"What did I do wrong?!"

...wailed my minimalist, modern design loving father when I brought this kitsch beauty home (carnations added by me - but I think they complete the look, no?). It seems opinion is a little split on my latest charity shop purchase...

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But, if you are, like me, on the enamoured side of the fence, I've just spotted that Leona has a couple going in her fabulous shop (here and here).

New York Part VII

And finally. We hop, skip across to Brooklyn for the Brooklyn flea, never have I wanted to buy so many things. Luggage restrictions apply though so I leave with a glass cocktail shaker, the less elaborate $5 one as opposed to the cut glass $35 dollar one which might break my heart if it shatters in transit, and a couple of lovely milk glass vases which I have been searching for in vain in English charity shops. Crinkled poppies in sunrise colours, crepe paper petals. Worn leather cowboy boots, coloured glass cake stands, boxes of fabric, patterned tea towels. Brunch with mimosas, bacon donuts, sliders, eggs in a nest. A walk through Williamsburg, vintage shopping, just like being in London's East End, hipsters not trendies, but what's in a name? Music on the subway. Dinner with an old family friend, reminiscing about a childhood holiday when we visited them in Connecticut, sailing, grilled cheese sandwiches on the beach, sweets that turn your tongue blue, a couple of much loved dogs. She takes us for pizza in the East Village, sparkling red wine from tumblers, blistered dough, molten cheese as the rain pours down outside, again. Hurrying under inadequate umbrellas to a basement bar, sitting on stools drinking Hendrick's based cocktails, slivers of cucumber, floating. Brunch at Prune, we arrive early, get in on the first set of covers, but if we hadn't, it would have been worth the wait. A Dutch style pancake, thick, pear studded, toasted English muffin, scrambled eggs, bacon. We are blessed with a gloriously sunny final day. Wander round Central Park with my Diana Instant, wander and wander. People watching, boat watching (life size and model), dog watching. Dive out to buy a deli lunch, take it back to the park to eat. The Neue Galerie, a first time visit for me, but I love it, small and elegant, Klimt, Schiele, other Secessionist artists and designers, wonderful. Drinks, later, at another Speakeasy style bar, through a metal gate, down a dark alley, up some metal stairs, door opened by a huge bouncer. Inside, chandeliers and oil paintings, cocktails served in teacups (admittedly rather chunky), music that prompts a pair of fellow drinkers to rise, clasp hands and dance gently round the room. Honey vodka / basil / grapefruit juice, elderflower liqueur / champagne / lemon. Afterwards, walking a few blocks North, almost missing an Italian restaurant that had been recommended by a friend, entering its dimly lit interior, ordering plates of pasta, fresh spinach and ricotta ravioli, simple tomato sauce.

Last morning and we squeeze in pancakes, the Guggenheim, a couple of slices of New York pizza, paper plates, napkins to mop up the grease, so good.

Nottingham

On Thursday night, post work, Mum, Dad and I jump in the car, drive to Nottingham. We arrive late, venture out for dinner. It is dark and cold, damp, and the streets seem to be full of packs of men, some possibly students, some not, drunk and loud and vaguely intimidating at worst, simply unpleasant at best. But on Friday, still grey and cold, we explore the city, and I find much to like. The Nottingham Contemporary an amazing gallery, the purpose of our visit - Dad, an architect, wants to see the building - concrete and modern but imprinted with the pattern of Nottingham lace. I like the contrast. The exhibitions are good, Anne Collier's photographs, Jack Goldstein's installations and acrylics. Tucked away in a small room, we stumble upon John Newling's Miracle Trees, find the artist himself there, tending the saplings, start talking to him. I am hooked, fascinated by this amazing plant that I have never before heard of, that has huge nutritional value, is able to purify water and possesses medicinal qualities. We have lunch at Delilah's, a deli near the gallery, goat's cheese, honey and pecan nut sandwich, a choice of bread. Rows and rows of jars, jams and spreads, olives, fresh meat, cheese, baked goods, friendly staff. My kind of place. Tea and something sweet in The Walk Cafe, exotic tea blends (I have Nosy Be, because of the Madagascar connection, black tea with peach and vanilla, divinely scented) huge slices of sponge, light as a feather, glorious golden yellow in colour. Lemon sponge for Mum, blueberry sponge for me, and Dad has the carrot cake. The china is mostly floral and mismatched, and again I feel at home. Later we explore the vintage shops (including here and here) and charity shops, I buy a few things, lust after others, lots of great stuff on offer, and much cheaper than in London. In the evening we eat at The Larder on Goosegate in the original Boots the chemist, wonderful atmosphere, all candlelight and chandeliers dripping with cut glass, fans beating lazily up above. I eat a vegetarian Shepherd's Pie, brown lentils topped with cheesy mash, perfect to ward off the cold outside. It is the Nottingham Light Night, a festival of light installations across the city, and we stumble across a few of these, my favourite being a human jukebox in an old trailer. True Grit at the cinema, which I enjoy, but am not blown away by. Saturday we drive back South via Melton Mowbray, the pork pies for which it is famous go unappreciated by this family of vegetarians, but the charity shops are good and there are fat bunches of red tulips for £1 each at the market which is packing up for the day. I buy two bunches, fill a jug with them when I return home. Sunday I breakfast on grapefruit, hit the Clerkenwell Vintage Fashion Fair again with Anna, then retreat indoors again, away from the drizzle and the seemingly constant grey, chop onions and measure out spices for Dal, let its turmeric dyed depths putter away on the hob as I get into my pyjamas, pull on a cardigan, tuck myself away from the February night.