Coffee and cake at the Briton’s arms
start of roll.
It’s grey and cold but we sit in the patio garden surrounded by rooftops and make a shelter, and start to talk it all over.
B in the garden of the Briton’s Arms
Lucy, at home
We go for a walk, up to the farm and then along the footpath and over the stile. The cows are grazing in the next field so I put up my tripod. Stinging nettles and smiles.
Raspberry and Vanilla
Baking is time-consuming but not thought-consuming. I close the door to the utility room and put on kombi music and sing along with the clicks and think about Africa a lot. Mum is quietly ecstatic at my new-found enthusiasm for cooking, and the cupboards are noiselessly filled with chocolate drops and food colouring and fresh fruit.
Alice and David, punting the Cambridge backs
I visit Alice in Cambridge. We go china shopping in charity shops to prepare me for university, and I find an old picnic basket in Oxfam. Later we meet David, and take a picnic out on a punt. The river is too busy, but we enjoy our crisps and sandwiches and apple juice.
We go to our secret beach for the day. I take Aspen and my picnic basket, and he brings his kite and a towels to lie on. It’s so hot that I fall asleep in the sun, and we use an umbrella as a parasol but still get burnt. We eat too many cookies and I take too many photographs.
B’s café, Next Hayhill
I get my job back. In some ways it feels like coming home for real, but after everything I can’t stand working in retail (let alone fashion.) It’s odd to ride the bus again each morning, to have a new locker, a new key, and yet for nothing to have changed.