This morning dawned slate and sombre, blemished by a spitting rain that had truly earned its name. The sort of weather that makes you want to go straight back to bed, or to curl up in a ball and weep your eyes out (no, just me?) Even a trip to the library book sale failed to lift my mood. When, at 4 in the afternoon, the drizzle ceased, we rushed out of the door, eager to cure our terminal cabin fever. It was cold, really cold, but soon enough the sun began to peek out and the skies began to clear. We stumbled upon a Greek Orthodox church, its ceiling painted in deep-hued mosaics and kicked through the fallen blossoms on the pavement as though they were autumn’s leaves. I love that feeling of surprised discovery that accompanies stumbling upon an unknown landmark virtually on your doorstop. As we walked, I took photographs of almost every streetside flower and marvelled quietly at the town planner who thought to plant corridors of cherry blossoms on these suburban streets. We talked, too, deeply, about futures near and far, our legs pacing the conversation as thoughts and dreams began to bloom like the sakura overhead. London in mid-spring is quite something.