Glorious Weekend.

I woke up in the most terrible grump yesterday morning. I was scary. And mean. And a little bit crazy.  And kind of sad.  Ever had one of  those days?

I knew  we had to attend yet another wedding that evening and  there wasn’t an inch of my person that wanted to go.  But go I did.  And to my surprise it was elegant, and lovely, and strangely sombre which suited my mood really rather well.

It took place in The Racquet Club in Liverpool,  one of the new breed of boutique hotel/members only clubs, major cities in the Uk are currently being flooded with, and it was understated and stylish- The tables covered in dramatic black chenille cloths topped  with silver candlelabras and the precedings watched over by gloomy, glorious portraits of serious Victorians and the occasional hunting trophy. Gershwin accompanied the service of a very grown up buffet of pancetta and sun dried tomato kebabs and Thai fishcakes, and the bride got more drunk than I have ever seen a bride drunk, then danced in a beautiful daze by herself,  while we all stood about and watched her drown her sorrow caused by the fact that her  mum, in the last stages of cancer, had watched her daughter walk down the aisle, but could not be there to see her joy at the reception.

The sadness was tangible and for me it was  relieved only by the fact that in a moment of madness, Marks’ Mum had decided to wear a wig and it tickled me so much I wanted to laugh everytime I looked at her. God bless her silly irish socks…

This morning I woke up blissfully hangover free, and without further ado, leapt out of bed, and before Mark could argue, packed my bag and took myself off on a treasure hunt, without the noose that is a scrumptious two year old around my neck…

Unfortunately the pickings were slim. The farmers market I had planned to call in at was rained off and my favorite linen dealer was missing from the once monthly antiques fair that is usually a guaranteed source of the kind of things that make my heart leap. So I drove on. Stopping to add to my disappointment at a rather lovely stately home turned warren of antiques (read over-priced tat) filled rooms, then getting back in the car to go to another very large fair  that used to be wonderful but has recently been shattered by the demon that is  Ebay…

Fortunately all was not lost. I bought two very pretty embroidered roller towels from the oldest lady in the world and made friends with a man with a beard and a really rather divine collection of Dutch postcards…

Then I headed home, past my favorite little deli, stopping to buy ciabatta, the yummiest, tangiest feta on the planet and yet more rose  creams, and came in to an immaculately tidy house, a pile of sunday papers and a sleeping toddler…

Heaven.

See? Life isn’t all bad is it? Even for a grumpy old cow like me.