The not-so-official April day-dream list.
I want café frappés, the best euphemism of a kind that involves milkshakes for breakfast. I want to wear a sequin top and leopard ballerines from dawn till the next.
Right now, there is a snowstorm happening behind my window. Not unlike London turned into a snow-dome. I used to love them. And really, not much has changed since.
But if there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that by the end of the month, trees will be coated in a snow of blossoms.
I’ve told you about Baity before. Well, mostly about that absolutely adorable guy with the glasses and his Greek iced coffee.
But, really, this place is the dimestore diamond of Chelsea.
London, September 2012
You should see the skyline today. Nothing like it and yet, I haven’t found anything better than clouds blanketing everything around us.
Not unlike closing your eyes to the mountain sun.
The sound of wind through the trees. And of leaves under our boots too.
The hidden world behind puddles.
Knowing that Christmas is just around. Because, really, the best thing about Christmas is the perfect mix of anticipation and excitement.
The sound of his voice in my head. And his hands tickling the back of my neck.
The lullaby of raindrops crashing on the ground.
The purr of a washing machine. Or even better, a never-ending passing train.
It’s been oh-so-quiet around here lately. Perhaps, that’s what happens when I have too much to say, too much to do, too much to look forward to.
But last night, I saw the dark sky turn into fireworks.
[Chocolate eclairs, almost like Fauchon's]
When trees are shaped like hearts; and breakfast means just-brewed coffee slash bike ride slash jonchée eaten as soon as I’ve taken my gum boots off.
And we run barefoot in fields of frost.
December is made for kissing in the mist, warm nights of magic rush and cold pink dawn, foreseen epiphanies, and perhaps, most importantly, mulled wine.
A short welcome to this new month, because – believe me or not – some things are better left unsaid.
Is it just me, or do you also feel like that – more than any other month – tarts belong to November?
It usually happens without a warning. And without a calendar.
[On a cloud]
For days when the sky feels like a cloud, of the gigantic kind. And our homes are made warm with gas ovens.
I’ve yet found what dough will become a cloud in my kitchen. Perhaps, my very favourite matcha shortbreads. Or the cinnamon cookies that made my childhood a forever-Christmas.
Thank you Nikole for making such beautiful objects that – waiting to be used – sit on my bedside table, as a collection of treasures.
What is your favourite cut-out cookie recipe?