Throwing back another

Last night we took a stroll around the Broadway to see what we could see from the hill. Tiny explosions popped and whizzed at irregular intervals, peppering the horizon and sending up small spurts of colour, while close by children called out excitedly as someone lit a succession of mixed fuses and the air sparkled maddeningly before resolving into silent, dreamy clouds.

Our own street was a friendly pall of smoke and gunpowder, regularly punctuated by the screams and crackles of unseen rockets. We’d bought some 50p sparklers, which made more sense in the context of our tiny garden and my compromised state, and we lit them up outside after tea.


It’s been almost two years since I moved to London and nearly a year and a half since Bruce and I were married. Everything is moving so quickly still, and there is hardly any time for reflection. Bruce says this is a sure sign that we’re living in the present rather than looking back or dreaming ahead. It’s a brand new thing for me, but I know that in order to catch more, I have to keep letting go of these fine moments.