Toute Seul
Sunday morning I was on my own to tour the V&A Museum. Knowing how enormous it was, the only part I was absolutely determined to see was the Fashion and Textile exhibit. It was suitably impressive, however the dark, preservative lighting made reading all the tiny plaques difficult. (I will blame alcohol for nothing.) The building itself was gorgeous, and the café is definitely the most glamorous museum café I've ever eaten at. (Not that I make a habit of eating at museum cafés, they're normally so sterile...)
I passed the grey afternoon touring the three levels of Anthropologie with my cousin, gossiping and idly flicking through knitwear, coats, quilts, crockery, scented candles, doorknobs....a little bit of all our favourite things.
Sunday night I caught the regional train south of London to stay with Blondie at her aunt's house in the country for the night. I walked in to a large, warm kitchen full of cooking aromas. Stewed beef, bechamel sauce, freshly hulled strawberries....I felt at home.
For the second time that weekend I showered in a carpeted bathroom. Which, to an Australian seems strange (on so many levels) but was oh so practical over there. Climbing dripping wet out of the shower and into the steamy bathroom, cool tiles are the last place I want to put my freshly warmed tootsies.
Like in Paris, my bedroom was in the eaves of the house. This house, however, is seven-bathrooms, two-painos and one enormous Argre stove big. Which meant that I actually had a proper ceiling height and no fear of bumping shoulders with my roof as a rolled over during the night.
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