Friday
Wake up with: £40
Go to bed with: £27
Tonight, the girls and I have arranged to meet at Street Feast, a pop-up foodie paradise in Sclater Street car park, just off Brick Lane. We browse the stalls, tongues hanging out and decide the only way to satisfy our appetites is to get a bit of everything. I get some tacos and quesadillas from Buen Provecho. It starts to rain, so we take our bounty to the glorious abode of Ms Jones and start an international tapas fest of our own: dim sum, pizza, chana masala burgers: reader, we eat it all and it is gooooood.
Saturday
Wake up with: £27
Go to bed with: £16.29
The sun is shining and I have me some blogging to do: Stoke Newington is the subject of the day and so I take my camera for a walk around Church Street, picking up provisions for weekend as I go (oh, and it’s possible that I may have accidentally spent £6.50 on the most gorgeous teatowel I ever did see).
Sunday
Wake up with: £16.29
Go to bed with: £15.79
It’s jubilee day and it is pouring down. As I walk into the kitchen to make us a cup of tea, I see our neighbours have been busy hanging bunting and generally making the street look adorable. Only two problems: it is pouring down with rain and they have chosen to pitch the sound system and karaoke tent directly outside our house. Mmmh do I sense payback for the husband’s dj-ing habit?
We brave the rain for a walk around the block: it’s amazing, at least it would be were it not for the inclement weather. Empty trestle tables sit forlornly in the rain, a sole union jack paper plate slowly melting in the downpour.
On Church Street, we catch the tail end (sorry, couldn’t avoid that) of the best-dressed dog competition and a magnificent jazz band livens the somewhat soggy atmosphere.
We return via our neighbour’s cake stall and settle in to watch the flotilla on the BBC.
Monday
Wake-up with: £15.79
Go to bed with: £9.82
It’s supper club night and I’ve been cooking up a storm all weekend in preparation for a grand jubilee feast. Hunter’s pie and apple crumble with salted caramel sauce. It’s a big hit with the guest stars that have assembled for this momentous occasion. Everyone is secretly glad that we only have to cut the crumble into four – I might have cried if I’d had to share my piece.
Tuesday
Wake up with: £9.82
Go to bed with: £0.82 + €50
LoveRichCashPoor is off to France to visit maman in the Dordogne. We rise at the crack of dawn and make our way to the airport, picking up emergency cheddar supplies and newspapers for the olds on the way.
We touch down at Limoges airport and I swear I can see mum waving at me from the fence – the sign of a good airport, methinks, is one where you can see your loved ones before you’ve even got off the plane. I wave manically, get some very strange looks from the husband and fellow passengers, who must think I’m waving at France itself.
Wednesday
Wake up with: £0.82 + €50
Go to bed with: £0.82 + €28.50
France is whirl of baguettes, aperitifs on the terrace, bright sunshine and beautiful houses. We drive into Bordeilles to visit the chateau.We just happen to pass a recyclerie on the way – a treasure trove of beautiful plates, glasses and curiosities. I want it all. I buy a pair of silver plated servers for €5, and reward the husband’s patience with a local beer.
Thursday
Wake up with: £0.82 + €28.50
Go to bed with: £0.82 + €0.50
Another beautiful sunny day in la belle Dordogne: we’re so blase about the weather by now that we decide to explore the caves at Villars, which are simply magnificent. We end another perfect day at possibly my favourite place in the world: St Jean de Cole, where I gaze lovingly in the windows of the local immobilier and the husband valiantly ignores my not-so-subtle hints.
Mum Taxi Inc drops us in Brantome for an evening on the tiles (yep, still being dropped off by my mum at age 30, and?) and after I ply him with a couple of beers, the husband goes all gooey eyed, imagining an alternate life in France, where houses are beautiful and cheap, the sun always shines and there’s unlimited cheese. By the end of the night, he’s tearing around the town, picking up every estate agent’s brochure he can lay his hands on. Wife: 1, Husband: 0.