Back to Dill

This whole weekend in Brighton was really a ruse to get an anniversary lunch at Dill, the odd little restaurant that we’d found so charming last year.  The building is a converted convenience just outside the town centre.  This time it was a Sunday set meal and we rather missed the ability to choose the daffiest thing on the menu.  It was good but not as fabulous as in memory.  

I had a massage and facial at the hotel before we left and from then on my photos are a constant stream of images downloaded from the company WhatsApp group of my new colleagues at Cannes.  Both films played on Sunday morning and both seem to have been rapturously received. I could share images of Alexander Skarsgaard in crazy boots or Sope Dirasu hugging our Head of Production but that’s their day even though it felt as if it were, a little bit, mine too. 
Gorgeous drive home, although there’s a chilly nip in the air too tonight.  
I finally potted out my azalea and researched how to make the water acid if there’s no rainwater.  A jigger of cider vinegar in a US gallon of water apparently. I am going to have to do some conversions!