When I bought my place, I promised myself that I would not become one of those unacceptably tedious people who talk about sub-prime mortgages, obsess endlessly about home improvements, and make decisions about decor on the basis of the selling value. BUT. Today, I visited Lassco, a convenient two minute skip from my house, and where I spent a good hour and a half breaking my own promise.
God, that place is like a treasure trove. It barely feels like a shop: more, like an old house you've stumbled across, where you're the trespasser who has clambered over brambles and 'NO ENTRY' notices to find another world. It's full of things you'd only ever be able to buy if you (a) owned a hugmungous (sp???) pile in the English countryside and (b) you had more money than the public sector is ever going to give me. Oversized fireplaces, copper baths, the world's biggest dining tables. Not exactly suitable for my flat, but man, I fantasised. I'm not going to say 'one day' now, but it's entirely possible I did whilst there...
Either way, it's made me look forward to my weekend in a couple of weeks where I'll be vacating London, and visiting Oxfordshire's antique showrooms with T. Should be fun. But please someone remind me that I live in a London highrise, not a castle.
On Thursday I pretended to be a lady of leisure, and met my lovely friend K for a late, boozy lunch at the Rex Whistler restaurant at Tate Britain. After a gentle meander around the Millais exhibition, I went down to the cafe and we were ushered into the beautiful room of the restaurant - murals all round, great food, and a very, very good way of wiling away the best part of an afternoon talking about boys (turns out we fancy the same ones, and emotional fuckwits generally. great...). I love hanging around with K. We followed it up with some shopping at the bizarre Army and Navy on Victoria St, whose only saving grace is the cafe at the top, which is good for hiding in. Still, shopping when a bit pissed is never that smart, and I now have a rather expensive jacket that B and J both agreed was 'overpriced and too many buttons'. hey ho. I'll just have to return it and buy something else...
The plan was to continue into the evening but for various reasons that didn't happen. So instead I headed off for more culture - this time a beautiful concert at St John's Smith Square (wicked) - carols and a bunch of Christmas music which was brilliant. All performed by Chantage, apparently the BBC Choir of the Year 2006, but to be honest even typing that makes me feel about 50. As my date put it - 'carol singing - karaoke for the middle classes'. Still, I sung my heart out, melted at the organ playing, and went home happy, and thinking I could get used to doing nothing very much with my time.
When I started writing this blog, I wasn't quite thirty, and I wasn't quite a homeowner, I didn't have a man and I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. Today has rather challenged the whole name of this blog, being my 30th birthday etc, but hey, it's all about a mindset, right? Oh and I suppose I've owned a flat for a few months too, but frankly the big questions that really matter are yet to be answered. Hunting for men and meaning look set to continue for some time yet.
But I'm really fine with that. I've had such a lovely day, full of love, affection, friendship and warmth that I feel quite overwhelmed by it all. I am incredibly lucky and today has been all about realising that and savouring the feeling. Which I did in various places, with various lovely people. Beyond the medium of text (oh to have a phone with some proper memory so I could store messages) and FB, these places included Leon, which, joy of joys, gives FREE wifi access. Now there's a place I'll buy coffee. In fact I'm due back there tomorrow morning, this time the Carnaby Street branch, with my mad and lovely mother at some unfeasibly early hour. Another feature of today was Joe Allen's, which I just love, especially seeing the pleasure in my father's face when he realised you really *can* order the hamburger, even though it's not on the menu... We'll perhaps gloss over the Thistle hotel in Victoria, where I spent two hours hatching plans. Despite the plotting, which was enormous fun, it's really not a place I can recommend.
Anyway. For those of you who have suggested the name of this blog is now out of date: I was thirty at 12.01pm today, and therefore (if I'm being pedantic) I remain notquitethirty... and besides, no one's yet come up with a better name...
Today I found myself speaking at the most BORING conference in the world. Ever. Finished my slot at 2.30pm and just couldn't face politely hanging around for coffee, so I disappeared back into the world, and discovered to my delight that I was of course of Berners Street, and therefore very near the Sanderson hotel. A quick time calculation later (next meeting at 4.30pm) I found myself in there with a coffee fantasising about being the kind of person who (a) has amazing clothes (b) gets her hair cut at Vidal Sasson every 6 weeks and (c) is perfectly poised, even when no-one's looking. Lovely. The Sanderson is good, very good. I intend to return for cocktails, asap.
Even I struggled to spin an americano out for two hours, so I also had time (well, technically, clearly I should have been doing something else but hey) to check out the new M&S on Oxford Street. Their refurbishment is now complete and slightly bizarrely they decided to celebrate their re-launch by posting a woman on stilts at the entrance (not cool) and providing free rickshaws to and from the store (more cool). However - they have done a good job. Whatever you think about M&S, you can't fault their bras or sandwiches. So I bought one of each, and got to my next meeting happy and rather pleased with myself for reclaiming my day.
Today I dedicated two hours of my time to the lovely 344 bus (is there *ever* a time when there aren't roadworks between here and Liverpool Street??). But it was worth it: I was hot on the trail of Hidden Art, a bit like Open House for artists, designers and creators. It has reconfirmed, thank god, that not all of London has yet become one big chainstore (not that I'm complaining too much about TopShop). Visited tonnes of tiny little shops around Hanbury and Cheshire Streets, pretending I was a pro shopper for all things interior-related.
I also made my way to Spitalfields market, which was rammed, as ever, where I salivated as quietly as I could over various lights, sideboards and mirrors. I think I will be returning come January when the flat gets made over. There's something in those shops that just makes me want everything. Potentially lethal, but so much more fun than IKEA.
My trail tailed off as I got distracted by Columbia Road flower market, where I spent a good hour simply unable to decide what flowers to buy from such an embarrassment of riches. Predictably I have come home empty handed, but full of ideas and places to return to in January.
It's been a good day: my wanderings were to the music of St Vincent, which is surely one of the best albums of the year (although the live performance S and I saw of her at the Electroacoustic Club really sucked, disappointingly); also, there's a crispness in the air which always gives me a curious mix of nostalgia, whimsy, and anticipation all rolled into one. I want it to be Christmas now.
When I bought my place, I promised myself that I would not become one of those unacceptably tedious people who talk about sub-prime mortgages, obsess endlessly about home improvements, and make decisions about decor on the basis of the selling value. BUT. Today, I visited Lassco, a convenient two minute skip from my house, and where I spent a good hour and a half breaking my own promise.
