borough market

Simply splendid day on Saturday.

 

Might've had something to do with seeing blue sky for the first time since, like, October 2013.

The Brit helped me pull on my shoes (a feat, currently proving too strenuous and logistical even with my characteristically natural athletic prowess. Honestly, putting on/taking off shoes is no longer a luxury I can perform on my own)...and off we went to market.

We do a lot of markets, actually. We tend to gravitate towards food and plenty of it anyway, so we are generally good at frequently doing this slice of London life.
However, we have a list to fulfill here, and in order to ensure we were doing this properly, we had to tick off a visit to the grandaddy of all foodie markets in the city, if not the country.

Borough. Neatly tucked behind the Shard and Southwark Cathedral, as pictured above.  Can't remember the last time I went to Borough, and as the sun was out and the day was crispy cold, it was perfect for such a visit.

Chegworth Apple Farm (which has a large and impressive stall, solely dedicated to an array of organic apples) was doing hot juice.

There are samples and smells and people and things hanging off the rafters, literally everywhere. Even if food didn't interest you in the slightest, the market will.

The fruit and veg is the boring element to Borough to be fair, but it just looked so colourful and healthy piled up everywhere.

 You know. Rhubarb.

 And liquified fresh produce. With the juicer craze being the Atkins Diet of our current age, there were organic and pressed fruit smoothies everywhere.

 Wheatgrass, which I tried to buy a shot of and was told I couldn't because it was "too organic."
No really. "We use natural insects as pesticides, and the bacteria is too organic for pregnant women."

The Brit and I scoffed down a steaming plate of raclette. This is a traditional Alpine delight if you're into carbs and cheese. (Come on, who isn't into carbs and cheese?!) Doesn't look like much, but it's not really meant to.

Literally sex on a plate.

They heat the giant cheese under an oven thing, then scrape it off, while it's still oozing and bubbling onto a layer of hot potatoes.

 Here he is, eating an empanada.

Cheeses, meats, vinegars, oils, breads, fish, anything you can think of, from anywhere in the world, all here.

Even biltong from the French Alps.

And more veg. Basically, this is where restaurateurs go to get their ingredients for the day, and where chefs go to find that specially smoked garlic clove from the Gascogne, or where normal people like we go to walk around and eat until we were so stuffed I thought I might give birth, there and then.

London Bridge.

Then, because we are on a proper roll of trying to get out and do stuff (and also escape the bomb site that is our house at the minute), we went to see not one, but two movies this weekend.

We cinematically escaped. Twice.

First was to see the Mandela: Long Walk To Freedom movie with some friends, which wasn't a bad portrayal, although hasn't received amazing reviews.

Then we went to IMAX last night at Waterloo. Home to Britain's largest screen I dare say, and true to its word, it's fucking massive.

We saw Gravity  in 3D. Finally. Wow, honestly.
It was a tense two hours. Sweating palms, teetering on the edge of seats, fully stressed out. But it also felt like we were actually in space, feeling the vertigo and the room spinning with us.
The effects and the scenery were incredible. How will I ever watch just a normal movie again?

Obligatory couples-wearing-3D-glasses-at-IMAX picture.

Then finally, herewith my ample size. And bosom really. Notice how shelving has been ripped off wall beyond the bump - the building site that is our bedroom.

Anyway, this hefty thing is large enough now that I am finding it difficult to sleep. Turning over from side to side is a hassle, and I get up numerous times in the night to wee.
They also kick me. All the time.

But here we are.