The English Countryside

As I probably mentioned before, I was going to England for a baking and photography workshop with Marte Marie Forsberg, hoping to get away from my somewhat stressful interpreter life and to catch up a bit with Lavinia, my ex high-school frenemy, now one of my dearest friends. And so I packed a few things to wear- obviously the wrong clothes and shoes, ’cause I’m a notoriously bad packer- two books and off I went. The first two days I stayed at Lavinia’s in London, in Burnt Oak, aka Little Romania, in a charming townhouse with a giant fig tree and two teenagers too shy for their own good. We chatted long into the night and I tried to sleep in the day after, but the planets aligned against it: the groceries got delivered at 7, then I had to use de bathroom upstairs when all the house was up, and then, when I was nearly falling asleep, the neighbour’s dog started barking and then again, when I had finally managed the deed, the vacuum cleaner started and it felt like the cleaning lady was hoovering the inside of my brain. So I made myself some coffee and read a bit in my pjs. By noon we went to Hampstead, where I did a bit of vintage, charity and regular shopping and then we all had lunch at this charming Italian restaurant. It was hot, too hot for England, and I so I rolled my pants up like a child to be able to bear with it without complaining. And the glass of rosé sure helped some.

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