I checked the recipe

We had friends over for dinner last night. A few weeks ago, I’d torn a scrap from a newspaper and pinned it to the fridge, a recipe involving lamb and purple sprouting broccoli. It sounded hearty, tasty and best of all involved a long, slow cooking time which would enable me to get things pretty sorted long before our friends arrived.

So, the Ocado order came on Friday (no missing items, no substitutions … I totally love it when that happens) and on Saturday morning, I made up a batch of pumpkin & halloumi fritters (to be served as nibbly starters with sour cream, sweet chilli and a glass of fizz and pomegranate) and took the kids to swimming via Flock & Herd for the lamb shoulder I’d ordered on Thursday. Earlier in the week, I’d been to Rabot Estate to buy a selection of chocolate ranging from 50 to 100 percent, which I planned to do with fruit and cheeses from Norbiton Cheese at Brockley Market.

So far, so organised. Until, at some point in the afternoon, I glanced at the scrap of paper on my fridge and realised that it was very vague on quantities. How many anchovies? How many olives? It mentioned the chef’s name so I had a quick google – “Theo Randall lamb shoulder purple broccoli” and got the answers I needed … and the sudden realisation that I should’ve asked for the lamb to be deboned.

Mild panic ensued, and you-tube was consulted to for demos and how-tos. Um, no, not going to happen. So I did the sensible thing: called Flock & Herd. “Come back, we’ll sort it out,” said the jovial chap at the other end of the phone. They did, just moments before closing time. Phew. I mean, lucky it was a slow cook recipe. Imagine if I’d been about to start merrily prepping at 6pm?

my youngest fell asleep in my arms

I was tempted to write ‘baby’ just then. He’s not, not truly, not any more – he’s a big strapping lad of almost three-and-a-half and a bundle of mischief to boot. But as my last-born, he is of course, to me, still my baby.

Those babyish moments are getting fewer and farther between, however. Rarely does he wake in the night to complete his sleeping hours in our bed any more, and there’s not a great deal of day-to-day stuff that he requires my help with now.

So, after a day in town buying a Nespresso machine (about which I am also very happy, but the sleeping thing outshines it) and having lunch at Wholefoods (where a lovely staff member gave my son a macaroon because, she said, he was “just so adorable” – yes, this also made my day) we found ourselves in Brixton waiting for the bus. We were by a busy road, so I picked him up to keep him safe and – almost instantly – he burrowed his face in my neck and dozed off. He’s no lightweight but it’s amazing how much your arms can take when you really, really want the thing you’re holding (I for instance would be likely to power enthusiastically through the streets with 40 kilos worth of Zara and H&M bags, but moan pathetically about the weight of 10 kilos of Sainsbury’s buys).

The bus came, and I heaved myself and – oh go on, let me say it – the baby on. I tend to make a point of saying hello to bus drivers regardless of anything but the beaming smile I shot this one must surely have left him scratching his head. And my baby slept nearly all the way home.

I wasn’t glued to my iPhone

One of my resolutions this year was to spend less time with my eyes in a loving lock with a device. It’s been revelatory: I’m reading more, noticing more (Oooh, hello nice shoes. Hello, smiley child. Hello, poster for an exhibition that I’d like to see. Hello, everyone else on my carriage, texting and tweeting as if your lives depended on it)

I’ve not been that well lately and am easily tired, so it was pretty easy to get on the train this afternoon and just look forward to getting home to my family and to all of the Valentine’s Day daftness we had planned for each other: the uber-pink confection we made yesterday, cards, silly messages, chocolates and cuddles. There was also Parent/ Teacher night to look forward to (!) (it was actually fine. Turns out they’re good kids ;-))

Anyway, gazing rather vacantly out of the window, I clocked this. Now the irony is that I immediately reached for my phone to Instagram it. But, on the other hand, if I’d been reading everyone’s Valentine’s Day updates on Facebook, I’d likely’ve missed it all together.

she enclosed the gift receipt

It’s the oddest thing, but on my recent birthday, I received bags of various descriptions from no fewer than 4 of the women in my immediate and extended family. Odder still, because I am fairly pernickety about sartorial matters, and nailing anyone’s taste is no easy undertaking (which is why vouchers, preferably from Selfridges or Liberty, are always welcomed).

In any case: whether I liked the bags or not, there were just too many of them. Only one, however, came with a gift receipt: it had been bought at Fenwick in Newcastle and so to the Bond Street store I headed.

Fenwick is wonderful. Just so lovely and peaceful and unfrazzled. I adore Selfridges but you can barely make a dent in it in the space of a whole day, and there’s just so much to be had, or even just cooed over, that it can be a little overwhelming. I’m sure I would miss any sales bargains on offer in the melting pot of all that’s on view.

Not so at Fenwick, where I tried on, in a leisurely fashion, a handful of designer items, all heavily marked down. And then I saw this Joseph sweater. So thick and cosy, with its cabling and blackberry stitch panel, made from a blend of wool and cashmere. And the colour! Vibrant yet deep, cheerful yet cold-weather appropriate. It was marked down from £385 to far, far less than that, leaving me with just £37 to pay on top of the value of the gift certificate from the returned bag.

That bag may just have turned out to be my best birthday present of all.

our neighbours are also our friends

Not to come over all Ramsay Street about it (I’m not entirely sure how good their friendships are anyway, those scheming, conniving Aussie suburbanites) but I think we’re massively lucky that the family who live opposite us have become people with whom we go out, whose house we hang out at, and who hang out at ours; people for whom mutual favours ranging from childcare to DIY are the norm and people we genuinely like and have a good laugh with. And not just the adults – the kids, too, will happily play, draw, run around, snowball fight and watch TV. There’s a nice beingness to it.

Today was Pancake Day/ Shrove Tuesday and the four of them came over for the evening. The Dads engaged in a Grand Flip Off (it was a tie) and the kids mmmed and aaahed with maple syrup running down their chins and Nutella staining their lips; we adults were only slightly more refined in our scoffage. Being of a paleo persuasion, but not wanting to miss any of the indulgent fun, I tweaked this recipe by Chef Katelyn, omitting the stevia and chocolate chips (yes – still the sugar detox!) and substituting a dash of vanilla extract. Just. So. Yum!

I got some quality time alone with my daughter

With my husband and our nephew at home painting the loft, it was far too tempting to drop the boys home and go to pick up my 6 year old girl from ballet by myself. It was nice to be able to get her changed, chat with her friends and gather up her things – all without having to reprimand the boys for whooping or hollering or climbing on gym equipment.

“How do you fancy a secret mission?” I asked. Her eyes gleamed. “Ye-AH!” she enthused. “What is it?”

“I need to buy a Valentine’s Day card for Daddy. Can you help me choose one?”

She turned proudly to her friends. “My Mummy and Daddy are in love,” she beamed. So off we went, to ED in East Dulwich, where cards both schmaltzy and mick-taking jostled for our attention. I opted to take the mick, explaining to my daughter that we wouldn’t want Daddy think that Mummy had had a personality transplant.

The card. A disclaimer: we have never been to Harvester.

“Anyone you want to buy a card for?” I asked innocently. She nodded earnestly. Yes – her brothers and her father. She mentioned that she would also, later, get one for me: “Because Daddy probably won’t bother.”

The care and deliberation she put into choosing those three cards was enough to break a heart. And then on to Hope & Greenwood, where we bought heart-shaped and lip-shaped chocolates to enclose in the envelopes, and a special truffle for her, just because (nothing for me, with much internal gnashing of teeth – still on this sugar detox …)

It was only an hour, and it was only a quick squizz around a couple of shops. But it was rare, and it was precious, and it made my day.

Truffly goodness at Hope & Greenwood

I had an afternoon sleep on the sofa

Can there be many things nicer than to cast aside one’s book, pull a Scandinavian wool blanket (from Hus & Hem) over oneself and curl up on the sofa for a snooze? Just for a few minutes, mind. Just a quick 40 winks. Heavy rain beats on the window panes, the air outside is chill, but the room is warm and the sofa is cosy.  Just a quick 40 winks. Just. A. Quick.

Two hours later, you swim, slowly at first and then with gathering pace, back up into Awake, deliciously groggy, charmingly disoriented. It’s dark outside, the rain’s still falling. Something light for dinner, I think. Soup?

I found this Bondi Icebergs print

I didn’t set out to ‘shop’. Just a quick look in Slater & King after a consultation at the hairdresser’s, in advance of Monday’s appointment. Mostly I was looking to pick up a Valentine’s Day card for my husband. And then I saw this. A little bit of home on a grey London day, and the place where my hen’s night was held, 8 years ago, to boot.

It’s one of only ten, by a local artist who took the design from the original Bondi Icebergs sign (on the right). I didn’t find a Valentine’s Day card that didn’t make me feel a bit squeamish. But this, full of memories for me and, more recently, for my swimmer/ surfer Bondi-loving English husband, is perfect.

my local store stocks Inspiral products

Who’da thunk. My little, unassuming local store stocks a range of goodies from Camden-based Inspiral. We’re talking cacao nibs, raw crackits and kale chips (I usually buy the wasabi wheatgrass variety but am so trying the cacao & cinammon as soon as I’ve finished this 21 Day Sugar Detox.) Which is another thing to be happy about – cutting sugar – in all forms, even fruit, for the moment – does amazing things for the tummage. Almost instant pancake. Okay, maybe we don’t talk about pancakes. But flat, flat, flat. And it was pretty painless by about Day 3. Bit of a fuggy head, bit of a 3pm slump, but nothing that that a black coffee with a liberal sprinkling of cinnamon couldn’t rectify. Result!