Ah Sundays.
I left the bustle of the city, that mouthwatering smorgasboard of the new, and retreated today, in comfortable shoes, into familiar territory.
My friend Xavier and I went to the markets.
The sky was blue. The live music was jolly. The heady mixed aromas of stall cooked food and incense. The good coffee in a paper cup. And of course the bargains.
We wandered through the stalls, bumping and bustling between the collectors and the 'dipping my toe in but not fully immersed'.
I found this lovely lady from a Victorian scrapbook. Xavier disapproved of her and said she would cause me trouble in the long run. But it was love and we could not be parted. I know these amours often don't last long, it's all based on fleeting romance, but for now it's bliss. Like warm slippers, toast and tea with just a hint of Heathcliff and Cathy for drama.
Those few of you familiar with me may note I have undertaken some hair replacement therapy. I'm not shy about it, I am unashamed. The hair replacement specialist, Norma-Jean, is a lovely lady and she tells me that if I persist I may soon be sporting a full 'do'. I hope my Victorian lady friend approves but she remains mute on the subject.