My mum wanted some German sausages from the Lidl on Kentish Town Road. And I wanted some beetroot sauerkraut from the health food store across the street. And, given we were headed that way, a coffee and cinnamon roll from the fabulous Kossoffs bakery. So off we went, my husband, son and I, on a chilly Saturday afternoon in January.
The air was crisp and invigorating against my cheeks. As we approached the brick railway viaduct straddling the Prince of Wales Road, a train swept past, and my son called out in delight. Above, the sky was mottled pale pink and grey. Further up the road, the gold Art Deco lettering on the Victorian Red façade of the St Pancras public baths gleamed in the mid-afternoon light.
The bakery was closed by the time we arrived, so instead I bought a bottle of kombucha and drank it on the battered wooden bench outside the health shop, perching on one of the few patches not caked in bird shit. It was now gone four, and in the fading light, the colours of shop signage along the high street glowed. Christmas fairy lights, still wrapped around the tops of the lamp posts, twinkled.
On our way home, in the window of an estate agent’s, I spotted a small terraced house for sale. Even though we’re not really considering moving, I’m a sucker for a renovation project, so in we went. And while I looked at the house’s floorplans and fantastized about installing sliding glass doors opening onto a south-facing garden, and having a study of my own, the estate agent gave my son sweets.
By the time we returned to our street, the sky was slate-blue. The golden thread of a vapour trail streaked across it. ‘Look,’ said my son, pointing upwards. ‘The moon.’ And there it was, the glow of a half-moon, suspended in the sky, clouds pulsating across it, obscuring and revealing it, like curtains billowing in the breeze.
For a few moments I gazed at its grey and white surface, some quarter of a million miles away, patterned with craters and mountain ridges I will never visit. Then I turned west towards my home. The orange blaze of sunset hugged the horizon. When we unlocked our front door, we realised we’d forgotten to switch the heating off, and the flat was so warm and cosy.
That weekend had no ‘high’ notes: no meal out, or meet up with friends, or a visit to one of London’s cultural spaces or parks. All we really did was go to the shops and back. But it was actually rather beautiful. And a good reminder that even on an ordinary Saturday afternoon, in the depths of the year’s bleakest month, there’s magic to be found, if we’re willing to keep our eyes open.
I write these words not as someone who has this practice nailed, but to remind myself of its value: of how paying attention to the so-called ordinary recalibrates it, and can restore our sense of wonder and connection to this world that is so broken and yet so beautiful.
Love,
Annabel x
And I’d love you to share, in the comments, any such moments you’ve experienced!
So loved this and loved all the Kentish Town references as I am there quite often with my children to go to the leisure centre there. Haven’t made it into Kossoff’s yet (it’s always so busy and the double buggy seems a little bit unwieldy to take in!) but we have had lunch in the organic cafe place opposite! Anyway, I loved your observations and I agree, the more we look, the more magic we see xx
Beautiful ❤️ thank you!