I should be packing for Berlin (I did
mention I was going to Berlin somewhere back there didn’t I? August long
weekend? Plane tickets a birthday present from the husband? Pilgrimage to my
favourite city One Last Time? Ringing any bells?)
Anyway – we’re off tomorrow after work and
I am so looking forward to it. Four days to bike around, eat good food, drink wine
in the sunshine and trawl flea markets for treasure. Happiness on a stick.
It also feels like an important pause as our return to Sydney date looms ever closer and the days and weeks start to blur with rude impatience and I start to panic about, well, Everything.
I’m trying not to prematurely
over-sentimentalise but I don’t think it’s unrealistic to imagine that I
probably won’t be walking home this
way again anytime in the next eight weeks.
The first of many The last time I…
God.
I found myself moseying home via Tower
Bridge because I’d been drinking wine in the aftermath of a warm late summer’s
day at the rather lovely, eponymously titled 40 Maltby St with some rather
lovely friends.
A wine bar, cellar and kitchen it’s taken up residence under
one of the Bermondsey railway arches. The inside is pretty charming, the
immediate locale is pretty ordinary – the view from our pavement table was a
monstrosity of a building site – but the wine is fucking sensational and we
indelicately hovered up the tapas-style plates of meat, dips and cheeses so it’s
safe to say they were pretty good too.
Hopefully it won’t prove to be a first
visit and a last visit.
God.
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