This weekend I took the train on my own (yes, no children) down to London. My girlie weekend away was finally here and excited was an understatement.
|Freda, cake decorator and photographer extraordinaire!|
|Julie, eco queen, mother and teacher of all.|
|Soph, the voice of a diva and the sparkle of everyone's life!|
|My nomadic friend, Emma, about to embark on single motherhood.||Awesome!|
I never seem to have enough time to soak up the amazingness of my beautiful friends, so this was a very very special treat to have them all to myself, without any interuption from small people who needed things, with no dinners to cook, instead eating when the whim took us, or laundry to take prescedence over an extra hour in bed or a five o'clock glass of wine (or two!)
I had bought each of the girls a book for the weekend that I hoped would sit nicely into their lives and that they'd occasionally find a small window of opportunity when they got home, to curl up in a corner for 20 minutes or so to read.
Saturday was spent lazily soaking up the atmosphere (and a little shopping). Most of us had done the sights in our childhood and some people watching was on the cards. We wended our way to Covent Garden, which probably has to be the Queen of People Watching spaces. I spent most of the day with my telephoto in peoples faces or seeking out beautiful things.
Carnaby street is no longer that "place of the sixties".
It no longer sports wacky people with pink or stripy hair and safety pinned clothing, I didn't see a single hippy or anything very outrageous. It's been about 20 years since I last went to Carnaby street and maybe it is my adled over time brain, my "I've seen it all" mentality, or maybe it has just normalised, but gone is the weird bondage shop and the tattoo parlours, the funky Mary Quant shop and places to buy stripy tights, fluorescent wigs or a Jam or Beatles t-shirt or memorabilia.
Today there is Boots.
I think this screams volumes.
It was pleasant enough to walk through, but it has changed and the same designer boutiques that line Regent Street or even Oxford Road, now bedeck the pedestrianised rows that make up Carnaby Street.
And back to the flat.
The highlight of the weekend was the tickets for Wicked at the Apollo Vic theatre. So, scrubbed and made up, we pootled off to watch the show.
Sunday morning arrived way too fast.
Why is this?
It takes forever for something fun to arrive, then it's over in a flash. Still, we were determined to make the most of the remaining time and headed this morning for Canary Wharf.
And finally, there were just two.
Emma and I had lunch with a friend of hers, the lovely Justin, at the Eurostar station.
Before the girls and I had parted ways, we'd agreed that we need to do this each year. It doesn't have to necessarily be London, but there's so much to do and see that London would work too. One weekend a year we will all promise to come together to revel in sisterhood for 48 hours.
As Justin, Emma and I chowed down on our lunch and the Eurostars pulled in and away, I dreamed of Paris.....