I’m currently sitting in my favourite local cafe trying to write about my birthday dinner, which was this week. I feel light headed, not because I am going to faint, thought I am hungry and awaiting some sourdough, but because I have just been to the hairdresser and she has hacked off rather a lot of hair. It feels like half a kilo worth. I’m not entirely convinced by the style actually, but what’s done is done. I can’t be bothered crying over chopped hair. I’d rather cry over a chopped onion.

I really love this cafe. The decor is lovely. Tree green walls and an industrial finish, rustic tables and chairs and the most beautiful and quirky chandelier lighting. The walls have pretty flat flower diagram illustrations. Brown mottled bricks become different shades of green tiles, which are the framework for wooden shelves housing all sorts of delicious chutneys and butters and teas for sale. This place always feels warm to me, inviting. The staff are lovely, the coffee is great, and the counter is adorned with many delicious treats.

They always play such lovely jazzy tunes too (right now good old blue eyes is singing ‘New York, New York’) and I am in my happy place. I realise I’m not writing about my birthday dinner anymore. I am in this lovely moment, and the moment feels like a very suitable time to write about now.

My Cappuccino and Sourdough has arrived. It is actually perfect. Two thick slices of crunchy perfectly toasted Sourdough with a big lump of butter (I love butter) and the most delicious chunky strawberry jam. I enjoy things that are interesting and complex. Things that stretch your perception of how things are, how they should be, and really make you think. I also really appreciate the simple things done right. The simple things seem easy, but they have to be done so well to create an experience. There is nowhere to hide. No micro herbs or foams or any of that fancy schmancy stuff (Btw – hi Edith Piaf! Nice to hear you again!).

So, my hair might feel too short, but the difference between a good and a bad haircut is usually about two weeks, so with that lovely pitt stop under my belt (Alanis Morissette’s ‘Ironic’ now ringing in my ears – no Alanis, it isn’t ironic) I am ready to take on the world.

On this lovely grey day in old London Town, my world includes wine school. Yay! Wine school here I come!