one day off

Yesterday:

Busy busy busy, with work, with studying, with writing, with life. Savouring the precious few days when the shrill beeping of the alarm clock isn't dragging me out of bed with its teeth. Savouring the sun slowly opening up my bedroom to a new day, savouring the slow lazy morning stretch followed by the slow lazy morning.

A run, a hot shower, a boiled egg, toast. We read recipes, write lists of ingredients, drive to town in jeans and sunglasses. The Killers on the radio, a sign the day is good. There's a familar charity shop on the high street with a new sign that reads discount; inside are rails bulging with bargains. An armful of clothes soon materialises. Spinning about in the fitting room trying on dresses, turning circles, examining seams, swing music gambolling along in the background. I find a polka dot number, something gypsy white, two jumpers, a cardigan, a bag.

Then there are more shops. Oh Comely magazine, Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diaries, oh so mouthwatering. As mouthwatering as the bakery-come-cafe we gaze into, lured momentarily by the fresh bread and chickpea soups and quiches. The clock's stretching past three though, lunch has passed, so we settle for coffee and Victoria sponge before the afternoon has ended.

One flat white, one cappucino. Conversation, The Times and more lists. Afternoon sunshine coming and going through the windows, sweeping across tables, lingering briefly on faces and shoulders and hands.

P.S. thumbs up for the vintage Laura Ashley duvet cover?