Columbia Road Flower Market

Foldable Liberty-print tote by Catherine Memre

Wearing: Shirt, Libery London. Jeans, Levi’s. Shoes, Friis & Company (similar). Sunglasses, Jeepers Peepers. Straw bag, Chloé; Thank you Kit for the shots!

I don’t know what’s worse, not having a TV or relying on Twitter/Google for current issues, because for a few weeks now I’ve been holed up in my flat eating peanuts out of party size bags (hubby is a compulsive hoarder) and collecting rainwater because apparently there’s a zombie mob out there choking the streets and running down innocent Londoners just trying to get on with life. At least that’s what I made out of all the ‘keep out of London’ tweets by the metropolitan police. Apparently the Olympics is on too. Yesterday I managed to sneak away to my happy place that is Columbia road flower market, one of the many bulletpoints on the Sunday to-do list that gets neglected, the other neglected task being ‘water the plants’ – not sure if this is ironic or logical. Peonies were still out so I happily bagged six bunches while Kit scored an armful of hydrangeas for £5, then we had donuts and coffee while observing an unfriendly pomeranian go nuts over crumbs. What a happy Sunday, and not a zombie in sight, Twitter you liar.

Encyclopedia of Flowers by Azuma Makoto

Happo-en Gardens, Tokyo

Slingback heels, Zara. Dress, Zara. Roses garland headband, Piers Atkinson x ASOS. Clutch, Chanel. Belt, Louis Vuitton via Vestiaire Collective

Slingback heels, Zara. Dress, Zara; Roses garland headband, Piers Atkinson x ASOS (similar). Clutch, Chanel. Belt, Louis Vuitton via Vestiaire Collective; Thank you Haleigh for the snaps.

I don’t drink. Much, anyway. Mostly because of the house mop and my mother’s well-toned arms (from all that kimchi-making) attached to it while she’d wait at the door exactly at 11pm. If I was a minute past curfew I’d see whichever end of that mop that evening and mope in bed swearing never to drink again. OOPS! Did I say my mother hit me? I meant she locked me up in the basement sauna and fed me scraps. Anyhow, that’s my story on why even at 25 I get tipsy on nail varnish remover. So I admit I was a little scared for the evening with Perrier-Jouët – who, by the way, was the generous host of my trip to Tokyo – to celebrate the unveiling of cuvée Belle Epoque Florale Edition bottle in collaboration with florist Azuma Makoto. One other thing my mother & mop taught me was to always accept kindness with courtesy, so whenever my flute was filled with champagne, I took it in  with an Arigato – except of course this was a magical flute and therefore bottomless. Funny thing is though, that because the Perrier-Jouët brand champagne is so fine (yes ‘fine’, like woman you so fiiine) (no I wasn’t paid to say this) it created this rather belonging harmony with the food and the atmosphere (especially that dancing) that despite the numerous re-fills it was overall just a very merry time without a single dose of dizzy. And of course no drunk-texting mother saying I miss you and I’m coming home at single-digit hours, nya-nya.

I think I’m meant to say Drink Responsibly. (Or was it Drink Responsibility and Accountability?)