• (which mind you IS A THING - an official guild of sellers of fish and seafood, but I've always called Gill Fisher's clan this way and their company always is worshipful)

I've been first introduced to the peculiar case of Highgate Vampire by Gill's sister Lizzie - aka a depository of the most random trivia and knowledge (must run in the family) - and I shall forever be grateful to her for opening this festering devilish tomb of seventies gothic campness wide open for me.

Whichever (equally bonkers) point of views (there are two major characters in this, with a very opposing take on the case and a mutual grudge and disregard for each other that is a story in itself) you decide to research on; you're in for a (macabre and technicolor - Hammer Horror-like) treat.

Or you might as well get it all summed up beautifully by London Dreamtime storytelling event... majorly chuffed me and Gill keep up our promise to participate in more and more spooky adventures together (I know that night in a cemetery WILL happen at some point, but perhaps let's wait for spring or summer).

Lizzie was meant to come with, but she's pretty much bedridden due to inflamed ligaments, so she passed her ticket onto Jill (not to make it confusing) - a very posh barrista from Cornwall, who marvelled on my English skills and use of words lie 'deteriorating', and I (literally) warmed up to her when she treated us to mulled wine, regardless the fact her partner voted 'leave' in the Brexit referendum.

Later on we headed to the Fishmonger's mansion in Acton (the only place away from home where I get the best night's sleep without mistake every time) for some vodka (oh hang on - the heavy drinking might have something to do with that) and sushi (vegan sushi that I helped to roll and failed massively in doing so) feast, and to help exorcise the non-vegan skin care out of the house.

And yes - with appologies to my flatmates who equally and dearly miss bathtub - I did perform an extensive and a very indulgant bathing ritual.

We did not manage to watch any spooky film (once again), but snuggled on the sofa under the blankets and suspicious fuzzy zebra-coloured vibrating pillows, we talked a lot about silly things and important things, and I'm super happy seven years later (can't believe we were 25 when we met and became friends) we keep this going, and already can't wait to visit again over Christmas.

On Sunday (after some morning coffee with - you guessed it - VODKA), she drove me home through a proper snow catastrophy..
(to be fair just about ANY amount of snow is considered a catastrophy in London - public transport along with your hopes and dreams and will to live without a fail collapses two minutes into the first peaceful snowfall).

Gill was issued an article on 'Christmas on Houseboats', so she needed to visit Camden and, equipped with freshly baked vegan cookies, planned on knocking on people's boats trying to get them invite her in and get interviewed, hoping - given the snow situation plus it being Sunday afternoon - she won't be told

'fuck off and die'.

Driving on A1 we laughed like idiots

(somehow we kept talking in Russian accent this entire weekend ever since I mentioned I'm currently reading a great book based on Russian mythology and folk tales 'The Bear and the Nightingale')

and suddenly it struck me - I am sitting on a driver's seat completely relaxed and not afriad for my life - because somehow quietly in the background, Gill became a decent driver with a surprisingly limited use of curse words!

I literally had to slide and run all the way home from Muswell Hill through the icy slush, swimming inside my cloth summery Vans, immediately warmed myself up with some yoga and later on David's embrace (from BEHIND!!!!).

Carol's got her corn braids on in preparation for a big travel on Thursday, we cooked and smoked and watched Blue Planet, whilst outside the night was white and all of a sudden (FROM INSIDE) magical. I'm starting to feel the Christmas.