Swimsuit – Huit 8. Sandals – Birkenstocks. Glasses – Finlay & Co. Face Mist – Purearth. Straw Bag – H&M Home.
Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter. Take it from me
Swimsuit – Victoria’s Secret. Bag – Louis Vuitton. Brogues – Hudson x Charlie May. Sunnies – Karen Walker. Watch – Larsson & Jennings.
Clearly, seasons aren’t London’s strong suit – this time awkward overcompensation at its best. Within a few days, the city transformed into one oversubscribed Bikram yoga class with hot, thick, armpit-consistency air with condensation streaming down the walls and windows (this is possibly what the River Thames made of). I’ve been finding shelter within some tightly shut double-glazed windows, a small fan circulating stale-but-cooler air. My mind keeps wandering back to the Maldives – of rushing sea winds on a boat as it slices through aquamarine water, escorted by a school of shiny dolphins. What I wouldn’t give now to be able to grab a mask and snorkel, plunge into the water and hand-signal a dad-joke at a family of clownfish, blow bubbles into a giant clam, or chase a sea turtle around a forest of reefs! I wouldn’t even mind thrashing away from a blacktip reef-shark* again, it’s more interesting than sighting a pack of sweaty, shirtless yobs with open beer cans in the park across the street, at the very least.
Oh well, I’m blowing bubbles through a straw into my morning iced-coffee, I suppose it’ll have to do for now.
*apparently as scared of you as you are of them. Hallelujah.