We spent last weekend on the north Norfolk coast, staying with twenty or so friends in a charming house a few miles from the sea. We were celebrating a good friend's 30th Birthday and had come for three days of parties and dinners and blustery beach walks. Friday night was a little wild - kimonos, glitter canons, disco ball helmets and painted faces were all involved. Several new cocktails were invented before dawn broke. Earlier in the day I came across these ornaments in a tiny sitting room which didn't really end up getting used, but was actually the nicest room in the house.
D. cooked eggs and bacon for the masses on Saturday morning, saviour that he is, and afterwards we travelled in convoy to Holkham beach. We visited Holkham for the first time a few years ago, and it was good to be back. There really isn't anywhere else like it. I love the way you have to walk through tall trees to get to the beach and when you emerge from the shady pathway, you're faced with a breathtaking expanse of white sand and sky. Most of us set up camp for the afternoon in the sheltered sand dunes, but the braver ones of the group headed straight for the sea. Not me however - I love to hear the roar of the sea, and I like to look at it very much, but I do not like to be in it. What we hadn't realised was that the tide had started creeping in, and very quickly. To get back to our cars we had to wade through a river of waist-height seawater, carrying small dogs and shoes and empty bottles of wine. Too funny.
On Sunday the group split - some of us went for a long lunch and some of us spent the day fishing for crabs from a harbour wall. Later on we played games, lounged on the lawns and explored the gardens. That night we cooked vats of crab linguine (using bought crabs, not caught crabs) and toasted our friend's Birthday by candlelight.
D. and I popped along to the Chelsea Flower Show last Thursday evening. I'd been meaning to visit for years. A slightly strange affair, but also very pleasing. The weather was excellent - patches of the gardens glowed in dappled, golden light. I liked the incredible display of daffodils the most, I think. Bright yellows, soft oranges, milky pinks. And such wonderful names! Pink Pageant! Prom Dance! Ice Wings!
I very much enjoyed the Laurent-Perrier Chatsworth Garden created by Dan Pearson. Intended to capture the essence of Chatsworth, the garden's design drew on influences from the estate's 19th century ornamental trout stream and rockery. Pretty stunning, don't you think?
This afternoon we returned from Edinburgh. A flying weekend visit to catch up with D.'s family. A few lunches, a few early nights. Eurovision, of course. Afternoon naps. That vintage clothing shop that I always like to make a trip to. The excellent Lee Miller and Picasso exhibition at the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, which made me dream about having a studio in the south of France as an old man - white walls and plants everywhere, the scent of the sea and fields of flowers. Paintings and drawings scattered on terracotta tiled floors...
To end with, a snapshot view from the train, somewhere around the English border. Like a faded postcard from the 1970s.