the weekend edition

i had about a hundred hours of extra sleep on friday night, which left me in the best spirits for the one thing that's had me excited for weeks; my complimentary massage at the marriot county hall club and spa at westminster. except... upon my rushed arrival to the spa with minutes to spare before my appointment, i made the unfortunate discovery that the appointment had been cancelled via a third party who had not yet received the news; the news hadn't made it to me clearly, and i was... less than impressed at the outcome of my morning. a quick walk up to the closest tube at westminster put my spirits right back on track, as was the promise of brunch with carmen at the other end of the trip.

i met carmen at mile end tube, and we wandered up the road to her local pub - the victoria on grove road; my now-new favourite pub! pink cider and american pancakes were the order of the day, because apparently now i brunch in east london. look at me go, i'm so modern! after our brunch was hopped on the bus up to her friend michelle's flat, where i was checking out a spare room... that i most definitely will not be taking. i've maybe got far too-high expectations for my new-flat hunt. but... surely a lovely, bright, room in a spacious and clean house with maybe one or two like minded flatmates is not so... non-existent? hellllp!

i feel like i spent all of saturday on some sort of public transport. i'd planned to head to my friend nicola's in the docklands in the late afternoon, for a serious saturday night baking sesh - and refused to get on yet another bus. my stubbornness knows no bounds, truly; eventually, i had to make a frantic sos to nic to come and find me, because i was lost in a parking lot. i'd barely made it out of the stub station before realising that i had underestimated my google mapping abilities, and couldn't find my way out. i also asked her to bring me some humble pie to eat on the way too. next time kids, when your friend tells to you take the bus, take the bus.

nicola and i spent the next few hours baking fruitless hot cross buns. rather, she spent the next few hours baking fruitless hot cross buns, and i spent the next few hours watching the sun set over canary wharf from her kitchen window, drinking pink wine, and building mariah carey playlists on spotify. there may or may not have also been a magnum of veuve clicquot later in the evening, and a night bus home at 2am on sunday. hm.
oh my goodness, that woman's buns were my staple diet during my gossip girl binge (in between cleaning and... yeah, nothing else) all day sunday. normally my mum sends me a care package around easter time full of fruitless hot cross buns, because they're near impossible to find in the uk and also because fruit should not ever be baked with cinnamon and all spice in any kind of baked bun type thing, but this year she will be travelling here instead. my only solution was to bribe someone to make me some.

i love it when a plan comes together.