London hasn’t looked this glorious in months. An early morning stroll to the park on our doorstep was proof that spring is confidently on its way.
Seasonal sentimentality aside, the reason we were up so early to witness a near-empty Finsbury Park on Saturday is down to the fact we still have no curtains in our bedroom –or anywhere else in the flat for that matter. The two immense windows in the bedroom let in enough light to grow a baobab tree.
Awake at 8am for the 16th weekend in a row, we decided to do the right thing at last: dress those bloody windows once and for all. A trip to the local curtain shop in Hornsey brought a solution to this 4-months-old problem and we should have roman blinds fitted before Easter.
The curtain shop is conveniently located opposite an Ali Baba cave full of fab mid-century furniture and vintage curios of all sorts. This early and practical outing of ours had to be rewarded with a bit of frivolity after all.
Now I really wish I had brought this beauty home with me:
I don’t need yet another coffee pot, which is probably what the sensible voice inside my head repeated until I stopped contemplating it as a potential purchase. But my other flippant inner-voice has been causing havoc since then and I might have to go back to the junk shop just to shut it up…
Back to the soppiness of birds, bees and budding –it’ll be summer soon and all these corny botanical observations will stop, I promise– we’ve also noticed a miraculous transformation in our garden and this weekend marked my first visit out there.
• a pair of wellies
• a thick woolly cardigan
• a cup of tea
• a camera
• a notebook
Amidst the burgeoning primroses and promising pansies, I noticed the resilient holly bush is desperately clinging on to its last fruit as a mischievous sign winter is only just behind us…
And then my writing hand turned blue and my nose started to run so I frustratingly leapt back inside.
The holly bush won –this once.