What a bummer..

Brunch is getting old, so is the cold weather, gray clouds, strong winds, annoying drizzles and broken umbrellas. If I had tons of cash, I could probably still be happy shopping, but then again, the rain would destroy my brand new leather bag and shoes anyway.
It was really bright and sunny this morning. It's not anymore.

Screw you guys, I wanna go home. This sucks aS*.

I'm not over the Hill
Is it London that's depressing, or is it the memories it holds, that makes me melancholy all over again? I found this circular and somewhat inconsequential question occupying my mind most of last week.

But as the week drew to a close, and the mundane routine of rush hour train rides, excruxiatingly drawn out trainings and mandatory after work grocery shopping came to a temporary halt, I felt my spirits lift as I remembered once again, what it was about this city that made me (and as I found out, still makes me) happy.

If Sunday brunch is an institution, then Saturday brunch is a pre-requisite to a perfect start to the weekend; and where better than the one place I spent many a wonderful days, strolling through the markets, peeking enviously through boutique shop windows and hating the multitude of tourists that seemed to defile the otherwise tranquil landscape?

Notting Hill, a little suburb in London made famous by the movie of the same name; a little alternative, a little grungy, a little fashionable and so very pretty. The tree-lined streets and grand white terraces were as I remembered them. The little boutiques and my favourite cafes were exactly where they used to be. How delighted was I with my pre-brunch purchase from one of those shops which I had, barely 2 years ago, looked into and given a little sigh of desire.

My pretty yellow shoes, sat in their pretty brown box, in a pretty brown bag, on the sleek white chair at Raoul's. My order arrived, I held my breath, knife and fork poised in anticipation. A gentle slit. The delicate egg burst open and a beautiful, rich river of yolk oozed out. But what filled the plate was more than just a bright yellow colour; here, coccooned in a tiny corner table, surrounded by luxe black and white wallpaper, the sights, sounds and flavours brought back memories of stories swapped, unexpected friendships and promises made.
The familiar chatter brought a tiny smile to my lips, lips which i smacked, as I polished off the last morsels of my delightful eggs benedict. The bill arrived, I did a quick conversion in my head, and gasped, my lovely memories rudely interrupted by a less desirable one. Yes, it's true. London is impossibly expensive. Then again, how can anyone put a price on the little things that make life worth living?
We said see you later, kisses on each cheek. Yes, it's not goodbye.
Someday, in the distant future, I will sit in my rocking chair, and I will remember these moments and cherish each and every one them.
Someday, I will be old and gray, but I will definitely never be over the Hill.

運命
I believe in fate.










hakuba Jan 2004.