Sundays with Sprinkles

Yesterday turned into a good day.

We didn't spring out of bed. We spent the day coughing through the dust whilst packing up our little home (a bigger task than we ever anticipated). We even fell out and stopped talking for ten minutes or so. And that NEVER happens.

But after that, and once we'd taken six bin bags to the charity shop, we snuggled on the sofa next to Buddy and J read me a chapter from my favourite childhood book. It's moments of total contentment like that which make me realise we should stop more often. 

It was especially good because whilst we were reading, my new ice cream machine was churning away in the kitchen. So that afterwards, we could eat sundaes with sprinkles.

Good Morning

This morning it was raining and I couldn't open my eyes. But I put on my bright lips as promised, swept a big side parting and put on the navy dot dress that my amazing mother made for me. A good choice for a post-work picnic in St James' Park I think.

Now the rainclouds just need to do their bit.

The picture above is of me and my mother on our trip to Paris last autumn. She also goes by the name of Wikimama as there is no problem she can't answer and no item she can't make. If I am ever anything like the mother she is, I will be very happy. She is incredible and she has no idea.

30

I made it!

Does being 30 make me a lady now? That's debatable ;-)

I felt like one at the weekend when my Jonny gave me the best birthday suprise ever (tricky to top getting engaged in The Conrad Tokyo on number 28, but it was pretty damn good). 

My dear, dear husband bundled me in a taxi and surprised me to: a stay in Shoreditch House, a Cowshed Spa pedicure, Californian sunshine (nice one JJ), copious presents that would appear from nowhere over 24 hours, drinks at The Boundary, an acoustic set on the roof with Bombay Bicycle Club (ok so he hadn't planned that one but nevertheless), epic bits you can eat*, old fashioneds and billinis, drunken pizza and rollies, a poolside breakfast and Monday morning swim, Yum Buns.... it was overwhelmingly amazing. I was on cloud nine. 

I wore scarlet lips, high(ish) old heals and everything - somewhat of a rarity for me. Incidentally in this new age of ladyness that I am trying to fulfill, I have made a pact as of my thirtieth year to wear lipstick as much as I can. The first week of that hasn't gone so well (my shyness prevails all too often) but I'm on the right path. Does anyone else not feel mature enough to be their age yet? Or is it a false impression I had of what being three decades means.

This birthday season has been a good one after a tricky old year anyway. Thank you Jonny.

Here's to being thirty.

* a cold salad buffet to anyone else

 

29

And this is where it starts.

Away from the Body Shop and Country Companion journals which are locked in the shoeboxes of my past. I'm returning to writing: emptying my thoughts out onto a big old white page. Kind of daunting really.

It feels good. I'm not completely comfortable having my words (none of which are of remote interest to anybody else) out there in the public realm. So what. It's a place where I can dump my worries, stick up my pictures and try and catch one or two memories from disappearing into the ever-lengthening past. 

Anyway, enough of the reasoning...

It's the eve of a big birthday. My thirtieth year. My fourth decade. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? I still look fourteen. And feel it pretty often too.

Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to celebrating with a room full of friends and for the suprises my husband has in store for tomorrow. 

Being thirty will be pretty good I reckon. One thing I've been realising as adulthood as snuck up on us recently, is that I'm ready to grow up. Side by side with my Jonny and whatever else will come. 

I'm excited about that.