Clamping your earlobe in your hair straighteners hurts.
A lot.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
Yummy Sunday
I do think part of my psyche is firmly stuck in the 1950s, when women stayed at home to bake perfectly iced cakes for their clean children, and got up early to waddle about in a housecoat whilst making eggs and bacon and toast and coffee, before falling into bed exhausted. Hmmm. Not quite, but hey I still love a good Sunday afternoon bake off. Yesterday I was hunting through the usual round of blogs, when I happened upon a link to this beauty. Just take a look... go on. Those cakes! Green tea and lavender! Chai spice and chocolate! Vanilla and honey pecan cream! Lush. My feable attempt at a Chocolate peppermint cupcake is above. They tasted extremely yummy.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Ciao Bella
On an almost-deserted weekday street between Russell Square and Holborn, there's an old-fashioned English-as-they-come pub called The Lamb. The bar is encased in a complex carved wood and glass structure with flaps like windows that spin around so you can see the barperson. It's ace, a real 'find', somewhere to take wide-eyed American visitors to drink warm ale and choke in the cigar smoke, (until July anyway). Just next door the pavement is flanked with tiny outdoor tables with blue cloths. A white-haired man eats a plate of parma ham, he's holding a wide glass of Chianti in his liver-spotted hand. A tall girl with a Russian hat and extremely long legs kisses a guy in a trilby as they fall, laughing, through the door. A fat family with two shiny-faced children sit in a circle devouring garlic bread and olives. This is Ciao Bella, probably the best Italian restaurant in England. I'm not a hugely sentimental person, but this place gives me a warm feeling, somewhere under my chest, and for a moment, I can pretend I'm on holiday in Italy... the waiters are from my parents' generation, they're professionals, nothing is too much trouble, limoncello is cold and sharp in my throat. I'll take you there one day, and you'll feel what I'm saying.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
My mac is back
After a tense week without my beloved white macbook, it has finally returned to me from the nice man at the Apple store. Turns out they had to replace four parts and the battery, but everything's a-ok now. They've also replaced all the top-casing and the keyboard due to discoloration. It looks amazing! So soft and white, and there are no crumbs in the keys. Ha. I really missed it, I mean it kinda made me worry that I'm a little too attached to a slab of white plastic. A PC just doesn't do it for me anymore. Welcome back little one!
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
A monkey and a cat
Cecil was no ordinary monkey. He thought it best to explain this to strangers when he first met them.
"Can't you dance, or sing, or bang a drum?" they would ask.
He would shake his head resolvedly and try not to notic e the look of disappointment in their pudgey faces. Some days he wanted to be ordinary. He wished he had nothing better to do than jump and skip and hop, like the other monkeys in New York. But even if he tried, they would laugh at his stripey dungarees and point at his short tail. No. Cecil was an intellectual monkey, whilst his cousins ate bananas and stole chips from daytrippers to the park, he read Focault in the library.
Mr Jeffrey was Cecil's only friend. Friends are important, but Mr Jeffrey was especially important because he was Cecil's only friend in the whole city.
"I wish I was a monkey so I could read Foucault like you" Mr Jeffrey said. But he was only a cat, and everyone knew that cats couldn't read Foucault.
"Hello magazine is much more interesting" Cecil said encouragingly. But Mr Jeffrey never believed him.
One day they were walking together through Central Park and Cecil was trying to explain Queer Theory for the four-thousandth time, but Mr Jeffrey didn't get it, again.
"Ok," he said, trying to think of another analogy that didn't involved slavery or Jewishness or the nature of red hair, all of which are like Greek to a cat with white fur who can talk.
"Imagine I'm a monkey. But I'm no ordinary monkey."
"Which you're not..."
"Yes, exactly. Now imagine you're a cat."
"Which I am..."
"Exactly. Imagine we get together and you learn to read Foucault in the library and I read Hello instead."
"Yes. I'd like that."
"Well, Mr Jeffery," he said, with a smug twinkle in his eye.
"That is Queer Theory."
Mr Jeffrey beamed. "Take me for sushi to celebrate! You know how much I love fish."
"Ok. Cool, we'll put it on my Amex."
Cecil was no ordinary monkey.
"Can't you dance, or sing, or bang a drum?" they would ask.
He would shake his head resolvedly and try not to notic e the look of disappointment in their pudgey faces. Some days he wanted to be ordinary. He wished he had nothing better to do than jump and skip and hop, like the other monkeys in New York. But even if he tried, they would laugh at his stripey dungarees and point at his short tail. No. Cecil was an intellectual monkey, whilst his cousins ate bananas and stole chips from daytrippers to the park, he read Focault in the library.
Mr Jeffrey was Cecil's only friend. Friends are important, but Mr Jeffrey was especially important because he was Cecil's only friend in the whole city.
"I wish I was a monkey so I could read Foucault like you" Mr Jeffrey said. But he was only a cat, and everyone knew that cats couldn't read Foucault.
"Hello magazine is much more interesting" Cecil said encouragingly. But Mr Jeffrey never believed him.
One day they were walking together through Central Park and Cecil was trying to explain Queer Theory for the four-thousandth time, but Mr Jeffrey didn't get it, again.
"Ok," he said, trying to think of another analogy that didn't involved slavery or Jewishness or the nature of red hair, all of which are like Greek to a cat with white fur who can talk.
"Imagine I'm a monkey. But I'm no ordinary monkey."
"Which you're not..."
"Yes, exactly. Now imagine you're a cat."
"Which I am..."
"Exactly. Imagine we get together and you learn to read Foucault in the library and I read Hello instead."
"Yes. I'd like that."
"Well, Mr Jeffery," he said, with a smug twinkle in his eye.
"That is Queer Theory."
Mr Jeffrey beamed. "Take me for sushi to celebrate! You know how much I love fish."
"Ok. Cool, we'll put it on my Amex."
Cecil was no ordinary monkey.
For John, with love
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Mango tea, and darkness
We drank mango tea
In almost-darkness
Your face an illusion
Conjured away by lack
Of light.
Outside: chaos
Snowflakes, bodies rushing
In from icy-cold-ness.
We hide in your sanctuary
Smiling. Safe.
Few naked words
Float on air
And sink to be pondered.
We feel fine, or do we?
A cat and a monkey.
A love and yours truly.
In almost-darkness
Your face an illusion
Conjured away by lack
Of light.
Outside: chaos
Snowflakes, bodies rushing
In from icy-cold-ness.
We hide in your sanctuary
Smiling. Safe.
Few naked words
Float on air
And sink to be pondered.
We feel fine, or do we?
A cat and a monkey.
A love and yours truly.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Grateful Friday
Well peeps on this glorious Friday in March, I'm grateful for:
1. Lush weather: everything seems beautifully simple and real in the sunshine. It's been gorgeous ALL week and I've been enjoying cycling in a slow breeze.
2. The maintenance guys at work: who kindly pointed out that there was like no air at all in my bike tyres, and instead of just laughing at an inept girl, one of them ran off to get a pump and rectified the problem there and then! What good service, and I didn't even have to flirt like I usually do at 'Mend a Bike' in Fulham.
3. Canapes: generally underated small snacks. If they're done well, as they were last night at a book launch in the city they are just yummy. Think warm mozarella and fig wrapped in parma ham and drenched in lemon juice... lush.
4. My ridiculously overpriveleged life: this week I managed to go to Paris for the day, attend a private view of the Renoir landscapes at the National Gallery, eat aforementioned canapes and free wine at a book launch (at which I shook hands with a famous politician). I woke up this morning and realised that perhaps this is what it feels like to be grown up at last.
5. Gertrude Stein: she's one of my heroines, seriously, even though she's well and truly dead as a dodo I love love love reading her candid and affectionate portraits of the modernist art scene in Paris. The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas is a beautiful autobiography of her own life as an American in Paris in the 1920s. Friends with Mattisse, Picasso, Renoir, Braque and countless others, she brings to life a Paris that belongs in books.
1. Lush weather: everything seems beautifully simple and real in the sunshine. It's been gorgeous ALL week and I've been enjoying cycling in a slow breeze.
2. The maintenance guys at work: who kindly pointed out that there was like no air at all in my bike tyres, and instead of just laughing at an inept girl, one of them ran off to get a pump and rectified the problem there and then! What good service, and I didn't even have to flirt like I usually do at 'Mend a Bike' in Fulham.
3. Canapes: generally underated small snacks. If they're done well, as they were last night at a book launch in the city they are just yummy. Think warm mozarella and fig wrapped in parma ham and drenched in lemon juice... lush.
4. My ridiculously overpriveleged life: this week I managed to go to Paris for the day, attend a private view of the Renoir landscapes at the National Gallery, eat aforementioned canapes and free wine at a book launch (at which I shook hands with a famous politician). I woke up this morning and realised that perhaps this is what it feels like to be grown up at last.
5. Gertrude Stein: she's one of my heroines, seriously, even though she's well and truly dead as a dodo I love love love reading her candid and affectionate portraits of the modernist art scene in Paris. The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas is a beautiful autobiography of her own life as an American in Paris in the 1920s. Friends with Mattisse, Picasso, Renoir, Braque and countless others, she brings to life a Paris that belongs in books.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Monday, March 12, 2007
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Cecil
Some of you asked to see him... here he is. I'll post some more pix when the light is better for photos... winter evenings aren't the best.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Geography
"The world must have got smaller for you Jules."
A friend said that to me when I got back from Asia last summer. I nodded and agreed with every ounce of my being. Despite the carbon footprint, you can get pretty far in a day above the clouds. Distance had become my friend, I'd overcome it if you like... with a bit of will, some money and a passport people seem closer, places aren't so exotic any more.
Recently that view has changed a little. People are still far away... time zones are man's foe. It's all very well having friends around the world, but the ache for them is stronger when I realise they're asleep when they enter my thoughts. They start their days when I'm bidding adieu to their yesterday. They eat dinner as my stomach rumbles for lunch. At four o'clock the light outside the window beckons me, not them, they're well in the dark. Sigh.
For all our advances in technology, high-speed air travel, free skype calls, we're still far away. I can't share the pensive hours before bed with you, for time is our enemy, friendship clipped short.
A friend said that to me when I got back from Asia last summer. I nodded and agreed with every ounce of my being. Despite the carbon footprint, you can get pretty far in a day above the clouds. Distance had become my friend, I'd overcome it if you like... with a bit of will, some money and a passport people seem closer, places aren't so exotic any more.
Recently that view has changed a little. People are still far away... time zones are man's foe. It's all very well having friends around the world, but the ache for them is stronger when I realise they're asleep when they enter my thoughts. They start their days when I'm bidding adieu to their yesterday. They eat dinner as my stomach rumbles for lunch. At four o'clock the light outside the window beckons me, not them, they're well in the dark. Sigh.
For all our advances in technology, high-speed air travel, free skype calls, we're still far away. I can't share the pensive hours before bed with you, for time is our enemy, friendship clipped short.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
WIP
The aforementioned hare... she's coming along, floppy ears and everything.*
* Yes I have developed rather an obsession with sewing. My fads tend to last though, so watch this space for more handmade goodies.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Beauty from the land of the rising sun
I recently discovered the most gorgeous Japanese fabric supplier.... there's something unique and unassuming about small Japanese prints that really appeals. Just imagine my glee when these arrived today in the mail... all wrapped up and squeeling to be made into something lovely...
I'm thinking of a few rabbits... or perhaps a hare. Any ideas for names? Agnes is my current favourite, after a Great Aunt, though she's still very much alive and kicking, so maybe Mabel?
I'm thinking of a few rabbits... or perhaps a hare. Any ideas for names? Agnes is my current favourite, after a Great Aunt, though she's still very much alive and kicking, so maybe Mabel?
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