The first chore of the day in a day of being prepared was to cycle to the nearest supermarket (excluding the local Tesco express) which handily is Waitrose. I was of course getting all the ingredients together to host a welcome home meal for Mr MDS, although by rights gallivanting with a bunch of chums in Spain is nothing to be celebrated. Still it was going to be nice to see him again and hand over sole charge of the petit garcon.
We have no car at the moment which is great as I'm as fit as a fiddle from walking everywhere and the tide on the fat hips has been turned. Also with no Mr MDS to feed my diet had improved 100%, no meat and smaller portions. Saturday was to continue in this vein with a pre return request of 'no meat' from Mr MDS. A tad too much jamon and boys barbecue's for any grown man.
I took my own bags and one of my current favourite handy bags to have is my Isabella Oliver black bag,which the clothes are packed in for delivery. I'm sure when they were designed they didn't anticipate them being packed full with Campari, Prosecco, white wine and soda water. I had to cycle slowly home in order to avoid a spillage. My poor bicycle basket was creaking under the weight of the bottles and the groceries.
The rammed Isabella Oliver bag
My poor basket
My cycling companion (he only learnt to ride a bike 2 weeks ago & loves it!)
My next mission was to hot foot it into and across central London to the northern outpost of Belsize Park and the wonderful vintage clothes business launch party of Penny Dreadful Vintage hosted by its owner Margaret. It was the perfect party combination of vintage clothes, retro high tea food and Pimms. I tried on a to die for pleated Christian Dior skirt and darn it, it fitted, how I wept. There was such a wonderful selection I could have stayed for hours trying things on but I did actually want to see Mr MDS.
How many gorgeous items!
Ah the skirt
Yummy!
More yumminess in the form of Mad Men shoes
Mr MDS and I reunited over spritz and frittata, constantly interrupted by the petit garcon, who by now was a proud owner of a Real Madrid away kit, decided to get into the party spirit of the Eurovision song contest. In truth our party began well but declined as firstly petit garcon had to be put to bed once 9pm had been reached. I got too handy on twitter and Mr MDS fell into a snoring slumber on the settee, missing the best bit, the voting. So there I was alone with Graham Norton and twitter - quite a party!
The flag waving support for Blue
