Weekend update: (for no other reason than I feel a peverse desire to chronicle my life right now) - my Morroccan feast went down pretty well, I think, and my late-addition pistachio cookies were a real hit. K brought me some of his ras-el-hanout flavoured honey, which is delicious, and goes especially well with my za'atar flatbread. We are middle-eastern in NW6, me and K. Other guests brought me very drinkable wine and stylish flowers. The whole thing was very Nigella meets some US-written sitcom. M had just driven back from Shropshire.
A lazy day, Saturday: felt I deserved a rest. Went to a party on Saturday night in a bar in King's Cross so unfeasibly hip that it took me an hour to find it. I only knew two people there, and the other hundredish folks ignored me. I went home, sprung forward, went to bed, and got up bright-and-early to do a little homework, had an Alexander technique lesson, spent the afternoon in a creative workshopping thing, that was supposed to be a favour for a friend (lots of creative/writery/brand-style folk sharing their brains for her project), but was also loads of fun and got the creative juices going. I made some nice words. Ish.
Gone back to work for a break. No, really (my no-really amnesty is over now. No, really.)