So long away from my family, those lovely people I lived only streets away from for all of my life. For four months I lived with seas, mountains and miles between us. I sent emails and postcards and best wishes on a gust of wind. And the wind decided to bring me back a present.

Like Mary Poppins floating down with her umbrella, my mother pulled her boxy bright red suitcase from the airport, through the sweltering, dark underground, popping up into the sun an hour later and appearing on the cobblestones outside my flat. Bless.

For three weeks we’ve visited my favourite haunts and reminisced over her many past trips. We’ve seen London through each others eyes, tourist-guide eyes and the eyes of those around us. We’ve searched for decent coffee and air mattresses. We stumbled on 1980’s style visors and 1970’s style sunglasses that begged to be bought.

There have been housewarming gifts, pretty trinkets and mountains of decadent food. There have been adventures and day trips and journeys on red chariots. Board games, sudoko games and jigsaw puzzles. Red wine, white wine and champagne. Perhaps a little more red wine on my floor than was necessary – but, hey! Lost cards, found cards, over-used credit cards. Bad tv, fuzzy tv, get over the tv!

For you; I’ve posed on crypts, I’ve posed in museums, I’ve posed my little heart out just for you. I allowed you to censor our photos, I made tea in the mornings, trudged through churches, sat in the most uncomfortable seat on the double decker and woke up at 7am on my day off.

You did even more for me.

The final thing you ask of me? You’ll find them below… A day in Brighton.

Thank you.


Pebble Beach

Behind Me

Hiding Mum

Looking up