Blackberries in the Bishop Bonner

Dear Friend, 

Good morning from London! I’m writing to you on a balmy morning at the Bishop Bonner. Have I told you about my living situation yet? Well, I mentioned the record collection, but I’m unsure if I mentioned the part where I live in a pub. A pub, you ask! What in the 90s sitcom?! Well, it’s not technically still a pub, but it was once a fully operational pub, and from the outside, it looks like a dilapidated version of one. My landlords live in the pub's main part, and four artists/musicians rent on the upper floor. I, for my part, rent the stand-alone studio above the garage. Most mornings, I sit out on my balcony overlooking the Bishop Bonner, munching on my breakfast in the sun. Often, I glimpse my neighbor, an art student in his early twenties, starting his day from across the courtyard divide. 

I was sitting in the sunshine on my balcony this morning when my neighbor called out from across the way. We ended up chatting over the chasm of the courtyard, me on my sun-soaked balcony, him standing framed in the window, clinging to the roof like a sailor leaning from a mast with the French press settled by his feet. He joked about how this morning we were shirking “rise and grind” for “rise and recline” — something I am officially adopting as a life motto. 

He invited me for coffee and fresh blackberries from his family’s garden in Southhampton, and I told him all about Ireland with Robyn and Daniel. I sipped my French Press with the oat milk I brought from my flat (so American) and enjoyed having a lazy morning, as he showed me pictures of old zippers from an antique book.

It is my first day back with the living, as I spent the last 7 days purging every last thing that entered my stomach. For context, I picked up some sort of bacteria/parasite/protozoa in Ireland and, since returning, have been almost deathly ill. My poor parents came to visit and tour London with me, only to find me married to my bathroom and stumbling around in a half-alive haze. They were sorely disappointed that I couldn’t hang out with them as much as I intended, as was I! But at least they enjoyed the nice dinner reservations I made, albeit without me. 

We all traveled up to the Cotswolds, bringing along my friend Sara, where we stayed in an unbelievably gorgeous farmhouse cottage. Unfortunately, I spent most of the trip lying in bed ill. I kept thinking it would abate soon, but it took a full six days to start to feel better. My poor family! By day 5, I began to come back to life, my brain wiggling its toes and fingers, the haze lifting. My mom kept saying it was as if I had a personality again. Cue that one Kardashians clip —“I’m getting my personality back!” A good reminder that health truly is the foundation for every enjoyment, precious time with loved ones included.

Once I was back to life, we could enjoy dinner, Hamilton, and even a goodbye cocktail — a strange but delicious combination of champagne and whiskey from the fancy-schmancy hotel bar. Another important reminder: things do run their course eventually. Cue that old country song I used to love: every storm runs out of rain. This week, a bit of hard work is in order as I’m prepping to release “Let Yourself Out,” one of the songs I am most excited about from the Forever From You album project. 

In the meantime, have you watched the Messy Hot Girl Summer music video? I would love to hear what you think. 

I promise to write soon. 

Much love from London, 

Halle