The weather was perfect- cold, clear and bright and the journey up (Basingstoke station to Waterloo, plus an underground trip which usually involves at least one person's ticket being lost and/ or chewed up by the machines that let you through and then a panicked race to find a guard to open it manually) ran smoothly.
Usually, when we go to London, M doesn't let me out of his sight because he knows I am likely to get a) lost or b) frightened, so I rather astonished both of us by stating my intention boldly of taking myself off to Libertys on my own. I did and I didn't get either a) lost or b) frightened and even more: I enjoyed it.
We'd gone up so F could ensconce himself in the Celts in Art exhibition which is currently on at the Brit Mus. L (not a fan of museums or Celts) decided the allure of Foyles bookshop was strong enough to pierce the otherwise all-encompassing Sloth Of The Teen, and actually got out of bed and was dressed before we needed to leave at 10am. He didn't manage to resist the temptation of an enormous bag of maltesers at the train station however (which at £2.95 were clearly aimed at desperate mothers who'll pay anything to ensure a peaceful train trip with their offspring). Some of these were consumed on the train in a post-breakfast-dip, and the rest sometime between lunch and the return journey. This resulted in the inevitable stomach ache accompanied by a piteous plea to remove the bag from his sight and a heartfelt statement of intent never to stuff so many chocolates in in one short afternoon again (which will last until the next time). Despite the chocolate binge, he spent four happy hours absorbed in five floors of books, came home with a new one and read through the entire catalogue of Marvel Comics. M spent an hour with F at the exhibition and came out Moste Impressed at the intricacies of Celtic Artistic Creation, before joining me for a whizz round the National Gallery (which was lovely- I can't think why we don't go more often. I could sit and gaze and gaze and gaze at those wonderful paintings for hours), but before we did that I took myself off to Liberty's.....alone.
You can see the results of my (very abstemious I think, considering) purchases in the pics above. I am making aprons to sell at the Village Christmas Fayre (planning ahead- and is that the first mention of the C word this year? If so I'd like a prize please) at the mo with Phyllis but very much doubt I will use my Liberty fabric for those. I will make one for myself instead :o)
Liberty fabric is both gorgeous and expensive, so three metres was my limit (plus a small splurge in the haberdashery on buttons, pins and needles which I put on a separate bill, allowing me to pretend I'd actually only spent twenty quid). The advantage of flying solo was that there were no grumpy children or fidgety husband hurrying me along so I was able to spend nearly two whole hours wandering ecstatically among the bolts in a fabric-induced daze taking my time and thoroughly enjoying the whole experience.
I fell asleep on the train on the way home and only woke up when M nudged me and said we're back in Basingstoke. Apparently, most of the carriage had fallen asleep too, leading me to surmise that it was comprised of fellow country bumpkiners for whom the exertions of the Big Smoke had proved a little too much.
Back to reality today with non-stop house work and two smelly, scruffy muddy dogs who both needed baths. Pop did two poos on the floor in retribution- one was obvious and was swiftly cleaned up and the floor thoroughly dettoled, the other was less obvious and got trodden on and carried halfway round the house before anyone realised :o(
Hope all are well?