An old client in their new studio, talking about work and catching up on the past months. It is the last weeks running down to Christmas and everything is spoken of in the future, the new year, those January days of picking up lists. One of their designers went to my old university and though we never met there, we know the same people and will see each other at a party on Saturday night.

Everywhere I look there is turquoise – rooftops, a scarf, turquoise in the dome at Angel, the colours from the top of the bus. In the kitchen, I can see into the neighbouring kitchen – there is a woman at the glass looking at the sky, and when she turns I see the swell of her pregnant belly, the palms of her hands flat against the small of her back.

The pub at night has a band, hot glasses of mulled wine, garish tinsel and lights – and suddenly I feel festive, glowing. Matt and Marine are talking about going away this weekend and I want to dance but am shy, so swing my shoulders and hips a little while we stand like this, a diamond planted square. A man and a woman, who must be in their seventies, sway around each other, all lipstick and flat-cap laughter.

Cooking dinner for a friend and being cooked for. The numbers around the table change but the scene is the same. Maybe there were candles and maybe there none but there are definitely rings of wine left stained on the wood.

Drinking with friends on a rooftop for the birthday of one of my best friends and the smell of woodsmoke still weaves through in the thread of my jacket. I love how when you meet new people it’s like webbing, twine, lines shooting across the city. east. south.


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