loud

It's loud here in Los Angeles. I woke up at three to the sound of the dog scratching and her collar jangling, of a bird on the roof, and revving engines on Laurel Canyon. Scotland enveloped us in low cloud and from my big bed, swathed in duvets and covers, and the cat, I could hear nothing in the morning but the gentle tap of a house martin against the window. I wish that I'd taken a picture of the world unfurling outside my window there - the purple moor cut with green, the pine trees and willows, the rolling lawn, the horses and sheep grazing peacefully. I'd like to stay here, I thought, as I woke up in the morning to the soft rain. I'd like to stay here and paint a picture or fish the river or explore the Esk valley. But here we are back in our lovely little house in the city, despite the coyotes and the birds and the trees I can see through every window, we're in a city.

Two things I watched on the plane that are noteworthy: David Fincher's Zodiac & the BBC adaptation of the Alan Hollinsworth novel The Line of Beauty.

Three things it was nice to come home to: Jumby, Dotsie, Briar

One unexpectedly delicious thing: Husband's bacon, egg and cheese pie, decorated with pastry stars and served with peas and mashed potatoes.

A few things I'll miss: My mamma, N (who's still in Scotland learning how to be a gamekeeper), English sunny evenings when balloons float over the Chilterns, my sister's cooking and general loveliness, walking with my brother over the wet moors and coming home soaked to the bone ready to sink into a steaming tub.

Things I completely detest: American tourists on English airplanes (God deliver me from the co-ordinated husband and wife leisure suit).