A working holiday

I had to work Bank Holiday Monday.

"Boo!", I hear you cry. "No fair. Poor Celia, trapped in the office hiding from the sunshine."*

I don't really deserve any sympathy, though. Because:

1. I'm squirrelling away lieu days for future adventures (seriously, it's trip-planning a-go-go round here)

2. I did manage to see my beloved S, who was over from Amsterdam, for brunch before I went into work. Veggie brunch no less, with smoothies and bubble and squeak and general good things.

She loves me taking pictures at brunch. Really she does. 

3. Working in a super quiet office is strangely therapeutic, and I actually got. shit. done. 

4. I just postponed the fun and games to Tuesday. 

I got lucky and blagged tickets to a screening of The Way, Way Back for my friend B and I. 

To be honest, it has Allison Janney in, so I probably would have been sold right from the beginning. (CJ! Who doesn't love CJ?) But still - it reminded me once again why being a teenager is a fucking bitch. And why being grown-up isn't always a huge amount easier.

It also reminded me why I love Sam Rockwell. There are many reasons why I love Sam Rockwell.

And then we got to go for German sausage and saukraut and Breton cider in Soho - without any queues, because the rest of the world was knackered/impoverished post-bank holiday. 

So yeah. As bank holidays go, no record breaking adventures, but not too shabby!

* Or alternatively, feel free to remind me that I usually work four-day weeks and that I'm not exactly a miner/ice fisherman/UN weapons inspector. That's fine too. 

Weekending

I didn't really know south London before I moved here. I'd always lived north, or east.

Plus I'd been away from London for two years, and London is a fast-moving city. Restaurants open and close, areas gentrify in the blink of an eye. Buildings get demolished and giant skyscrapers pop up on the skyline.

What that means, basically, is that every time I get a free weekend to venture out and about, it feels a bit like an adventure. Like I'm a tourist in the city I've lived in for most of my adult life. In a good way.

Last weekend was a quietly great one. A Friday night dinner here with cocktails and lamb and stinky cheese, with a housemate who not only tolerates me getting snap-happy over my food, she actively encourages it.

A lazy Saturday, and then a Sunday that involved veggie brunch and cute cats and girl chat. Then lots and lots of wandering, through Dulwich and Herne Hill and Brixton, with nowhere I had to be, no time constraints, no plan. No pressure.

I like London.

Flashback

You might remember that back in the spring I went to a bunch of awesome places? Like northern California, and Maui, and Coachella? No?

That's because I went to those places, had an incredible time and then totally failed to write about them, or do anything with the 6,000 (approx.) photos that I took. 

Which kinda totally defeats the purpose of keeping a blog  - you know, generally keeping track of what you've been up to so you can remember it when you're grey and wrinkly. 

So here goes. Sadly, of those 6,000 photos exactly 19 were taken at Coachella. That's because expensive camera + festival + booze = recipe for disaster. So I relied on my phone. And my phone, frankly, is pretty shitty. But anyway, please enjoy the 12 finest of those pictures - I think the blur on stage in the middle left is Nick Cave, but I wouldn't swear my life on it or anything. It could equally be New Order, or even the Stone Roses, although I'm not sure why I would have felt moved to document that set....

This, on the other hand, is definitely (blurry, but still) Nick:

And this flattering picture is me being ridiculously overexcited about that fact:

I totes still these from my friend E. Thanks E!

I know, I know. Guys, form an orderly queue.

Honestly, I'm not sure anyone would benefit from a detailed description of the music we saw - Coachella always has an amazing line-up, and what I loved someone else might bore someone else senseless. But highlights for me included Grimes, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, New Order and of course, Nick (I'd like to think we're on first name terms. We're not).

Basically, imagine an English festival. Then take away the mud, add 90 degree heat, toilets that don't induce a  gag reflex, chuck in  a few million palm trees and a ferris wheel, and boom. Best. Festival. Evah.

Round here (London edition)

Yeah, it's been a while. Sorry about that. I guess life just seems a bit less exciting now I'm settled back into English life/work/pub culture.

Which is not to say I haven't been doing stuff - more just that I haven't felt like taking photos.

:: There have been multiple trips to the BFI (Werner Herzog season? Why, hello there giant lizards! Nice to see you, men singing to pot plants).

:: There has been an emotional reunion with my stand mixer, and a couple of pretty successful cakes, the best of which were Nigella classics - nutella cake and chocolate guinness cake. 

:: While I haven't been to any of the big summer festivals (Coachella kind of wiped out my festival budget for the year - more on that another day), I did make it to see the XX on a very drear, very cold day, and to see the Rolling Stones in Hyde Park on a very hot, sunny one.

 :: There were a couple of theatre visits involving my bestie - at one end of the spectrum, a last-minute trip to see the Book of Mormon that made me laugh so hard I think I may have caused permanent damage to my stomach muscles. At the other, an outdoor performance of a Midsummer Night's Dream with a Puck so awful that - actually, I don't even know what to say. Words fail me. (The rest of the cast, on the other hand, were great).

:: There has been some hanging out time with two of my favourite babies, one of whom is now pretty much a full-on toddler with a mightily impressive vocab, and the other an adorable 11-month-old who's already walking and talking and proving correct my suspicions that he's a total smarty-pants.

Now I'm just enjoying - at least as much as a pale freckled person with a dependence on factor 50 sun-cream can - high summer in south London. Roses, picnics, gelato and al fresco drinking? Okay with me.

Benign neglect

It's been a busy old month. Since last we spoke, I've hiked through bamboo forests, swum with turtles, failed to spot celebrities at a rather fancy restaurant, and watched Nick Cave do his thing at Coachella.

I've hung out in 95 degree Californian sunshine - and somehow avoided sunburn. I've reacquainted myself with the Victoria Line, and with shifts that start at 7am. Said goodbye to some of my favourite people, and counted myself lucky that I get to hang out with others on a regular basis now.

I have, fingers crossed, found myself somewhere to live in London. In a whole new area of London that I'm excited to explore.

And hopefully once I've established a new routine, a new blogging routine will come too. It's surprising just how much I miss trawling through photos and trying to find words when I neglect it.

For now, just a few photos from my short (too short) trip to Maui. It's pretty cool. You should go.

Pimms O'Clock

This was a good weekend.

The Graffiti Run: Glorious technicolour

If you're in England right now, suffering through what feels like an endless succession of grey, cold, dark, drab days, well, firstly you have my sympathy.

Secondly, I suggest you sit yourself next to one of those sun lamp thingummys, take a look at these pictures and remind yourself of the restorative power of colour.

I honestly don't know what to say about the Graffiti Run, except that it's a very long time indeed since I had that much fun. Having that much fun while running a 5k, or in fact taking any enjoyment at all in an activity involving a 6am wake-up call? Basically a miracle.

A very colourful miracle.

Los Angeles, I'm Yours

When I moved here, I didn't have a clue what to expect.

I uprooted myself and moved 5000 miles to a city (and a state, and a time zone) that I'd never even visited.

And to be frank, I don't think it's a move I would have ever considered if a specific job opportunity hadn't arisen. If you'd ask me where in America I'd like to live, I would definitely have picked New York. Maybe Portland. Or San Francisco. Chicago, at a push. Never the land of 'resting' actors, fake boobs, shallowness, smog and traffic.

And it definitely hasn't been easy to adjust to living here. Los Angeles can be insular. Working from home, living alone, and working odd, anti-social hours can make establishing a routine or a social life super tricky.

I got so homesick at times. I missed so many huge events in my friends' lives. I missed English humour, and English seasons.

And wow, there really are no shortage of fake-boobed, fake-smiling, yappy-dog owning girls in this city unable to talk about anything except their next audition, their BMI or how to hook a rich dude.

But the thing is, I've fallen absurdly, overwhelmingly in love with Los Angeles.

When people ask me why that is, I can give them a partial explanation. I can try and tell them about the quality of the light in the hour before sunset. Or the neon signs advertising weird retro motels. I can describe how, 15 minutes after I leave my house, I can be hiking up canyons, surrounded by birds and skunks and signs bearing warnings about mountain lions.

I could attempt to explain how incredible it feels to have the ocean in one direction and the mountains in another. To be able to head to Palm Springs for a weekend, or to hang out in Santa Barbara for the day. And I could tell them about the amazing group of friends I've gradually gotten to know, and how lucky I feel to have made those connections.

But that's the thing about love - however much you try and explain it, the whole is so much more than the constituent parts.

My time here has been perfect in so many ways. But I want to keep it that way. I want LA to be like that perfect, unforgettable summer romance.* I don't want to overstay my welcome. And right now, to stay here would involve making sacrifices in terms of my career that I'm not ready to make.

So next month I'll be heading back to London. And I'm really hoping I can rekindle the love affair I used to have with my historic, diverse, familiar old stomping ground.

But man, I'm going to miss this place.

*Feel free to start singing Summer Lovin' here. Like, really, feel free.

Ladies who lunch

I'm feeling a little fragile today, so instead of bombarding you with words, here are a few pictures from a lunch in very windy, very beautiful Malibu to celebrate my friend E's birthday.

Please note the giant cake. This is how all restaurants should behave when you mention the word 'birthday', in my humble opinion...

Things

I'm not really feeling much need to document my life this week. It's been fine but dull, I've been ill, everything feels like a chore, blah blah blah.

So.

Instead I thought I'd entertain you with the few things that haven't felt like a chore this week.

Like trawling this little (occasionally somewhat rude) piece of internet awesomeness, discovered here.

Image from http://whenindoubt.dk/

Or listening to this song on repeat. While mourning the sad fact that while Nick Cave is playing in LA next month, tickets are $140. Which is INSANE and cannot be justified under my 2013 austerity measures.

Which are in place so I can do muchos, muchos travelling of one form or another this year. Like maybe go here:

Maui, baby! From here via Pinterest.

So yeah. In the words of Arnie (who I almost kinda met this week but then didn't really), I'll be back. When I have anything faintly interesting to say.

Christmas

So I'm back from a fairly lengthy Christmas jaunt to England and the Netherlands, and without any decompression time I've been plunged straight back into the busiest couple of months of the year, work-wise.

A tiny part of me is regretting not giving myself very much lazy pyjama time when I was home. Now I'm battling a cough and a sore throat, working ridiculously long hours and thinking longingly of log fires, chocolate coins and spaniel snuggles.

On the other hand, this trip back was pretty freaking awesome, in all its craziness.

There were:

: : Eight different beds

: : Seven different cities

: : Two different countries

: : Two gorgeous babies

: : One spa trip

: : One game of Risk (victory is sweet)

: : Many games of Pointless

: : Three swanky Dutch bars

: : One night at the Suffolk pub I've been drinking at for over a decade

: : And lots and lots of great times with friends and family

It's possible I may have taken hundreds (really. Hundreds. Multiple hundreds) of pictures of New Year's shenanigans, and very few of anything else. But here are some of the ones I did manage to snap.

              

Bath

Utrecht

Dad almost setting himself alight

Marble cake amazingness

Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen. And Noah

Breakfast of champions. (Not pictured, vat of champagne)