..and later enchanting a well mannered little dog who assisted in a rather outre boutique. He liked her grey Topshop silk dress and Mark Jacobs bag as much as I did.
We had a grand time.
There's nothing quite like Saturday. Thursdays come close and Fridays are nice because you can smell Saturday in the wind, but only Saturdays offer the full technicolour spectrum of rest, recreation and getting the washing finished that is unmatched by any other day of the working week.
And on Saturdays you can eat and dress a little more leisurely, more adventurously. During the week I wear black and grey suit things and eat my gravel-like breakfast and dull low-fat lunch at my desk while I curse all the newspapers (ALL of them) and answer my phone. On Saturday I favour floral frocks and boots and big vintage purses. I can eat breakfast twice or not at all, I can drink so much coffee my muscles twitch or I can take my time getting to a cafe that I knows makes an excellent beetroot, ginger and orange juice (you'd be surprised how nice that is). On Saturday you can take your time over dinner. You can stay up late.
There's a lot of choices available on Saturdays that aren't as practical during the working week.
Here's my Saturday breakfast which a lovely young woman in a Newtown cafe prepared for me at a very reasonable price:
Did you know cholesterol is that exact yolk shade of yellow?
And here is my Saturday night statement dinner. It says "No one can stop you eating a whole beetroot on Saturday":
Flea markets and Saturdays are always closely intertwined for me. Most Saturdays will find me a flea market sending out positive vibes for a liberty scarf, an Hermes belt and a pair of fabulous Maud Frizon wedges from the 80s. Actually, that's not quite true - I am usually sending out vibrations of thanks because I have found one of these things: