Hello olympics - 9

The hilarious Rowan Atkinson - simply the best face ever!

Hello Olympics - 8

Mary Poppins.

Hello Olympics - 7

The NHS!

Hello Olympics - 6

James bond and the queen.

And the lights as Daniel Craig parachutes down.

Hello Olympics - 5

The rings.

Hello Olympics - 4

Industrial revolution. And feminism at the Olympics.

Hello Olympics - 3

Dinner is served.

Hello Olympics - 2

All the amazing yachts and super yachts in the dock by us. The buzz of people and machinery and adrenaline is palpable in the air.

Hello Olympics - 1

It's time! And we have a fab view from our home. We have friends round, snacks, champagne and a hearty if simple meal. Here goes:

This is the sky as the red arrows have gone by.

Haberdashery

One of the loveliest things about London - also one of the things that is rapidly disappearing - is the number of independent shops.

I'm not one for sewing or knitting (two pastimes oft pressed upon our summer vacations) but I absolutely love looking at the colours and orderliness of a haberdashers. The last one I went to was in John Lewis in Oxford street and that was about 9 years ago, in pursuit of white ribbons for a campaign I was involved in.

Wandered into the lovely Papillion in Greenwich days after it opened. It's an adorable little shop full of colour and creative ideas and managed by it's talented owner for most of the day. It has skeins of wool, ribbon, thread and fabric, all the accompaniments to create things from knotting and knitting needles to kits. It was a cheerful interlude on the way to the park, and I even bought some wooden letters to do a craft project with my son.

Don't know that I'll take up cross stitch again but I know where to look if I do.

Papillion: 90 College Approach, Greenwich SE10 9HY

An east end Saturday night

Went out for dinner with friends last night. Stuck to the bit of London I love most. Excellent meal at Upstairs at the Ten Bells. The buttermilk chicken with pine salt was divine and I could have gladly eaten those moreish bites all night.

Not the largest portions (and me, I am partial to comforting large bowls of food) but beautifully presented and absolutely delicious. Shabby chic with creaky old stairs and a high ceilinged room above the noisy pub. Very lovely attentive waiters and an ambience perfect for an evening out. Don't know that I would go back seeing as there is much more of London unexplored. But I would definitely recommend this to try.

37. In the real world.

Age has lowered my tolerance for a number of things. Included in this list are gigantic delicious meals (I can no longer do a buffet any justice) and people who think the world exists to serve their needs (I no longer seem to speak to 3 people who till very recently were pivotal to my life).

The food one is easy enough to solve - eat less, be healthier. The people one is trickier - after many many attempts to understand the others badly/ unexplained points of view I now have to stand my own ground and get on with my own life. While this is taking up more of my mind/ heart space than I would like, I feel like i have to stand by what I believe in or else who am I. Even though this makes me look and feel like a resident of Old Street (not the physical place but the mental space that older people seem to need to adjust to). I'm sad like you wouldn't believe but I'm also right in my own mind (or maybe just to old to alter my point of view) and nothing short of an apology or a change in behaviour will get me out of this mindset.

But enough of dwelling on this unhappiness. Today I'm 37. And I've had a lovely string of celebratory days since the beginning of July to mark it. I went for dinner with two friends from my local area to a favourite Japanese restaurant called Roka. Then last week I went for dinner with 6 mums in the neighborhood to a lovely Turkish deli. Last night V and I went for dinner to Goodmans - a wonderful steak place. Today after a lazy morning we went back to Roka for the sumptuous Sunday brunch. And this coming week I have dinner with my gals in the offing. If food could assure me of how wonderful a year lies ahead it's certainly trying it's very hardest.

I got a lovely pair of earrings and a necklace from a friend. Two cd's from another friend and books and a dvd from yet another set of lovelies. A whole new wardrobe (with no black!) is being bought bit by bit. I alone am propping up the online economy!

I must say I like being 37. It feels solid and substantial. I know what I've written makes me sounds stubborn and stagnant and securely old. But in reality what I am is surer and stronger and satisfied with my life. Happy 37th to me.

Three. Or Free

My son turned three on Friday. And compared to last years crazy playdate where 14 children and about 30 adults spent a Saturday at our house turning it inside out upside down, this year was tame as a goldfish going round it's bowl.

We had just 6 other kids, all within 5 months in age to him and all of whom live locally. We decorated simply with swirly yellow things hanging from the ceiling and lilac and yellow helium balloons floating amidst them.

As activities we had painting. Each child got a ceramic birdhouse and a tray of paints. And in the centre of our low plastic covered coffee table was a giant jar with about 40 different paintbrushes. When they were done with the birdhouses I gave them each a small square canvas with their names and the date on the side. With motherly supervision they each managed a lovely colorful hand print. I then acrylic sprayed everything on the balcony away from them so that the fumes wouldn't bother us. This made the colours pop and harden the paint against future exposure to water/ sun. Then they all went and jumped on the bed and scattered the contents of his toy boxes all over the house while I got lunch organised.

Our circular table had a pale yellow tablecloth with his wooden track encircling it. With a tunnel, bridge and toll gate for interest and every one of his wood engines on the track this made the table fairly interactive. We had square yellow paper plates, purple glasses, yellow cutlery and lilac napkins with sheep on them.

The cake was a marvelous train. We decided not to go for a Thomas the tank engine train as I imagined a mini meltdown involving a beloved character being cut. Instead My friend made this masterpiece - chocolate with sheet icing, Oreos for wheels and carriages piled high with m&m's. We also had a second cake, strawberry and marzipan, from Paul, which was not inflicted with spit from the mouths of 7 children blowing out candles with great vigour.

So the final menu was cake, fresh strawberries, chunks of cucumber, pots of yogurt, buttered bread and fresh salmon fishcakes to eat. For the adults a platter of cold cuts, baguette and cornichons. Juice for everyone.

Our return gift was the birdhouse and canvas each child had worked on, the reusable paint pots and a book individually chosen for each kid.

It was a small and intimate party. It was over in 3 hours from start to finish in the morning when the kids were in the best possible mood.

My son is three. Or as he yells 'free' while he tries to show us the correct number of fingers to accompany this announcement. Again and again. Loud louder loudest. As if if it is not said at the highest decibels we might not take this seriously.

Spending my morning with this bunch of little ones I fear we have moved on from the terrible twos only to land in the unknown but possibly terrifying threes! Wish me luck.

Motherland Motherlode - 2

It was apparent from numerous short forays in search of cold coffee that the many malls of Delhi were well equipped for the challenge.

Went for a wander one evening with a friend and while talking about how bloody expensive everything is and how the recession is a myth (kidding) and decided to stop for another cold coffee. This time in the middle of the mall, a counter surrounded by chairs and tables, no walls required.

This is what I saw. I had to try it. It was pretty gross.

Who do you think would be most offended by this, Italian chef or chettinad mami or punjabi tikka wielding folk? Or am I mistaken and all three would be willing embracers of such 'fusion' cuisine?

Jubilee celebrations

It's the long weekend in London, ostensibly to celebrate the Queen's diamond jubilee. Almost every person I know is away, including V (4 day dash to India). It's brilliant for most people, taking advantage of the four day weekend and half term next week. Most people have made a proper getaway of it.

The ones who stayed are all soaking wet standing by the Thames this afternoon watching the flotilla of a 1000 boats on the Thames to mark the day. Its been endless dripping showers since last night. Kid and I stayed home and watched the watery parade on TV, alternating with the French Open while playing with trains and doing endless craft things. And marvelling (not) at the constant rain.

But we aren't always this curmudgeonly. Yesterday we went to a  jubilee celebration BBQ lunch in a friends backyard. There was bunting, flags, colour coordinated crockery, cutlery and napkins and two desserts artfully made to look like the flag and a ship with the queen on it. Also loads of BBQ'ed meats and vegetables, coronation chicken, pimms punch, strawberries and champagne. We had a brilliant time even though it was quite windswept and the sun came out for exactly 45 seconds the entire afternoon.

In the run up to this weekend there have been a swathe of specially commissioned TV programmes and series about various monarchy related things. Some of these have been quite splendid - like the ones on each of the queens palaces. What I have discovered about myself though is that while I am deeply interested in the history of this and other countries I am not a royalist. So while I'm happy she is having her jubilee I am not committed enough to attend street parties or stand by the Thames waiting for her royal yatch to go by. I'll happily take the four day weekend, though in my world everyday is a working day (looking after a small child) or a holiday (looking after a small child) depending on whom you ask.

Happy jubilee (apparently that is the appropriate form of greeting).

Sunny day in the park

We spent the first true day of summer in Greenwich with the semblance of a picnic and our friends. It was hot and overcrowded. Most of the park has been shut off to build the equestrian arena for the upcoming Olympics. This is both inconvenient and an eyesore.

Even though we mostly had fun running around aimlesslessly and eating sandwiches, by the end of the day we were all overheated and grumpy.

Spanish food for 21

It's 21 years to the day that V and I first met.

Unlike normal anniversary celebrations (ie wedding and date we began dating - the latter much disputed!) we normally make it a point to have a meal on or around this day just to reminisce about our own little story of 'jab we met'. Of course it's only really me that wants the walk down memory lane. V would just like that glass of wine and a discussion about something sports or kid related. I win the battle and like the well trained spouse he is he hears me out patiently and tweaks the story back into reality when I get carried away.

Today we both ate Spanish food. The difference is that I had it at La Tasca and he at Iberica. I was with three lovelies - Broom, Uttara from Likhati and the visiting Rohini from mamasaysso. He is with his office colleagues.

We picked the date for various reasons and he was meant to come home and babysit our sleeping child. But as luck would have it visiting colleagues have meant that he needed to attend drinks and dinner. So our babysitter stepped in while we both went to our seperate dinners. I wore the seed pearl necklace, his first ever gift of jewelry to me.

Dinner at La Tasca is always an enjoyable experience. I don't profess to know much about Spanish cuisine beside the fact that I like chorizo very very much. But the tapas at La Tasca is varied and quite delicious. It rarely disappoints. From the white fish to the patata bravas, from the calamari to the chorizo, it was a well orchestrated meal of small dishes, satisfying with the high notes of laughter and chatter that really only groups of women friends get. The chocolate fondant and vanilla ice cream at the end only served to make it finer, if that were possible.

I'm home now. Reading my book, waiting for sleep to overcome me. V will be late back from his own tapas meal at Iberica.

We may not have eaten this meal together, although by chance we both chose Spanish. V may think he has escaped my retelling of how we met. He is very wrong. I fully intend to recount my version when I can. And even though I might be a tad dramatic I have no doubt that 21 years later we are still on the same page.

Motherland Motherlode 1

Jet lag

I cannot recall a time in the past 20 odd years of travel that jet lag has hit me/ us so badly.

It's been 5 days since we got back from our trip to India. And every evening this week, despite daytime naps to pad our energy levels, my son has fallen asleep between 4.30 and 6pm usually while sipping a mug a of milk or eating a morsel of dinner. On Wednesday I managed to keep him awake till 7 (his usual drop off point) bolstered by a long morning nap. I thought we had cracked it but the next two days were back to early evening sleeps.

The strange thing is that I followed him not long after, getting into bed and asleep by 8.30 or 9, finishing just basic chores and early meals. Same for V who can barely keep his eyes open once he is home.

And strangely none of us are waking particularly early. The kid wakes at 6 (as standard, some winter exceptions till 7) but we are all still half asleep and enjoying the half light-dark of early morning till at least 7 lying in our warm beds. So basically we are just sleeping loads. And calling it jet lag.

We have unpacked and had mad play dates all week in an attempt to get back to a normal London routine. I'm not staying up to read, check Facebook, call friends or catch up with all the tv I missed on the iplayers. I'm hoping this weekend will mark a turn and we will all move back to normal service.

Resolution fail - 4

It is typical. I have a wardrobe stuffed to the gills but not a stitch of clothing appropriate to any situation be it tea at the Ritz or dinner with girlfriends.

I am Fat. There's no getting around it. But it's not something that bothers me much. Probably because despite my weight I am fairly fit. I walk a lot, swim a lot and run after my kid a lot. I pretend to gym a lot. Wait, no, I pay for the gym but don't go a lot. Coming back to the weight, the only problem it causes is the variety of clothes available. And the occasional offer of a tube seat because I look a bit pregnant. (who am I kidding, that ain't a problem).

Im off the beaten track. So anyway, as part of my resolution of owning less and pruning what I own I had a first go at my cupboard over the Christmas break. It was pretty easy. I was fairly ruthless and gave away 4 bags of clothes to charity shops for other fat people to enjoy. I gave away things that didn't really fit, colours I thought did not suit me and styles that were just stretched sacks. 4 big bags. Aren't you proud of me?

But in the new year when I looked back into my cupboard the clothes seem to have magically grown and ever single thing was either brown or black or denim blue. In other words Blah!

And then I discovered I had thrown away so many pairs of trousers that I had precisely um three pairs to wear on a daily basis. To do all that running behind child and take the spills of juice and yogurt, the smears of snot and mud like troopers. My washing machine would be working overtime.

So last weekend I replaced the trousers on a whirlwind hour shop with three new pairs (less than I threw away but joining forces with the ones I kept, adequate)

I still have piles of shirts and tops and dresses and jumpers I can't bear to part with. Which I haven't worn in years or which are threadbare and unit for use as anything but rags but which sentimentality refuses to let me touch.

My cupboard is still stuffed to the gills. Clothes and air playing tricks or merely relaxing into the space. I need a wardrobe overhaul I cannot afford and/ or a new body I am too lazy to pursue. I am also going to India in a week and will no doubt buy all manner of clothes that will never be used in London.

I'm failing this resolution on so many counts that it's staggering. Thank goodness There are nine months of the year left for me to sort it out.

Resolution fail - 3

Since returning from holiday last week I've made something of a decision that contradicts my earlier resolution. Or rather adjusts it.

I have always been an all or nothing kinda girl. In friendship. In love. In food. This has meant many many enduring friendships, the greatest love of my life and an uncanny ability to eat my own weight in marshmallows. I never said it was healthy. More to the point though this trait of all or nothing always aided my resolution making because I could decide on something and then follow through with vigour.)

I think age has mellowed this trait because I came back from holiday thinking I would try again to be pescatrian but with one caveat. And that is to not beat myself up so much when I didn't manage it. In the next week, since getting back I have only veered once. And because I told myself that it would be ok (yes all you iron willed people must think I am a wimp) I enjoyed that meal very much.

So this year I am all about eating healthier, adding fish and yet more veggies to my diet with more regularity. But equally I am going to eat the odd meal including meat without kicking myself or knocking my will power or tripping up my confidence.

I'm not going to cook it for myself and V unless we have guests. I am however going to eat it when I want to and after considering all the possible choices on offer. And I am sincerely still making an effort to be less carnivorous.

Fairer to self. That's what my year should be about