A day of cream coloured things. Hollandaise sauce. Sun cream. A cream slice. The tiny flowers atop the sprouting rocket that I have finally razed from the raised bed. Kitten tummy (I didn't want to mention them, because it's a searingly insightful, unsentimental, outwardly-engaged kind of blog, but hey, they're sodding kittens for God's sake. Shoot me.) Sadly, a portentous amount of snot.
I was in fact planning to write a piece on the state of the nation's theatre (searingly insightful, unsentimental etc) but it appears that it's a day of whimsy and kittens. A day to read about the new midi-length in Vogue (tea at the Ritz or meals on wheels?) and that Times Magazine article about Iranian horse racing (Jude Edginton, love, take me with you next time?) A day to the tune of Bedouin Sound Clash.
A day of parentheses, apparently. Flashes of sun and brackets of thought.
Hang on, my sister's playing put-things-on-the-kittens. A Blonde's gotta know when to put the state of the nation's theatre on hold, and balance a pistachio on a Burmilla.