Now that's an anniversary. Time to turn this beauty up to 11.

Here to celebrate the summer’s first potato salad. The potatoes have had two days to soak in all the dill and tang. My taste buds are absolutely twanging with joy.

iTunes has pulled together the lyrics for the Star Wars soundtrack, should anyone want to sing along.

Someone in my local swap group posted this list of items to borrow for the estate agent photos.

“I didn’t like this work of fiction because it didn’t resemble my childhood which was very happy and where no one had mental health problems and unicorns shat gold while delivering sausages to every child and I voted Brexit because I want this country back”

My garden has become a playground for fox cubs. They enjoy chasing, leaping on each other, knocking over plant pots, digging holes, and generally being adorable. The teacher in me wants to sit on the bench beside the one cub who’s always a little unsure about joining in. #FoxOfTheDay

Found an old banana.

I reckon the film LaBute really wanted to make was on the greedy pharmaceutical industry driving Americans to find cut-price alternatives to live-saving medication. But he lacked the courage.

Very much lapsed here too. It had the same effect on my that some works of art have (hello Caravaggio). And the contrast to the church it’s in is stark.

Found my visit to Pope Francis’ tomb surprisingly moving. In the middle of the too-much-ness of Roman churches, it’s quiet and contemplative. Plus, the kerning forces your eyes shut so it looks like you’re praying.

Shout out to my neighbourhood cherry and plum trees on this windy day, whose blossoms of confetti turned my walk into something triumphal.

Enjoyed this Brian Eno quote (in the always-excellent Maria Popova newsletter, The Marginalian) on burnout. The glue that connects artists, new or old, wildly successful or scrabbling for credibility, is our readiness to admit how much we can’t stand ourselves.

The greatest trick the devil (Bernini) ever pulled was convincing the church that this horny sculpture was about god.

I don’t have faith in this cup of tea.

Mother’s Day was a lunch at my favourite restaurant and a trip to the bookstore so my family could chose me books. My teens must really love me because this (and not some great doorstop designed to get you thru a Russian winter) was my selection.

If I were paying $6mil for an apartment on the Upper West Side, I'd prefer my luxury en suite bathroom not to come with a glass prison for my farts.

I’m highly suggestible* so when Waterstones put this on their ‘have you considered?’ table I carried it to the till. Essays on Venice in the winter and its beguiling timelessness. The perfect way to fill the hole left On the Calculation of Volume leaves behind. *(when it comes to buying books)

Went to a store that sells clothes for a version of me I’d like to exist. ‘Buy it! Buy it!’ my teen said about this stunning overcoat. Never buy expensive things on a whim, I said. I’d like to pretend this was sage life advice but it was at least 50% based on my skin reacting to the wool.

Incredible news from Texas. Not only has a deeply conservative district voted Dem, but they’ve rejected the Wambsgans powerhouse.

I see Stephen’s arrived at the finale. #traitors

I will literally cross North London to try out this tip. Thank you. (also: great name. My mind is saying it in a Richard Kind voice).

You Europeans are SO superior aren't you? Well, would you like to know where you'd be without the good old U.S. of A. to protect you? The smallest fucking province in the Russian Empire, that's where!...If it wasn't for us, you'd all be speaking German, singing, "Deutschland, Deutschland überalles!"

‘Guys, guys, I know the old world is dying and this is the time of monsters. But try my lentil rice bowl?’

Supporting the war effort with absurd amounts of Danish pastry.

Yes. I often think, ‘what the world needs is *more* testosterone’.

Shakespeare and Co in Paris still offer this. Queuing for my book nerd stamp is total incentive for buying more books there.

With the NI accent it sounded like she said ‘I just think of my three beautiful kids’ feces’ which made the sentiment touching in a different way. #traitors

The chart that crops up in the discussion of the book is fabulous. 17th century English farmer consuming 5k calories/day? Beef drippings on everything, I guess.