'The girl with the boots' on Strawberry Hill...

My baby graduated from her masters degree...Who'd have known it...She's a Master of Arts in Gothic Culture, Subculture and Counterculture, specialising in literature...

That cheeky little golden haired girl that used to ask for just one more bedtime story, again and again until I'd read so many that we'd both fall to sleep...The growing bump that I'd do the same to  then feel the acknowledging internal kick; the stroke of a butterflies wing ...The one about whom the wise old lady in the library told me I was doing the best thing ever when she spotted us piling up her pushchair with heaps of books...She knew...

...and at the graduation supper in the gothic splendour of those beautiful rooms on Strawberry Hill with smooth jazz playing, when others excitedly spotted the one they'd named 'the girl with the boots'...The Doc Martens, one laced with purple, the other leopard print, the faux leopard fur and Bill Murray's face on her bag...We toasted with her boyfriend and patted her back and ours too, full of pride for our hardworking clever (and stylish) girl...We really knew too...

Pyjamas, magical carpets and upside-down cars,

We went to London for a week, but you wouldn't  know it. You wouldn't have accidentally bumped into us if you'd been there. In fact even if you'd planned to meet us, you wouldn't have seen us. Except for the first evening. We arrived Friday suppertime, meeting up with Ahmad's sister in Ikea after work. Dinner and Scandinavian shopping all in one go. 

Don't you love Ikea?  Especially on dull winter evenings, like we were having two weeks ago. It's all those bright lights and lamps and colours. The cosy little room-settings and the knick-knacks in the market place. I stocked up with simple cotton fabric for cushions and blinds, brightly coloured packets of seeds, a mustard lampshade, coffee (always coffee) and chocolates.  I was excited to meet Sima, then catch up with friends and my sisters over the next few days in London and Sussex. But then the horrible virus that spoilt our New Years eve plans came back. So we missed everything. All over again. 

We were housebound and pyjama clad for the whole week. Good job I packed three pairs of pj's...A week of temperatures, coughing, sneezing and blurry tv watching of millions of episodes of Judge Judy ( I'm sure that Ahmad has a mini infatuation...actually correct that...major infatuation ) The Grand Budapest Hotel (again,) and The book Thief.  All whilst A's sweet sister, took time off work and made us hot chicken soup, lemon drinks, and cold compresses in true Florence Nightingale mode. Thank you so much Sima...

The only thing that raised us to our feet for more than a few minutes was the screeching of an out-of-control car speeding down the road in the middle of the night. It somehow ended up precariously balanced on it's side, on top of the little edging wall at the end of the grass verge; demolishing a whole length. We rushed to the window to see three young guys amazingly manage to get out alive, and escape down the road...Followed by the cacophony of sirens, as police and fire engines arrived.

When we finally went home a week later, wearily dragging our feet to stock up with food at a local deli on the way, we spotted a carpet shop where I'd once found a bargain rug. I wanted to show A what awesome carpets they have, and how cheap they are.  No buying, just looking. We didn't have the house dimensions or the energy for standing around. 

We ended up buying four carpets! Not because of aggressive salesmanship. There was a closing down sale with rock bottom price. A fraction of what we would pay elsewhere.  (I can give you the address if you're interested...)

Happy with our bargain finds, driving back through the Cotswolds I spotted a sign for Burford Garden Company. It made me think of Hannah...A mini version, with her grandparents, spending happy December days buying Christmas decorations. Admiring all the sparkly, fairytale things that appeal to little seven or eight year old girls (and their mums and dads and grandparents too). We had to go in.

It wasn't as sparkly as I remembered, but it wasn't Christmas either. It did have an amazing food section though, that reminded me of a Victorian pantry. Full of colourful packets and glass bottles of milk just like we used to have. And rugs, nice ones that were two or three, or even ten times the price of the ones we'd just bought...That made us even happier with our new bargain rugs...

...It was good to get back home, play with our magical carpets...Oh and to tip up the glass milk bottle, give it a shake then press my thumb in the little circle of foil covering the top. Feel it give way and make that sound of a baby's breath...Just like it used to do...  Then make a nice cup of tea...

peace and love
debx

Runaway days...

We've been in the house for about five weeks but I think that we've spent as many days in London as we have at home. 

Not deliberately. Well it was to begin with. That first weekend, just two days after we'd moved in, we dropped all our bags and boxes and ran to London to catch up with everyone that we'd missed, and the invitations that we hadn't been able to accept over the past few months.  

At last we got to see my sister P's awesome new flat, ate lunch in this cool up-market market, took home scrumptious but probably over-priced sour dough bread, salty butter and cakes that she bought from here for us. It's a shame that I can't find the images...Everything was so good. (Thanks P) 

Then there were trips to collect A's brother on a mad visit from Denmark and stay a couple of days. Take him back to London again and stay another. 

This week; a manic dash to pick up H's things ready for when she moves on. The blurry photographs with fast shutter sum it up. It's all mad, the traffic is crazy, the sirens and car horns a cacophony that make you want to join in and SCREAM... It's busy and a million times faster than it will ever be here...Yet, you can't help liking it in a perverse kind of way. 

But it's oh so good to drive back to our messy little house down quiet starlit lanes and curl up into bed at half past one for a good nights sleep until a wayward tractor starts it's own kind of cacophony an hour or two later. London is good, I love it. But "east, west..." you know the rest...
debx