T-shirt – Who What Wear. Jeans – Topshop Boutique. Tartan shirt – Motel Rocks. Bag – JinYoo103684. Boots – Thakoon. Watch – Guess.
Ever since we started having this amazing weather every weekend was a gamble of either risking lasagna-degrees at home or trying to find somewhere that’s not gurgling with people – cool people, especially – because now I feel uncomfortable lying in the park with wild hair and no make-up, clutching a beer generally looking like a hobo. Everyone’s out dressed in beautiful sun dresses and Miss Universe make-up, and is it just me or British boys look hotter in the sun?* I guess they technically are in 31 degrees compared to 12, but that rule clearly doesn’t apply to everyone (me). Some weekends I’d come home after spending a afternoon in Shoreditch or the flower market, wailing EVERYBODY IS COOLER THAN MEEEEE to the hubby. Eventually I’d fall asleep on the sofa to the sound of his ‘there there…’, where occasionally I’d dream that I’m a moose in the middle of a field of shiny horses all wearing horn-rimmed glasses. I run back bawling to my moose husband in the dream too (I’m seeing a pattern here…). So last weekend I tested out an ingenious idea of re-visiting** Canary Wharf, London financial district in the East and satisfyingly void of ‘cool’. Well, that’s not entirely true, because how the river and the concrete meet in this hypermodern-Venice like setting is the coolest, coldest treat in the heat, and the fact that there’s basically no one around is pure bliss. Don’t tell anyone I hang around there though, wouldn’t want to be evicted from Hackney for ‘lack of hip’ and all.
* Sorry for looking, husband, maybe we should sprinkle water on our bellies and go lie in the sun a little to see if we can grow a six-pack by next weekend.
** Used to live there for two years if you can believe it, it was the most NYC I could go without leaving Europe, okay?!