No. Not Jack Johnson. (Though he is: note gratuitous and utterly irrelevent picture.)
My morning. Scrumptiously gorgeous.
Mark and Finn have gone for the shopping with a list. The world is trying to snow through the bright mid morning sun and I have nowhere to go and nothing to do this morning, so I couldn’t be happier…
An hour ago I sat in my candlelit living room (It’s always, always dark in my house. Sad but cosy), with a terracotta bowl full of greek yoghurt, drowning in rose syrup and sprinkled with pistachio’s and a long glass of cranberry juice and mineral water, thrilled to pieces because although the ground is covered in frost, the first flower on my camelia is ready to bloom.
And that means March is kind of marching forwards and the whole world will suddenly spring to life again and we can throw off our cosy blankets and snuggly socks and make way for the scrumptious pastels of Easter eggs and buzzy-busy car boot sales and little girls in pale blue
Every girl in Liverpool will don her best hat and tra la off to the Grand National and the Farmers Market won’t be the bitterly cold, let’s get it over and done with experience that it has been all Winter. I will be able to hang things on my washing-line again, and sit and have morning coffee on my doorstop as the world goes by calling out Hello! Everywhere will smell of lavender and lemons, and walks around the neighbourhood won’t seem like corporal punishment…
Because Spring is coming. It really is.
Now Dear Little Jack is singing about banana pancakes, (I’m so in love with him: don’t tell Mark!), I am wandering about with an apron tied over my nightie (I’m a bit mental aren’t I?) the windows are blowing a cool breeze through every room in the house, I’m packing my
If every morning this season is as blissful as this one, then I think you will find I am going to be one happy bunny..