Sunny Saturday

So. The sun came out of hiding Saturday morning, lending some relief from the April winds, and generally making me feel happy. American boy had suggested marketing (again) at Borough, and so I found myself for the fourth week in a row squeezed inside Maria's quaint cafe in the middle of the market, nursing a wake-up coffee and watching my companion tucking into an artery-clogging English breakfast. I tell you, Maria and her teeny space and teeny chairs were not made for big American blokes, yet there was something very cosy about it. I love watching the steam rise up from a cuppa - there's something comforting and heartwarming about that picture, and you feel like you're suspended in a microcosm of warmth when everywhere around you it's freezing cold.

We talked. And talked. And talked. And then it was time to pick up a bottle of Cabernet from Bedales, a chunk of Comte from the Comte people, a bag of dried cherries from the dried fruits stall and some nuggets of pork tenderloin from The Ginger Pig for tomorrow's lunch. Talk talk. There was lunch and my favourite linguine lagoustine. More talk talk. There was Hamley's and a grand Scrabble set, Lego and two adult-sized kids in a crowd of other adult-sized kids. Talk talk talk. Finally there was John Lewis and a nice simple decanter. Talk - we had been at it for about six hours, while scouring the whole of central London! Then suddenly, it was time to say goodbye. Just as abruptly as we had started, we ended abruptly too. Hasty kisses on the cheek, and we parted ways.

The sun was still shining, bringing a song in my heart and a skip in my feet. It had been a fun and happy day, just the sort of Saturday Saturdays are supposed to be. I sauntered down Bond Street. There was a disinterested diversion into Zara, a more earnest browse in Reiss, haughty staff at Nitya (typical Parisian service - don't know why I bothered), lovely bright whiteness in Anne Fontaine, and some definite wins in Jigsaw. I picked out a teal cropped sweater, chatted with the salesgirl and headed into the fitting room to try on my sweater. As the door closed behind me, I turned, plonked down my bag, took off my coat, and slipped the sweater off its hanger. And I burst out crying.

I missed A so much.