I bloody love a long weekend and I love that the month of May has two of them. It's civility and generosity rolled into two. I also love Tuesmonday. You know, that wonderful negation of Monday blues by sheer fact of it already being Tuesday and thus one day closer to Friday. It's pretty wonderful.
So I had a good long weekend.
Cleaned the house? Tick.
Baked a cake? Tick.
Spent 12 hours trawling through the second-to-last round of layouts and edits before The Book goes to print next Monday? Tick.
Had a picnic on Primrose Hill and an amble through Regents Park in the sunshine. Tick. TICK.
Yesterday was sheer loveliness, just exactly my kind of weather - sunny but not steaming, blue skies, gentle breeze, green grass underfoot. And just the right amount of people out - busy and buzzing but not crazy.
I'd proposed a picnic a week ago, when the long-range forecast looked promising so thank god it held because we've only got three episodes of Dexter left before we're caught up with the current season and we need to Eek That Shit Out.
So off we went to Primrose Hill. The last time we clambered up here I was in the middle of my MA dissertation and a general hot mess of homesick and hysterical. Funny, thinking about it now, that both times I've climbed Primrose Hill I've been in the middle of writing something epic. At least this time it's finished and I can just admire the view (metaphorical and literal) instead of looking for somewhere to throw myself off.
In another life I'd quite like to live in NW8. Or even this life. It's so leafy and posh and lovely, miles from scabby Hammersmith. Sigh.
Let's just hope the weather's not.