Oh to have a four (heck, even three would be very nice!) day weekend every week. How much fun we could have with all that free time, how many day trips, how much creativity, how many lie-ins and brunches... Even if things don't always go to plan, there would be enough days to make the most of such a weekend. Not cramming every minute full of activities, that's not what I mean, but to have enough time between activities to relax and do nothing. To feel we don't have to do either one or the other, but to have the time to really enjoy both. Well, one can dream, right?
So, our weekend was part relaxing and faffig, part being out to get some fresh air into our lungs. On Saturday I
foraged bought some more of the lovely little wax flowers from my favourite florist (I also came away with some feathers) and went for a rumage and chat at my favourite vintage shop. Nothing spectacular, but these are like small rituals that somehow feel comforting. Besides, after all the sunshine on Friday, I felt like I really wanted some fresh flowers in our home to welcome Spring and for Easter decorations - well, they were the decorations.
As Monsieur was slowly getting better and he didn't have a temperature, I decided that Sunday should be our day of fresh air. After all, we'd missed out on our North Yorkshire getaway and long walks in the moors. The weather forecast was fairly rubbish (of course it was, in case you didn't know, it's the law for a long weekend in the UK to have bad weather!) with rain and strong winds being announced, but I just felt that we really needed to get out. Get out of London, get some fresh air, walk. Ok, I was probably suffering from a severe case of "cabin fever". Still, sea air, I figured, would be good for Monsieur's lungs. So we set off to the coast to see the white cliffs. After 18 years of living in this country, I had only ever seen them from afar, when travelling on a ferry.
We left London under dark grey clouds and pouring rain and had torrential rain on the way...and when we got to Dover, the sky had turned blue with the sun shining like on the most beautiful spring day. Though it was blustery. I'm - admittedly - no lightweight, but the wind was so strong that it actually pushed me around whilst walking. This also meant the clouds were traveling fast and by the time we got to the lighthouse with its lovely little tearoom, the skies had turned dark and it was raining. It was by sheer dumb luck that the rain started when we arrived at the tearoom and stopped when we left. The perfect timing and excuse for tea and cake then, right?
We then spent
Sunday Monday (bank holidays get me confused) pottering around at home. All that fresh air from the previous day had knocked us out and we had a long lie-in followed by a very late brunch, followed by nothing more than reading, chatting, cooking, red wine and a little tv in the evening. I found some snowdrops in our garden which I had no idea were growing there. Having only moved in a few months ago, I am yet to discover what (apart from vast amounts of daffodils) is planted there. Snowdrops then bring me onto the next subject.
If you follow me on Instagram, you will have spotted me revealing my tattoo. Oh yes, yours truly, middle aged mum, indecisive when it comes to half-permanent things like buying a coffee table (more about that in another post), has gone and got the most permanent thing possible. Three weeks ago I went and had two snowdrops inked onto my right wrist. A birthday present to myself. The look is strongly influenced by the beautiful Japanese botanical art, but the reason for the snowdrops is a very sentimental and personal one.
You see, the snowdrops that grow in February (these here are a different variety) coincide with my birthday and are usually some of the first flowers to make an appearance after a long, cold winter. To me, they signify new beginnings, nature waking up, spring being on its way and the start of a new year. They're also the flowers my mum always sends me for my birthday. They never really arrive looking very nice, but that's not the point. It might look silly to an outsider (flowers that arrive half-rotten, huh?!) but it's a small thing that makes me happy every single year and that is very dear to me. If there's anything in the world I'd like to to have a permanently fresh and pretty looking reminder of, it's these snowdrops. Of course it's not something I only thought about for a month or so. I had wanted a tattoo for a very, very long time, but lacked the confidence and decisiveness to have it done. There have been designs I really liked, but somehow I never thought any of them would be something I'd still like in 20 or 30 years time. If I was to ever get one, it had to be something very special and personal. And this is definitely it. I needed to get to my age to be able to make the right decision on this and to figure out what really means so much to me that I'd want to carry it around with me for the rest of my life. And this is it.
I hope you've all had a lovely Easter weekend.