Thursday Wednesday* night I was at a house concert at a beautiful flat in Brighton (well, Hove, actually), organised by my devastatingly talented friend Sharon Lewis. Here she is in her red skirt, about to sing with equally talented friends Nik Barrell and Esther Bertram as the Urban Bluebirds:
This room was vast, with an ornate moulded-plaster ceiling, and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and French doors to the left of the picture. I love the mirrored corner shelf on the left and the portrait of a woman's head top left. The solid brass, red-velvet-seated chair with the amp on it is one of a set from Italy. I also adore the white, sequined Moroccan wedding blankets that cover the arched bookcase doors and the leafy gold wall-sconces on either side of the fireplace.
In other news, I have just returned from my regular drinks-and-gossip-cum-therapy-session with Sara and Julie. We call it our blubfest, because at least one of us is guaranteed to weep every time. Tonight it was all three. What would we do without girlfriends? Have been sectioned years ago, I imagine.
During the blubfest I discovered an amazing new drink: sweet-geranium-leaf vodka. I had mine with tonic and it tasted like alcoholic Turkish delight, i.e. heaven. If you find yourself in the Snowdrop in Lewes, TRY IT. They make it themselves, so I will probably be blind in the morning. Night night.
* Edit: oops, too much vodka...