Lovely London weekends tend to involve bacon sandwiches for breakfast, with fresh fruit and mint tea, followed by leisurely walks down Northcote road, the place for fresh produce, organic butchers, fishmongers, clothing stalls, aromatherapy oils and croissants. Then bumpy bus rides, which pass as i turn the pages of my book. Here they diverge, into the countryside, the flower markets, food markets, or parks. This weekend it was the Tate Modern, one of my favourite weekend activities that I hadn't taken advantage of for far too long. The Southbank of the Thames was buzzing with stalls selling knick knacks, and even free Tango lessons. Men were chopping up fresh coconuts as a cooling drink and a snack all in one, (not great for a breezy September day, but the sun was shining).
Art museums slow my mind down, it is a form of meditation I suppose and Cy Twombly's Post-Abstract Impressionism canvases, mammoth in size and in emotion, did not disappoint. There is a magic in the London of the weekends, a feeling that people are doing things because they want to not because they have to, an almost holidaying spirit. The shining sun definitely helped, and they'll be no complaints from me if an Indian Summer makes a late appearance.
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