Cake Boutique

Sundays should be exactly as mine was this weekend. The Boyfriend and I got up (hangover free! as we had gone straight to bed after dinner - me recovering and him jetlagged) and got all wrapped up in coats and jumpers and hats and scarves, and even dug out some (rather grotty looking) gloves and then we went out.

We wandered down to Battersea Park and went for a big walk round the whole thing. It is a gorgeous park - big, wide, tree-lined avenues, bits of landscaped garden, a boating lake, another lake, a sub-tropical garden, outdoor gym and even a zoo (didn't go in as it was closed). There were also of lovely dogs (one of which we tried to adopt as it did seem to prefer us to its acutal owner).

The park is the perfect size to walk around in the cold - by the time we were starting to get seriously chilled we had done a full circuit and headed back homewards (via a newsagent - the Boyfriend got a paper and also some pic and mix).

We bypassed the flat and carried on up to Lavender Hill and went into the Cake Boutique.

I've walked past numerous times, and even popped in but never actually had anything. It is a lovely little cafe that sells cakes, both homemade and ready to eat, or you can commission them to make personalised baked goods from cupcakes to muffins to gateaus and birthday masterpieces. They also, a little oddly though lovely nonetheless, have a beautiful selection of rather grand mirrors for sale.

The Boyfriend and I spent a good 10minutes surveying the gorgeous range of homebaked cakes. I opted for the carrot cake (moist, sweet and very big slice - cream cheese frosting was a little cheesy and at first it put me off, but acutally was quite nice as the cake was really sweet) although deliberated for ages between that and a lovely looking apple crumble slice. The Boyfriend went for a full english, but swapped the egg and mushrooms for extra bacon and sausage (which they took very well - often places seem a little peeved at all the swapping that inevitably happens when people personalise their great english fry up). He also had a coconut macaroon on the side (his sweet tooth never ceases to amaze me - nor his ability to consume so much and yet never gain weight).

My earl grey came in a teapot with a tea strainer as the tea was real loose leaves - for me a real treat and something so hard to find! The English Breakfast was really good - proper sausages, good quality bacon and some proper farmhouse toast, served with butter NOT marge.

The prices were reasonable for somewhere so nice, and so close to the catastrophically expensive (and rather pretentious) Northcote Road. The service was quick, but not too quick to make you suspect microwaves instead of proper cooking, and the atmosphere was calm but not dull. All in all if you are in the Clapham vicinity check out this South London gem.

Moving 3.....

By Sunday, the flat actually resembled somewhere to live (except the second bedroom, which even now still resembles a war zone). We had an enormous sofa and footstool (courtesy of Ebay - £89. Total bargain as from Ikea more like £550) and a TV that rivals a cinema screen (first thing the Boyfriend bought - even before a bed).

The kitchen looks lovely. Our bedroom is beautiful (bed is AMAZING - Warren Evans bespoke made. Inexpensive, incredibly comfortable and the staff were truly wonderful) chest of drawers and wardrobe courtesy of my parents.

The garden is in a similar state to the second bedroom. But it's November and therefore dark early (can't see the mess) and cold (don't want to be outside).

Pictures following (once we have found the camera, and also the computer).

We rewarded ourselves with a yummy roast with good friends in our (new!) local. Roast beef with all the trimmings, some good wine, and a lunch that turned into an afternoon, turned into an evening with takeaway pizza, and suddenly it was 11pm and our friends had to leave, and we went to bed. In our amazing bed.

Sunday Blues

I have always been a victim of the Sunday Blues. Part of it is my fault - i've always been excitable, and therefore have always really looked forward to the weekends, have planned lots of things I love, and packed lots of activities in. And so on Sunday, when it is over, I feel a huge sense of anti-climax.

The other problem is that I have often worked Sunday evenings, and while I now no longer do (more or less) the sinking feeling of having the weekend cut short, of dreading work, stays on.

But today I spent my Sunday as it should be, as, I believe, God intended. I woke up late, went to the gym (hence feeling ever so slightly righteous) and went with the Boyfriend to meet some friends. We sat in a pub, watching football, chatting, eating Sunday food, and drinking good wine. And then we left and went to another pub where we did more of the same.

As we came home on the bus, falling asleep on the Boyfriend, I felt so contented. Full, sleepy, and with not a touch of the usual Sunday Blues. I shall be spending more of my Sundays like this.