Feeling very festive
Feeling very festive
Feeling very festive
The writers have the keys
Need the patience of an ancient mariner today
The very worst kind
Not quite sure what to make of this
Mayajaal Reloaded.
Bubble joy
Even the statues got dressed for the games!
An English summer morning
Tip toe through the wood chips.. At Somerset House
Lewis chessmen at the
While I sit here eating bagels with cream cheese and drinking coffee too fast, it is 6.30pm somewhere in the world. Someone, somewhere is playing hip-hop loudly while getting dressed for a third date. Someone is tumbling out of bed with a crick in their neck and promising to restart…
Would you believe it’s 0 degrees
Spotted by St James in : Pacman post-its 🙂
Whatever degree of pleasure (At the London Transport Museum)
Walking in a winter wonderland
A lovely weekend, topped off by the Carnival – Europe’s largest and second only to Brazil (I am faithfully informed by the interwebs). The riots have meant that the carnival, much like London in recent weeks, was slightly more subdued than in the past. But good cheer, colourful costumes and…
Happiness is equilibrium. Shift your weight. Equilibrium is pragmatic. You have to get everything into proportion. You compensate, rebalance yourself so that you maintain your angle to the world. When the world shifts, you shift. – Tom Stoppard
Every year, usually around January, I realize that there is a wide gap between who I am and who I want to be. Nowhere is this more evident than in my grocery shopping. Like most people I’m rather fond of junk food. One of the semi-cheap thrills of moving to…
The sun shines through the corner office and hits me in the eye. Sun worshipper that I am, I enjoy seeing its gold orange glow reflected off the modern steel and glass structure opposite the window, and I imagine briefly, that I am sunning myself on some tropical island.. And…
There is a strange pleasure in the repetition of manual tasks. In the slicing of an apple for instance. The knife poised expectantly above the freshly washed skin. Leaping, almost, out of my hand in an eagerness to slice through the firm red fruit. Thick creamy slices edged in deep…
She waves her hand above the saucepan. The oil is hot enough. She throws in the mustard seeds that burst into life, crackling. Adds the chopped onions. Saute the onions until translucent.. she reads her mother’s neat handwriting. Recipes written for onions that were bright violet in the cart that…