From Velvet’s Dressing Table

Today is Sunday, which means only one thing in Velvet’s little world: Pamper Sunday.

Later, I’m meeting Jonesy for lunch at Café Nocturne, but first we’re going for a stroll through Bluebell Park. The bluebells are beginning to show themselves now, and I want to see them properly before the world tramples past and forgets to look.

Winston is coming too, of course. Jonesy’s ginger smooth-haired chihuahua may be small, but he walks as if the park was made for him. Such a sprightly little gentleman clad in a Harris Tweed coat. Very well behaved too, though I should add that his moral compass can be severely compromised by a slice of carrot cake.

Jonesy says he has good news to tell me, but he is being deliberately mysterious, which means he is either very pleased with himself or trying to annoy me. Possibly both.

This morning, the sun shone through my bathroom window while I took my bath. It poured across the tiles in a warm pale ribbon, catching the steam and turning it almost golden. Celeste sat on the windowsill, observing my pampering rituals with the grave attention of a Persian cat who believes all beauty routines require wide-eyed supervision.

The day feels warmer than it has in a long time. Spring is thawing properly now. Even the air seems to carry a breathy lightness, as if the morning itself had slipped into pink ballet shoes.

This evening will be a quieter, solitary affair. I’m going to try my new satsuma lotion, massage it slowly into my feet, and choose a fresh polish for my toes. Crimson has had its little reign for two weeks now. I think perhaps it is time for something softer.

Pearly lilac, maybe.

Something gentle enough for spring, but still pretty enough to catch the lamplight.