Watching Frances Ha. This was on my 'to watch' list so I took advantage when the Boy told me it was available on Netflix. Filmed entirely in black and white, this is, well, it's a genuinely lovely (I can't think of a more appropriate adjective) film about 27 year old dancer Frances. She has a less than perfect life: no money, no proper job, no boyfriend, shares a Brooklyn apartment with her best friend, Sophie, who moves out. Throw in a decent soundtrack (Frances leaping through the New York streets to David Bowie had me wanting to join in) and you have one of those films that has you caring about the main character, wishing she was your friend and wanting to watch the whole thing over again. If you like lots of action and a gripping storyline, this probably isn't for you. I loved it.
Reading Carol (the story of an affair between Therese, a nineteen year old seasonal sales assistant and thirty year old about to be divorced Carol, which then turns into the kind of thriller we usually associate with Patricia Highsmith) and The Unknown Bridesmaid (about Julia, her present as a child psychologist and some of the young people she works with, and her own troubled, guilt inducing, shameful past). Two very different reads but both recommended.
Buying a new and rather expensive lipstick (my absolute favourite makeup item and one of my desert island essentials) which looked perfect when I tested it on my hand in the shop but turns out to be an entirely different colour with a peculiar texture.
Enjoying a free bottle of prosecco with our Friday night pizzas.
Remarking how much better something tastes when you don't have to pay for it.
Noticing the colours beginning to change in the park and in the garden. I always associate the autumnal palette with my mother, maybe because she had gloriously auburn hair, maybe because she always had vasefuls of those huge copper coloured chrysanthemums for her birthday in October.
Wondering where the fish went. We have a pond in the garden which, at the last count, was home to twelve fish. This week just two have been spotted.
Thinking maybe H is for heron.
Picking brambles from the plentiful bushes just round the corner from here early one morning.
Baking a pie with fruity pickings and almond pastry.
Day tripping at Brimham Rocks. Rock formations that resemble sitting dogs, gorillas, ET, stunning views, heather and bilberries, constantly changing light and weather that, at times, was nothing short of wuthering, a picnic (the first in ages) enjoyed in the car to escape all of that wutheringness. Wonderful.
Eating birthday cake. My own. Yep, another year older and very happy and grateful to be so.