The Beat That My Heart Skipped – A blog dedicated to daily design inspirations. By Rohini Wahi.

This week I’ve been counting down the minutes and seconds until my sister gets back from traveling. 6 months ago she decided to travel around Oz, New Zealand and Tokyo with her partner Ben and 4 year old daughter, Jasmine. Jasmine is actually MY daughter – there was a biological mix up but I kindly offered to let my sister keep her, provided I could have 24/7 access.

We are quite a close knit family [read Brady Bunch] and my mother, being French n’all, has been acting like there’s been a death in the family since my sister ‘left us’. Given that my mum still insists we text to let her know we got back safely from their house [an hour away], she didn’t take the ‘erm, we’re thinking of going traveling for 6 months’ news well. So you can imagine how she’s handling all the malarkey with that pesky volcano.

First there was the initial panic that her youngest would be stranded in Tokyo without food or shelter. However, my sister, being the jammy sibling that she is, just happened to book her return flight on the day after the air ban was lifted. So it looks like she’s flying back on time but now mother is having a wobbly about it not being safe to fly. She recites facts about ash particles hitting planes like she’s some kind of aviation expert and she’ll be pacing the kitchen like a trapped lion until her babies are home safely under her wing.

All this angst will no doubt have been poured into excessive food preparation for the grand homecoming – recipe books will have been scoured; a year’s supply of food will have been crammed into the too-small fridge and my dad will be cowering in a corner on the other side of the house. It’s probably not the best time to announce that I’ve started a detox. I

t’s supposed to be scorchio for the next few days so for those of you who aren’t lucky enough to savour my mum’s welcome home feast, here’s a selection of some of the best alfresco dining spots in London. There are obviously loads  I haven’t included so please add your favourites in the comments section as I fully intend to flex my gastronomic tastebuds this summer.

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Well now I know what it’s like to put your soul on the line and flog your wares at a market stall. After several long days making candles, tying ribbons in fiddly bows, choosing plants that had perfect petals, sourcing oversized playing cards for the Alice in Wonderland theme and getting out wads of cash for all that change I would need I ended up selling nine items. Yes, nine, and most of those were bought by my lovely friends who I’m sure took pity on me.

Whilst I’m loving this springtime weather, why did the sun have to come out on my big day? Bar a couple of old ladies who came in for some cheap tea, everyone had stripped down a la English and escaped to the park, leaving me to man my overstocked stall and contemplate what on earth I was going to do with a stash of crockery. It was so dead that I thought about food even more that usual and ended up scoffing the French Fancies that were there for display on my cake plate. While I’m on the subject, can I just say how disappointing they were. I remember these little pastel coloured delicacies being indulgent treats when I was at University but they are absolutely vile. I had to try each colour just to make sure and rest assured, they are all equally disgusting. Thankfully my lovely friends [who have earnt serious brownie points] were waiting for me at the pub with a pint of pear cider so I packed up with my tail between my legs, put it down to the weather and sunk a few instead. For those of you who were down the park, here are some pictures of the stall:

All this lovely weather has got me thinking about how lucky I am to be at home actively seeking work and it’s all I can do to keep myself from writing smug comments next to friends Facebook updates about how trapped they are in the office. Today, I thought I’d take my laptop outside and write this article in the garden. It was a good idea in theory apart from the fact that I couldn’t see the screen and an annoying child was playing swingball next door. There were building works going on two doors along, a dog pining for its owners and then the dustmen have arrived. So I’ve returned indoors, but none of this will spoil my smug, zen-like state of mind.

Today I’m thinking about the birds and the bees and, no, it’s not going to be that kind of article but one about urban beekeeping. Have I lost you all now? As my partner Matt is the son of a beekeeper, I have started to learn a thing or two about these furry little insects and as some of you probably already know, they are the bees knees – excuse the pun but it’s been estimated that the honeybee contributes around £150m annually to the economy and that without them the food chain would collapse.
Although the number of honeybees have fallen drastically in recent years, urban beekeeping is getting very trendy so hopefully us city folk will keep them going… even if does mean a new breed of bees who’ll have blackened lungs and live in fear of being mugged. I hope those Queen bees get streetwise quickly and adopt phrases like ‘girlfriend, you aint stealing my honey’ otherwise there’s no hope for them. In fact, honey is thought to taste better and be more varied in urban areas because the bees have a greater diversity of trees and flowers. Places like Fortnum and Mason have got in on the act and have set up rooftop hives in Piccadilly and Samuel L Jackson bought Scarlett Johansson a beehive for a wedding present. A proper beehive, not a hairdo, that is.

I have to say, I didn’t really get how you’d even begin to go about keeping bees in the city. After all, if you’re lucky enough to have any outside space it’s probably just about big enough to swing a cat, let alone a beehive. But it is doable and help is at hand.

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It’s been 3 months now since I gave up my job in TV to work in Interiors. It’s been a slow [subtitle: major understatement] process, shall we say, finding work but an interesting experiment in how to keep yourself from going bonkers with nothing but your own company for entertainment.

I’ve never had so much time on my hands. Things I’ve done to while away the hours include: making pretty much every recipe in the Hummingbird Bakery book; feeling so close to having a heart attack after eating aforementioned cakes I took a fitness DVD out of its wrapping and actually put it in the DVD player; rearranged my cookery books in height AND colour order; worked out just how little money I now have to play with and de-cluttered the kitchen cupboards…all in my extremely comfortable leisurewear.

This makes for uncomfortable reading. What’s happened to my life? I used to be a hip young dudette about town but lately I seem to have swapped falling out of bars in the early hours for a good read with a homemade cupcake. I’m in danger of becoming a 1950s housewife.

Short of popping ‘mothers little helper’ and slobbing out Waynetta style with the tragedy that is Jeremy Kyle I thought I’d keep myself out of trouble and stir up the creative juices with my very own market stall. I’ve decided to sell vintage teacups potted with pansies and antique saucers with French soap tied up in ribbon.

Inspired by Tim Burton’s brilliant Alice in Wonderland film [see it in 3D, if only for the Ray-Ban style glasses], the stall will be called ‘Mad as a Hatter’. I’m going to dress the table [which in my mind is huge but in reality is the size of Alice after she drank the magic potion] in the style of a Mad Hatter’s tea party. Think antique tablecloths, oversized playing cards and pastel coloured french fancies on vintage cake stands.  I saw this amazing window display for the film at Selfridges recently and feel very inspired.

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