Tag Archives: tea

Jun10

A week after the Jubilee

Posted on June 10, 2012 by the magnificent something

Stuffed with scones, drowned in tea, and Union Jack-ed out. For 4 days, London turned into a sea of white, blue and and red with street parties, delicious treats, shows and events across the capital, everyone cheering for the Queen’s diamond Jubilee.
On Sunday, I walked along the crowded pavements of Southbank all the way to Tate Modern, where the boat procession was broadcasted on a giant screen. People were standing under the pouring rain, trying to catch a glimpse of the boats between the screen and the river. There was a magical atmosphere; everyone was enjoying the moment, regardless of the reasons why; Supporters of the royal family or just grateful for a long weekend, people seemed to buzz with excitement and anticipation of the nightfall and the celebrations.
Every corner housed a street party. My favourite one was the Cleaver Square (famous for its Cleaver Square Fete), that went all out with a spectacularly jubilicious block party.
With live bands (including Swing Patrol Jive and Jukebox Fury), as well as the Punch and Judy Show by Daniel Byrne, kids and adults fancy dress parades, hog roasts, traditional cupcakes, house decoration prizes and a raffle, the day had it all. People seem to really enjoy themselves, swinging ladies in their 60s skirts were dancing next to Union Jack-dressed pug dogs, people scoffing down homemade food and having a great time. The night ended with the square singing the national anthem, rose-cheeked and red-nosed faces proudly joining together as one.
The week passed quickly, and I am finding myself flicking through the pictures on my phone, smiling, wanting to share them with you.

Click, press, share.

Hope you like them,

Love,

Mar3

The Life Treadmill Experience

Posted on March 3, 2012 by the magnificent something

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I am sitting in my living room with my eyes closed. The TV is on mute, and the radio in the kitchen is playing Lana Del Ray. The light is coming in from the window, painting the world pink behind my closed eyelids. I suck my lips in, aware of the stress bites on their edges, take a deep inhale, shoulders raising as I get up.

My feet leave their imprints on the wooden floor as I make my way to the kitchen. I turn the radio off, take the kettle off the stove and pour the boiling water in the mug that is already half full with lemon, honey, and a Rose teabag. I look out of the kitchen window. It looks like a nice day; nevertheless, I am glad to be staying in.

The last few weeks caught up with me. I ignored the coughs, shrugged the painful throat off, and convinced myself that the weakness behind my knees was nothing to worry about. You see, I have this built-in mechanism that will not allow me to realise how run down I am until the task on hand is finished. I now know that when I am booking holidays, the first week will be spent in bed, clutching a box of tissues, watching re-runs of Murder She Wrote, and drinking inhumane amounts of orange juice and tea. I am one of the I’m fine’, ‘the show must go on’, ‘make it through’ kind of people.

I need to keep going.

I was once in the gym, and on the treadmill next to me was a woman, gasping for air. Her personal trainer, a musclebound man in his 30s, covered the stats board with the complimentary towel, looking intensely at the screen on the wall, a rap video with two girls grinding on a car. Occasionally, without any visible reasoning behind it, he would lift the towel, careful so that the woman would not see it, and change the speed and gradient. The woman’s gaze would follow his hand, her lips curling up to a protest, until her eyes met the trainer’s determined face. She would then swallow hard, look forward, and occasionally wipe the sweat off her face. ‘Two more miles‘, he would say to her, his eyes watching the girls and the car; ‘you are almost there‘. Exasperated, the woman replied in between heavy breaths ‘I am just where I started’, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Sometimes I feel this way; I see it as my ‘life treadmill experience‘. I am on that treadmill, walking, running, thinking that I am covering a distance while staying on the same spot. The complimentary towel is covering my dashboard, and I am not sure how much I’ve run, or where I am, or how long it has been. It feels that I can not stop running, because if I do, the belt will keep spinning, the world will keep spinning, and I will fall on my face. My treadmill is invisible, the control keys are invisible, and all I can see is the screen on the wall.

However I realised that even though there is no stop button, there might be a pause one. And I might not be directly in control of the speed or gradient buttons, but I can influence them.

Taking a breath. A real breath. The kind of breath that gives you goosebumps at the base of your neck. Opening your eyes, and seeing things more clearly. Thinking of a person that you love, and allowing yourself to feel how warm they make your heart feel; allowing yourself to get excited for that moment when you think that your favourite show is on tonight. Having a takeaway when you are feeling down, having a good cry as you see The Notebook for the 5th time, or just listening to your body when it says it had enough.

These past few days, I listened. I paused. I looked at the mirror and saw someone that was making himself sick from trying too hard; from focusing on that screen, ignoring how run down I was. And as I sat on my sofa, I realised that I can give myself a break, and press that pause button on the treadmill.

Siting in absolute silence, drinking warm tea, closed eyes, deep breaths. The world will be here tomorrow. I am on pause.

Love,

Jan29

Yumchaa: Chai Latte Escapes in the Middle of the City

Posted on January 29, 2012 by the magnificent something

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Before I begin a book, I go to the last page (avoiding the text there at all cause), and look at the number of pages. Then I turn to the first page, and pencil it down. I stare at the numbers for a while, following the curves of my illegible hand writing, and then turn the page.

I always want to know where I am in a story: in a good book, it reminds you to take your time and savour the experience; in a bad book, it gives you hope that its liberating end is fast approaching.

I was reading Hotel World by Ali Smith. Reading anything penned from Ali Smith is a journey to be experienced, every word a step, every page a masterpiece. I absolutely adore all of her work, and can not wait to dig into her new novel ‘There But For The’ (however, as I have promised, I am putting Ms Dalloway next in my reading list!).

I knew I had to chose an environment that would match the overwhelming beauty of the book, and stealing a few moments from work, I knew exactly where I was heading.

I can not describe the sense of calmness that comes with walking into a Yumchaa tea shop. It is almost as if the door has a filter, stopping the outside world from coming in with you, allowing you to breath in the amazing blend of the teas, stacked on the wall behind the counter.

Yumchaa manages to make you feel warm inside, and this is not only from the magnificent selection of tea it serves. Bathed in neutral tones and equipped with an eclectic mix of quirky seating, (some more comfortable than others), it provides the perfect time out from the world, and the perfect excuse for a quick catch up with a good friend, or in this case, a good book.

Sitting on the sofa under the skylight in Camden, or soaking the gold tones from the vintage lamps in the lower ground floor in Soho, having tea in any Yumchaa is really an experience to savour.

I got so lost in the book that my chai latte got cold and the people around me were replaced by a new set of faces. I gulped it down, put my coat on, and run down the chilly street. The sun is out. It is such a beautiful day.

Love,