in which Bethy goes gallivanting off to London and comes back all depressed

Yeah, it happens every damn time.  I go to London, have a fantastic time with fantastic people in fantastic places doing fantastic things and then when I get home everything is still uber-lame (apart from The Boy and the Orange Ones, of course).

I did have a fab weekend though. We went to the Vintage Festival on the Southbank, which was amazing. I wish I had a van and a load of cash, I would have done so much damage and made my home so awesome. We only went to the free market, but it sounded like the paid areas in the festival hall were fantastic! According to Twitter Johnny Depp and Florence (without the machine) were at the festival. I didn’t see any famous people, but Lou and Stu saw Nicki Grahame (apparently she’s a celebrity, something to do with Big Brother or some similar awful programme). Maybe next year. Here’s some sneaky peeks…

More photos on my Flickr.

London was warm and beautiful this weekend. Actually it was boiling. Blue sky and sunshine. I ate a lot of chicken. I ate chicken every meal. Also cake. I ate cake. Specifically my beloved Red Velvet cake from Hummingbird Bakery. Mmmm om nom nom nom nom, and it came in a little takeaway box! Amazeballs!

We walked miles, and went on many trains (much to my delight). I love trains. I did much crochet on the trains. I was very tempted to yarnbomb the pull-down table on my train but remembered that I only had my necessary wool and could not possibly spare any for woolly guerilla artwork! I did teach Lou how to crochet though, which means that my blanket is missing a pink square.

I did not see any cats in London, not properly anyway. There was one cat on Sunday morning walking up Lou’s street but it ignored my cries for attention. London cats are rude! It was nice to see my Orange Ones when I got home.

I’m going back to London at the beginning of September, taking The Boy for his birthday. We will get Oyster cards. How fun! I will also take a different bag. One that will not break my shoulders. Oh Cath Kidston why do you not do a precious pretty rucksack, eh?!

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