I packed away the winter coats and shoes

Enough’s enough, right? I don’t deny that we might have several a few more chilly days ahead but by Jove, I’ve had my wintry outers up to the wotsits.

So today, I pulled out the storage bags containing my summer stuff, packed away the coats and boots and rediscovered my last-season sandals. It’s sad but true to say that many of them bear more than a passing resemblance to footwear I’ve already, avidly, bought this season but I’m nothing if not consistent; it’s completely in character for me to wander into a store wearing, say, a grey sweater and to walk out clutching a bag containing an almost identical knit. The worst example ever of this was the day that I stood in Cos swooning over a navy wool dress with leather patch pockets before it gradually dawned on me that not only did I already own the dress in question: I was in fact wearing it at that very moment.

Anyway. The only thing that’s better than having summery shoes to wear is having the weather and the occasion for wearing them. Yesterday morning? Not so much: I did an MCC Promotions-organised 10km run on Peckham Rye with two other mums from school, where footwear of a functional, rather than fabulous, nature was the order of the day, especially since a gait assessment at Runners Need revealed my hideous overpronation. My trainers are practically platforms, yes, but running in heels has never felt so good.


In the evening, however, we had dinner at The Begging Bowl with some of our friends, and it was bare legs, Sam Edelman Flynn sandals and fantastically flavoursome food. Today, my husband’s uncle and his partner took us out for lunch at Le Querce, for which I wore winged Ancient Greek sandals bought from Net-a-Porter last summer (along with a Zara dress in a good-to-be-alive shade of green)  The monkfish was amazing and the children seated at the next table were fairly hideous, which had an unhappy effect on noise levels and our ability to converse, but a brilliantly positive impact on how we, and the uncles, regarded the behaviour of our three. Now, I don’t know about other mothers out there, but to me this is pretty much the Holy Grail of a day out: eating delicious food, enjoying the company you’re with, feeling proud of your children and not feeling that every stitch you’re wearing has been chosen purely for matters of “I’m with the kids” practicality but also because you a) actually like them and b) the sun is shining after far, far too long of doing anything but that.

Would I be jinxing matters if I booked a pedi for next week, do you think?



we’re so Over it

It’s a small thing. But I do love living smackeroo between two Overground stations. Even on a miserable night like last night, it was so quick and easy to get to Shoreditch High Street on the Ginger Line, where we met with our nephew for a fantastico meal at Hawksmoor. Really amazing food, great atmosphere and such a gorgeous, friendly, fun and knowledgeable waitress. And oh my, the size of those cuts of meat. Impressive. Just as impressive as the fact Husband and Nephew made short work of them, and that was with a starter and dessert parenthesising them. Not to mention a couple of Collinses and a few bottles of very nice Malbec.


And tomorrow night, it’s the other nearby station we’ll head to, to meet friends on the top floor of Smiths of Smithfield. I worked the breakfast shift on the ground floor when it opened in 2000 under Masterchef’s John Torode  – surely one of the nicest bosses I’ve ever had – and could only dream of dining on the 3rd with a view over London. The staff have so far proved to be just as gorgeous now as they were then (my manager became, and remains, one of my dearest friends) and have been massively accommodating with all of our requests, both in terms of food and seating arrangements.

A great night and a great meal are marvellous things, no matter what. But sometimes, the mere thought of getting somewhere, especially when it’s cold (still! in April!) and rainy and the children have been less than angelic, can be a bit off-putting. I love our neighbourhood, but I love the ease with which we can venture out of it too.