Spring Searching

My work schedule is so peculiar these days that I have to squash my weekend into a Thursday. I do this quite cheerfully: the streets are quiet, the cafes are empty and I can just wander around while everyone else is hard at work. The joke's on me of course when I'm working all day on Saturday and Sunday.

Yesterday Benjamin and I went on a walk, officially to buy some salt, but ended up wandering the grounds of the church turned concert venue, St George's, and finding, to our surprise, the early shoots of spring.

There are a few churches in Bristol which have been taken over by enterprises more profitable than they – lately I've spotted a church now in a hut adjacent to its former premises (now a gymnastics studio), and another turned into a boxing centre. Sport is the new religion, it would seem.

St George's is the nicest of them all - I saw Owen Pallett play here last year, which was quite a magical experience. Inside, the ceilings are high and the acoustics are something special.

So, while spring springs out of miserable February, I'll be working hard on a very large book. When I'm finished, perhaps it will be springtime proper, and time for something different.

Secret Admirer

At a loss to understand Valentines, and as a secret admirer of many things, year round, I feel like posting a selection. I can make no attempts to create meaning around this, the strangest of days – I can only post some simple things that I've admired today.

An unexpected cake

The first daffodils

Very delicious gin from Islay/A blackbird ready for a pie

For real old fashioned romance, I suggest Hila's perfectly pitched Valentine's post, complete with sea view, here.

Indian Winter

I've always said that living in a city that I don't love, I can survive quite cheerfully as long as I can hide in my flat every so often – it's just the world as I want it to be, and I can pretend that what's outside the windows is, too.

In early February, that mean old world is even more grey and damp, and the wind whistles through my windows, moving the curtains in a ghostly fashion. So this, in a roundabout way, is why I'm staying indoors, rather than roaming the countryside, although I can't wait until the months when the prospect of that becomes enticing again.

This dress, with its Indian inspired fabric, is handmade 1960s I think. It was my first foray into vintage, actually, years ago, and was probably more expensive than anything I would buy now. I love it, but somehow I've never really worn it anywhere. Perhaps I haven't quite been brave enough, but I think I am now. It fits perfectly (something I only ever really get from vintage) and I like the way it brightens up the greyness outside.

In my current hermit mode, I've been reading To Kill a Mockingbird which I've somehow never read before, and the latest issue of Oh Comely magazine, which just seems to be getting better and better with each issue. I've been enjoying branching out with less established magazines lately, and am so pleased I have - they reward you in a way that Vogue and the other big players never could.

On that note, I must direct anyone who is interested in such things to Ellen Burney of Vagabondiana's beautiful riposte to the traditional fashion press – her words are brilliant, and her point equally so.

Dress: Vintage handmade 1960s
Wool Tights: H&M
Shoes: Topshop