have I created an environment conducive to wildlife? tick Tweet

I had a visitor today, and though I was gifted a book of birds to help me identify the guests, and the pests, I find the experience of leafing through it frustrating. Not sooner did I take the photos that I turned to Google and Flickr and Wikipedia, and after a short and satisfying look around, decided this was a great tit. But is it? Everything seems right apart from the confusing lack of any shade of blue.



When I bothered to enter Britain in Bloom (I wouldn't qualify now as the garden is not publicly accessible), there was much fuss about peat free compost, and urban environments that welcomed wildlife. And finally I'm there, with this visitor eating bugs in the hedge and chirping in the olive tree, if you don't count the slugs, the aphids, the snails, the caterpillars, the wasps, the worms, the pigeons, the bees, the spiders, the ladybirds, and the dreaded vine weevels. I don't.



In fact a few weeks back, as we sat on the terrace, a couple of birds visited, perhaps assessing us as potential nest shelter. They split the hedges between them, looked in every corner, checked each side, talking to each other all along, and taking all of five minutes to do so, uninhibited by our presence. One of these years, we might just wake up to young ones being fed. My work would then be complete.

a sunday to ourselves Tweet

With a fair mix of office work and home work, the day went in a blink, as Sundays tend to do. It was quiet on our terrace, as quiet as Central London gets, which is always the treat of Sundays, and makes it much more worth being around. We kept the foods simple, with cheese and zacusca, poppy seed rolls and tuica, and later prepared our first jugs of Pimm's for the year, with five types of homegrown mint and the sweetest strawberries... from Ocado. We then proceeded to maintain a happy pace throughout the day, knowing the week ahead was only a thin red line away from mad.





I was particularly pleased that my tiny salmon Japanese quince decided to flower a second time after its April blooms, and that some part of my clematis survived the huge moth caterpillars of March to bloom another summer.



But before soon, the evening had fallen, and with the last of the Pimm's, Chris served a wonderfully simple mascarpone pasta topped with zucchini and bacon from the grill. To tickle the brain enough for another week's worth of minor haemorrhages.

a saturday like any other Tweet

Unless we have to rush somewhere, or back home from somewhere (one of which happens half the time), Saturday we get to sleep and recharge. On bad Saturdays we really don't sleep as long as we'd like, our bodies confused from the sloppy nights across the week. On good ones, we manage ten or eleven in the morning. And on excellent ones, which are few and far between, we would miss lunch in a more conventional house. Last Saturday was one of the latter kind. We woke up to sun, roses in bloom, and only a few hours between us and... work.



We ate our late brunch as we kept in the shade, happy to finally have a reason to open the umbrella, and gazing around at the terrace unleashed.



In the little spare time left after that, I dedicated myself to uprooting the radishes, to make room for the tomatoes. It was late for the radishes, according to the packaging slip of the seeds, and the crop was not entirely to my satisfaction. In fact, there will not be another crop of radishes on this terrace again, not planted by my hands at least. The first generation did nothing, the second—a too modest addition to our menu. Just have a look at the success rate!



On a smoking break I caught a glimpse of the last rays of sun through the jasmine, and I lamented that such sudden blaze will kill it sooner than the weather of its native lands. Lamented internally, as Chris was busying himself somewhere else about the house. I also smiled at the potato vine, remembering how last year I'd forgotten what I'd purchased and wrongly wondered who planted aubergines in my garden.



And then I rushed to finish with the disappointing radishes, all of which are below, and later joined our salad with dinner some 1 a.m. in the morning, once work was done. They didn't taste as fresh as those from the farmers' market, so they had indeed been left too late, and though a pretty picture they make, I shan't be speaking about them again. It serves me right to buy seeds in garden centers, while for tomatoes I carefully saved my own.

something to look forward to Tweet

Leaving the office while there was still light outside did not become an imperative this year before the good weather got going, and that was rather late. In bad weather, home means projects and pottering, cooking warming meals and catching an episode of a favourite show. All that if once I spread my mobile office in the kitchen, and Chris in the lounge, anyone remembers what life is supposed to be like.

In this revised weather, life moves outdoor, and so does home, the rest of the space auxiliary, used as a passage. Little changes about what we do, if you don't count trying to cook every damn thing on the grill, but doing everything in open air, the fragrance of jasmine, the chatter of a busy restaurant, the pink clouds of sunset, that makes home a destination. So I don't mind working now, in the least.

It is from now on that all the hours invested in the terrace pay manifold, be it a place to catch one's breath and wear loose clothes, the place where one admires the progress of summer fruits and greens, or equally, and more often that not, the place where one cracks the next mindboggling business problem. And it is where we started living upon moving in, so it is here where we feel most ourselves. At home.

ebay message of the day: fair enough Tweet

Hello,

Thank you for your payment. I'm at a cat show tomorrow and my son said he'll go to the PO. If he doesn't, cos he's 19, I'll send it on Mon!

Thanks!

alien life on the entrepreneur ship Tweet

Time I got home: 8.45 This is early, and I live around the corner from the office.

Time I left home: 8.45 This is early, so I had to do with 6 hours sleep again.

Outside temperature: 24 Celsius This is hot. We only turned off the heating three days ago.

Internal temperature: lizard. This is good, lots of things don't get on my nerves anymore.

Daytime layers: 4 This is mad, but one was silk, and I've got to wear a bra.

Evening layers: 1 This is good, nothing beats being barefoot about the place.

National product launches: 1 This is good, considering we're all home for dinner.

Free client trials: 2 This is good, but five times more won't hurt.

Work emails sent: 17 This is bad, as much more fell by the side.

Other comms: countless. Most written ones are in Skype & Twitter DMs.

Glasses of cava: 1 This doesn't happen nearly enough, but here's hoping for more.

Mugs of double espressos: 4 This is very good, I normally lose count.

Useless networking events: 1 This is alright, I was working during most of it.

Profanities uttered: countless This is good, it's how I entertain myself.

Fruits consumed: 500g This is great, and not negotiable, because...

Junk food consumed: 1 This is bad, but counters 4 beers last night.

Important tasks on my list: 65 This is normal, and only what I don't keep in mind.

Urgent tasks on my list: 65 This is equally normal, everything must get done.

Pains in my body: 3 This is normal. Hello GP fave, ibuprofen and paracetamol.

Kgs in my bag: 6 This is good, it was actually a bag, not a backpack.

Videos processed: 3 This is good, we must document more of our work.

Blog posts written: 1 This is good, but if you ask, I'll do even better.

Time spent putting this together: 15 minutes Outrageous, but I glanced around at my babies, took photos, had a smoke, you get the picture.

effing budding talent Tweet

Chris: Do you know the business account sort code?
Me, laughing: What do you mean? It's on your fucking card.
Chris, annoyed: No, it's not!
Me, pulling out my card: What IS this?! Fuck me!
Chris, as I look up electronic records: You give Malcolm Tucker a run for the money. Did you hear what you said?
Me, sort code dictated and fucking memorised: What did I say?

counting sheep in his sleep Tweet

Chris: Three thousand. Fourteen hundred. Ninety nine.
Me: You mean four thousand, four hundred...?
Chris: Hmm! You KNOW what I mean!

Twist the knife, damn it: I NEVER do.

where my olympic journey ends... Tweet

...at least in its official track, as a volunteer, in equally official gear. This hot piece of euphemistic passive aggressive communication has just landed in my inbox:

[...] Unfortunately, your application has not been successful. While we cannot commit the time to answer individual queries, we can confirm the most typical reason for not being shortlisted was limited availability. We thank you very much for your interest and enthusiasm in support of London 2012 Ceremonies and hope that you will support London 2012 in other ways. [...]

If you don't know what the fuss is all about, find out where my Olympic journey started, and where it stumbled severely. And to my 3 year younger self: HAHAHA!

save for never: episode 1 Tweet

This idea has consumed me for at least a week. I live in a world of ideas, and no resource to make most happen, so nothing really consumes me for a whole week. Ideas are cheap. Fleeting. Done before. Shifted. Etc. Seeing this one won't go away, however, or morph into something completely different, here goes.

Bookmarks are dead, we all know it. But we all still do it, to some degree, and for some reason that may be about status, if not self-esteem. Regardless. Who ever goes through the bookmarks again? Though my life is different from yours, none of us has time. Except for those things that still get us.

Save for never is an attempt to chronicle what got me, and was gotten by me, without the need to save it for later. I'll keep it short.

1. "I'm not fucking happy—who's happy? I don't even know what that is." >> David Chang, chef (cameo), Treme

2. The sound of the last day of summer. It has been with me since the last perceivable day of summer, and will stay for years to come. I don't even own this yet. I don't need to. I like how it comes at me serendipitously, from here, there and nowhere.



3. Marc Jacobs AW12. Yes, fashion! The best of it. Mad as a nut. Even the fashion people can't get shit about it. They will ponder whether it was serious or a joke until the end of their lives. How delightful! That doesn't happen often. Truly, and gorgeously disruptive. Plus I kinda have one of them mad hats, the trendsetter I am.