of the heath, and walk and walk, and take photograph after photograph of fungi, brown leaves, sunlight falling between the trees. I feel like I have stepped into the pages of a book, Lord of the Rings, or Hansel and Gretel, where the trees are huge and ancient, and toadstools sprout overnight from damp leaf mulch. For most of the walk we are alone, spotting dog walkers in the distance perhaps, or hearing the shouts of children between the trees, but mostly just the two of us. I am reminded again how lucky we are to have these vast green spaces in the middle of our city.

We finish the walk with cider and a pint in the Dickensian Holly Bush, and in the evening eat at the Chiswick Franco Manca where the pizzas are tasty and the bill always reasonable. Later, a house warming in a beautiful flat in Baron's Court, all tiled fireplaces and high ceilings, drinking perry and catching up with university friends.

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Last weekend was a hasty visit to Norfolk to see my sister in a play (she rocked), then a dash back down to London for the Bust Christmas Craftacular, selling jams and 'Sisterhood' tote bags next to the amazing Rob Ryan. Photos from that will go on the Shoreditch Sisters WI blog at some point.

So, last of the autumn posts done. December I am ready for you.

Autumn weekends V

Then we are into mid November and everywhere you look men are growing moustaches. We go to some engagement drinks near Fleet Street, then afterwards on to a Ocean's Eleven (1960 version) party in London Fields, walk past the city of tents outside St Paul's Cathedral on the way between the two, dressed in jewels and furs, the juxtaposition is strange. Saturday breakfast at Made in Camden, a recent discovery but a good one, spiced chickpeas, saffron yoghurt and eggs, banana buttermilk pancakes, poached strawberries. Another discovery is Goldhawk Road where I go to buy fabric for upcoming Christmas craft fairs - so many fabric shops on such a short stretch, but they just blow me away with the variety of colour and pattern. An afternoon spent crafting at an old school friend's in south London, we sit and stitch, eat buttered crumpets, watch 'Singing in the Rain' (which I hadn't actually ever seen before), dog at our feet. Just what I needed after a manic week. In the evening it's out east for Vietnamese on the Kingsland Road with some friends, then to a bar for margaritas before making it to the most wonderful cocktail bar, hidden in a small basement, great atmosphere, quiet enough not to have to shout, cocktails delicious, barmen all sporting very dapper moustaches. I'll post about it soon. The night air is misty when we finally emerge. A Sunday walk across Primrose Hill and Regent's Park, the farmer's market, another afternoon needle and thread in hand. In the week, craft nights, returning to my old work for another colleague's leaving drinks, baked Camembert for dinner, and I am reminded all over again why this is my favourite season.

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I am trying desperately to catch up on all my autumn posts before we slip into December. Today the Shoreditch Sisters were at Bust Christmas Craftacular sharing a table with the legend that is Rob Ryan (he is amazing!!), and so already feeling the Christmas twinges, need to get all the browning leaves, laced up boots and Hampstead Heath fungi out the way before things get too festive round here.

Autumn weekends IV: Bonfire Weekend

Then suddenly we're into November, the clocks have gone back, and there are explosions in the night sky. I take a long weekend for Bonfire Night. Head to Norfolk on Thursday after work drinks with some of my now not so new colleagues, happiness bubbling up inside at the thought of the upcoming weekend, but happiness also that I love the new job, and the people I work with, and that the treading water feeling of being the new kid on the block is fading.

I take the train with Dad and we arrive to the smell of damp leaves, and fine drizzle. Drizzle that turns to rain on Friday morning and a sinking of hearts that Saturday night's party will be a wash out. But it's not. Oh Bonfire Night, how I love it. Even more so when surrounded by some of my bestest. M arrives Friday evening, then Anna on Saturday morning so we can hit the charity shops, plundering them for china brooches and dog eared C.S. Lewis books before heading back to the warm kitchen for an afternoon cooking. My sister arrives later, driving from uni, fresh from rehearsals. I realise it is rapidly getting dark and I haven't yet picked any flowers, grab her for the company in the darkening garden, gather handfuls of still rain-wet chrysanthemums. Then S shows up from London with a box of his Mum's brownies, then V, fresh with tales from NYC, and then finally a jumble of family friends who live locally and who come bearing sparklers and bottles of wine and bags of marshmallows. Mulled perry is served and people shuffle to the bonfire, cradling the warm cinnamon scented liquid. There is the ever risky do-it-yourself fireworks display conducted by over enthusiastic Dads, rockets shooting off in haphazard directions amongst the brassicas, which can't quite compete with the display at the local cricket ground just spied over the neighbours' hedge. There is roasted pumpkin soup in mugs by the fire, then everyone piles back into the house to load plates with food. Coleslaw and potato wedges, mushroom pierogi and spinach and cheese pasties, chutney and this cheese and pumpkin cupcakes and two types of brownie, all eaten in the candlelit conservatory. Back out to the bonfire then, still no sign of rain, for sparklers and toasted marshmallows.

Past midnight, cheeks flushed and hair smokey, those that are staying the night pile inside and watch old Disney movies in the library. In the morning there is a late breakfast, Anna's muffins, orange juice, scrambled eggs and cooked mushrooms, and later a walk at the nearby fen, grasses tall and whispering, skies grey.

On Monday, out of the tube and walking through the park to work, my gloves still smell of wood smoke.

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From the book I'm currently reading (wonderful), American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld, a sentence which I read and re-read as it summed up so perfectly, although not talking about 5th November, why I love Bonfire Night:

I hoped it fell below seventy-five degrees on Saturday so they'd build the bonfire at Fred's party and I could stand next to it, braced by that wall of heat against my body, watching the leap of the flames, being reminded, as I always was by fires, that they were alive and so was I.