Archives for posts with tag: tart


Going to the Tate. Watching the construction guys descend from the roof. The beautiful new galleries. Stepping into the cubes. Being alone in the room with the lights. Writing with a coffee. The views from the top floor. The wonky sculptures. The bubbling tubes. Lying in the cage. The beautiful concrete staircases.

Drawing birds and listening to guilty feminists.

Jonny, beers in the pub, a brilliant tart, jam tarts that burnt our mouths, cigarettes, GBBO in bed and gay chat. A brilliant Wednesday night. 

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Egg custard tart in the Portuguese cafe
An evening with Sadia.
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Plum frangipani tart. Some days that’s all you can do.
Potting three balls in a row. And winning a game of pool against Jonny.
A fun mistake.

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Raspberry custard tart
Listening to live music in a pub
Having the hiccups. For ages.

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A parcel from my mum with my favorite pair of shoes and some Marks and Spencer pants.
Full body hugging.
A really bloody delicious tart for dinner. If I do say so myself.