Elderflower, Strawberries, Piebald Mares

Oh my little pinto beans, I have neglected you. I have not read any blogs, I am another week behind on this one, have hardly tweeted on my newly set up Twitter account. But, I had an interview I was preparing for, and now that is out the way, I can write.

The Bank Holiday weekend. Black beans and rice on the Thursday night, Mexico and The Lacuna and Frida are still inspiring me. Too many parties on Friday night - goodbye drinks for a colleague at work, darling Anna's birthday party, to which I take peanut butter cupcakes, peonies wrapped in brown paper, Saipua soap, a copy of The Lacuna for her to get lost in. East London line up to Highbury and Islington, third party in Finsbury Park, housewarming. Nightbuses home, witnessing a fight in Camden opposite The Lock Tavern, police cars, torn t-shirts, glad M is with me.

Up to Norfolk, to celebrate my sister's birthday, present unwrapping and Italian food. Elderflower hunting in hedgerows, making bottles of elderflower cordial, elderflower fizz, hoping against explosions. Punnets and punnets of strawberries, all to be hulled in preparation for jam making for our WI tent at The Big Feastival. Following a caravan down twisting lanes. A visit to some friends and their chickens again, eggs, freshly laid, stuck with bits of straw. Honey from their bees in my Bircher muesli each morning, I can taste the honeycomb. The Mellis Common, prolific daisies, piebald ponies and their foals. In the garden, the ground is hard, dry, but the poppies are still blooming, petals like crumpled skirts. I take some home with me to London, peonies and roses too, put them in vases on my bedside table and dressing table, wish I had a garden.

Monday night, it rains, M and I take our brollies and head to Spuntino, no queue, because of the time, perhaps, and the weather, perch ourselves at the bar (on the 'lovers' seat we're told - a double width barstool), eat all things deep fried and delicious from enamel dishes (deep fried stuffed olives, SO mind blowingly tasty), sip at cocktails (Clover Club, wow), watch the umbrellas go by outside.

London. Love.

M was in Japan, I had just sent off a job application that had been keeping me locked to my computer all week, and as I skipped from work on Friday afternoon London stretched before me, promising.

London, by way of Bombay, Tokyo, Hawaii as it turns out. God I love this city.

Friday, drinks on the Southbank at the Dishoom pop-up (Hannah and I both, twin shadows, flitting through the city, visiting the same places, sampling the same menus, usually within the space of a few weeks, sometimes within the space of a few hours, crazy!). Icy cocktails in shades of coral, taken up to the roof garden of Queen Elizabeth Hall as the early evening sun slanted across the Thames. Later, the sun lower, a walk across the bridge, up into Chinatown to meet Anna for dinner, Tokyo Diner, plastic sushi clock, no tipping just tell your friends policy (so here I am, telling you), simple, delicious Japanese food. A wander round Fopp, searching for Frida. I am reading The Lacuna, feeling inspired. The bright pink peonies and purple stocks on my dressing table help, the colours are vivid, vital, as I imagine the colours of Mexico must be. On the way to the tube, stopping for bubble tea on Shaftsbury Avenue, the pair of us getting into a conversation with the girls behind the counter, being given tasters, loving this mad city.

Saturday, baking, white chocolate and raspberry cupcakes, a friend's Hawaiian birthday party, flower garlands, ukuleles, Pimms, watermelon, ripe, juices dripping down fingers. Walking back from West Hampstead, dusk, roses tumbling over garden walls, the first fuzz of lavender flowers, still green.

Sunday, a day trip, boarding the Clipper at London Bridge, whizzing down to Greenwich, spray in our hair, a wander round the market, a long lunch in a pub garden, interrupted by the briefest of rainstorms, but otherwise glorious sunshine, blue skies, some scudding clouds. Fish and chips. Beautiful houses with tastefully coloured doors, more roses, spilling over brickwork. A walk through the park, through a rose garden, past a game of cricket, cricket whites, the smack of ball on wood, up to the observatory, city stretched beneath us. Another pub garden, the four of us sitting and chatting and soaking up the sunshine, the fleeting quality of Sunday afternoon.

Maybe I'll want to move away from this city in ten years. Heck, maybe I'll be fed up in five. But for now, there is nowhere, nowhere, I would rather be.

New York Part III

Central Park, one afternoon, after the rain. Dampness lingering, moisture-filled air. Mist disguising where trees ended and skyscrapers began. Boating pond, still, a green mirror, reflecting branches. The Alice statue deserted. Burgers with fries, Happy Hour Margaritas, vegetarian chilli. A piece of cake larger than M's head, which he can't finish, first time for everything. One of the best cocktail bars I have ever, ever, been to (post to follow). The City Bakery, breakfasting with purposeful looking New Yorkers, muffins, one blueberry and cornmeal, one monkey bread style, thick, dark hot chocolate, too strong for me. Balloons, randomly. Washington Square Park in the sunshine, big dogs, little dogs, a man doing Tai Chi. Bleeker Street, Perry Street, Carrie Bradshaw's stoop, Magnolia Bakery cupcakes (vanilla + vanilla frosting, Devil's food cake + mocha frosting), eaten from the box, overlooking the Hudson River. Tree lined roads and frothy white blossom, but many trees still bare. With the sun finally out, streets of beautiful brownstones, it truly sinking in that we were in New York City, together.