Norfolk, August

Norfolk last weekend. Heavy rain that made rivulets down the aged glass of the conservatory. Blazing sunshine that allowed us to eat outdoors and walk barefoot on the grass. Double yolked eggs for breakfast cooked by my sister. Roses, sweetpeas, in mugs, vases, jugs all over the house. In the garden, dahlias, in sunrise colours, hiding coyly behind fronds of the asparagus plants. A half-collapsed apple tree, collecting the sour cookers early, packing into boxes. Ladybirds, everywhere. Picking tiny alpine strawberries at dusk, clambering between the young raspberry canes for the first of the season. Digging up potatoes, earth under my nails. Blackberry picking, which always makes me think of the Seamus Heaney poem in my GCSE English anthology. Gorging on peaches.

After the week that was, it did feel good to get out of the city.

Rosy

Friday night catching up with Madagascar friends, one icy pink hibiscus Margarita after another in Wahaca, laughing, reminiscing, ambitiously planning reunion trips. Beautiful autumn weather in London, bright mornings, bubblegum clouds at sunset. A climbing session with C, marvelling at how much better we are in the space of a few weeks. Sore red hands, covered in chalk dust. Breakfast on rose patterned china, German pumpernickel bread, eaten how we do when visiting friends in Frankfurt, cream cheese, sliced plums, the last of a pot of glossy damson jam. Talking to M on Google voice, amazed as ever at how technology can diminish distance. A vintage fair with Anna in the beautiful Old Finsbury Town Hall, all stained glass windows and exquisite detailing. Polystyrene cups of tea, Victoria sponge, floral wipe-clean tablecloths, like being at a country church fete in the middle of the city. Meeting another blogger, and friend of Anna's, with her pretty flower-filled vintage china. Making up parcels to post at work today, how I adore the packaging featuring a teeny Little Red Riding Hood on the Italian sweets destined for my sister.

Thank you, thank you, for all the comments that keep pouring in about M's departure, so very appreciated.

Dahlias and Daddy Long Legs

Somewhere between those last wet but muggy weeks of August and this bright, crisp day, the last of September, we have tumbled into Autumn. The duvet is back on my bed, the first leaves are beginning to fall, and this morning on the walk to the tube station I could see my breath. Whilst I have been slowly, slowly sorting through my Italy photos and getting them up here, I have also been embracing the start of my favourite season fully. A glass of home-made, home-grown apple juice to start the day or an apple grated into muesli. Sunlight on wood, a recent charity shop purchase of an old cocktail cabinet, my latest pride and joy. A weekend in Norfolk, two batches of chutney made, and two types of jam. Swamped by cooking apples, and blink-and-they're-marrows courgettes. Dahlias from Mum's garden, gladioli too, blazing, beautiful. Daddy Long Legs everywhere, rising from un-mown grass disturbed by our footfall, or sheltering on windowpanes from the rain. Cooking with oats and cinnamon, so perfect for this season, crunchy granola, porridge with pears, raspberry dotted flapjacks.

Final flush

Dancing Beastie wrote the most wonderful post a couple of days ago, accompanied by beautiful images, about the last few days of summer. It struck a chord with me, my parents' Norfolk garden this last weekend was sunshine-filled and seemed bursting at the seams with produce. We made the most of it, eating outdoors and basing meals largely on stuff harvested from the vegetable patch, but I know that the bowls full of greengages and apple-laden trees signal that the English summer is coming to an end.

Peaches

Firstly, a massive thank you for all your tips for Italy, it has made me more excited than ever for the upcoming trip, if that is possible. I promise to take lots of photographs of the buildings, the scenery, the ice cream...

I have been in Norfolk this weekend, helping out in the garden and positively gorging myself on all the produce. These peaches all came from a single tree on a south facing wall in my parents' garden and at the moment are my mother's pride and joy. Still can't quite believe it is possible to grow peaches in Norfolk, but here is the evidence.

Alpine Strawberries, Victoria Sponge

After the lavender, and the bumblebees, gem-like alpine strawberries picked from underneath crinkle edged leaves. Afternoon tea and cake in the garden, many, many photos taken trying to capture the exact scarlet of the berries, the green of the leaves, until Dad started huffing about time wasting and grabbed his slice of cake.

Now it is raining, heavily, with the odd groan of thunder. I am facing the prospect of a journey home in inappropriate shoes, and Sunday afternoon (both the last one and the next) seems a long way away.

Also, a big thank you to Lisa-Marie for the blog award, very sweet of you!

Bounty

On Sunday I went to the farmer's market. Green and yellow courgettes, pinks, fresh garlic and a massive box of Kentish cherries that we gorged on Sunday evening in front of Mad Men. This weekend I am heading to Norfolk, to scour the charity shops and spend some time with my family. Have a good one lovelies.

Vivid

"I am not sure why this summer seems so vivid, with each day somehow more beautiful than the last. I only know that is the way it feels. The days are moving as if each hour is two, and every detail – a salad, a bunch of sweet peas or box of tiny broad beans – is somehow more rich than it would normally be. It is as if the colours, sounds and scents of summer have been turned up a notch."

Sometimes my own words aren't enough.

Nigel Slater wrote the above in last week's Observer and I don't think that my feelings about this summer so far could have been summed up any more eloquently than that.

Top photo taken on returning from last weekend's trip to Kent for the Hop Farm Festival, dancing to Bob Dylan as the sun set and fruit picking in the sunshine the next day. Photo below of this morning's breakfast.

Arrival

There was a different quality to the air today. Last night I lay in bed and listened to the rain on the roof and the wind rattling the windowpanes and knew that in the morning the seasons would have turned.

I woke to steely skies and more wind, tossing the branches of the trees in the small park visible from my kitchen window. I grated an apple from the Norfolk garden into a bowl to mix with museli. It smelt of autumn, of heavy branches and curling leaves, chilled air and rain-wet grass. This was followed by two crumpets spread with butter, which melted into golden pools on the plate below.

The walk to work was strewn with twigs and tree bark that had fallen prey to last night's wind and I walked briskly, with my cardigan buttoned.

At work we drank hot tea and talked of the changing seasons, of pumpkins and squash, and how best to cook them, of sparklers and fireworks, and darker evenings.

The sun is out now and the sky is blue, but the wind is still lively and there's a chill to the air. All the potatoes have been dug up from my balcony bag and stored in newspaper, and autumn is undeniably here.

Hanging on

Autumn is my favourite season, but I am loathe to say goodbye to summer just yet.

It may be grey outside today, and the rainclouds yesterday evening may have made the sky prematurely dark, so that walking home along rain-slick pavements I felt like it was October, but we haven't even had the August Bank Holiday weekend yet.

I am determined to wear something light and summery to my friend's Hen Party dinner down in Kent on Saturday night, and will be painting my toenails bright pink and packing my polka bikini in preparation for a Sunday spent by her pool.

I am hoping it stays dry on Sunday, so we can stand in the garden at C's Carnival party, as the light slips away behind the trees, and escape to it later on, when the heat from dancing to A's DJ set gets too much. I am not sure if I will make it to the Notting Hill Carnival itself, but if I do, I want to be able to stand in the street and eat corn cobs cooked over hot coals, sun beating down on my back, music throbbing across melting tarmac.

This is all rather optimistic. BBC weather predicts mixed sun and cloud, with highs of just 22 degrees (Celsius). But at least if it doesn't rain that's something.

Meanwhile, more gifts from the Norfolk garden were delivered last night, glowing yellow cherry tomatoes, furry peaches to be ripened on a sunny windowsill and the first of the apples, a marker if ever there was one of the turning seasons.

I can't fight it, and indeed have no real desire to. Autumn is on the horizon, whispering to me.