Task #7 - Bloody tourists!

Do your local tourist walk past some of the city monuments. This should be a good one to bring to life the different settings we're all living in at the moment.

Autumn

I don’t mind a bit of autumn. It seems to arrive just in time, its clear blue days free of the sweaty humidity of summer, and the ceremonial changing of the clocks to signal the coming of winter. It’s still nice enough to enjoy a picnic in the park, yet cool enough to warrant a good bit of casseroling and a warm blankie over the knees come evening time.

I get a bit sentimental this time of year. I grew up in Orange, where autumn hits full force, trees flaring all reds and purples and yellows on every street corner. Cook Park, with its masses of deciduous trees, is like something out of an autumn how-to guide. That’s all before the leaves fall, clogging the streets and nudie-ing up the trees for winter. Just outside Orange is Campbell’s Corner, a picture-perfect bend of country road where the trees know how to put on a show for a few weeks each year. When I think of autumn, I think of Campbell’s Corner.

So I’m surprised to discover after all these years as a Sydneysider that it doesn’t really happen here. Sure, days get shorter and cooler, but never cool enough to cause the famous fiery leaves. They just die and fall off. So the best I could do this late April day was to find a park with a good serve of fallen leaves – ‘cause we all know the other great thing about autumn is to run through a park kicking the leaves up in the air or to dive headlong into a pile of just-raked leaves.

Alas, my investigation of the parks in Marrickville only really turned up a smattering of fallen leaves. I was forced to save my leaf diving for another day. I did, however, find myself skewering some dry leaves on a twig to make an umbrella for the fairies like my 8-year-old self often did. The leaves were a bit damp from the morning dew and lacked that satisfying crunch, but you get the picture.

I’ve got a deciduous tree in my backyard. I’m not sure what it is, but every winter the small leaves yellow and fall, signalling the change of season perfectly. It’s rivalled only by the flip of the coin, springtime, when the bare branches bud and bloom with new greenery. I can’t remember if my mum preferred the crazy colours of autumn or the blossoming beauty of spring – each was met with vocal oohs and ahhs, enough to make my cynical teenage eyes roll. All these years on, I can see what she was so excited about.

Moisture Inversion

Ok the season is technically Spring! And I will be honest this task, has left me wrestling with some unfair comparisons on my new home.

I miss my air! My beautiful Australian air, my sky, my colour. If it is true that your native landscape is burned into your psyche, then the wide Australian sky is tattooed into me. I cant forget it, ever. So spring here is not filled with the same promise of a salty summer.

I know I am being unfair - Hong Kong is a city that opens its arms wide to the west, it's welcoming, friendly, its fun and I am content in calling it my new home. I feel happy here and I know I will be. But Spring is different and it will take me more than a few months to stop

converting everything around me.

Spring here seems to be a cloud...low, dense and mighty. The temperature ranges from chilly to steamy in an instant and things click for the sound of growing foliage (and don't get me started on the sandflies!). My Dad described this picture above, as a moisture inversion, and apparently much of China is like this.

But for the festivities we haven't let the cloud dampen our spirits. Scott, Hugo and I purchased some celebratory Spring bikes from the Mui Wo Friendly Bike Shop and for the last two weekends we have taken them on old steel diesel ferry's to explore neighboring islands. These little ferries have jumped straight out of the Thomas the Tank Engine series, only they feel far less sea worthy than anything from the Island of Sodor. And Hong Kong would struggle to find a Fat Controller, as dumplings don't have the same effect as donuts!

Although Scott assures me it is almost impossible to sink these steel ships, I think the jagged little rocks that poke out of the harbour, might give it a fair go though.

On our journey we dart alongside the dragon boats. They are all out practicing for the carnival in June. So far the islands towns we have explored are Peng Chau and Mui Wo. They are wonderful, rusty little towns full of spirit and life. They are full of locals - it feels like more of a home than Discovery Bay. There are broken chairs that line the beach. Nights here are warm, I can imagine the seaside parties.

So the locals tell me Spring is wonderful, its a time to get out and enjoy Hong Kong before the humidity sets in. It's like the cloud is the Grand Dame of this gateway to the Orient. There is much to this town, I see glimpses. I know it will take many Springs before I see the whole picture.

A weekend with Jane Austen

I have just spent the most amazing weekend in Bath for my birthday festival. Tim spoilt me silly and I lived the spring weekend as well, if not better, than one of its more famous residents; Jane Austen. Spring in the English countryside is intoxicating and you cant help but be touched by the country gardens which are filled with bright yellow daffodils, blue bells, red tulips and lavender and more (its just that they're the only flowers I know by name). We stayed in a true English country manor with views of the sweeping plains below (I'm trying unsuccessfully to channel Jane Austen in my writing here...), we ate expensive sandwiches and drank lemonade on the lawns in the afternoon sun and then later changed into our evening attire for champagne and fine food.

In between all of this gaiety Tim and I managed to squeeze in some shopping (new summer shoes purchased), drink some Costa coffee and on two nights in a row, get very, very drunk. Jane Austen would not have been pleased.

We got back to London yesterday afternoon and in an attempt to keep the weekend alive for just a little longer we spent a spring afternoon eating Tapas followed by a stroll along the Thames as the sun went down.

All in all a beautiful, lovey-dovey spring weekend! The only downside.....the birthday festival is over for another year.

Task #6 - Seasons

What season is it in your city? Go somewhere local that best evokes this time of year. Celebrate the season in your own way and collect some natural and photographic souvenirs.

To Do List

The hot topics this week? Rudd’s health reform, planes unable to fly to London, and those pesky asylum seekers invading our shores (again!). How do I know this? The six o’clock TV news. For all the newspapers that pile up on my kitchen table every week, very few do I even flick through, let alone actually read – especially these days. I’ve long thought myself a conscientious news consumer but it’s a delusion. I don’t even read the front page anymore. And even the online paper only grabs my attention if the headline lures me – just the way the editors manipulate it! I’ve become a typical supplement reader, going straight for the glossy magazine inside the paper, the easy read. So while I’ve often fancied myself spending long, languid weekends reading the Saturday Sydney Morning Herald cover to cover, it just doesn’t happen.

However, I can usually manage the Spectrum and the Good Weekend. I glance through the former, picking and choosing morsels depending on time constraints. And I’ve been known to make the Good Weekend last an entire week. This week I approached both like a high-achieving fifth-grader with a book report due. It seems Sydneysiders are too up themselves to be on time for anything. A movie entitled Hot Tub Time Machine isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds – 3.5 stars. Another movie is out about the love affair between Coco Chanel and Igor Stravinsky. Might have to see that one. Luke Nguyen’s noodle bar at Star City Casino is a dud. And both Lionel Shriver and Yann Martel have new books out to follow the runaway successes of We Need To Talk About Kevin and Life of Pi. Jodi Picoult is on the top of the bestseller list (again!). And there’s a whole lot of really great theatre on in Sydney at the moment that I’m not going to get to see.

I wish I had more time for newspapers and all the things they inspire me to read and see and participate in. I’ll add it to my list of things to do - study German, take tap-dancing classes, learn to play the cello, read the paper every day.

A lot of hot air

What a great week to do this task. The UK is a country engulfed by a sky full of volcanic ash and is very much an island stranded from the Continent. The tube announcers are kept busier than normal. Aside from the usual 'mind the gap', 'stand clear from the doors' and 'please do not leave papers on the escalators' they are having to alert passengers to the alarming fact that there are currently no flights out of the UK until further notice. We're stuck here until that pesty cloud generated from the Iceland volcano decides to shift out of the flight path. Add this to an election campaign in full swing with Brown competing against Cameron with Clegg somewhere in the middle and the newspapers are bursting with black and white ink and suddenly very, very thick. The good news from all of this is that although the election campaign may have failed to make a dent, the volcanic ash cloud has suceeded......Katie Price has finally been bumped from the front page providing us all with a few days respite.

I have to confess my regular read these days is the free Metro paper picked up from the entry to the tube station on the way to work each day. I am completely up to speed with what Kate Moss is wearing, who Pixie Geldoff is dating, where Prince Harry chose to drink last Friday and whether Jude Law and Sienna Miller are on or off again. I try to balance this poor excuse for a newspaper out with a quick on-line scan of a serious paper; The Times. Unfortunately trying to be a grown up serious newspaper reader has failed once again when my eye was drawn to the cartoon in The Times which captured the headlines perfectly this week.

Good newsweek!

The truth be told, I am a pretty crap newspaper reader. I never sit still long enough. I fantasize about Saturday mornings stretching out the Sydney Morning Herald on a harvest table with a bowl of market tomatoes near by for decoration, a slither of morning sun, a flat white and croissants. I am Elle Macphearson slim in this fantasy, I might add.

So on our Singapore stopover I picked up a copy of Newsweek, a quality publication with International stories. I was drawn to the headline, Hear them Roar - Female Dissidents are rewriting the rules in countries where they can’t even show their faces.

The premise of the piece is how women in post conflict areas and developing nations are influencing public policy and the economy. And how the rise of dissidents reflects a larger trend towards political participation.

The story was one of the most positive pieces of news I have come across in a long time. Things I didn’t know…..

Rising education levels for girls have led to more economic power.

And most interestingly, the majority of new earned income over the next 10 years will come from women. Female economic empowerment is seen, as the most cost effective was to develop peaceful, prosperous and stable societies.

Rwanda, post conflict, has 56.3% of parliamentarians that are women.

Russia, 73% of businesses have a woman in senior management.

Macedonia has 30% women M.P’s, they have formed a political club which works across party lines.

But the most thought provoking content in the article is how women in places like Iran, where female education levels rapidly are rising but dissent in public spaces is outlawed, are using the Internet and social networking sites to unite safely. Whilst bloggers and activists are still regularly exiled, the voice of dissent is moving faster.

I have never considered for a moment life without free speech - That a simple blog could have you fleeing for your life.

So as a result of this story, I am considering my privileged life as an Australian woman. With access to education and services, where I can live and raise a family safely, where I have the license to fantasize about Saturday mornings free from washing………..I am considering if I could ever be as brave as those fighting from the inside for everything I was given as a birthright.

Task #5 - Newspaper

5. What newspaper are you reading and what's the hot topic this week?

An ancient Egyptian afternoon

There are two galleries that I either walk or cycle past each day that I've always wanted to pop into. The first is a small sculpture gallery tucked away in the Limehouse Basin in East London and the second is the London Fashion and Textile Museum on Bermondsey Street near London Bridge. Both were closed today. Not a great start to a blog entry that is already late however thankfully I live in a city that is overflowing with culture and so didn't have to look far to find an alternative. In fact I decided that if I had to find an alternative I may as well tackle the big one, the one that I've been putting off for 2 years, the one that everyone who lives in or visits London says you have to go to, the one that the Lonely Planet lists as number 2 in its highlights - the British Museum.

Firstly let me say that you could spend a good 5 days in this museum and still need more time. Set in one of the most beautiful buildings in London the British Museum is filled with so much 'stuff' to look at, to read, to touch, to experience and to learn about. Its a sensory overload that is worth every minute you can spare.
My favourite exhibit was on the Egyptian mummies. The ancient Egyptians believed that death was not the end of human existence but a necessary transition to a new state of being. All the egyptian funerary preparations including mummification, construction of tombs and provision of offerings were directed to enable the dead person an ideal state of immortality dwelling in the realm of the gods. (text care of British Museum). The appeal for me is in the ancient Egyptians recognition of both a physical and spiritual body and the emphasis they placed on the power and magic found in the natural world. The tombs themselves are beautiful and compelling works of art that offer a celebration of the life had and the life ahead.

All in all a very, very good London day. I'll leave you with my new favourite quote which I found in the last ancient Egyptian exhibition room;

Follow your heart while you're alive.
Put perfume on your head,
Clothe yourself with fine linen.....
Make holiday and don't tire of it!
(Harpists song c. 1400BC)

c o l o u r s

Technically my gallery should be in Oz, because I have snuck home for a few days over Easter to see the fam. Knowing it would be a busy few days, I completed this weeks task when we were jammed in the sardine tin serviced apartment in Soho (HK).

Hugo's day naps are slipping. He refuses to snooze in a quiet, dark, comfy, bedroom. We have negotiated with a pram cat nap. Anyone will tell you the first rule of parenting is never to negotiate with a toddler. My son is already a mogul at two. So, knowing I am breaking all the rules, we set out along the wild and decadent Hollywood Rd in Central Hong Kong. Not only is it the longest stretch without steps, it is a winding, chaotic, tiny street that is home to antique shops, bars and boutique galleries. The Maclaren stroller surges on bravely to claim its tiny patch of pavement. Hugo shuts his eyes, happily coaxed into sleep by the palette of city chaos being played out in front of him. I like to think that is the reason he falls asleep and not the possibility that it is the lack of oxygen at street level here.

My 39 minutes of gallery loitering begins. And how I LOVE what Hong Kong serves up. Bold, bright, fun works that blend culture and modernity concisely. But what grabbed me from the outset is the saturation of female portraits. Dynamic glimpses into the lives of mothers, wives, girls, baby girls, female soldiers and so much more. This is a street view pic of one of the PINK BABY series.

But this photo of a young indigenous girl with a tiny baby strapped to her back, managed to stop me in the street every time.

I know I was supposed to focus on one gallery but there seemed to be an undeniable theme among the galleries on this street. I had to mention it.

Hooray Hong Kong, may I salute your artistic celebration of sisterhood, provided for my task this week.

On that note I might add that in between the galleries on this street the antique shops and souvenir shops seem to balance the gender pendulum with two prominent historic male symbols - stately stone Buddha's and plastic Mao souvenir plates.

However, I did find one male portrait, but he seemed to be missing something.........

ceramics, jewellery and spew

I’m out the door and I’m alone. I’m showered and dressed. I am wearing lipstick. My handbag contains not a single nappy. It’s early afternoon and what a rare treat to find myself in a small gallery, one that I’ve driven past a zillion times and always thought I should visit.

Woodpapersilk sits near a busy intersection on an ugly road in Petersham. From the car, I’ve only ever been able to make out a large painting hanging in the window above a ‘50s Parker-style couch. The painting changes regularly and I often find myself gazing at it as I wait for the lights on Crystal Street to change. I’ve never really known what was inside. Today I venture in for the first time, feeling ambitious and grown-up and a little bit like someone (or two or three) is missing.

It’s my kind of gallery, filled with beautiful ceramics and silver jewellery. On the wall are large-scale canvas paintings of flowers, one a magnolia, another a pair of poppies, their colours muted against a dark background. Against another wall I flick through unframed etchings and lino prints, imagining this one above the piano at home, another in the hallway. The prices are far from steep and I’m tempted – it must be the dizzying freedom I’m feeling in this brief respite from nappies and breastfeeding.

But what tips it over for me are the textiles – felted brooches, silk scarves, hand-knitted arm warmers and a pair of felted bowls that look like oversized gumnuts or something you’d find on a coral reef. Art galleries are usually a little lofty for me, displaying things to aspire to but remain apart from. But this place makes me want to race home and get out the knitting needles and fabrics and start making stuff.

My gaze falls on a collection of ceramic beakers. I pick one up – it feels heavy in my hand. I imagine how much better a cup of tea will taste in it. There are different designs and it’s hard to settle on one, so I choose two – one for me and one for Aimee, who had a birthday recently. I’ll let her make the decision.

I wander back to the car with my little brown bag, stopping for a takeaway latte in a nearby café. I’m feeling great, on top of things, a bit bulletproof. In the car I glance down and notice for the first time the baby vomit on my black shirt. It’s been there the whole time.

And it's straight back down to earth.

Bangkok lychee heaven

A very late entry from me this week however I have an excuse- I've been on holidays traveling through south-east Asia including a stop off in Hong Kong to see Aimee and Hugo in their new abode.

The last few days of the trip were spent in Bangkok with the lovely Sam and Jules. Bangkok is a city that never sleeps which is very handy when cocktails cost less that 5 pounds. On our last night, my beautiful new friend Jules introduced me to the lychee martini from one of the highest vantage points in her home city. The bar Vertigo sits on the 61st floor of the Banyan Tree hotel in Bangkok and provides intoxicating views. With no oven in sight to complete the baking task this week I decided that a little creative license could be taken by changing the word 'bake' to 'make' (domestic goddess routine clearly not going well). Jules provided the recipe; vodka, lychee liqueur and lychees. A very simple little cocktail that provided the perfect end to a perfect holiday.

Task #4 - Gallery

Go to a small gallery that has caught your eye in the past, perhaps one you have always driven or walked past. Why has it caught your eye? What are the similarities you might share with the curator in style and feel?

Chocolate and potato?

The trouble with this one for me is that I’m the baker. I’m the one who brings a cake. Friends call me for cooking tips. So when I looked about to my Marrickville circle, I realised pretty quickly that I was going to have trouble finding someone with a tried and true recipe. I was tempted to stretch the definition of ‘local’ a bit and call my sister on the northern beaches or my oldest friend up in Toowoomba who bakes more than me. I almost dug into my Bourke Street Bakery cookbook for their delicious carrot cake recipe, rationalising that there was a local branch of their bakery and so referring to the cookbook was kind of like ‘asking’ them for a recipe.

But in the end, and at the last minute, Beth saved the day. I don’t know why I didn’t think of her earlier. Beth is a knitter so of course she bakes cakes. She’s another Marrickville mum, and when I bumped into her at the day care drop-off and asked if she had a good recipe, she didn’t hesitate.

And so began the baking of the chocolate and potato cake, thrown together in a hurry with a fussy baby in the sling and a husband sent out to purchase said potato when I realised at the last minute we had none in the pantry. The recipe is actually quite an indulgent one. Rather than melting chocolate and mixing it through the batter, it calls for the chocolate to be chopped and stirred through at the last minute, which results in yummy chunks throughout the cake. (Actually, the recipe said to finely chop the chocolate so maybe it wasn’t meant to be quite as chunky as mine turned out!) I decided the recipe warranted the use of the 70% cocoa Ecuadorian couverture that I purchased from The Essential Ingredient a few weeks back, and mixed it into the cake and the decadent ganache icing.

It came out of the oven a bit lopsided (definitely the fault of the oven, not the recipe) and I winged it on the ganache, so it wasn’t quite as shiny as in the picture. And I wasn’t about to traipse around looking for the recommended gold leaf decoration which would have made the cake look less like the brown lump it was. (Was it on ‘Masterchef’ last year that Donna Hay said brown food is hard to style?) But in the end, for something mixed almost entirely in a food processor, and considering there was a potato in it, it was a pretty bloody good chocolate cake. And we all know how I feel about chocolate.

Lola declared she didn’t want dessert, and that she’d have some cake instead. The husband was pleased to learn that it was a house cake – our general description for anything baked that isn’t destined for someone else’s place. We’ve just tucked into our second slice, and it’s as good the next day as it is fresh from the oven. Room for thirds, anyone?

Lippy on a Pig

Happy Happy days as Spoutie (Amanda) came to visit us in Honkers. Here is a snappie of us at Stanley Markets, courtesy of the lovely Tim and the new camera. I was so sad to wave Spoutie off, as there is nothing as good in life, as an old friend.

The new frontier zooms into view and I know there will be many new friends made here that I would soon call old friends. But for the moment I am sad to wave Spoutie off. Spoutie on the other hand did not look back at my waving frenzy on the pier as she is off on a 5 star kayaking adventure out of Phuket….

Ok to task. A fantastic lady that I knew in Sydney, Anna, has lived in Discovery Bay for quite a few years now and when she talks about Hong Kong, her eyes sparkle. So she qualified as my local. Now Anna’s baking skills probably outweigh mine (especially given I seem to lack patience in any form). And when I saw the words ‘separate’ and ‘squeeze the pith’ I should have proceeded with caution, but my Aries determination was blinding. The challenge, A Layered Lime and Coconut Cake. To add to the challenge I decided to serve it for morning tea with my Aunt and Uncle who are visiting for the weekend. My Aunt is a great cook. The recipe called for lime juice to soften the coconut for an hour….mmm I gave it a Saturday night classic dry white hour, which was probably more like 20 mins. The coconut could have been softer! My second deviation from normal cooking common sense was that the cake tins were squashed on the one oven rack in my new oven. This meant they were on a slope. What happens to cake mixture on a slope? By now my layers now looked like skateboard ramps.

Now the icing is really simple – lime segments, lime juice and icing sugar. I managed to get tiny lime bits all over the kitchen and only make enough icing for half a cake….at this point Scott comes in (and for all those who are paired with or have been out with an Australian male, you

may agree they are not renown for their verbal sensitivity). Scott’s comment at this point, when the icing is in short supply, the pressure is mounting with the visitors and lime bits are all through my hair, it looks like lipstick on a pig!

Anyway it was glued together at the last minute and I will admit, it didn’t look like something Donna Hay would put on the cover of her magazine but it was delicious. Mouth puckeringly tangy and sweet. I used tiny Thai limes to send Spoutie off on her Phuket holiday with a zing. And for the record, Scott has been back for several helpings, which I have taken as a retraction on his lipstick on a pig comment.

Task #3 - CAKE

Ask someone local for their favourite cake recipe.

Bake it. Eat it. Write about it.

Slippery little sucker....

When it comes to markets, Hong Kong is a sizzling smorgasbord of choice. Here there is every type of market you can dream up. The idyllic Stanley markets, for the happy traveller – good for a beer and pair of Chinese pyjamas. Who can resist the saucy night markets on Nathan St in Mongkok if you are looking for a cheap pair of jeans, a rip off handbag and late night noodles. There are the gleeful flower markets that feel as though they are straight out of Mary Poppins. And of course the very unique bird and goldfish markets that are next door.

In the short few weeks I have been here, I have spent a fortune in International Supermarkets looking for produce from home. But ingrained into the mortar of the city are the wet markets, for a fresh supply of crisp vegies and fish jumping straight out of the esky into the pan. I assume it is where the locals shop, as I didn’t see many Westerners. And if that is the case, they are surely smirking at those of us who are slaves to the big food corporations

My journey was to the Graham St Wet Markets in Soho Central. The market descends a thin, steep, wet slope and with a pram and the odd mini bus this was a navigational challenge. But with the colours and the lanterns and cacophony of bartering, Hugo and I loved every minute.

First there is the bean sprout man, whose fingers file the sprouts so fast it is a blur. He moved with the precision of a casino croupier but his mind was somewhere far away.

The butcher is hidden behind a curtain of carcases. He wields his cleaver before your sentence is finished. The smell has a fresh flesh tinge and here you can choose your beast. This shop is not so much for the faint hearted. Hugo watched on in amazement.

The fishmonger sells his wares still swimming. Hundreds of different fish, crabs and crustaceans racing around polystyrene eskies, kept alive by an effective hose system (no comment on sustainable fish marketing practises). Right there in front is where we found the tub of eels, squirming like kids on an aeroplane. But one little guy had escaped! Hugo and I were quickly transfixed by his journey down the street. Unphased by the hustle an

d bustle this little guy was on a one-way trip to Victoria Harbour. I have never witnessed a greater example of courage under fire.

Sadly he was scooped up before he reached the egg stall. It took guts though!

My idea of these markets is that the produce is sourced locally, but could it be that they are as international as the big guns? Take the egg stall for instance. Small towers of crudely displayed nude eggs – they are stacked by colour, shape and spots. Scrawled in front are tiny signs that say, USA, Switzerland, Australia. How is it these beauties arrived so raw and undressed?

Why is it I insist on grocery shopping in a store and subjecting my son to the limitless plastic packaging and brand focussed marketing? This expedition was free from a tantrum at the check out and we raced home to tell Dada about the brave eel trying to find his way home.

To market, to market

Just inside the gate, before the procession of plant, book and hardware sellers, there’s an ageing television actress behind a table offering tarot readings. Small kids bounce on a jumping castle, a Wiggles CD blaring from speakers. But further in is what we’re all here for – the farmers and their food. There’s lots of fruit and vegetables, organic and otherwise, and lots of bread. There’s goats cheese and free-range eggs, extra virgin olive oils and plenty of meat, from saltbush lamb to German sausages. There are exquisite quiches and tarts, and bagels in a dozen varieties. A few vendors will make you a fresh coffee, though you’ll have to queue, and if you’re hungry for something to eat now, you can have Turkish gozleme, Malaysian street food, Chinese dim sum or the best bacon and egg roll in Sydney.

I’m wandering the aisles of the Leichhardt Organic Farmers Market with a baby in the pram and another strapped to my chest. The pram is doubling as my shopping trolley. I shove juicy red tomatoes and strawberries into the basket, then a tub of fresh goats curd and a loaf of ciabatta. Half a dozen eggs follow, then four cobs of home-grown corn. The woman behind the stall selling baby clothes eyes me hopefully, but I avoid her gaze. Around a corner, I cave in and buy a homemade apple pie and, after sampling one of the Royal Gala apples on display, I grab a bag of those too.

I’ve blown my budget and the sun is beating down a little too intensely for my liking. As I head for the exit, a seller comments on the little creature on my chest and is beside herself when she realises there’s another one in the pram. Suddenly there’s a small crowd oohing and ahhing. A teenage girl tells me she’s going to have identical twin girls one day. Someone wants to know if I get any sleep at all. Another assures me, unprompted, that it will get easier. I smile and move on, grabbing an egg and bacon roll for the road.

Beautiful Borough Markets

Beautiful Borough Market has become a weekend love affair for me. Ten minutes down the road from the flat in London Bridge is one of the world’s most famous food markets filled with mouth watering organic goodness that turns a standard weekend into a gourmet one. After a lazy sleep in we wandered down with no particular plan other than to soak up the busy and chaotic sight of Londoners filling their bags with a week’s supply of fruit and veg, pork pies, pressed apple juice, wine and for the truly adventuress, ostrich eggs. For us the first order of the day was coffee followed by a slow meander through the crowded stalls to taste a little bit of everything. A small slither of creamy stilton cheese, a tiny cut of cured ham, a dip of freshly baked bread into mandarin flavoured olive oil and one of my favourites – a spoonful of the most magical mushroom dip that melts in your mouth. It’s impossible to leave Borough Market without a purchase, or two or three. Today’s selection included Tym’s Boro cheese, a tub of fresh olives and two London bap rolls which when combined with a little basil and avocado made for one truly sensational gourmet lunch. I look forward to doing it all again next week.