Today, I tied my hair into a ponytail. And slipped my bare feet into furry boots.
Up there I could barely see. I guess London has been called the smoke for a reason.
But down here – yes – down here it was windy, you know that kind of wind that turn your cheeks into cherry lollipops and make the glorious autumn trees sound like summer waves breaking onto pebble beaches.
I sat on my favourite bench, the one under the smallest platane.
Tonight, I turned on the heater. Just for ten minutes; just enough for the smell of an old garage to blend with that burning mulled wine candle in the most perfect way.
I’d like to say I had a chimerical dinner, one made of butternut squash, brown butter and sage. But nope. Two slices of pizza, a little salad, a lot of cider vinegar. Oh and a persimmon!
Tonight, but later – at dawn, perhaps – when fog will be everything we see, I’ll write.
About peaches baked in mead. About iced yoghurts pretending to be nougats glacés. About kisses and how they felt. About vanilla sponges with goat cheese curd. The working title goes along the lines of bonfire stories. And really, it could not be more right.
Some may wonder what the point is really, to say hello when it’s almost time for goodbyes.
Well, let me tell you a story. Or more accurately the end of it. At times, beginnings don’t matter.
We’ll start with the very last kiss that made our lips burn and the cab-meter go well past a fiver. It was cold and well into the morning, but for us, it was still the day before. Somehow, in between the glitters that once were on my eyes and the Hendricks gin we called supper, we got stuck sometime between two and three am. For hours.
The cab door opened. We kissed. I saw things spin around us, it was not the booze and certainly not a merry-go-round either. And I rushed in, hoping to find comfort in the shape of a cheap electric heater, when I’d have rather been frozen to the bone with his lips on mine.
His flight was a few hours away, mine would never come. The dreams we had would stay as such, dreams. And just like this, I very well knew I’d never see him again.
One kiss, hello and goodbye.
I cried. But one thing that kiss didn’t allow was what-ifs and their flock of hazy feelings that things could have been different.
It was what it was. Wonderful, not unlike magic in many ways. Only I could have told him I liked him when we still had time. But these are things we learn with time.
And this is why no matter how close the farewell is, you should always say hello. Even if you think it’s too late, even when you know it’s too late.
I might be eighteen days behind, but BONJOUR OCTOBRE.
The not-so official October happy-list.
1. And for it I must warn you: broken-record alert! I’m only one chapter away to finishing my dream-book. So looking forward to the photoshoot and design now. 2. Plating beautiful desserts at John Salt, one week to go. I just can’t wait. 3. Walks by the Thames. Misty and all. 4. Two birthdays that make me wish I was in France this week: Bon anniversaire Aïda et maman! Je vous aime fort fort. 5. I fell in love witha tale of two. And this is coming in my kitchen very very soon. 6. Baking at home soon. One day! It’s just that doing not one – but two – restaurant openings is fairly time consuming. Of the 7am-till-1am time consuming. 7. But bubble teas make it all ok. 8. Coming up with a ribambelle of petits fours for John Salt. Brace yourself! 9.Blue-sky days with icy winds. 10.Pumpkin lattes – not of the Starbucks kind (I ordered one, had one sip, turned my back on it; fact). That’s it.
PS. No iPhone pictures this month, because I sort of broke the camera on my phone. Well it broke itself in my bag. I guess I have to thank its Mary Poppins factor. Yeah, right.