Falling in love again.
A me problem, not a London one.
A few weeks ago, I was in a real mood with London.
It may have had something to do with the fact that I was 10 weeks pregnant — my app reassures me that it's normal to “experience mood-swings” during that time. It may also have had to do with the fact that I had just come back from a wedding on the Greek island of Paros, followed by two dreamy days in Athens. Or maybe that when I was home, I was sitting at my desk all day, not getting out of the house enough, and feeling a perpetual state of cabin fever.
Whatever the issue was, it was making me question whether Andy and I should live in London anymore. “We’re not even taking advantage of the city.” “Wouldn’t it be better to live closer to nature?” I even started house hunting in Sussex and Kent.
But just as quickly as this wave of bad attitude came over me, it washed away, and I realised that I would be mad to live anywhere else.
The jolt out of my funk started with a classic London day out. We got up early to buy baguettes for sandwiches (mine consisted of butter, mustard, comté, fennel salami that I sizzled in the pan a bit because I’m not meant to eat deli meats right now, slices of strawberry, and some lemony rocket), applied our sunscreen, and headed to Lord’s. Andy had organised for us to watch day 3 of the test match between Australia and South Africa with a delightful jumble of friends from different parts of our lives, and we all met at the North Gate at 10:30 on what might have been the most stunning late spring day I have ever seen.
Our seats were right at the top of the Grand Stand, with a perfect view of the pitch — although for most of the day, my focus was on everything but. I used to work at Lord’s during my uni summer holidays, but I wouldn’t say I’m a die-hard fan. So, my friend Margaux and I mostly soaked up the atmosphere, solved the world’s problems, drank pink lemonade, ate strawberries and our delicious sandwiches, and when we got a little snoozy from the warm air and the fact that Australia weren’t doing as well as any of us had hoped, we went and got an ice cream.
After the day wrapped up, everyone went their separate ways, including Andy and me. He headed home while I got on a Lime bike North to meet my friends Grace and Alex at the Duke of St Albans pub by Hampstead Heath. I was sleeping at their place that night because they’re a quick little cycle to the Eurostar terminal, so I joined them and their housemate Ben, and friends Kathryn and Josh on what turned into a very low-key pub crawl that ended at the Pineapple — a spot which, from the outside, looks like any ordinary pub, but which on the inside serves an extensive menu of very passable thai food. We all loved the prawn dumplings.
I woke up on Grace and Alex’s sofa at 6 am the next day to the morning sun shining through the windows. The last time I had slept over to take an early-morning Eurostar, it had been dark and cold and rainy, so this was a welcome development. Onto another Lime I hopped and within 10 minutes, I was at St Pancras, ready to head to Paris for my friend Fleur’s hen-do. There were about 16 of us, everyone in a giddy mood, ready to pop bottles of Prosecco on the train — I had a green juice, given the fact that I’m with child, but I like to think I kept the vibes high.
The weekend was everything you could possibly want from a hen-do — lunch in the Tuileries, a party bus around the sights of Paris, dinner, drinking, dancing. On the train home on Sunday evening, I thought about the fact that a 2-hour 16-minute train from London to Paris never gets less impressive, even when you’ve taken it a thousand times.
Since that weekend, I’ve been for two early morning swims at Tooting Lido, played tennis, and had friends over for bruschetta in the garden. My friend Bridget and I had lunch at the River Café last Friday, then met again early the next morning for the Summer Solstice swim at Hampstead Heath Ladies Ponds with Grace and my sister Jasmin. I went to ABBA Voyage with my parents-in-law — an activity I was sceptical about, but which I ultimately loved every minute of. This Friday, I’m taking the train to Margate for the HAIM concert, driving to Hampshire in the van for Fleur’s wedding, then back again for V’s birthday lunch.
I’m not saying all this to give you a rundown of my schedule or rub my lovely life in your face. I’m saying it to illustrate that the mood I was in with London earlier this month was not a London problem at all, but entirely a me problem. And getting out of my grump reminded me that whenever I’m feeling that way, I should consider the shape of my days a little more closely — have I left the house? Stood up from my desk? Spent time with friends? Have I taken advantage of the fact that Europe’s largest outdoor pool is a 15-minute walk from my flat? Or that three of the world’s friendliest baristas run the café around the corner? If not, then the answer for why I’m being a moody cow is clear.
How lucky I am to call this place my home. And I hope I don’t forget it again so quickly next time.
See you in the next one!
Annabel
P.S. I have been out of my newsletter flow for several months now — I’m sorry! But I am getting back into it and can’t wait to start sharing again. Thanks for sticking with me!
Congratulations on your pregnancy Annabel!!
What a wonderful Bulletin. Lots I didn't know. Sharing ABBA Voyage with you and my fabulous son was really FAB. Love Boo