Flower shop shoes. Want, will and may well wobble…

Red dahlias and childish reads.

Out and about on my bike with old cameras.

Smile!

xxx

Wednesday is all about discovering like-minded friends.

Realising that Victoriana isn’t all about mustachioed men.

And feasting on floral fascinators and favourite films.

Pondering a life in France, could we should we? Apres vous…

Fellas, every girl dreams of flowers over a porch…even us frenchy florists. And as a front door in Normandy beckons…I wonder, rambling roses, old dutch or wysteria? xxx

Most definitely the colour purple and a week at home in france and dreaming of a flower shop as aussi belle que mes amis in Paris. Taxidermy and tulips Tim?

Plotting barn conversions, feasting on Eila’s blog, Ma’s treats and cooking in the guise of Eliabeth David..

Lusting after visits to the Loire, family recipes, traiteurs and beetroots.

See it’s not all Bonne Maman, Amelie and onions. xxx

Leaving wedding banter, Maman du Bride, Normandy Sissinghurst plans and Herve the gardener behind…I felt like poor Chipie.

But promply plumply, promptly… found myself down cobbled streets in the comfort of my friend Marc’s lovely shop for, oh dear, impromptu bouttoniere banter. xxx

To France and searching for pips and orchard petals…but summer has blown them away.

Wishing I was a paperback writer and planning pear and geranium jellies.

xxx

I used to make props and scene paint…but the smell of turps is not a winner and chicken wire can really puncture your paws. Flowers it was.

So here’s to hydrangeas, a change of career and knowing dear blooms, I love you so.

“Darling lovely girl, I’ve run out of all your Agatha’s but don’t want to read any of your dreadful world books…Kite Runner? pfff, Sophies Choice? tsk, Iris Murdoch? All that male angst? garumph”

What about all my flower and interior books? I mewed…

Clearly overcome by my literary wares and accompanied by silly ditties my future hub retreated to the cabin with a pile of cook books and foody threats.

An afternoons silence ensued, followed by a delish dins. Job nicely done, now where’s my Proust? xxx

are true…

I’m surrounded by roses from lovely friends.

My Dear Mme Cholet is turning in to an old lady.

All registry offices have lemon wallpaper.

I recently discovered Hurricaine Smith.

I’m really going off Brenda in The Archers.

Even Mabel is poorly.

Chandeliers will hang off trees.

My courgettes are wrinkly.

Sad but magical things have occurred this last year.

Kensal Cemetary is a good place to ponder.

Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall’s music taste can, as Caroline would say, Kiss it.

I’m betrothed to my own Tom Sawyer.

I never did, but now I do thanks to O, macaroni cheese.

There. xxx