my feet in london

I have to take pictures of my feet wherever I go. Don't we all? Maybe I do it as a way of reminding myself to never forget where my feet have been, all the small details of steps taken or perhaps to remind myself to never forget how I have been grounded in each step. We are home. It was lovely cooking a vegetable pot pie together and toasting to the last weeks of this busy year in our home last night. S made us our version of mulled wine, warmed Glögg with his choice of red, not quite the mulled wine we tasted at the Borough Market last Sunday, but every bit as delicious in its own rite. S just put on a record and I am knitting gifts and going through photos from our trip. Having just returned it feels silly to already be on the hunt for ale chutney or even better a recipe for ale chutney so we can make ploughmans at home, clotted cream to spread on a warmed scone with black current preserves just like it was at the patisserie.. ornate wallpapers, dark woods, candle lit pubs, the liveliness of Farringdon, Clerkenwell pub fun, Lancaster's medieval charm and friendly faces; I miss England.. our England.