London, Photography

Bloomer Bred

And so with the Olympic flame, Summer arrived. And just as Britain won it’s eighteenth medal, so I finally sat down (therein imitating many of our medal winners, badly) and committed pen to paper, words to CMS, photos to gigabytes of memory. Remarkably less poetic than the motion achieved over the canal in Stratford, but little victories give way to major events, so while me publishing two blog posts in two days still evades my powers of posting right now, we have at least found, reserved, and started to buy furniture for, the most perfect of perfect flats. It wins so much I could make like my performance every time a Briton takes top podium and cry, but I couldn’t even if I tried. I’m so happy I could burst.

Food, London, Photography

Counter Strike

In between ninja-style moving, and packing, and viewing flats, and rain showers more torrential than I think I’ve ever seen on a weekend (timed just as Ryan and I disembarked the taxi carrying all his bags, in the middle of Clapton: cue stern warnings that I should¬†stay put and not faff), there was an unexpectedly heavy night. Curse Trappist beer, and the pint of Guinness I definitely shouldn’t have touched with a barge pole afterward. But every cloud is silver lined, and aching heads and dry weather yesterday lent themselves to a lazy wander along the canal to Stratford, and hot food. So we visited Hackney Wick’s Counter Cafe, rather than over complicate things, and scoffed pies each (and balked at the 90 minute delay other diners who’d mistakenly ordered breakfast were enduring –¬†how long does it take to poach an egg?) and still secretly agreed that we loved the place, even if the staff needed a greater sense of urgency, and the brownies were some of the best we’d had, and that sitting spitting distance from the Olympic Stadium was a superb way to spend a lazy Sunday.