O, weekends. What's not to love.
There was the Rugby on Friday night.
I lamented my inability to take sharply focused shots and envied the press photographers their superior skills and giant lenses.
But it wasn't all envy. I had great reason to be grateful too. This, for example, this that I stalked and coveted on ebay for an eternity, this that was waiting for me in a USPS box when I got home.
This, my Balenciaga bag.
There was food too.
And coffee, a thick shot of expresso tempered with a spurt of steamed milk.
And the shopping, the ironing, the family lunch, the washing and the cleaning, and the supermarket, where I saw this.
The broken and bloody wine bottle and behind me, graciously allowing me a second to take my crime scene photograph, a sweet girl in an apron, armed with a dripping mop.
And that's it. Time to pack my lunch box, choose a black dress and welcome the next week.
