all the leaves are brown…
So, two mostly sunny autumn weeks in and as the first few visitors (including the handful of already-returnees) will know things are settling down nicely, although any potential moments of free time have provided me with ample distraction in the form of mislaid keys and an ensuing crash course in lock changing, a blown lighting circuit (oops) and innumerable further forays into the wonderful world of DIY on the quest to make Flat a bit more habitable; not least a highly successful experiment in electric blue matt that left my hallway looking fabulous and my person looking like a deranged, dishevelled Smurf. Fortunately for the next day’s punters, it washed off (well, most of it).
Establishing a new routine has brought other surprises and none more so than the exhausting and never-ending matter of laundry. Somewhat naively (and having become accustomed to towels and linen as things that spontaneously materialised sparkling clean, immaculately pressed and neatly folded on a handy trolley for everyone to help themselves to as they wished) the lightening-bolt realisation that I would have to do it all myself is still sinking in, and as somebody who has only ever really encountered an iron lurking harmlessly in a hotel wardrobe or occasionally appearing on television, to say it’s been a bit of a shock could possibly be the understatement of the decade. Thank God for my new best friend Mr Washer Dryer, who has been even busier than I have although I blame him squarely for the creases in everything, and subsequently the near constant ironing-backache. I have also wondered whether 41 is an average-ish age for first purchasing an ironing board.
As everyone can see from the pictures, even my morning walk through the rustly leaves and across the bridge would knock most people’s journey to work into a cocked hat and with the quiet tea and biscuit moments and gentle domesticity finally beginning to prevail, the obvious thing to do next would be to down tools, pack bags and head immediately for New York. Fortunately for me, I’d already thought of it and as of Wednesday will be heading off – from an information POV, appointments will be available on Tuesday but depending on how packing goes (and bearing in mind I’m now packing from two separate sources, which is already proving chaotic) a halt may be called to same day/short notice calls in order to preserve sanity, and I recommend getting your ask in at some point tomorrow. And hello to any now-lurking New Yorkers, too! Don’t read this, read the proper website. Or my Eros ad, since it cost a couple of hundred quid and I may as well plug it a bit…
After five days of browsing local attractions both outside (including a lingerie exhibition barely fifteen minutes’ walk away and a craft beer festival less than that over the weekend) and inside my hotel (fingers crossed) as well as my favourite Essen buffet lunches, a rummage through B&H Photo, some flamenco in Chelsea and at least one good morning walk each for Central Park and the High Line (lest I forget what a rustly leaf is like in the period between now and hometime) it’s back to London and my very favourite Waterloo stopping off point to sleep off the flight and catch up with a few London folk. Availability is dwindling already, and whilst my UK phone will be completely off from Wednesday evening – and I do mean off – hotel wifi permitting, I will be online throughout so anybody wanting to make arrangements can do so in good time by email (or phone my US number, if you want to really confuse me). Scarborough appointments will restart two weeks tomorrow on Monday 10th November – yay!
Back to today, and my first proper day off in four weeks has bestowed an extra hour for me to not get dressed/do laundry/paint anything in, so I believe I’ll spend it knitting on the settee. More soon…
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