Tears and sunshine

I'm beginning to understand why people rhapsodise about London summers. The last couple of weeks here (notwithstanding two days of rain and misery....) have been increasingly delightful. Balmy low to mid-20s, blue skies, light until 10pm. Green grass and the smell of jasmine. Sigh. Last weekend had the bonus of a Bank Holiday Monday and LB and I spent the afternoon lying on the grass by the Thames in Hammersmith - with several hundred other people and it was So lovely. And this weekend gone was one of bbqs and further sunny meanders. It's been gorgeous - but already I am fretting that if it can be JUNE tomorrow (fuuuuuuck!) then it will be October and arse-freezingly cold again before I know it. So I am *trying* to live in the moment.


Slightly amusing story. Last Thursday it was warm and particularly muggy and being Australian and freckled and thus somewhat allergic to unadulterated sunshine, I had my hat on. Late in the afternoon I walked into a convenience store on Bethnal Green Rd to buy a bottle of water and the guy behind the counter just looked at me said "Australian." I was a tad incredulous and asked him how he could have possibly known that, given I'd had yet to utter a single syllable and he just pointed at my hat. Seems slip, slop, slap is more of a Saturday night check-list than a paean to sun safety in this country but whatever, there are worse ways to be identified as Antipodean...


One place I'm definately not going to be needing my hat in the coming weeks is in the library. On Friday I began the somewhat overwhelming step of organising my research plans, which began with joining the British and National Art Libraries. With my fancy new reading cards (because of course you can't borrow anything and god don't get me started on the fact you're not even allowed to browse the shelves....) I am now a fully credentialed geek. I do have to say though, it was rather thrilling walking through the sculpture hall at the V&A to get to the National Art Library and there is something quite romantic about the thought of spending my summer sitting in old wood-panelled rooms with grand leather desks, the air heavy with grave intellectualism and the beautiful sun streaming in the windows.

First though I have to finish my proposal (and here's where we get to the tears part). God this task is obtuse. And difficult. And stressful. And perplexing. And headache-inducing. How am I meant to write a proposal based on research I haven't yet done and ideas I haven't finished forming? Nevermind come up with some sort of coherent way to talk about and defend it all on Thursday. I feel a bit vomitous thinking about it to be honest - and after my tutor told me this week in the wake of returned essays that, "for a brilliant writer this latest effort is really rather disappointing," well, confidence is not at an all-time high.

I just have to remind myself that once these next few days are done with there is plenty to look forward to - the Venice Biennale next week, my birthday the week after that and parentals in town the week after that. Hur-rah.