• May day Monday did a good impression of Sunday. A relaxed ride to Stratford to catch up with some friends. Some running and a little tidying.
• The beech and the birch in the garden are coming on well. The shade from both casting hints at the shadow we wanted them to create in the kitchen. The birch has grown a tiny, single leaf halfway up its trunk which is very typically cute. The rest of the garden is also looking green and calm. Whoever moves into this house is going to have a lovely little space to sit in and contemplate the ants that will have taken over the house by then.
• We’ve had a lot of last-minute picnic lunches recently. Here’s my go-to list for anyone who is interested: Hummus, Babybels, Olives, Crisps, Cruddites if available, smoothie X4, baby cucumbers, then one box of the following Kipling cakes: Battenberg, lemon slices, french fancies. And also cucumber maki rolls from a sushi place.
  • One time when I was a late-era school kid, during that bit where you started realising that you could technically buy anything, I remember buying a 16 pack of french fancies and eating them in one day. This was around the same time that ‘lunch’ was a whole pack of salami slices crushed into a full-size sainsbury’s french baguette washed down with a two litre bottle of 13p lemonade.
• Late-night sunday cake baking for the eldest’s bday. This one is a Ravneet Gill three tier victoria sponge with fresh strawbs. I was not in the mood for baking after a hot pirate-themed day at the maritime museum. But I’m here and this is gonna be delicious.
• Toilet talk! Our littlest decided she needed the loo as we changed underground trains at Green Park. I don’t really know what you would do in this situation, but my go-to “emergency bathroom while on the tube” solution is to quickly climb up, out of the station and find the nearest coffee place. Those of you that frequent Green Park will know that Green Park is like a desert when it comes to coffee places that are likely to have loos. So I went to ask a friendly doorman outside the Ritz. He, obviously an exceptional professional, had already sussed my plight as I moved toward him. Without me even asking, he ushered us swiftly through the door. The littlest and I uneasily followed the doorman, our street wear (her in a full spurs kit) contrasting terribly to the inside of The Ritz. Through the marble foyer, past the man playing a harp, through the front of an incredibly fancy restaurant and through a door where the poshest emergency-wee toilet was waiting for us.