#uksnow as they say Tweet

When it finally began snowing in London, Chris was already surrounded by the white stuff on his way to Scotland, and quite happy with that, too. To love snow in England, however, is to be in a very small, and equally ill-regarded minority. I keep hearing apocalyptic quotes like nothing like this has happened around ours for at least 25 years! or even my grandson got bored with it and doesn't care to build a snowman because it's too cold. The idea that you'd have shoes and clothes capable of dealing with snow, a pair of decent gloves, some knowledge as to how to drive your car and (just to make this more horrendous) an appreciation of the beauty and the benefits of snow, such idea is, at best, a bad joke. Surely, no other country in a similar place on the face of Earth has to endure this!



As Chris likes to quote (an author that escapes me) more and more often of late, there's nowhere so pleasant as an empire in decline. And seeing a former conquering nation tremble in the presence of mere snow is saddening, if amusing, but ultimately a great proof of the disconnect with what brought them here and, frankly, what the life and experiences of their ancestors were just two generations ago. I bet grandma and grandpa didn't fret so much, had a snow shovel around, and made sure their children would build vast snow empires between lunch and dinner. Oh, well, I must be the one with a romanticised picture of yesteryears in my head.



I'm also the one jumping around with glee, however ridiculous I may come across, whenever a flurry of snowflakes hits the neighbourhood. This is Central London. It's not supposed to snow like this, and it's not supposed to last. When we want any of it, just like half of the country at least, we have to take skiing and snowboarding trips. The white stuff is OK as long as it's elsewhere. That, in my twisted language, means it's OK on my terrace, where I've taken every opportunity to freeze since last Saturday, in hope of spotting the first snowflakes. When they arrived, last night, they were as small as the smallest seeds of ice, yet perfectly formed, and so firm! I was so pleased that I could hardly fall asleep.



And it only got nuttier in the morning, when the Centre Point building was hard to spot, at times, and I was nursing a cold. The one thing I forgot to do, and for that I pray that it snows again, and again, is stick my tongue out to catch some. What do you know, childhood habits die hard! I did remember to shriek each time I noticed the snowfall intensify, and while not planned, I enjoyed scaring the bejesus out of my team. It's snowing people, and we're locked inside instead of having a walk and a play! I was, in fact, quite surprised that no one had invoked being snowed in. And spent the rest of my day in that office, until, late at night, it was time to work some more at home, and to catch a glimpse of Central London in the snow at night. And work as I may, I'm happy as Larry. As they say.

the other window Tweet

Upon the arrival of THE ELEPHANT, I realized I have a thing for elephants. And horses. And koala bears. And dolphins. Suffice to say there is a proper top forty of my favorite animals recorded in someone's gadgets. So when elephants presented themselves to me in other forms, I grabbed them. This one is a pot (hard to see it work that way, though) found on eBay. To its right, two iron candle holders I had in my Bucharest flat and was ready to let go to greener pastures, but Chris loved them and carefully packed them up. To the left of the elephant, some odd pumpkins picked up at the farmers' market in Surrey. And to their left, another eBay find: a Villeroy & Boch vase in venge glass, to make up for the loss of my beloved purple vase. Chris got the yellow chrysanthemums last Sunday and, ever since, the vase has sat on our dinner table. We're growing old, and it's swell.

the glorious sun, when present Tweet

I popped out on the terrace this morning for a quick smoke before going to work. The cold froze me on the spot and the coffee lost steam in a breath. There was no weather for smoking in one's gown. But the sun was glorious, and I instantly knew I'd be carrying the camera around today, no matter what. My walk to work is very brief, but if I go round the houses I can just about see enough of the world. And HAVE A SMOKE. And then I was in W12 in the afternoon, where not every piece of soil is covered by buildings yet, and I found the kind of tree that can add to my fall foliage collection. So here you go, a sunny London day in ten shots.

magic mirror on the wall, who's the fairest one of all? Tweet

This is the other look I can sport these days, an obvious, non-fussy choice I may refer to in a funny way: Snow White. Maybe not what Disney and Brothers Grimm imagined, but closer to the vision of whichever forgotten artist drew her for the diapositive films (diafilms, we used to call them, as in German) that enchanted our childhood. Come to think of it, we were so much like children today: watching equivalents of DVDs, and watching them repeatedly. It's amazing just how little impact new technology has on our lives sometimes! And how brilliantly my parents did during one of the worst communist regimes.

as miss golightly was saying before she was so rudely interrupted Tweet

It's been a while since my last haircut. I could easily blame that (oversight?) on lack of time, but frankly, it's a lot more complex. I haven't had long hair in ages (the summer of 2007, maybe?) and I'd quite like to see where it goes, I don't know what haircut I'd want anyway, I'm not the kind of person to pick the same safe thing again and again so can't just use the last style again, I don't know a good hair stylist in London and I'm sooo far away from mom! She who's always ready to negotiate my crazy ideas over what she believes suits me, she who's nearly always ready to cut my hair, she who knows HOW to cut my hair and has cut it again and again for over 30 years, with amazing precision and flair. But I don't know when I'll see her next, and left to its own devices, my hair can have too much character, so something had to be done—which is exactly what I told myself once a week, every week. And then, as I was spoiling myself with a bath, a glass of cava, and an iPad read earlier today, I got up just like that, picked up the scissors, and calmly yet firmly brought back a tiny part of an old flame: the fringe. Because there's a bit of Audrey Hepburn in all of us. And I'm really good at buying time, sometimes.

the tomato saga Tweet

Last Saturday I felt very efficient, and on top of it, very clever. We'd collected our last tomatoes a couple of weeks back, and I felt it was time to do away with the plants and the pots. So I did my best to pull the stems out the soil in one piece, then said goodbye to the root and filled our vases with tomato plants. Isn't that clever? And pretty? But above all, clever. Just like the milk bottles that serve as vases, in fact. I am a bundle of cleverness.



Except today, when it was time to not only change the water, but also let the wilted flowers go, I came about this strange occurrence. ROOTS. Some of the cut tomatoes had rooted in the house within a week. I showed them to Chris in disbelief, we marveled at them together for a bit, and then I proceeded to plant them—what else?! I stick into soil so many things that root indoors (and don't even mention equally many cuttings that'd never root in water) that I've developed a very solid reflex: if it roots, it will be potted.



But replanting tomatoes grown from seed and then cut is not the only amusing part of the story. These are definitely the yellow tomatoes. They weren't so great. Not even half as sweet and flavored as the red tomatoes. But I still potted them a second time. To get tomatoes! Bad tomatoes. Perhaps it's just curiosity to see how they'll evolve on the windowsill? Because the red tomato plants that survived the week are also GROWING FRUIT on the windowsill, and in water only. Place your bets!

if chris gets fed up with me, I'll be landing on my feet Tweet

I went to the newsagent tonight after work, to get some more of that devil weed without which I feel naked in the face of a hopefully lazy weekend. I was the only one in there, strangely, and felt compelled to say more than Pall Mall blue, long, twoplease.

I said: Hello.
He said: Hello.
Me: I would like some cigarettes.
Him: You live here?
Me: I work here.
Him: Where you live?
Me: In Fitzrovia.
Him: Ah, Victoria!
Me: Pall Mall, blue, long, twoplease.
Him, mindlessly picking a red pack: How many children?
Me: None, no time. Blueplease.
Him: Husband?
Me: Husband no children either. No time.
Him, slowly picking up a blue pack: One day?
Me: One day. Twoplease.
Him: One day you come here?
Me, pushing exact money across: One day?
Him: One day you come look for me.
Me: Sorry?!
Him: One day when you're free. We go out.
Me: I see. I'll keep that in mind. Good night.

For all nationalities and races that have been assumed of me, Indian wins at great length. And I certainly look like good child-bearing material, if anything. So there you have it, my reassuring plan B. It goes without saying I'll be sleeping a lot more peacefully.

I've always wanted a kitchen windowsill Tweet

My clematis prepared not one, but two blooms for its late, second flight this year, but the mean weather made sure they didn't open for weeks, and then the wind broke their delicate stems. I had little else to try but cut them and bring them inside, and at this point they've been around on the kitchen windowsill for a week or so. It's brilliant they can last that long in water, indoors, and rather unexpected. But I'd still love them better outside.



These roses, ha! Dried up perfectly while still in the vase, so it felt like I they made their own decision to stick around and I HAD to find a spot for them. Surely the ivy won't complain? The various cuttings this summer developed roots quickly, and so I'm back at the ivy-in-tiny-pots sport entertained time and time again.



I loved my kitchen windowsill in Bucharest, and it's so rewarding to have one again. Though the amount of debatably cute/ slowly dying/ slowly drying/ maybe rooting plants on it may not be everyone else's idea of best use. Chris, God bless his facial hair, is quite amused at my continuous proto-garden, and not at all averse to have the other windowsills around the house full of propagators and pots in the run up to spring, so yay me until further notice!