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Having said that I love Devon for all it's tranquility, I actually started to go a bit loony on our last day there on Friday. Sadie had a high temperature so we stayed in the house all day and the cabin-fever proved to much for me; me who is used to a fairly hectic life, usually consisting of some time outdoors ('Her Indoors' I really am not). Sadie's constant whinging didn't help my waning sanity either. Luckily Saturday a.m we headed off, having blatantly spent too much time just with each other and in the middle of nowhere. We headed straight to London town for a complete antidote to all things rural. Don't get me wrong- I love the countryside, but it was a pleasant surprise to realise that I am an urban girl at heart, who likes to visit green open spaces once in a while, and not the frustrated country-bumpkin wannabe that I thought I was. It's great to realise that where you are is where you really are best.
London was a mad social whirl; we visited my in laws in Hampstead first for lunch. They've got this beautiful big house right by the Heath and it's always a pleasure to drop by. The Who all stayed there when they were filming 'The Kids Are Alright'. How cool is that? And Ridley Scott lives next door! Andy's mum, ever the opposite of all things glamourous, pulled out all the stops for us, and dug out another of her mystery casseroles. This time it had been in the freezer for less than 5 years, unlike the usuals, and we all sat around and did our usual 'guess what animal we're eating' competition, as she never knows one meaty stew from another. I guessed correctly that it was the succulent flesh and small bones of rabbit. She then remembered that the rabbit in question was one she had run over a few years ago and bunged in the boot of her car. She's a salt-of-the-earth Aussie you see. This type of culinery economy is the norm. Incidentally, the bunny stew was delicious.
That evening I ventured across to another of my old haunts, the Betsey Trotwood on Farrigdon Road. I used to enjoy many a lunchtime pint in there when I worked at the Guardian over the road. It's been done up now and taken over by the charming Scotty, Punk Rock Dolly's mate, who is lovely and looks like a young George Best. He's also from Sleaford which is the shithole I come from. He escaped aged 17 just like I did. Punk Rock Dolly and I were at the Betsey to see Pocketbooks, who were fab, despite the very cramped conditions in the basement venue. I took a while to spot my good friend Em, who is the band's singer, as all her fans have exactly the same haircut. When I found her it was great to catch up. I was designated photographer for the night (see blurry pic) and kept getting funny looks from people because I didn't have a black bobbed haircut and I was sort of leaping about to get some shots. Pocketbooks were great and I was sorry that I couldn't join the band later for Singstar back at Em's, but my motherly duties mean I have a midnight curfew most nights. Happy birthday today Em by the way!
We've then spent today gallavanting between Highbury and Hackney, catching up with relatives and friends over wine and food. Andy's brother Prof Tim Spector shared with me his "expert" knowledge of a woman's G-spot (ew- brother in law! but then he's just been quoted in the New Scientist so fair play), while Tom Andrews, ever the sophisticated host, shared with us his ever-revolting tales of too many drugs and porno clips. His poor wife. Unfortunately he is very entertaining company, plus he's Andy's best mate, so I have to grin and bear it. I sometimes miss London and the people we know there, but maybe like Devon, it's always more appealing in small doses.
Back in Brighton now and it's fab to be home. Always is.

Soundtrack: Ash-Burn Baby Burn