Of Spring Shoes

I popped into Marks and Spencer today to buy some tights, after a visit to the doctor to get the results of my second blood test. He confirmed that I have had glandular fever, but although it's nice to have a definite diagnosis, there is no treatment apart from rest, so he simply reiterated the need to take things gently over the Easter holiday. Luckily the weather in Oxford has been absolutely glorious over the past few days, and apparently it is set to remain this way for the rest of the week. I certainly hope so! The warm sunshine and blue skies are so cheering, and today I slipped into this outfit, which remains as good for seeing in the Spring this year as it was last!

When I was in M&S, my eye was drawn to the shoe department (well, if they will arrange the store so I am simply *forced* to walk past the shoes to get to the tights, it would really be rude to avoid paying them proper attention, wouldn't it?). Not least because it was looking particularly eye-catching this afternoon as the new season's stock had obviously just arrived. I have long been a fan of M&S shoes, finding that they tend to produce several tempting pairs each season, all reasonably priced and relatively long-lasting, and as such they are one of my go-to choices for every-day footwear. I didn't actually buy anything today, but I did have to exercise a certain amount of restraint (yes, I am capable of it sometimes ... just don't tell anyone that I might go back again tomorrow...). Three pairs in particular tested my resolve, but I contented myself (for now) with trying them all on and then replacing them carefully on the shelf.

The sudden outburst of sunny weather this week has reminded me that Spring really is just around the corner (I'm particularly looking forward to the clocks going forward this weekend), and I'm feeling a corresponding urge to inject some brightness into my wardrobe. These would certainly do that! The red suede positively popped off the shelf, and would be a marvelous way to add a bit of colourful fizz to any outfit:

(Autograph Suede Peep Toe Platform Shoes, £49)

I was also taken with the somewhat nautical feel of these heels, which look perfect for pairing with something cool and airy for a bit of relaxed chic:

(Peep Toe High Heel Platform Shoes, £25)

Finally, I couldn't resist slipping my toes into these cheeky platforms, which have a lovely 1950's vibe about them. I normally avoid slingbacks, finding that they have a tendency to sling themselves off, but I paraded around the top floor of M&S in fine style in these to take them for a test drive, and they clung to my heels like limpets. So, who knows, perhaps they could even persuade me to give the style another go. The neutral colours mean they would go with so many things, after all, although I also like the naughty little jolts of red on the soles.

(Limited Collection Peep Toe Flower Platform Shoes, £29.50)

I always think it's fun to update one's wardrobe with a new piece or two every season, and shoes are a good way to do so. I might just pop back into M&S tomorrow, anyway, just to *see* whether any of these look as pretty as they do in my memory (and as they do on the ever-tempting website). After all, if I'm going to be putting my feet up over the next few weeks, I might as well put them up in style!

In the meantime, I'm going to slip my feet into something rather less spectacular, and head out into my garden to make the most of the last of today's sunshine. For, as Sir W tells us in his 1601 essay 'Of Solitarinesse and Company',

'the Sun [is] not carrying his Lanthorne for himselfe but for the world'.

Of Seeing in the Spring

Well, the sunny weather has stayed with us over much of the fortnight (*ahem*) since I promised to get back to posting on here! Today was particularly balmy, and so I enjoyed trying out a new outfit to welcome in the Spring (it will probably be raining again tomorrow, but for today, it's definitely springtime). When my mum visited Oxford a couple of weeks ago, I was excited to find that as a treat she'd brought along a dress and cardigan that she'd picked up for me in one of my favourite shops: Boutique Eleven at the Heart of the Country Shopping Village, just ten minutes down the road from where I live in Staffordshire. A rather large number of the items in my wardrobe (no, we won't ask just how many items there are) come from this charming little shop. As they stock a range of really beautiful and unusual clothes, I seem to get complimented whenever I wear anything I've bought from there -- always a plus. I try to pop in whenever I'm at home, and the lovely lady who runs the shop knows me well enough by now to have an eye for exactly what I'm going to like, and because she usually only gets one of everything in each size, she's often kind enough to keep something back for me if she knows I'm coming up for a visit. Oh, the temptation... So this afternoon, I revelled in sitting in Duke Humfrey's with the sunshine streaming through the old windows and warming my skin in this little number from Sandwich:

It's actually slightly more fitted than it appears on the mannequin, and the streaks of cream and blue lighten up the different shades of brown to give it a real lift: I felt like I should be strolling along a beach in the sunshine eating an ice-cream while I wore it. When the occasional shadow did pass across my desk, I quickly whipped out this cardigan, also by Sandwich:

The photo really doesn't do it justice: in reality, the sludgy grey that appears in this picture is actually a delicious teal to match the stripes in the dress, and it's perfect for a bit of casual cover whenever I am forced to remember that it is still only March. The fact that the cardigan is actually a little bit longer than the dress it's going over also gives a slightly sexier edge to what can often be thought of as a rather boring item of clothing!

Sandwich has become a favourite label of mine since I started shopping at Boutique Eleven: their clothes are always fresh and pretty, and are a great choice for basics with a twist. I discarded my usual heels for once and teamed my new outfit with this cute little pair of flats from Marks and Spencer: I love the combination of camel and black, the patent is practical as well as stylish, and I've spoken before about the fact that I'm a sucker for anything with a bow on it. Sadly I could only find this tiny photo to show you:

I *still* haven't got a new camera sorted out, and, much as I've enjoyed embracing the retro chic of the disposable version (yes, I was pretty amazed to discover they still make them, too), I'm looking forward to getting my hands on something a little more up-to-date. Job for this week, perhaps...

I'll be sharing some more of my favourite fashions with you soon (including the leggings which may make me -- and I never thought I'd write this -- overcome my innate aversion to anything remotely resembling a pair of footless tights). I'm also going to be talking quite a lot about food and drink (never a bad thing, I feel), not to mention flagging up some favourite new websites and blogs and telling you about some recent film and theatre trips. In the meantime, keep your fingers crossed for more of this lovely sunshine -- I want the excuse to bring out some more of my Winter to Spring wardrobe. After all, to give you another weather-related quote from Sir W (this time from his 1600 essay 'Of Aduise'):

'from the Rayes of this sun proceed all blessings'.

Of Getting Back to Business

February, as you can plainly see, was a bit of a black hole where my blog was concerned! March has arrived now, and rather than being 'in like a lion, out like a lamb', as the old saying has it, we have been enjoying a beautifully spring-like, blue-skied day here in Oxford. No post today, but rather a promise that I will be resuming normal service from now on...

Until tomorrow! And let's hope with Sir W (in his 1601 essay 'Of Estimation and Reputation') that for a few days at least, we continue to see the sun

'dispersing his Rayes ouer the world'.

Of Amsterdam

I spent some time whilst getting dressed this morning admiring my bruises. I have a lovely big one on my right knee, a couple of smaller ones on my right shin, and a little one threatening to develop on my right arm. Not to mention the slight graze to my left knee. They say that pole dancing makes you feel like a new woman. Well, it certainly does, although in my case the woman is about ninety years old. I can barely raise my arms above my head, my upper body doesn't know what hit it, and my wrists are sore with the memory of clinging onto the pole for dear life with trembling hands. But my Monday evening's entree into the world of pole dancing was tremendous fun, and I simply can't wait for the next lesson! I'll be posting properly about the delights of my new interest next week, after session number two, when hopefully I'll begin to show slightly more mastery of the 'attitude', the 'dip and flick', and other wonderfully-named moves...

For now, however, I want to take you all back to the weekend before Christmas, when I took a trip to Amsterdam to visit a Dutch friend who's now working as a lawyer there. I'd never been to Amsterdam before, but had heard many good things about the city from friends. I was also looking forward to visiting my friend, as we hadn't seen each other since she left Oxford in the summer (she was also a graduate student at New College last year). My journey out to Amsterdam was smooth, as I left an Oxford lightly dusted with snow with little thought of what those wicked little flakes foretold. I had decided to take the Eurostar to Brussels, and the train to Amsterdam from there: a quick and easy journey. I was delayed for a couple of hours in Brussels, which was a pain, but -- looking back -- seemed like nothing! But this is getting ahead of myself...

I arrived at Amsterdam's central station to find my friend waiting for me, and once our excited greetings were over we made our way via tram (I always get excited by trams when I'm abroad!) across the already snowy streets to her lovely flat, which was looking nicely festive thanks to this cute little tree:

After we'd freshened up, we popped round the corner to Simpel, where we both enjoyed a delicious duck confit. The evening was spent eating, drinking, and chatting into the small hours: perfect.

Now, when this friend and I were both in Oxford together last year, she was my (now oft-lamented) wonderful shopping companion on some particularly successful trips to Bicester. Consequently, we were both looking forward to renewing our retail relationship in Amsterdam. We awoke on the Saturday morning to find the city even whiter than it had been the night before, but it would take more than a little snow to keep us away from the shops. So we pulled on hats (bemoaning the inevitable 'hat-hair' that would result) and gloves and headed out into the cold. Their icy decorations just made the lovely old houses lining the canals look even prettier...

... and we paused to admire some of the bridges criss-crossing the water, glad now of our warm head-gear:

My friend led me to the wonderful area of the city known as the Nine Streets, a beautiful grid of (yes, you guessed it) nine narrow streets which cross one another and the canal, and are lined with lovely boutiques, cafes, and other little shopping gems. I was particularly taken with the look of this cheesemongers...

... while the Christmas treats on sale in the bakeries we passed looked extremely tempting:

As good as all this food looked, however, we were both extremely excited to once again be trying on clothes together, and the old chemistry clicked into place immediately, as we both found would-be purchases in the very first shop we went into (after trying on half its contents, of course). Aware that spending all our money before we'd even seen what anywhere else had to offer (even though they were ON SALE), we reluctantly put the gorgeously-cute-purple-with-flowers-and-bows-yet-sophisticated-dress (me) and deliciously-warm-and-soft-and-pretty-and-loveliest-shade-of-green-ever-cardigan-wrap (my friend) back on their hangers. The very nice ladies in the shop, understanding our dilemma, offered to hold them for us while we had more of a look around. We enjoyed pottering around some of the other boutiques, trying on some other tempting bits and pieces, but by the time we sat down in a lovely cafe for a much-needed sandwich and hot drink, we had both become convinced of our Absolute Need for the aforementioned items and rushed back to claim what was obviously Rightfully Ours just as soon as we'd licked the last of our lunch from our fingers.

Day turned into evening, and we were charmed by the Christmas lights which sprang up all over:

I particularly fell in love with this little lot, leaping off the prow of one of the many barges along the canal, so that one might almost imagine it gliding up into the air after them:

We stopped off for a scrummy glass of gluhwein, to keep us going before our main meal, which was at fun and trendy restaurant Stout!. Apparently 'stout' in Dutch means 'naughty', and the restaurant enjoyed making the most of the potential for double jokes on this with the English captions like 'Proud to be Stout!' on the back of the waiters' and waitresses' t-shirts. The set-piece of the house is the tasting menu -- the Plateau Stout! -- which gives you ten little dishes for an incredibly reasonable €29.50 (€35 if you want dessert tasters too). Although my friend and I opted to choose from the normal menu, the tasting platters did look great, and were extremely popular with diners around us. I had plumped for beef, which was absolutely fantastic, and I'd definitely be keen to re-visit Stout! for some more of their quirky takes on classic dishes on my next trip to Amsterdam.

We rounded off the evening by meeting my friend's brother at the aptly named Bubbles & Wine champagne bar just off Dam Square, where we enjoyed wine 'flights' (three half glasses) of some delicious Spanish reds:

By this time, the temperature had plummeted to -10, so we were glad of a warming alcohol blanket as we headed homewards, managing to stop shaking just long enough to pose for a quick picture with our shopping bags on the deserted Dam Square (everywhere, from the shops, to the bars, was quiet that weekend, which was surprising when Christmas was almost upon us. Although not so surprising when one considered the weather, which was bitter enough to keep most sane-minded people indoors, however many festive party-pieces they had yet to buy):

By this time, we'd heard the reports of trains being stuck in the Channel Tunnel, and I could only thank my stars that I'd missed the misery of sixteen hours beneath the ocean (and by only a few hours!), but we weren't yet feeling unduly concerned, and went to bed dreaming happily of our purchases.

The next morning dawned whiter than ever, and the first whispers of real misgiving crept into my mind as I listened to tales of cancellations of trains and flights and grumpy passengers freezing as they waited to find out how they were going to get home for Christmas. Shelving such concerns for the time being, however, my friend and I set off on a merry walk to the Van Gogh Museum, a slippery twenty-minutes away from the flat.

On the way we passed a one-street version of the Red Light District, and I must admit that my only thought upon seeing all the ladies in their lingerie posing inside their light-lined windows was how very cold the sight of their scantily clad bodies made me feel with all the snow outside! The Museum itself was well-worth the icy walk, and I particularly appreciated seeing the paintings alongside Van Gogh's letters, as the journey from preliminary sketch (often contained within letters to friends and family) to final piece was fascinating to behold. It's made me even more eager to visit the forthcoming Van Gogh exhibition at the Royal Academy, which I'm hoping to do soon after it opens later this month. As its title -- The Real Van Gogh: The Artist and his Letters -- suggests, it should provide a lot more of just what I found so interesting in Amsterdam.

When we'd had our culture fix, we headed into Amsterdam's main park, where we joined what seemed like half of the city's population, all out enjoying a Sunday in the snow, with toboggans and snowmen around every corner. I'd like to say we built these two with our own fair hands, but that would be a lie!

The park also provided my friend with the perfect opportunity to introduce me to a Dutch delicacy: raw herring. And, more importantly, to the traditional way of eating it:

Yum! And the day's culinary delights were far from over, as we stopped off at a nearby patisserie for some seriously delicious tea and cake before heading home:

That evening my friend made a yummy and traditional Dutch dish of sausage accompanied by mashed curly kale and potatoes, and we settled down to an evening of Oxford nostalgia with an episode of the ever- wonderful Inspector Morse.

I certainly needed both the comfort food and comfort TV, as by this point, I had had to well and truly face up to the fact that however I was going to get home, it wasn't going to be by train, as all international trains out of Amsterdam had been cancelled thanks to the blanket of snow now covering the country; in any case, even if I'd made it back to Brussels, the Eurostar was still in turmoil, with all services cancelled until further notice. After frantically checking flights, and then deciding against them (£400 for a single trip which would quite likely be cancelled anyway? I don't think so!), I was just beginning to wonder whether I'd be spending my first Christmas in the Netherlands when my friend suggested I could always take the boat. Yes, that's right: The Boat. A quick search revealed a ferry leaving from Hook van Holland at 2.30pm the next day. I would arrive in Harwich, a no doubt amiable enough spot of whose existence I was, until that moment, completely ignorant. I booked my passage.

My final morning dawned; we rushed to the window: it wasn't snowing! This at least boded well for my trip south to the port, as my real dread had been waking to find a heavy blizzard and all trains cancelled. After saying goodbye to my friend (already looking forward to another visit in the hopefully better weather of the summer!), I struck off into the snow. Buying my train ticket, I was instructed to go to the airport, and from there, catch whatever train I could going south, to Leiden, Rotterdam, or The Hague, with the hopes of being able to travel from there to Hook van Holland without too many changes inbetween. I caught the airport train at 9.30, imagining that five hours was surely enough time to make what was usually an hour and a half's journey. Arriving at the airport, I was cheered to see a train for Rotterdam due to leave in an hour's time, so settled down with a cup of coffee. An hour passed, but my train didn't come. Cancelled. But there was one due for Leiden twenty minutes later. Cancelled. This went on for two and a half hours. Just as I had become convinced that I would be spending Christmas in the airport, a train for Rotterdam drew up on the platform. As luck would have it a set of doors opened right in front of me and I was able to spring on and grab a seat (my flailing suitcase as I did so probably helping to keep other passengers nicely out of the way), rather than having to spend the journey standing like so many poor people, as what seemed like hundreds of travellers crammed themselves on. I congratulated myself on this, and turned to ask my neighbour if he knew how long the journey might take. He predicted that, in these conditions, it would be something like an hour and a half. An Hour And A Half. AN HOUR AND A HALF. My new-found optimism vanished as I realised that if this were the case, I would be lucky to make it to Rotterdam by 2.30, let alone to the boat. I sank back against the window, and resigned myself to the thought of hanging around a port for the afternoon whilst waiting for the nightboat, which was due to leave at 8pm. Giving myself up to Fate, I watched the white landscape go by.

Fate was, it seems, looking kindly upon me that day, for as we pulled into Schiedam Centraal, I happened to glance out of the window towards the adjoining platform. Imagine my JOY to behold a board informing me that a train to Hook van Holland was due to leave from that very station in only five minutes! I frantically scooped my things together, wriggled through the carriage, and jumped onto the platform, where I spent the next five minutes with my fingers crossed very tightly indeed. The train came, and the destination list inside informed me I should be at the port at 14.14. For the second time in ten minutes I risked my circulation by crossing my fingers more tightly together than ever.

I stumbled, breathless, to the check-in desk, together with a few other stragglers, at 2.25pm.

Stenaline kindly held the ferry back until 3, in order to give a few other late-comers chance to get on, and by the time we left, my breath had returned, my legs had stopped shaking, and I was ensconced on a reclining chair in the private lounge (well worth an extra €16!), with a glass of wine and some chocolate, ready to face the SEVEN AND A HALF HOUR journey across the grey sea. I raised my glass to my decision to make this the trip to finally get to grips with Forever Amber (I knew there was a reason I never got round to reading its 1000 pages when I lugged it all the way to first the Chalet, and then Greece last summer), and settled myself down to a thorough enjoyment of Amber's exploits, which kept me completely entertained (with the odd break for food) until we arrived at Harwich. I resisted the desire to fall on bended knee and kiss the soil of my native ground, and made my way to the train station. After half an hour standing about in the cold (but hey, I had totally got the hang of this whole waiting about on platforms thing), the train appeared, its magical destination of LONDON blazoned on the front. I finally rolled up in the capital at 11pm, jumped into a taxi, and made my way to the Dorchester, where I met a friend who had been following my progress via text message, and who gave me the exact welcome back I needed by buying me cocktails and listening to my woes.

What a journey! Still, the holiday was definitely worth it, and I can't wait to return to Amsterdam to visit my friend again, although -- pretty as it was -- I could quite happily live without seeing it in its coat of snow! There's no record of Sir W ever visiting Holland, but it seems like he would have enjoyed a trip there, as this extract from his 1600 essay 'Of Resolution' suggests he shared the received idea that the Dutch would have made good companions in one of his favourite activities, drinking:

'I will hauke with a faulkoner, hunt with hunters, talke of Husbandrie with the seruants of Thrift: bee amorous with the Italian, and drinke with the Dutch man'.

Of Blowing The Cobwebs Away

I am writing this snuggled up under a blanket with a nice cup of tea, warming myself up, as I have just got in from a blustery afternoon's walk. A friend and I decided to brave the weather and so, boots on, umbrellas in hand, we set off towards Iffley lock, which you can see in rather nicer weather here (annoyingly I forgot to take my camera today):

We met outside Christ Church Meadows, and cut across those to Folly Bridge, before striking out along the Thames towpath, surrounded by fields on one side and college boats full of rowers out training on the other... Luckily the latter petered out as we got deeper into the countryside!

Iffley itself is a pretty village just on the outskirts of Oxford, and we were able to catch a glimpse of its beautiful church, St Mary's (built in 1170), across the water.

Someday I'll have to wander round the village itself, and have a look inside the church. Today, however, we were being rather less high-minded, as our destination was a yummy pub lunch at the Isis Farmhouse:

Although it had stopped raining, we were still glad to get inside the pub, which I had never been to before. My friend had warned me that it was a little unusual, and he was right, in as much as there were only three things on the menu (plus the gourmet baked beans on toast and homemade cakes and scones they always serve!), but luckily the choices of soup, lentil stew, or Moroccan style chicken casserole all sounded lovely. We both plumped for the chicken casserole, which was indeed delicious: a generous serving of couscous and chicken, mixed together with olives, lemon, various spices and served with still-warm bread to dip into the juices. Mmm! Coupled with a glass of wine, it was perfect for a pick-me-up before going back outside. Fortified by our meal, we decided to carry on walking for a little longer, passing the two pretty bridges next to the lock, the second of which is based on the famous Mathematical Bridge at Queen's College, Cambridge:

We almost made it to Sandford, the next village along the Thames, but decided we'd better turn back before the winter evening drew in. Next summer, perhaps!

This afternoon's trip was just what I needed to blow away a few cobwebs, and it was fun to discover somewhere new in Oxford, and to feel so countrified so short a distance from town (it took us about 45 minutes to walk to the pub from the town centre). I'll definitely be doing more of this in the future; who knows, perhaps even The Walking Boots will come into their own once again...! Only, of course, if there's a nice pub to warm oneself up in at the end of the trip. On which subject, I leave you today with the charming opening sentence of Sir W's 1600 essay 'Of Alehouses':

'I Write this in an Alehouse, into which I am driuen by night, which would not giue me leaue to finde out an honester harbour. I am without any Company but Inke and Paper, and them I vse in stead of talking to my selfe'.

Of A Welsh Retreat

I spent last weekend staying with my aunt and her partner in South Wales, a wonderful wintry break. Much as I adore Oxford, it can become a (very pretty) claustrophobic bubble at times, and getting out into the Welsh countryside was a welcome retreat. My aunt has three dogs, who all require a lot of exercise, so I muffled up in layers upon layers and ventured outside to enjoy the autumnal scenery with them, which was lovely even in the rain which stereotypically poured down throughout most of my visit. The walks were a lot of fun, and I almost regretted not taking The Walking Boots with me so they could have another little outing. Almost. Sadly I forgot to take my camera, so I can't share the beautiful vistas, the fallen red leaves, the fern-lined streams, and the panting dogs and woolly wet sheep. Nor the rumbling log fire, glowing candles, cosy cushion-filled window seats, and delicious warming food, which all seemed so much more luxurious thanks to the rain-lashed windows and cold winds blowing outside our little nest.

My aunt's cottage is up the side of a hill, reached by a twisting lane which seems a lot longer, let me tell you, when you have to walk up it in the snow, because the car can't make it ... such journeys are one of the abiding memories of my childhood. Also clambering over the fence into the field which borders my aunt's garden, picking my way over to the cows' water trough, smashing the ice and scooping out a pail of water to take back to the house, so that we could actually flush the toilet when the cold weather had frozen all the pipes. This is also the aunt who used to take me camping as a child, so you can see it is really to her and her partner that I owed my ability to wow my fellow chaletites with my nonchalant (well, more nonchalant than they were expecting, anyway...) response to the Chalet's own basic conditions this summer. As I said, at least there I had a proper bed, rather than a tent floor!

I've been spending a busy week since returning from my trip, with lots of work and lots of socialising, which has been fun if a little exhausting, and has unfortunately left little time for blogging -- hence the late description of my Welsh break. I am summoning up the remains of my energy today however for a friend's birthday party tonight, which should be a lot of fun. Some old undergraduate friends are coming up for it, so I'm looking forward to seeing everyone and catching up on all their news. My friend lives in East Oxford too, so we're going to be exploring some of the restaurants and bars on this side of town -- I can't wait to get to know more about my new area! Talking of which, I must go and prepare for everyone's arrival: washing up, tidying, all those sorts of joyous activities. Thank goodness some frivolity will be returning this evening with the advent of a few cocktails and some good company! But although I am very excited about seeing my friends tonight, after such a busy week I've also been glad of a quiet morning today. I love spending time with other people, but I also need some time alone to recharge and refresh myself. This morning -- even with its chores -- is a good opportunity for that, meaning that today looks to be a perfect combination of reflection and revellry. For, as Sir W said in his 1601 essay 'Of Solitarinesse and Company':

'The vse of things makes things worth the vse, and company by the vse is an excellent instructour, and solitarines moderatly taken, makes vs fit for company'.

Of Keeping Cosy

The rain is lashing down outside, and I am snuggled up under the blankets with a lovely hot cup of tea, thanking the stars for wireless internet and laptops. I waved goodbye to my friend this morning as she caught her bus back to Cambridge (rather her than me -- the damn thing takes THREE AND A HALF HOURS, including the thirty minutes it apparently takes to change drivers in Bedford. Oh, and the hour it seems to take to drive around Milton Keynes' interminable roundabouts). Now, I'm relaxing at home for a while before braving the weather once more to strike out into town and go for a late lunch at The Royal Oak on St Gile's: a cosy pub which serves up an excellent Sunday roast.

Meanwhile, I have been amusing myself by perusing Etsy from beneath the comforting warmth of my duvet. In order to drive away the air of gloom which is threatening to pervade my room thanks to the menacing gusts of wind driving the rain onto my window, I've been considering a few of the bits and pieces that might cheer up a cold, rainy day such as this.

Although I'm not sure how well it would cope in the wet, I really like this unusual coat from Little Houses Clothing. I adore the huge collar with its lace trim, and it looks lovely and warm, as well as being pretty. And even the name is apt considering my period of study:

Shakespeare's Sister Coat, $395

I've also fallen in love with these cute cashmere leg warmers (no, I never thought I'd be writing those words either, but these are special) from Adventures of Jessica Rose. The colours are stunning, and with the little bows at the top, I think they'd look great peeping out above a pair of long boots too:

Cashmere Legwarmers in Lavender and Raisin, $85

Before venturing outside, I think I might want to slather on some protective lip balm to counteract the vicious weather November has brought, and this delicious offering from the lovely Marie Antoinette's Patisserie Collection at Vintage Bella might be just the ticket:

Pink Cake Lip Balm, $3

A little pampering of the rest of me with this Lap of Luxury Soap (ah yes, always a phrase I like to hear -- and not just with soap at the end of it) from the wonderful range at Seattle Sundries wouldn't go amiss either:

Lap of Luxury Soap, $9.50

I must admit, however, that on a day like this, part of me is quite happy just to stay indoors, curled up with a hot drink, a few biscuits, and a good book (I'm happy to report that so far, Stone's Fall is definitely meeting the demands of that last category!). But that's no reason not to look stylish, as the 'loungerie' (love it!) offered by plumprettysugar makes clear, with stay-at-home wear bright enough to cheer up the most dismal day:

Kimono Style Robe, $124

And if I were always to drink tea out of cups as lovely as this one from House of Harriet, I would be a happy girl indeed. Combining cats and tea, the entire Amsterdam Cats colletion can hardly fail to charm me:

Amsterdam Cats Big Hand-painted Mug, $60

For now, however, I will return to my current cup (which is itself rather pretty, even if it doesn't have a cat on it), and get a few more chapters in before I have to get up and pull out my umbrella. Although, as I've been writing, I could kid myself that the sun has started to peer through the clouds, and although the wind is still buffeting the walls, it's not howling quite so loudly as before. But I think I'll pack my umbrella anyway, just in case.

Sir W too bewails the weather upon occasion, although, as this excerpt from his 1600 essay 'Of Fame' makes clear, his concerns are rather more lofty than any I might have about the rain spoiling my clothes...:

'History hath added to my naturall desire of louing fame: I was there set afire with conuersing with braue spirits. I like deeds well, but they were not within my reache, and so I sought to buy what my stock would reach to: though I cannot clime so well as Caesar, yet I shoulde thinke my selfe happy if I could but get vp his Stile. But he was a Romane borne, and borne vnder a climate of more wit: we are so colde, and so dull, that we thinke of nothing beyond the compasse of our inheritance, iust like the Swissers we will lose no ground; leaue vs in durt, and finde vs in durt. The Graecians and the Romanes were Monarches of the world, not by sitting still, and keeping themselues warme, but Industry and Aduenture were the wings that made them fly high. We will aduenture vpon noting except it be on a surfit, and sixe pence at Tables'.

Of Presents and Pimm's

Last night I enjoyed a wonderful early birthday meal at the lovely Al-Shami Lebanese Restaurant, tucked away down one of the many winding streets of Jericho. The food was delicious, and got off to an unusual start with huge platters of raw vegetables (something common to many Lebanese restaurants), which added a brilliant splash of colour to the table:

I felt extremely healthy nibbling away at this selection, although I fear that any potential vitamin benefits would have been washed away by the red wine... I always love catching up with old friends over a leisurely meal, and of course birthday dinners have the added bonus of including some very nice presents as a side dish!

Even the weather this weekend has been in a celebratory mood, and Oxford's been revelling in glorious hot sunshine. I've been able to indulge properly with a couple of long, lazy afternoons lounging outside at the pub with friends, a pitcher of Pimm's on the table beside us. Pimm's is one of my favourite things about summer in England, especially when it's made properly - with lashings of fruit and mint and plenty of ice. There's only one fly - or rather, wasp - in the ointment. Or, with my luck, several wasps. Unfortunately, the stripy little fiends enjoy a summery tipple just as much as I do, and I must confess that even a perfectly made glass of Pimm's can somewhat lose its appeal when you've just watched a wasp take a bath in it. As a consequence on these occasions, the table becomes something of a battleground. I'm not a particularly helpful member of the defence force, usually only managing to swat the air ineffectually in one wasp's general direction as I try simultaneously to ward off another who's after a juicy chunk of strawberry bobbing at the top of my glass. Luckily, I have some better co-ordinated friends who variously squish, drown, or decapitate the enemy in order to avoid any unwelcome added extras floating among the cucumber...

My weekend's exertions have left me in need of an early night, but first I should point out a new addition to my Oxford restaurant list: Al-Andulas in Little Clarendon Street. This is an absolutely fantastic little tapas bar which I went to for the first time this evening. I love the type of meal where you can pick and choose from lots of different little dishes, and I've walked past this place on many occasions, and have been wanting to try it for a while. It certainly didn't disappoint, and I'll definitely be returning again very soon!

Sir W was no stranger to Spanish cuisine: his father, Sir Charles Cornwallis, was based in Madrid as the resident ambassador to Spain from 1605 to 1609, and Sir W visited him there. I'm not sure that tapas would have been on the menu, but the analogy Sir W draws in the extract below suggests that he too would have approved of the 'few dishes well dressed' that I so much enjoyed this evening. This comes from the 1601 essay 'Of Silence and Secrecie'; Sir W has been contrasting different oratorical styles, and has concluded that it is definitely quality, rather than quantity, that matters:

'it is ... as it is betweene a few dishes well dressed and a great feast. The sparing speaker giues you that which is wholesome and ouerburdens not your memory with superfluitie; the wording Orator is like our English feasts, where the stomack must winne way to the second course, with bearing the burthen of the first, & when he comes to it, hath lost the bettering himselfe by it, through the heauinesse of his first receipt.'