Today, aside from dosing up on Lemsip and eating my way through bowls of orange quarters, I've been watching The Lunchbox.
I've been meaning to watch this film for a while and when a friend recently posted a glowing review on Facebook I got on to iTunes and downloaded, immediately.
The story of Ila, an unfulfilled and ignored housewife who begins a written correspondence with Saajan, an equally unhappy and lonely older man who accidentally receives the lovingly packed lunches Ila had meant for her neglectful husband. Quickly the pair begin to share their pasts and offer each other new perspectives and little rays of light.
Honestly, I fell in love pretty quickly. It's a very beautiful, very moving and very charming film. A film about the power of chance, the importance of courage, the cruelty of loss and loneliness and the danger of stifled emotion.
Aside from the storyline, which I thought incredibly lovely, my numbed taste buds and absent sense of smell did not stop me from visually devouring every last morsel of food on the screen, it was all wonderful.
I've longed to visit India for so long and The Lunchbox was another reminder that I must go, soon ...
On Sunday I was introduced to the rather handsome Maltby Street Market by an equally eternally ravenous friend.
So many gorgeous stalls and glorious railway arches selling an array of beautiful things- seaweed spaghetti, custard tarts, chorizo pork pies ...
We were on a mission to find bacon sandwiches but (gladly) ended up getting our gobs around these monstrous salt beef and pastrami toasted rye bread sandwiches, from a place also selling Jewish chicken soup and latkes called Monty's Deli. As you can no doubt imagine, satisfying isn't even the word.
Following the above, a visit to St. John bakery meant that these happened:
Yes, a butterscotch cream filled fresh doughnut. INSANE.
I would wholeheartedly recommend this market, it was the perfect size and had the most lovely variety of grub without the overtly chaotic bustle of tourists ... (Sorry, Borough).
Last weekend I got my baking groove ON and made a mound of sausage rolls and a Victoria sandwich generously filled with the most lovely shade of blackberry cream.
I've said many times before just how therapeutic cooking, but particularly baking is for me and so spending the best part of an afternoon last week Saturday covered in flour and sausage meat, drinking ginger beer was pretty blissful.
It occurred to me recently how shockingly fast this year is passing. We're in JULY. Wow. Wow. Wow.
I stumbled across a YouTube video not long ago with the title 'my word for 2014'. I stopped making new year resolutions a while back because, frankly, they are always pretty much the same and however enthused I am initially, by the start of February I've probably directed my attention elsewhere.
I did start thinking however, what my word for this year would be, given how it has gone so far. I couldn't commit to one, honestly, but I will boldly say that never have I had a year in which I have been forced to adjust and readjust as rapidly as I have in the past 7 months, and I'm sure there will be more years throughout my life like this, as there are for everyone ...
It has been hard and humbling but also quite freeing to realise that my capacity for accepting and embracing change is far greater than I anticipated.
I was with a gorgeous person, visiting from Copenhagen a couple of weeks back and we spent much of the weekend in glorious sunshine crowned London talking about how hilariously, how infuriatingly, how beautifully unpredictable life is.
The rate at which people and experiences enter and sometimes leave our lives is dizzying. Sometimes that reality really hurts and means loss and disappointment. But sometimes it's magical because you suddenly find a friendship you're now so grateful for or you fall in love with someone that you once never knew even existed. Or even better, you discover that place so close to home that does great Turkish bread for a quid and think, fuck! You were waiting. All. Along. How wonderful.
Much of my approaching summer still remains a mystery, though one thing I do now know is I'll be spending some time in the west of France eating a lot of bread and cheese and drinking wine. That's a good place to start, isn't it?