being jules

Resurrection

2010-04-25T22:18:00.000+01:00

Sometimes I have to die a little
In order to allow the gentle turning
Of the earth spin me around 'til
The darkness subsides and light
Dawns - Look, here it comes on the edge
Of the world - Wait, don't rush
It has a life of its own, and that's
How I missed it before, remember?

Grateful Friday

2009-02-06T19:11:00.002Z

It really is winter in London. This week saw the worst snow for two decades, transport chaos, wartime camaraderie and even igloos being built in London parks. The snow is almost gone, a few slushy piles of ice are all that remain, and I am grateful for:

1. The excitement of awaking to a snow-covered street outside, and the gentle trudge in wellies through fresh, powdery snow on Monday.

2. Cycling over sheets of ice covering the road that break and splinter as my tyres move over it.

3. Eating winter food. Pies and roast chicken and soup and wedges of cheese. Yum.

Grateful Friday

2009-01-30T16:25:00.002Z

I haven't posted for a while. Sometimes life gets busy; sometimes I have little to say. Both are true this week, but I am still grateful for:

1. Pu'erh tea recommended by a friend and quite possibly a new favourite. Pu'erh is fermented tea that improves with age. I'm currently drinking organic five-year-old pu'erh from China (obviously!) and it's delicious. It makes a reddish liquid and tastes a bit smoky.

2. A morning cycling through West London tomorrow. I have promised myself a good two hours in a bookshop, long overdue, and I can't wait.

3. A good start to 2009. The end of 2008 was a little rocky and best forgotten. Fingers crossed, apart from one trip to A&E (not for me I hasten to add), the start to this year has been calm and full of quiet reflection.

4. Finding Happiness by Abbot Christopher Jamison. I would never usually pick up a book with such a title, believer as I am in the subjective nature of happiness. But, that's what this book is about, using the monastic traditions to explore the true nature of happiness - in the internal world, rather than looking to external circumstances to dictate contentment. It's one to savour and digest, rather than devour.

5. Dinner tomorrow evening with ten lovely people. I can't wait.

Liberty Covered Moleskine Diary

2009-01-03T17:34:00.004Z

I love my Moleskine diaries - they're just the right size. This year I was fed up of black though, and decided to cover my new one with Liberty fabric. This is an old Tana Lawn fabric that I really love. It was easy enough to do with textile glue, and I left it overnight between two books to make sure it had stuck properly.

Excuse the blurry photos - I hope you like it as much as I do.

To see what other (far more creative people than I) have done with their moleskines, click here.

Grateful Friday

2009-01-02T15:34:00.002Z

The first Grateful Friday of 2009! It's toasty warm, if horrendously dusty (building work) in my flat, so I have no idea of the weather outside... it looks cold though, cold enough to stay indoors and be grateful for:

1. The start of 2009 - for the first time in my life I was actually relieved that a year was over. Instead of being glad about the end of one year, I'm going to be pleasantly anticipating this new one. Here's to a better 2009!

2. A surprise trip this weekend - to visit a friend whom I haven't seen for too long. It's her birthday and I'm going to make her a Santiago Lemon Torte, lush!

3. A whole wheel of cheese! Two extremely kind friends donated half of their Stilton to my NYE dinner party. Three days and a lot of digging and eating later, it still looks the same size as it did when I opened it... It's about as big as a dinner plate and about four inches tall, that's a lot of cheese. I don't even like Stilton, it's too rich for me, but this one is organic and creamy and rich and tangy. I love it, especially with a glass of Port.

4. The satisfaction I know will be mine when I finally finish my tax return... I hate these things. Why oh why can't I start it earlier and avoid the nightmares?

5. Cycling 2009 - I'm going to cycle lots this year, even if it's cold, I have neglected Mabel of late and she is sad and pathetic chained outside to a railing, I promise to get her out more this year.

2009 - The Simple Life

2008-12-31T12:45:00.003Z

I don't know about you, but simplicity is not something that I manage to experience very often in the way I live my life. I came across this poster from Ready Made and it made me think. The dynamo lights on the bike in the drawing are almost the same as those on my Dutch bike. They never need batteries and I am always able to cycle home in the dark, even if I have forgotten my LED lights. Maybe living simply is about removing the need to remember so many things, like bike lights, and just getting on with living. If there were more room in my head for the importan things in life, perhaps I would be happier. I'll give it a go and let you know how I get on.

Christmas

2008-12-29T13:27:00.004Z

Christmas came and went this year in a frenzied blur. I was out of the country until mid-December and didn't feel remotely Christmasy at all, even after mulled wine and minced pies the last week in December. The lack of Christmas cheer made me feel sad, I used to love Christmas - the magical promise of life in twinkly lights against the darkness. Maybe next year will be different. It's hard to feel Christmasy walking along the top of the Andes in 18 degree sunshine in December, or while filling in a tax return at the kitchen table, or while the house is full of builders' dust and the Christmas tree is coating in a fine grey powder and the lights are only half visible. Next year there will be baking and trees and cinnamon muffins and presents and lights, lots of lights, and I will try to stop to take it all in.

Red onion & goats' cheese tart

2008-12-27T19:33:00.001Z

This is really easy and totally yummy... if your hands are cold enough to make pastry, then go for it, but if you can't be bothered to get flour everywhere then jus-rol is good enough I think!

1 roll puff pastry
3 large red onions, sliced
3 tbsps good balsamic vinegar
3 tbsps extra virgin olive oil
big knob of butter
150g soft goats cheese
1 egg, beaten with a dollop of cream
Two springs of fresh rosemary (optional)

Put the vinegar, oil, butter and onions into a thick-bottomed frying pan and leave on a low heat for half an hour. Stir every so often. The onions should caramalise and look a bit sticky... don't worry if some have a tinge of black around the edges. While they are cooking, prepare the pastry...

Roll out the pastry and then score a border around the edge about an inch from each side. Then prick the rest of it with a fork and bake at 200C for 10 minutes. Take it out and act all surprised that it has swelled up like a balloon and hit the top of the oven (optional). Bash down the pastry in the middle gently with a fish slice. Brush the edges with the egg/cream mixture and then put the rest in the middle of the pastry square.

When the onions are ready put them into the centre of the tart and spread over evenly. Then break up the goats' cheese and dollop it all over. If you are using the rosemary break it up and sprinkle on top of the tart before seasoning with salt and pepper and baking in the oven at the same temperature for another 25 minutes or so.

It's great as a starter with some mild leaves and a basic dressing.

I did actually get around to making one of these over Christmas, but the photos didn't come out, so you'll have to take my word for it that it looks and tastes delicious.

An attempt to not be like the town mouse

2008-12-23T13:49:00.003Z

When I was a child one of my favourite books was The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse, which is based on one of Aesop's Fables. In the story the two mice are cousins and they go to visit each other in the town and country respectively. Each struggles to understand the way the other lives his life - the town mouse turns up his nose at the country mouse's simple food, and the country mouse is scared to be in a big house with the 'music' of barking dogs accompanying quince jelly at dinner. My childhood version of the story ends with the mice resolving their difficulties, understanding each other and living happily ever after, but Aesop's is (unsurprisingly) less cheery - the country mouse runs out of his cousin's town house shouting, 'Better beans and bacon in peace than cakes and ale in fear', and that is the end of that.

As I arrived at a cold, damp station platform today I could see mist blowing through the darkness alongside the train. The night sky was so much darker than I remembered, there is dark in the city and dark in the country, and they are so different as to be almost unrelated. As we sped through windy lanes towards my parents' house the trees stood black against the pink-black sky, and I thought I had come to the end of the earth. I'm a city girl and the country always shocks me at first. A pine cone splutters to light in the fireplace and the fusty smell of woodsmoke engulfs the air around us, I reach for a glass of port and try to relax, I'm not doing a good job of it so far, but unlike the country mouse I hope to settle in and not run out in fear, shouting 'Get me to the city!' I can try anyway.

The Modern Restaurant, New York - A Lesson In Perspective

2008-12-21T15:45:00.001Z

On a trip to NYC earlier this month we were lucky enough to have dinner at The Modern, one of the restaurants at the Museum of Modern Art. Everything about it basks in glorious modern design, jst as the museum does, without being overdone. The chef, Gabriel Kreuther, is 'Alsatian-born' (I didn't realise one could be), and the food is 'French-American', which makes sense of the carbonara with escargots... I loved everything about it, we ate the Bar Room, the informal side of the restaurant with square leather seating and precariously small tables on which to balance crisp Sauvignon Blanc.

Inspired by the Bauhaus movement, the building design is elegant enough to raise an eyebrow, yet understated as not to overpower. It took a good half an hour for me to notice that the ceiling in each side of the restaurant was a different height. Not only that, but the furnishings were perfectly in scale to the height of the ceiling in each room - higher chair backs, tables and tablewear in the taller restaurant side. The Bauhaus was a serious influence, a lesson in perspective over wine and escargot was a welcome break from the frenzied, freezing streets outside.

Sometimes

2008-12-02T23:06:00.001Z

Sometimes I wonder if I'm strong enough; if I have enough faith, will, truth, love to do the things that I believe in. To get on a plane to Asia and never come back. To make my home in a land of tones, where words are sounds and incomprehension reigns. I wonder if I'd make it. If my heart would bear the excitement; my eyes the standing out, my ears the strange sounds... Yet I am not at home here, now. This city, this ordinariness, bacon and eggs and toast and coffee on a crisp winter morning, the loneliness. Sometimes I wonder...

Grateful Friday

2008-11-28T18:53:00.002Z

The air is thick with drizzle, sparkling as the street light catches the drops as they meander to the ground. A damp hat sits next to me as I type, and I'm glad to be indoors on this rainy Friday in November. I've lost my voice and a rasping sound leaves my chest very few minutes or so, but nonetheless, I'm grateful for:

1. Friends - brunch this Sunday with four of my best girl friends... I'm thinking Mexican, but I'm not sure if they're up for lime and coriander at that time in the morning... could be fun.

2. The Christmas lights at Sloane Square - tasteful and joyous on a cold day. I almost felt Christmasy for five minutes as I walked towards the Royal Court.

3. A new bathroom - in progress... it may be a dream but I live for the day that it appears, all shiny and gleaming and warm, one morning soon-ish.

4. Hope - This life is a mystery to me... the older I get the more confusion I feel, my sight failing as I blunder my way through the ether. I see so much sadness, so much struggle, some my own, some that of dear friends, and we have no answers apart from hope in the one who knows all things. In the words of Julian of Norwich, "All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

Grateful Friday

2008-10-31T20:25:00.002Z

Winter seems to be here. The cold hasn't crept in unnoticed as usual, but turned up unexpected one wintery day. I don't mind and quite enjoyed digging out thermals, scarf, hat and legwarmers in one day... my hands were cold on the cycle yesterday morning so I'd better hunt for some gloves soon too. So, on this blistery Friday I am grateful for:

1. Autumn fashion - layering is made for me! I adore nothing more than leaving the house in six layers all wrapped up like origami away from the biting wind. And I get to wear legwarmers all the time, what more could a girl want?

2. Potato and bacon gratin - real comfort food. I made up a recipe and cooked this for H and I this week, it was delicious!

3. A surprise day tomorrow - I don't know where I'm going but I know I'll be too excited to sleep tonight :-)

4. Remembering what matters in life, and forgetting the rest. Chaos has visited me too many times to count over the last month. And while there have been times of sadness, of fear, of truth, of loneliness, of despair and of helplessness, there have also been flickers of love and joy and reality and truth and openness - gorgeously beautiful moments with those whom I am honoured to share this life with. You know who you are, and this week it's you whom I'm most grateful for, a thousand thank yous.

What unites us

2008-10-20T20:35:00.001+01:00

We are all human, a fact I rarely ponder or reflect upon. Within our humanity the world is divided into a plethora of sub-groups, we gravitate to our own kind, to those we feel a sense of affinity with... those who 'get' us in some way. Yet I wonder if we would be richer if we stepped outside ourselves for a while and looked at the 'other' a little more. I am middle-class, I live in a 'nice' neighbourhood. People pick up litter, children play outside and I feel safe walking home at midnight from the tube... yet this week I found myself witness to an attack on a man outside my house who wasn't like me. He didn't look like anyone I would hang around with, or even speak to, yet he allowed me to put my arm around him and looked me in the eye as blood fell in sheets down his face and splashed onto the tarmac. I wished him well as the ambulance took him away and wondered why I had found him, and not someone else, someone stronger, someone who would have known what to do. I wonder at the dispirate nature of life, how divided we are from those outside our front doors and how diferent my life is from the man I found that night. I am troubled by the memories. His eye with the gash, his mumbling, the way his glasses were contorted and twisted on top of the car bonnet where he banged his head. I try to forget, but the images come back to me on the waves of sleep, and I wake up sweating.

Two days later I am in A&E with another attack of an illness I'm fighting. My face is hot and shiny, the room warm and my throat dry. I lie in pain waiting for someone to come, while the canula in my arm drips blood onto the stiff sheets. Half-naked and alone I am helpless. I cannot leave, bound as I am with needles to this room of sickness. As another red spot of blood bulges through the pink plastic tap on my wrist, I am reminded of the man on the road and the gash in his eye, of the blood that poured from his face, and of the way we are united by our humanity. We may not look the same, sound the same, think the same, but undeneath we are blood... and that is never going to change.

The weeping willow

2008-10-18T22:03:00.000+01:00

The willow weeps openly for all to see.
The branches hide not shame, nor guilt,
Nor sadness, nor lack of love,
Nor difficultly, nor indifference...
They weep openly for all to see,
And if you care to look closely
The tears are falling, falling,
Falling, for you.

Grateful Friday

2008-09-12T23:14:00.002+01:00

The autumnal weather is bright and cheerful. The nights are drawing in, but instead of feeling forlorn there's a resigned acceptance. A thought of Christmas and winter evenings curled up with a friend and a glass of wine. So, on this autumnal Friday in September I am grateful for:

1. Our party this Saturday. The first one with H as an official resident, and therefore, host. We'll be making our W14-famous canapes and cocktails. Hope you can come!

2. My bike - the cycling weather is (dare I say it) perfect. A cool breeze, a slight nip in the air and not much rain. Long may it continue.

3. Cinnamon porridge with sultanas and brown sugar, made with soy milk. It keeps me going til after lunchtime.

4. The return of my social life. I was purposely 'not around' much in August, choosing instead to fill up my introvert's energy quietly at home. September is still a new term for me, though I left formal education years ago. I still feel the need for new shoes and a pencil case.

Have a gorgeous weekend everyone.

Raspberry Jam

2008-09-06T13:26:00.004+01:00

We finally got round to making the raspberry jam I alluded to earlier. The raspberries have been ready for weeks and time was ticking on! I have to say I really enjoyed this foray into preserving this time. I have been known to get stressed about all kinds of jam-related things, such as if it's really set or not, but the jam thermometer and previous experience is making it all a much happier activity.

The morning started with a trip to the market for 4kg of berries. That's quite a lot... especially when you have to carry them home on a bicycle with 4kg of sugar as well. We managed and they got back in one piece. Then the fun began!

22 jars of ruby-red properly set jam goodness. Yum.

Grateful Friday

2008-09-05T18:08:00.001+01:00

On this rainy day, the first Friday in September, I am glad to be grateful for:

1. The gocco postcard swap I'm taking part in next month. Thanks to Lisa for organising! I just have to think of an idea for my card.

2. The Sunday Cycle Picnic (scroll down for more info) this Sunday at London Fields. We have been getting ready this week and I'm praying the weather stays dry... Please come along, you'll be most welcome.

3. Listening to Rosie Thomas this week. I love all her music, especially her album 'When we were small'. It's quiet and dreamy and blends extremely well with the pitter patter of rain on the window.

4. Homemade raspberry jam on toast.... ooooo it's the best jam I've ever tasted!

5. Visits from old friends from Asia this week. We met up last night and ate kao ya (roast duck) at Four Seasons in Bayswater. It still makes me laugh that they come all the way to London and want to eat Chinese food, but it was a good chance for me to eat some real Chinese for a change.

Have a fabulous weekend!

The Sunday Cycle Picnic: Please Come!

2008-08-30T18:43:00.003+01:00

I will be at The Sunday Cycle Picnic next week at London Fields with these lovely ladies. Please stop by if you can for fun, games, cakes, jam, cycling accessories and the chance to win a Bobbin Playbike... Hope to see you then!

Bobbin Bicycles, Cyclechic.co.uk and Sawako Furuno invite you to an afternoon of fun, frolics and bicycles!

Put on your Sunday Best, pack yourself a picnic and come on down to London Fields for the very first Sunday Cycle Picnic.
The Magnificent Revolution's pedal-powered cinema tent will play host to Ray Pascoe's beautiful vintage cycling films,
alongside contemporary shorts. There will also be garden games, stalls and prizes for stylish bikes and their riders.

So saddle up and we'll see you there!

What you need to bring:
Your bike and a lock (secure cycle parking provided)
A picnic
Your friends

For one special lady a Red Bobbin Playbike is up for grabs. Just turn up on the day in a fetching outfit and sit on the bike for
your chance to cycle it away into sunset. For style inspiration visit bobbinbicycles.co.uk. May the best outfit win!

The Sunday Cycle Picnic, Sunday 7th Sept, 12-5pm
London Fields, Hackney

Grateful Friday

2008-08-29T10:42:00.003+01:00

It's a dull, humid late-August day, the last of the summer creeping away gently as the promise of Autumn blows in on a cool breeze. The lilies on the kitchen table where I'm typing give off a fierce perfume which would be enjoyable were it not competing with the paint stripper fumes from the hallway. So, this Friday I am grateful for:

1. Perfect cycling weather - cool enough to not get too sweaty and warm enough to cycle in a t-shirt. There's a slight breeze and I've been loving ambling along slowly on my bike this week.

2. Dinner at Buono Sera last night - with my lovely sis. I had a tagliatelle dish with spinach, lamb and pecorino cheese, just perfect.

3. More gocco experiments - including some cards for two dear friends. I was nervous, the gold ink went everywhere, but they loved them!

4. My nespresso coffee machine - it's had a lot of use of late and I'm loving it.

5. The updated flat - our flat has had a wee makeover - new chairs in the sitting room, new paint in the hallway, a bit of a clear out and new carpet to come. Lush.

Whatever you are up to enjoy the late-summer weekend!

- The Nectarine -

2008-08-27T19:03:00.003+01:00

At breakfast we slice a second nectarine
Because you are here.
The flesh is soft and you are
Surprised how red and textured
The sweet fruit is on your plate.
We eat crumpets, washed down with tea
And talk about the day ahead.
Work, email, supper and a show later...
Nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary
Except for the red flesh of the
Extra nectarine at breakfast.

Gocco At Last (Part 1)

2008-08-17T10:53:00.000+01:00

Yesterday was Gocco Day! I've been waiting for a free afternoon to try out my new Gocco (a small screenprinting device from Japan that I bought a few weeks ago), and yesterday was the day. Here it is:

First of all I needed to choose an image to print. I have heaps of ideas but wasn't really sure where to start. After much deliberation I decided to print a small image of a Japanese temple/pagoda and write 'Ni Hao', or 'Hello' in Chinese next to it. The gocco works by exposing the carbon on your image onto a screen, so I wandered down to a local shop where I paid the grand total of 14p to photocopy my images! This bit was cheap, just as well as the rest of the process uses screens and bulbs that are quite hard to come by in the UK and cost quite a bit.

So, here's the image I chose, it's sitting on the grey pad on the bottom of the gocco:

The next part is to put a screen and a blue filter into the top part of the machine, press it down and check that the image can be seen, like this:

Next is the exciting bit - exposing the screen. You have to use two single-use bulbs (like the old camera flash bulbs), that are screwed into a flash unit that sits on top of the blue filter you see above.

I'm gutted I didn't get a picture of the flashing part, but it's quite dramatic, a big flash filled the room and there was the unmistakable smell of burning...

Next I peeled back the cellophane on the screen and applied the special gocco ink to the screen. I choose silver for the temple, red for the sun and black for the writing.

The next part was the printing... I was kind of nervous at this point!

Gocco At Last (Part 2)

2008-08-17T09:08:00.000+01:00

You can see the screen which has been put back into the top of the gocco.

All you need to do to print, is place your card or paper on to the grey pad (which is slightly sticky) and press down.

I really thought it wouldn't work, but imagine my surprise when this happened!

Isn't it amazing! I was so pleased. I kept on printing until I ran out of paper. I knew that you could print a lot from one screen, but I really wasn't expecting to be able to do so many prints.

I made about 70 notecards to send to friends.

Here's a close-up. I like the texture of the red sun and the clarity of the black on the Chinese characters.

So, it's official. I love gocco! Can't wait to print some different screens soon. Watch this space!

Grateful Friday

2008-08-08T16:38:00.001+01:00

On this blustery, humid August day I am grateful for:

1. Getting out of the city this weekend. It's my dad's 60th birthday and I'm taking a little trip back home to share the birthday love. I hope the sun shines!

2. Finding the Flickr Gocco group - I am addicted! There is so much inspiration, I am overwhelmed with excitement and can't wait for my Gocco to arrive.

3. Spending yesterday in Hyde Park with this amazing photographer. We were doing a photo shoot for the project I alluded to recently - I still can't talk about it and it's almost killing me! Let's just say we had a ball yesterday and I can't wait to show you the results.

4. Paper packages tied up with string - I came home today to find the lovely H had made me this beautiful necklace. I shall be wearing it a lot, I can tell you.

Have a wonderful weekend!

Marimekko Purse with Zip

2008-08-06T22:41:00.002+01:00

I had a piece of lovely blue Marimekko fabric left over from another project, and Sian from Bobbin suggested I could make it into a purse. It only took about ten minutes and I was really pleased with the result. I like how the pattern fits onto the sides. I've got my make-up in it!

Two Things That Made Me Happy This Week

2008-08-04T17:24:00.000+01:00

1. Getting a personally signed copy of James Frey's new book Bright Shiny Morning.

I don't care that he thought I was called 'July', it's kinda cute and shows he has enough literary imagination to think I could have been called such a fun name! He even wrote the sweetest inscription (considering he doesn't know me from Eve):

I am so looking forward to reading it. I loved his other two books and the debate over their truth is kinda boring now, so I'm pleased to get his new book in time for a good read on the train home this weekend.

2. My lovely Japanese bag book arriving from this shop on Etsy.

The bag patterns are gorgeous and surprisingly easy to follow even though the instructions are in Japanese. I hope to post some bags made from these patterns soon!

Chinatown

2008-08-02T13:31:00.003+01:00

One morning this week, I found myself walking through Chinatown to the tube, when I became aware of a gross smell - it was vaguely familiar, and after a few minutes I tracked down the source:

Durians! The durian is known as the 'King of Fruit' and it's eaten a lot in Singapore and Malaysia. I couldn't stomach it myself, but some locals love it. Needless to say, the bad smell had me retreating hastily into a nearby shop, where I somehow managed to leave with all this:

And the best part was char sui bao for dinner!

Love in a Gocco Shaped Box

2008-07-31T10:54:00.005+01:00

I've been trying to up the creative stakes of late... Though the list of sewing is getting longer and longer (for a little project I'll talk about soon), I have a million ideas of new things to make and just wish there were more hours in the day.

I've been doing some research and I found out about a Japanese screen-printing machine called a Gocco. Imagine my excitement when I realised what can be done with this little machine!

Image (c) Chris Keegan, found via Flickr. For more of Chris' work see here.

This little video * gives you an idea of the process involved, it's old-fashioned and quirky, but that's part of the appeal.

At the same time as I was thinking about a Gocco, I read on a friend's blog that she had just bought one. She printed some gorgeous cards and I quickly emailed to share my excitement. To cut a long story short she then helped me buy a second hand Gocco on Etsy (the US crafters site) and I actually did a victory lap of the sitting room with excitement! I just can't wait to get my little mitts on it :-) I promise to post my first attempt, failure or success for you to see.

*The video link should now be working - thanks to Suzanne for pointing out that the link didn't work.

Cycling at what price?

2008-07-30T13:23:00.004+01:00

I would never define myself as a protester or as being 'anti' anything. I'd much rather be 'pro' something and make an opinion in a positive and gracious way. That's part of the reason why I love Critical Mass, a monthly group cycle ride through London that meets on the South Bank. There's no agenda, just a group out to raise the profile of cycling in the city by doing it together one Friday evening.

In my experience (and I know things haven't always been like this in the past) the atmosphere is always fun, friendly and relaxed. Before the ride cyclists of all ages and types gather to chat, ring their bells and admire other riders' bikes and accessories. You're just as likely to see a fifty-year-old lady with a basket full of flowers on her Pashley, as a trendy group of couriers on their fixies. It's great fun and from what I have seen, the cyclists are not there to make trouble.

I was really sad to read of what happen in New York recently. The equivalent of Critical Mass is called Times Up! At their ride last week, a policeman deliberately ran into a cyclist, pushed him to the ground and then arrested him for assault. A tourist captured the event on video from the curbside, and the police officer has now been stripped of his badge. (For more info see here and here). See the video here.

Clasp Purse

2008-07-28T12:03:00.001+01:00

I made my first ever clasp purse this week, and I'm pretty pleased with the result. The polka dots are gorgeous and it's lined in an Indian gold and cream polka dot fabric (bought when I was in Calcutta a few years back).

I'm going to experiment with different sizes and fabrics, and I'm not sure the gold clasp works too well (the shop was out of silver).

The Isle of Wight

2008-07-26T18:31:00.000+01:00

A little trip this past weekend was very much appreciated. I'd never been before and was amazed how gorgeous it is. The weather was lush, 30C on the last day with bright sunshine!

Vintage Notions

2008-07-24T18:04:00.004+01:00

I love the term 'notions'. I don't think it's used very much nowadays, probably something my grandma would refer to. Us modern folk talk of 'haberdashery' instead, but it's more clinical and less like Alice's rabbit-hole than a real notions shop.

A little trip to the Isle of Wight uncovered an old-fashioned notions shop in Ryde. There was no sign outside, and every nook and cranny, including the floor, was full to bursting with ribbons, buttons, elastic, thread of every colour, lace, wool, beads, feathers, braiding, ric rac, velcro, cotton... in other words, my dream come true.

Fortunately I was with two other ribbon fanciers, who didn't have to get bored waiting outside whilst I repeatedly told myself to calm down and buy less.

Here are some of the glorious notions I left with:

Check out the pom poms!

These are my favourites - embroidered ribbons from the 1960s (the shopkeeper told me he's had these since he first opened the shop!)

I love the farmer chasing the chicken with his fork. I hope to make something lovely using each of the designs and will post the results for you to see.

Mamma Mia

2008-07-22T18:14:00.000+01:00

Mamma Mia the movie is out this week, and I have to say it's the worst film I've ever seen. I watched it in a cinema chock-full of oestrogen and from the slightly confused faces all around me I can deduce that most of the other women didn't enjoy it either. I really wished I'd brought a manuscript to read so that I could have got two hours work done instead of listening to Pierce Brosnan's attempt at singing. He tried. But he still can't sing. Maybe that wasn't the point though...

Anyway, the redeeming factor was that it was a fabric lover's delight. The film is set in a run-down rustic hotel on a Greek island, and everywhere you looked there was gorgeous fabric. At one point the fabric hanging on the washing line was Josef Frank*! I excitedly whispered this to the friend on my right, but sadly she didn't share my excitement.

Here's one of his designs 'Green Birds':

I'd like to say it was worth it for this alone. But I'd be lying.

* Swedish fabric designer of a similar era to Marimekko. His fabrics sell at £99 a metre in Liberty of London, but I can dream.

Preserving on its way...

2008-07-18T18:00:00.000+01:00

Coming soon:

- Plum jam (including pix and a 'how-t0' guide)
- Raspberry conserve (which will be softer than regular jam with a more intense flavour).

Since H has moved in, we've upped the preserving stakes somewhat. I invested in a jam thermometer to check the setting temperature. While I love making jam and am often described as a calm person, I find myself overcome with anxiety at the setting stage... is it? isn't it? have I just ruined 3kg of fruit?! Hopefully the thermometer will add some science to the art and make for a calmer Jules.

We're just waiting for a spare afternoon to do the raspberry, and for the plums to ripen (could be a few weeks yet). Watch this space!

- Love is for the birds -

2008-07-10T18:51:00.000+01:00

"Love is for the birds my friend."
Was your harried response in blue type
Across seven time zones.
Did you mean you don't believe in love?
That each show of affection
Merely falls like Hansel's crumbs for
The sparrows to eat?
I don't know.
And I'm not sure you do,
Either.
"Love is for the birds my friend."

- The Genius Bar -

2008-07-08T18:44:00.000+01:00

4.20pm, a buzz of white noise -
Chatter, high-heels, music and the
Whir of the elevator - engulfs the
Space between us on two tall stools
Whilst a gangly man in a
Leather flat-cap (no irony)
Tries to fix my laptop.
You pick up Sharon Olds, defiantly,
And start reading.
A gesture I don't appreciate in
My hour of need. You see, the Genius is
Not a genius, and you are not here
For that.

- The Girl -

2008-07-06T18:40:00.000+01:00

On Regent Street on Tuesday
We stop to wait.
For the lights to turn red.
To cross the road. And in front of
You there's a girl in a red and
Blue dress, an apparition of
Gypsy glamour and understated
Pretense. I see you looking at her...
Eyes grazing her skin, her auburn
Hair and at that moment she
Walks forward and becomes
Part of the bus. Red more than
Blue now, and her hair a mass of
Matted damp. And the screaming,
And I'm crying and as I turn to look at
Your face, you take my hand in
Yours and squeeze, and I'm ok, and
For a moment I'm glad it was her
And not me.

- Just in case -

2008-07-04T23:36:00.000+01:00

There are better things to worry about
Than if I am destined to spend this life
Alone with my thoughts, or if someone
Else will help make me who I perhaps
One day shall be. (Always, yet never
Again myself?) Is this it?
Or shall I be moulded like a jelly for
A children's party...
Or, more like, a lump of hard clay that
Won't yield to a gentle touch and needs
Soaking for days in tepid water 'til it's
Slippery and malleable?
There are better things to worry about
But I watch out for the cracks,
And soak the edges once in a while,
Just in case.

- In Between -

2008-07-02T11:16:00.002+01:00

In between the birth cry and death gasp,
There's that otherworldly time
When you are new and protected -
Caul from your tiny head tucked in a
Pocket for luck against drowning -
Yet grown up, part of you is dying, cells degenerate
Eyes lose sparkle and teeth grind down...
So busy you don't look up, least of all notice
That the edges are being rubbed off your self
'Til you're all smooth and sandpapery,
Dust of your dreams blown forth by the
East Wind. If you stopped to look
You might glimpse that otherwordly time
When you are dying, in between.

- The Knitting Needle -

2008-06-30T11:24:00.001+01:00

I hate mornings.
Brain. Works. Graveyard.
Conks. Out. 7am. Pain.
Tea in bed.
The Today Programme.
Rejected, day after day after day after day.
May as well poke a number 4
Knitting needle through my head
And twist it.

A Life In Polaroid

2008-05-30T12:27:00.004+01:00

A site that I read regularly posted a link to this site: Photo of the Day. At first glance it is a random collection of polaroids, in chronological order from 31st March, 1979 until 25th October, 1997. The site doesn't contain any information but you figure out pretty quickly that the images have all been taken by one guy who took a polaroid photo every day of his life until he died.

The images are ordinary to begin with, dinner with friends, card games, trips to watch baseball. Some are candid, some abstract, some incomprehensible.

As the years go by, the images begin to tell a story. This is a photographer, he works in the film industry... later he is photographed with various musical instruments.

The images speak of a happy life - dinners with friends, holidays, lying in the park on a sunny day. Ordinary things. Then in May 1996, one photo tells more than a thousands words:

And within six months, he has died.

The original site contains no information about the identity of the photographer, or indeed why he decided to chronicle his life in this way.

Another site explains that he is called Jamie Livingstone.

After he died, his friends Hugh Crawford and Betsy Reid put the polaroids together and exhibited them in an exhibition called PHOTO OF THE DAY: 1979-1997, 6,697 Polaroids, dated in sequence. The physical exhibit opened in 2007 at the Bertelsmann Campus Center at Bard College (where Livingston started the series, as a student).

I can't find any information on whether there are plans for the exhibition to travel. The website has every image, (almost 7000 of them) and they make gripping, if poignant, viewing. They reminded me of the energy of the human life, and the fleeting nature of our earthly lives. If I'm having a bad day, I'm going to try to remember this guy and how quickly our lives can turn around. I complain about the tube being crowded, my coffee being too cold, the alarm waking me before I'm ready, but today I hope to thank God that I'm alive, that I can drink coffee in a cafe reading the newspaper and that my ears could hear the alarm sound this morning.

Vanity

2008-05-28T14:33:00.002+01:00

The Sartorialist is in London this week, braving the rain and bad customer service to photograph some of the city's stylish peeps. Call me vain, but I keep wondering if he would photograph me if he saw me in today's outfit... the answer (said to myself) is usually no, but I live and dream. I wonder if he'll take any more bicycle pix? The below is one of my favourites - I love how he looks so nonchalant, he has the air of being totally indifferent to what is happening. It looks like he's thinking, "I'm just a guy on a bike, get over it."

Jam Update

2008-05-24T10:52:00.003+01:00

Just to say a HUGE THANK YOU to everyone who bought jam in aid of the Care for Children China Earthquake Appeal.

Thanks to you we raised over £110, which we're really thrilled about. The CEO of Care for Children is currently travelling around China to assess the damage to the orphanages and to ensure help gets to the most needy. They have already pledged a huge amount of support to buy clothes, milk powder and food for the children. THANK YOU and please check out the website if you want to read more about the work.

Grateful Thursday

2008-05-22T10:41:00.002+01:00

Technically I'm cheating, it should be Grateful Friday, everyone knows that, but I guess the rules are there to be broken! I started writing Grateful Friday a few months back to make me stop and think of the good stuff I've been blessed with, even when life gets dull or bleak or boring. It made me see that there is always something, however small to be grateful for...

1. The weather forecast for today and tomorrow says it's going to be sunny. I'm not sure I quite believe it yet, but there's hope on the horizon.

2. The thought of a bank holiday weekend away with ten of my closest friends. I can't wait! I'm thinking strawberries and cream, a midnight swim and a lot of lying on soft grass with a book.

3. H's new bike! Poor Gladys Pashley (H's fairly new bicycle that smacked of old-school glamour and inspired me to get my new Bobbin), sadly was stolen a few weeks back. Poor H. I almost cried and she wasn't even mine. The period of mourning is over and the time of free-wheeling is here. We're going to collect her new Bronx Vintage really early tomorrow morning and we're going to cycle back via breakfast somewhere in time to start the day.

4. Chorizo and slow-roasted tomatoes - a recently rediscovered recipe. Roast a pack of cherry tomatoes with olive oil, inch slices of red chilli, salt and pepper for 15 minutes. Add thin sliced chorizo and roast for another five and serve with cous-cous or on its own. Delicious if a little spicy.

Inspiration Number 3 (On a fashiony theme)

2008-05-20T10:24:00.004+01:00

I wonder where you are reading this? In the office? Snatching a break from reality at home? Wherever you are hello! I'm typing this sitting al fresco with an americano at cafe around the corner from my 'office' (aka the library). Today the sky is blue, my coffee hot and my creativity stirred from the sites I've just been flicking through. It would be rude not to share so here goes:

A Dress A Day - you may have picked up my renewed love for sewing and my weakness for dresses (I also have a weakness for dumplings but that's another post). A Dress a Day belongs to a lovely lady called Erin who has a huge appreciation for Vintage patterns. The site, which has developed a cult following internationally, tracks her love for dresses and her successes and not-so-great attempts at making her own. Very cool.
Some Girls Wander - is the sister site of The Black Apple (referenced previously). Some Girls Wander is Emily Martin's 'fashion-y blog'. Her clothes are almost as beautiful as her paintings and I love seeing how she layers and puts together different fabrics. She has a gorgeous figure, but isn't a size 0 and it's great to see how amazing she looks without starving herself half to death.
Gala Darling - belongs to a Melbourne based fashion-writer. That IS her real name, and she IS quirky and cool and whacky and all those superlatives rolled into one. Her blog is real-life, she writes about anything, not just fashion, and I guess the combination of shopping, fashion, where she goes on holiday and snapshots into her personal life has led to the site's popularity.

Hope you enjoy. If you read any inspiring fashion sites please leave a comment with the URL, I'm always on the look-out.

Jam Hot

2008-05-18T15:30:00.004+01:00

The jam is made! H and I spent a morning in the kitchen last week and as I type this the jars are sitting looking at me all shiny and lovely. It was a bit stressful, I have to admit. I'm never quite sure when it has set or if we'll manage to get it finished without at least one limb or eyeball succumbing to a splash of molten sugar, but this time it was all good :)

WIP photos are here!

We decided that rather than giving the jam away, we'd sell it in aid of Care for Children's China Earthquake appeal. Care for Children is an amazing charity that facilitates fostering of orphaned Chinese children with other families, who either can't have their own children, or who are restricted by the one-child policy and would like to have a larger family (the one-child policy still allows for fostering and adoption). They have orphanages in the affected regions and will be helping in the aftermath of the earthquake. We're almost sold out but hope to make some more soon!

Hyde Park, 11am this morning

2008-05-16T15:47:00.002+01:00

Coming Soon: Rhubarb & Ginger Jam

2008-05-08T21:48:00.003+01:00

Do you like rhubarb? I for one think it's generally evil, though I am still traumatised from being force fed rhubarb fool at a convent in Whitby when I was nine. Apparently leaving it would have offended the nuns...

Anyhow, there is ONE way I like the pink celery, and that is when it's made into jam with a lot of ginger. I've been waiting for the price of rhubarb to come down so that I can jar some of this lush goodness. It seems that this weekend may well be the time, but to give you good people a head's up, here is the recipe, in case you feel so inclined:

1.1kg rhubarb (prepared weight)
1.1kg sugar (preserving sugar is best)
juice of 2 unwaxed lemons
25g root ginger, bruised and tied in a piece of muslin*
100g preserved or crystallised ginger

* If you don't have muslin you can use a pop sock or a foot from a pair of tights. Try to make it clean one!

Wipe and trim the rhubarb and weigh it.

Put into a large basin in alternate layers with the sugar and lemon juice. Cover and leave overnight.

Next day, put the mixture into a pan with the root ginger, bring to the boil and boil rapidly for 15 minutes.

Remove the bag, add the preserved or crystallised ginger and boil for a further five minutes, or until the rhubarb is clear and setting point reached (test for this by putting a spoonful onto a chilled saucer. If the jam wrinkles when you push it after a few seconds it's ready).

Pot in sterlised jars and cover in the usual way.

Makes about 2kg.

I'll post photos of the finished result next week. Hopefully there won't be a repeat of the marmalade fiasco, which resulted in three times as much as expected, and no jars left in the house :-)

Thrifting

2008-05-06T22:03:00.004+01:00

Our American friends across the pond are fond of the term 'thrifting', to describe buying anything second-hand for cheap... either from yard sales, charity shops, ebay or flea markets. Charity Shop Chic is having somewhat of a revival in London, but I wonder thrifting will be in fashion soon...

I love Vintage clothes and accessories, but generally resent paying what is charged at most shops, especially when I know the clothes have probably come from the local Oxfam anyway. I hadn't bought much for this reason for a while. But, a recent visit to a beautiful vintage shop in the Lake District made me get all excited about vintage again. The shop is called Ruby Blue and it's located in Carlisle, a little too far for most Londoners to travel to, but good inspiration nonetheless.

I scored two gorgeous dresses - a red and white printed wrap dress that is very me and just gorgeous. The only drawback is that I later realised it is made from 100% polyester. Oh so washable but oh so sweaty! Not such a summery find then.

The second is rather hilarious - a grey woolen pinafore that will take more than the usual tweaking to fit as it's a maternity dress. I just couldn't resist the beautiful neckline though. If I get round to altering it any time soon I'll post some photos.

Summer?!

2008-05-04T23:05:00.002+01:00

Is it just me, or has it gone from winter to summer in about five minutes? Surely it was snowing four weeks ago, or was that my imagination? The weather is gorgeous, but I feel slightly 'in-shock' at its speedy arrival. Last night, I got home by the skin of my teeth on the last tube and strolled through the sultry air to my flat. It was too hot to sleep, so I made some tea and opened the cupboard to find two crumpets that I had my little heart set on... imagine my disappointment when I found they'd gone mouldy! Hmph. Turns out we live in a tropical climate now, I had no idea. We'll be putting bread in the fridge like the Aussies next.

Inspiration Number 2

2008-05-02T23:18:00.002+01:00

A while back I posted a few links to people or sites I find inspiring, well here are a few more:

The Cupcake Bake Shop: For all you bakers out there, this is a fabulous site with heaps of recipe ideas for interesting, fusion-based fun cupcakes. I've made a few of the recipes in the past and can concur that they are wonderful.

The Sartorialist: I'm sure you all read this site already, but just in case anyone out there has been hiding under a rock and hasn't heard of it, hop over there right away! One of Time Magazine's top 100 most influential designers, the Sartorialist photographs ordinary people on the streets who have extraordinary fashion sense. I love seeing how people dress around the world, and if you're anything like me, a bit of inspiration when opening the wardrobe in the morning is always welcome.

3191: A year of evenings: This is a beautiful example of how a visual blog can be more than just collection of photographs. The follow-up to 'A year of mornings', two sisters who live 3191 miles apart each take a photograph of their evening. The results are juxtaposed and posted on the site for appraisal and comment. It's incredible how often the images tie together.

Enjoy!

Magic to Cry For: Bethnal Green PLEASE COME!

2008-04-12T17:20:00.001+01:00

standnotamazed
Present
‘Magic to Cry for’
Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club
Thursday 7.30pm 24th April 2008

A delectable evening of sophisticated cabaret
from London’s most refined creators of Contemporary Magic

with…

- The Hat, The Rings, The Rope -
The Date & The Tango
Starring Maya Politaki, Lucy Cullingford
and Filippos Kanakaris

Plus special guest artists…

Richard McDougall
One of our truly favourite magicians and a world renowned performer, Richard has appeared in over 30 countries for clients including Cartier, Asprey, Rolls Royce and Her Majesty The Queen. He is a former World Open Champion for Close Up Magic, a Gold Star Member of the Inner Magic Circle, and has made primetime television appearances in the United Kingdom, Japan, Columbia and France, as well as co-writing Derren Brown’s television shows.

"The highlight of the evening...slick and genuinely funny"
London Evening Standard.

Ian Marchant
The Gentleman Juggler, Ian trained at The Circus Space in London. His hat routine has gone down a storm at the British Juggling Convention public show and The Circus Space Cabaret and has gone on to take him all over the world including the Chameleon and Krystallpalast Varieté's in Germany, the Circus Massimo Festival, Sweden to name but a few.

Piff the Magic Dragon
Last month he proposed live on stage…
…it’s going to be a tough act to follow!

Plus...

Dancing til late as the night continues with the coolest
sounds direct from London’s world famous Pigalle Club!

Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club, 42 Pollard Row, London, E2 6NB

TICKETS: £8 or £5.00 for concessions / skilful dressing
DOORS: 7.30pm - SHOW: 8.30pm - Dancing til late
TICKETS AVAILABLE IN ADVANCE FROM:
www.standnotamazed.com/magictocryfor
OR ON THE DOOR
Call 07891 894 092 / 07802770966 for more info

www.standnotamazed.com
myspace.com/standnotamazed

www.workersplaytime.net

Almost here....

2008-03-06T15:27:00.001Z

Mable arrives tomorrow! I really can't wait, the excitement is almost too much.

I promise pictures when I've calmed down.

A Preserving Adventure

2008-02-23T11:36:00.001Z

Dear England, with love

2008-02-21T00:03:00.000Z

Two years ago while living with a gorgeous Chinese family in Singapore, I would regularly be greeted with the phrase, "The English like their tea!" each time I boiled the smaller-than-average kettle. I would smile, and carefully pour out another cup of Earl Grey, sent lovingly from home by caring friends who didn't realise I could buy it at Cold Storage two roads away. That's one silly example, but the time spent in Asia taught me more than anything else that I am really English. No matter how cosmopolitan or international I claim, or even want, to be, I can't change who I am underneath: a tea-drinking, marmalade-on-toast eating, skirt-wearing English girl.

In my mind, I harbour a hugely romantic idea of England... perhaps it's nothing more concrete than the Shangri-La, or maybe it's a place I have in my head to retreat to when I'm overwhelmed, or stressed, or away from home. My England is a place where people are resilient, tough on the outside; soft and rubbery underneath. They get on with life, pull their socks up, make do and mend. No use complaining, keep going, do anything they put their minds to, with good results. They are healthy with rosy cheeks and they're kind to old people. When the central heating breaks down in winter and there's no hot water for the bath, they boil a saucepanful and make a game out of squatting in an icy bathtub with soap and a flannel. This evening, doing just that while drinking tea from a chintz-patterned mug, I looked at my scrubbed face in the mirror, and said to myself, "You're English." And as I did so, a grin spread across my face, and I laughed. I laughed.

Where are you?

2008-02-19T11:13:00.001Z

m: I'm still here.
y: Where?
m: Here. The same place I've been in for five years.
y: What do you mean? You're not, you've done so much...
m: I am, I'm still in the same place. I have the same dreams, I'm just not there. It's depressing.
y: Don't be so hard on yourself, nothing is wasted, nothing. You'll see.
m: Yeah, but you can't say that. People live their whole lives and never achieve what they set out to do, and I don't want to be one of those people. I can't. It's killing me.
y: Ok, well what is it you want to do?
m: I don't know. That's the point.
y: *sigh* Let's go for coffee.
m: Ok. But it's your turn to pay.
y: Alright. Just smile will you? For me?

Where to dance in London

2008-02-17T23:19:00.003Z

Where to dance in London is a very good question. It's one that is certainly worth asking at least once in your adult life, even if you have only the most minuscule interest. Perhaps the last time you wore a pair of tights and a leotard was when you stepped gingerly into a children's class when you were seven, but you never know when the desire to throw yourself around a white studio may grip you again! As Baden Powell once said, it's good to be prepared.

About four years ago, after a bad experience at the gym and a realisation that running was soooo mind-numbing I would rather eat my own vomit, I suddenly decided that maybe the noly exercise I had ever enjoyed was dancing. A few google searches later, I resolved to take ballet classes again. The rest is history, though I must point out that I am no Leanne Benjamin, and I am far from stick thin. But I enjoy it, and in two hours in a dance studio on a weekday evening is the cheapest therapy this city has to offer. I love it. I can't always explain why, but I do. Perhaps it's the freedom, the stretching, the comfort that comes from knowing I'll never be a dancer but I can be one in a white room for 90minutes once in a while.

The journey has been interesting and must have seen the best and worst of adult dance tuition London has to offer. In my humble opinion, out of the plethora of classes on offer (and believe me, I've been to most of them), the only real options are:

The Place, Euston: Home to London's School of Contemporary Dance, the Robin Hayward Dance Theatre, friendly staff and more than one vaguely amused teacher, among other great things. They run an extensive programme of classes for adults, mostly on weekday evenings and Saturday mornings (beginning at a leisurely 11.45am). Their classes are well-taught, varied and have the added bonus of an pianist at each one. Ballet here is suitable for complete beginners up to advanced level. Added bonuses: clean changing rooms and a cafe that sells restaurant-quality food at canteen prices.

Central School of Ballet: Home to the company of the same name. Perhaps not for the faint-hearted or those who are going to be nervous at the sight of a class full of professionals on pointe. However, the three open classes each week are a complete joy. You're as likely to find a novice there to keep fit as a professional dancer taking a breather, and you'll feel welcome and safe. The teaching is slow and precise; the perfect end to a hard day at work.

Should you need shoes, or any amount of lycra then Bloch on Drury Lane is your best bet. Better still, grab a pair of leggings and some tight-fitting socks and head to a class. Like me four years ago, you may find it's one of the best things you've ever done. Good luck.

Grateful Friday

2008-02-15T21:51:00.000Z

Well, the sun hasn't got his hat on today, but I am still grateful for:

1. Seeing my grandparents today. They are old and a little frail, but my grandmother is still the wisest most pragmatic person I know. She sees life through a lens of hard work and teaches me so much by her positive attitude and gracious acceptance of this life. She also made the best bread and butter pudding I have ever tasted.

2. People. Last week I didn't see very many, and it may have made me go slightly mad. This week I rectified the situation and I'm much happier as a result.

3. Tea from Peyton & Byrne. Hard to find, but oh so worth it. I'm in love with a small cardboard box!

4. My new bicycle!! She has been ordered and she will be be shiny and heavy and much-loved when she arrives.

That's all for today!

Magic to Cry For

2008-02-13T13:58:00.003Z

standnotamazed

Present
‘Magic to Cry for’
Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club
Thursday 8pm 28th February 2008

Following the sell-out success of their last evening at Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club, and hot on the heels of their acclaimed show ‘Quitters’ at The Place, standnotamazed are happy to hop back on to the cabaret stage and present another serving of ‘Magic to Cry for’: a delectable evening of sophisticated cabaret from London’s most refined creators of contemporary magic.

Please come! Let me know if you'd like to come and we can go together.

Busyness

2008-02-11T14:02:00.003Z

'So, how are you enjoying your life of leisure?' is a question I am asked at least once a week, and so far, I'm not sure how to reply. From the outside, I'm not gainfully employed in the conventional sense. I work, but it's increasingly hard to describe to people in one sentence (their general attention span for these things) what I actually do. Many seem to interpret 'freelance' as 'free to do whatever you like'. Hmmm. I wish. Living in my life this way has brought freedom of sorts, I don't have anyone watching over my shoulder, I've cut out endless pointless meetings, and I decide when and where to work. It sounds blissful, but the reality is a little removed! Working on my own has taught me a great deal about myself that I was unaware of, and some of the things I've learnt I don't much like. I like being busy, and I push myself, not just with work but with other things that I want to do ... my Chinese classes, seeing friends, writing, completing endless projects 'for me' that exist half-begun in my mind. These things sit like a team of workers constantly badgering all day and half of the night in the office that is my head. They make demands and I placate them with promises of time - I'll do that then, I'll get to you later, don't worry you haven't been forgotten. The thing is, I realised that there just isn't enough time to do all I want to do. And that makes me sad ... . Perhaps I shall learn to be content with what I do achieve and happy to experience this life in its fullness as it is, not stuffed full with extra things. I do hope that happens this year.

Inspiration

2008-02-08T23:34:00.000Z

I don't know about you, but I find most inspiration from people who are nothing like me ... the more different they are, the more it seems I can find inspiration from their lives, the things they enjoy, the places they inhabit. I don't watch much tv, but I do read, a lot, and an increasingly high proportion of what I read is online. Just for you, I thought I'd share some of the blogs/sites I read regularly. I hope you find them as beautiful as I do.

The Black Apple aka Emily Martin, a self-made kitsch artist who has made a cult-following for herself from a cottage industry, largely from her home. She sews, paints, screenprints and creates to her heart's content and her blog is a colourful insight into her life.

Post Secret You may be familiar with the Post Secret project, which has been going for a few years. The project invites people to send in a 'secret' on a postcard. It can be about anything, but it must be something you have never told anyone. Some of the entries are published on this website, a mixture of hilarity and poignancy in one graceful glance.

John van der Put A hugely talented and funny magician, comedian, actor and writer. He is also a very good guy, and a great friend. Occasionally I laugh out loud.

That's perhaps enough for today, or perhaps I'm feeling too selfish to share any more. Either way, goodnight.

Remember

2008-02-06T22:40:00.000Z

Remember that time we ate fish and talked
about nothing in your mother's kitchen?
It was last century, so far away from now,
it's frightening. We were young back then,
Photographic evidence proves it, your eyes
Aren't tired and my face is soft. There's
An innocence, a bashful hopefulness in a
Future without death.
We would change the world.

Grateful Friday

2008-02-01T20:46:00.000Z

Grateful Friday has taken a wee rest recently, but here it is, (back for this week anyway!)

1. My new Suzanne Vega album, Beauty and Crime. I think it's her best ever, it's certainly a little more progressive than her older material.

2. The thought of dinner tomorrow with ten of my favourite people. Some are old friends, others are those I've met more recently. There will be tables and chairs and there will be snacks, there will!

3. Working in my warm kitchen while the rain pounded down outside yesterday.

4. A glorious blue sky cycle today even though the forecast is for snow.

5. Gladys Pashley. She's not even mine, but I love her dearly already.

6. Crumpets. Recently rediscovered and more than yummy.

Bicycling

2008-01-30T08:53:00.000Z

I've had my bike for almost four years. It's a sad-looking thing, unloved and resented of late. I resent it because the brakes are shot and I can't be bothered to pay to get them fixed. Add that to the fact it's heavy and slow, I really am not enjoying cycling anywhere further than Ken High Street on it. The other day, my dear friend Hannah lamented the near-death of her beloved bicycle, who had not lived up to his name, Hercules. I sympathised and forgot about it, until one day she arrived at my door with a very shiny new bicycle that was soooo sooooo lovely I actually am ashamed to say I did a jig on the pavement!

The only problem is that I've now come down with an acute attack of 'bike-envy'. I can't help it, it just came up out of no where. All of a sudden I'm all over the internet for a new bike. It's addictive. I have convinced myself that I will easily save the money I spend on a new one by not buying a travelcard, and next week I'm off to see these lovely people to test ride a few of their angelic cycles (the one I am coveting is pictured below). I'll let you know how I get on! The excitement is almost too much, then again, I am a faddy person so we shall soon see if this phase lasts.

Anger management

2008-01-19T17:28:00.000Z

I'm not an angry person. In fact, if anything, I'm a little smug about staying cool as a cucumber while others shout and scream. Even I know that's all rubbish though, we all get angry, it just comes out in different ways. I tend to shut down, withdraw and have a good old silent slanging match in my head with the person or persons I'm cross with. That's actually no better than hitting a wall, or screaming, but I'm trying to work on being somewhere healthy, somewhere in between.

A couple of days ago I woke to the wind howling outside. The virginia creeper that looks so pretty outside my window in summer has taken on a horror-movie persona... scratching and beating on the panes of glass without ceasing. It was one of those winter mornings when the urge to roll over and go back to sleep is as strong as death, but instead today I chose life and ungracefully tumbled out of bed. I should have known it wasn't going to be a good day. First of all, the trip to the Post Office with a bundle of red cards resulted in a getting wet on the journey. Later, I spent two hours on the Piccadilly line on a defective train, going slowly insane at the huffing and puffing of my fellow passengers, who clearly had better places to be than 200 metres underground with a random assortment of the general public, one of whom had not had a wash for several weeks. After five tubes and a bus I found myself walking through unfamiliar streets towards my destination, when quick as a flash, my ipod was stolen. Someone with fingers so nimble I barely had a chance to realise what was happening. At first I didn't know what to do - perhaps I'll just get an iphone instead I thought. But the anger came, directed at anything, anyone, most of all at myself. I feel guilty for caring about something so transient, so indulgent as a material possession, that, let's face it, I can replace tomorrow. I guess I should write it off, but part of me wants to be angry, wants to indulge myself in that self-pitying guise. That's the bit I need to work on, for all things in this life are not my own, and today a woman in Calcutta is struggling through another day of rain, trying desperately to bring up her children on a pile of sand at the side of the road. I want her to matter - life and death, and not my indulgences.

standnotamazed

2008-01-17T17:22:00.000Z

Standnotamazed are a theatre company, run by a few lovely folk, including a great friend of mine. They use magic to blur the lines of the real and the imagined in theatre, and watching them is like the feeling you get in life sometimes when you're not sure how something happened, but you're very glad it did.

They're amazing, and lovely and they're performing at The Place as part of Resolution 2008 on Friday 25th January. Do come and see them if you can, you'll love it.

Art can change the world

2008-01-15T17:42:00.000Z

"I started to sense that words not only convey something, but are something; that words have color, depth, texture of their own, and the power to evoke vastly more than they mean; that words can be used not merely to make things clear, make things vivid, make things interesting and whatever else, but to make things happen inside the one who reads or hears them."

Frederick Buechner.

I happened across this quotation the other day, and I agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. Words have a power that is inherently greater than their surface value, and in the history of the world it's words that have stood the test of time, allowing us to get inside the minds of those otherwise lost generations who went before. I'm aware that in living this life, I'm only ever 75% there in the moment. The other quarter of my mind is writing inside, trying to put into words what is happening, the thoughts, feelings, textures and smells of whatever it is I'm doing at that moment. I can't tell you of the amount of times I want to go back to a conversation later in writing - to express my joy, or sadness, or floundering advice to someone through words on a page or screen, instead of those that tumble graciously from my lips. When I read something like what Frederick Buechner said above, I'm grateful because I know I'm not alone.

An Islamic Conscience: The Aga Khan and the Ishmailis

2008-01-13T17:53:00.000Z

I wonder if you have heard of the Ismailis? Or the Aga Khan? If you are anything like me, perhaps the words evoke a vague recollection or something you feel you have heard of, or ought to have at least. My knowledge of Islam and certainly of the sects within, is hazy to say the least, but I was fascinated to learn more at the premiere of An Islamic Conscience: The Aga Khan and the Ismailis, a one-hour documentary film, the first of its kind, which showed in Leicester Square at the weekend.

The Aga Khan, a sixty-something, well-spoken white man, is the spiritual leader of the Ismailis, a small sect of Shia muslims, who number around 15 million worldwide. Historically they have been persecuted, and today they see their identity in the Islamic world as under threat. They are not fundamentalists but peacemakers, and their humanitarian work is to be admired. But if they're such an asset to the world why has no one heard of them? In the panel discussion following the film, one of the panel suggested his reasonings: good news doesn't sell newspapers.

Although I was left with many questions, the film was a great introduction into the delicate world of Islam and its relationship with the West. If you'd like to find out more, click on the link above or here to buy the DVD.

How then should we now live?

2008-01-11T18:03:00.000Z

Travel is a huge privilege bestowed upon our generation like no other before. I think nothing of international flights in double-figures each year, soaking up cultures and people like the chamis leathers my dad used to dry the car with. From stiff and indifferent, my mind transforms, becoming supple and flexible. My mouth literally changes, wrapping itself around unfamiliar language and even more unfamiliar food. I can eat anything now, really, and this from the girl who used to almost vomit at the smell of fish.

Yet with great privilege, comes great responsibility, and the more I see of this world, the more I come to understand that all is not well. All is not well with the poor. All is not well with the environment. All is not well with the economy. All is not well with world politics. And after a time, it becomes hard to know what to do with that knowledge. I used to flit between guilt and indifference, until I realised that both were selfish in nature, and now I see that we all have our own choices to make, and our own paths to take. For some, their place is in living their life - bringing up children, seeing friends, loving their family, putting food on the table, and buying fairtrade, using the car less, buying green electricity. For others, their place is in politics. For others, in dialogue between communities, like a friend who volunteers in conflict resolution between different cultural groups in East London. All these actions are good and pure and right and will go a long way to starting us off on the journey towards all being well.

I don't know where it leaves you... it's not for me to tell you, or to say. But for me, on the journey past guilt and indifference, I hope to find a way I can make a difference, somehow, however small. Not to appease my conscience, but to live in a way that reflects what I have seen elsewhere. To know that my actions in some way take into account the misogyny I saw in Asia, the poverty in India, the indulgence in other cultures. I wish you well on your journey through to the place where you find some things, no matter how small, are well with the world.

Please

2007-11-29T22:50:00.000Z

If you have a spare tenner and a free evening before 15th December, do go to see Rhinoceros at the Royal Court. Please, you won't be disappointed.

Sight

2007-11-18T17:04:00.000Z

It's through others that we see ourselves, our true selves, goodness, truth, banality, ordinariness. All our faults and gorgeousness reflected in the gaze of another. In knowing others we can know ourselves.

We lose ourselves in loneliness
In loneliness we lose ourselves
The truth of the self, ever present
A lie. It is only through others that
We see ourselves
We see ourselves through others.

Mrs Lyser [After Mrs Krikorian]

2007-11-16T17:06:00.000Z

That first time, when I saw her
I was transfixed -
as six-year-olds are prone to be -
In the same way that on seeing
a doll that time in Beatties, unable to get out
a squeal, I kissed it, so Daddy could see.
She stood in assembly, to the left. Upright, her body
taut against the climbing frame wall, her silver
hair a soft halo. She was old -
I knew that, old, yet progressive...
sometimes she wore trousers,
trousers, in 1985!
Once, I bought some awful made-in-Korea ornament
with my holiday money, and presented it to her,
sticking out my chest and standing up straight,
the way I thought one was supposed to
on these occasions.
And she took my soft child's body into
her arms and hugged me. The embrace
of a mother, as yet unfelt since.
And I knew, that first time, I knew,
I was transfixed. Over the shepherd's pie
that night announcing:
'I can't take my eyes off her.'
'I just can't take my eyes off her.'

First day at school

2007-11-13T22:59:00.000Z

Today I went to the office. "Good for you," you're probably thinking, more than a hint of sarcasm in your tone. Let me clarify: today I went to the office for the first time in four months! That's sixteen weeks people! I've been gainfully self-employed for that time, discovering the art of freelance, getting up when I like and playing facebook scrabble without fear of dismissal. But all good things come to an end, and I find myself on a short contract with an old colleague at her new office. It felt odd, but strangely comforting... the busy tube journey, a signal failure at Kings Cross, a soy latte in a paper cup, a desk and a squeaky chair, girly-office-chat... I liked it. The time passed quickly and I was still the same person. Believe me, that was a relief.

Library-bound

2007-11-11T16:46:00.000Z

Working at home has its distinct advantages - getting up late, lounging around in my pyjamas 'til noon and the undeniable luxury of being able to make 'important' 'phone calls whilst clutching a cup of tea and reclining on the sofa. Unfortunately, this state hasn't been all that conducive to actually getting much real work done. So, in an attempt to be organised and efficient, Jules + laptop + heavy bag full of paper have made the University library their home of late. All good, all good. It's toasty warm, fairly quiet and I seem to take on motivation by osmosis from all the hard-working language students, burying their sweet unwashed heads into fusty books. My desk of choice is on the fourth floor, the window is floor to ceiling and overlooks crunchy orange and yellow trees. All good, all good.

- untitled -

2007-11-09T17:46:00.000Z

Sometimes, when you call
and your voice is gently
desperate, and I see your eyes,
dull grey and empty.

Sometimes, if we sit
and don't talk - not in silence,
just a sea of thoughts - and
I feel your mind drift slowly away.

Sometimes when I'm sad,
and you intonate your hands to
say you're with me...

And especially today,
especially today.

Before

2007-11-07T19:30:00.000Z

He used to love her, he knew that, but over time his love eroded with each misdemeanor until all that remained was a hazy recollection of affection and comfort. Like finding a childhood toy in the attic and on turning it over, seeing that it has been eaten by mice, no stuffing, no flesh remaining.

The light at 4pm, in winter

2007-11-05T16:34:00.000Z

On the concrete blankness of the riverbank, they walk or wheel like dust floats in a shaft of sunlight. Crisp enough for coats, the air eats fingers and toes through merciless merino wool and polyester. A man in a yellow waterproof jacket swigs brandy from a hip flask, unseen by mothers with overprotected children. A mine artist, absolving reality with silver lycra fights off an increasing shiver, and the light... the light at 4pm in winter makes all ok with the world.w

Sloaney Maloney

2007-11-03T14:47:00.000Z

The Kings Road is one of those institutions. It conjures up feelings of glamour and slightly-pretentious fun ... the roaring success of a new play at the Royal Court, a good steak eaten slowly at a pavement table at Oriel, a naughty trip to The General Trading Company. Yes, there are a good deal of the Chelsea twin-set brigade there on an average afternon, but there's normality too, a coffee in Pret and a t-shirt purchase at Zara. That's the Chelsea I know and love.

Today I just-so-happened to have some errands to do, a couple of gifts, a birthday and an American-esque baby-shower, so I put in my ipod and got the tube to Sloane Square. Within half an hour, I had amassed a not-insubstantial mass of gaily-wrapped packages dangling precariously from each arm. Not unusual, I thought. It's a road with shops on and people go there to, er..., shop. Yet as I wandered through a few stores en route to Waitrose for some eggs, I began to notice, well, sense, that something strange was happening when I walked in the door of these emporiums. Shop assistants said hello. I was addressed as 'Madam'. People asked if I was looking for 'anything in particular'. If I'd had a free wrist, it would have been drenched in Chanel at the perfume counter in Peter Jones. To top it all, a very camp ginger guy in the White Company asked me to feel a cushion, 'Go on,' he enthused, 'they're soft as cashmere!' I declined and left, my packages cutting into my forearm with each indignant step. Money shouldn't buy favour, but it seems that in Chelsea at 4pm in Winter, it's exactly what it does.

Au Revoir Parapluie

2007-11-01T14:28:00.000Z

He dances as freely and gently as reeds stirring in the early-morning breeze. His frame supple, his skeleton, it seems, is without edges. There’s no shape these legs and arms cannot mirror, cannot claim for their own. I sit entranced for an undefined amount of time. However long it is isn’t enough. On leaving I remark to a friend that I could go right back in and watch the show again. Rarely am I transfixed so wholly, so intimately… grace and strength and beauty and delicacy and love and fear and ugliness combine to create a surreal exposition. Dance, magic, comedy, mine, drama, acrobatics… just gorgeous.

‘Au Revoir Parapluie’ with James Thiérrée is playing at Sadler’s Wells until 10 November.

Romeo & Juliet at the Royal Opera House

2007-10-30T10:30:00.000Z

Highly recommended, if a little clompy in places.

Birthday

2007-10-25T12:15:00.000+01:00

Well here I am again, one year older and wondering wistfully what the 29th year of my life will feel like. Someone asked me the other day, 'If you could be any age again, what age would you want to be?' Without hesitation I replied, 'The age I am now.' I'm glad. I have some regrets, but I wouldn't want to go back, no way. The future is where we're heading and I want to be living now.

A new kind of life

2007-10-23T12:11:00.000+01:00

A new kind of life, no more 9 to 5, no more endless checking of email, plane journeys across skies and time zones, my life flat-packed into a suitcase on wheels. Just me, in England, with a laptop and some words to play with each week. I eat better, sleep better. I think I am better, company I mean. The stress has gone and though I lie awake wondering where it's all heading, in the here and now I'm happy, the happiest I've been in years.

Ni hao

2007-10-21T11:57:00.000+01:00

Every week I sit in a small hot room with an ever-decreasing group of other students. We make an eclectic mix, yet there's a subtle affinity, a tied-togetherness. A sixty-something woman helps a young girl, whispering encouragement through the cloud of fear. We're learning Mandarin, each new sound an assault to our eyes and ears. We stare through pages of twisted black strokes, unfamiliar grammar, logical nonsense. My mouth turns and spits shh zuuu faaa sheng, with little idea what it's saying.... The room gets hotter. I'm uncomfortable and check the clock. An hour left. Sigh. Then out of the blue, there's a sentence on the board that I can read... each little drawing - the lady with the crane, the house with the jade inside, the one that looks like a lily, and I understand. It's like gold dust falling abundantly from the sky, unannounced and gorgeous. I want to jump up and shout 'I get it! I get it!' But, fortunately for everyone else, I restrain.

My eureka moment doesn't last, next week I'll be back to incomprehension and frantic checking of vocabulary behind lao shu's back.

Grateful Friday

2007-10-19T16:43:00.000+01:00

On a crisp autumn Friday with a nip in the cooling air, I pull my collar around my neck and am grateful for:

1. Crunchy leaves of yellow and orange and a pink-ish colour en route to the tube.

2. The thought of Christmas. I love Christmas! Darkness with twinkly lights and a stiff breeze... a gingerbread latte in a red cup from Starbucks, mince pies, and maybe, just maybe, some homemade chutney.

3. The age I am now. Someone asked me which age I would be if I could go back to any age so far. I answered straight away, 'The age I am now'. That can only be a good thing.

4. Ni jiao shen ma ming zi? Or in other words, 'What's your name?' in Mandarin. I've started learning and while it's insanely difficult and tedious and I can't say half the sounds, there's the occasional triumph when I actually learn something.

5. Lots of theatre and art to look forward to. Au Revoir Parapluie at Saddler's Wells, Jewels at the Royal Opera House and hopefully, if I pray really hard, The Masque of the Red Death in a warehouse in Wapping. Just lush.

Damp Soup

2007-10-17T16:53:00.000+01:00

We sit, side by side on pale wooden benches facing a window. Soft rain is pouring down the glass, loosening grey dust and forming it into ugly streaks. My eye fixes on a grey droplet and I watch as it falls slowly, blown by a sporadic wind, to the ground. You have your arm around me, and the dampness from your coat is seeping into my jumper. I ask you to take it off. You acquiesce. A waiter brings two steaming bowls of ramen noodles to the table, and we start to eat. You begin with the soup, I with the noodles. You would never agree with me on that one.

We’re silent, damp and silent. I think of my mother, how she dislikes noodles, forcing us to cook rice for her in a separate pan. I’m alone with my thoughts when you begin to speak. I don’t catch the first few words, so faint is your voice through the clatter of the noodle shop. Turning to face you I see you are agitated. Your cheeks are red and your won’t make eye contact. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Nothing, don’t worry. I mean, it’s nothing major, but I’ve decided to take the scholarship. I know we’d agreed but I can’t deny what a good opportunity it is for me. I might never be able to do this again in my whole life…’ You trail off. I look down into my bowl and the greasy film on top of the soup turns my stomach. Something in your tone tells me that this is non-negotiable, your mind is made up. I pick up my bag from under the table, hurriedly throw my coat on my shoulder and leave. Stepping out onto the street I walk decisively without destination, aiming to lose myself in the mess of umbrellas and rain coats. I walk four blocks before I allow myself to cry. In a doorway, without restraint, the tears fall, soft rain.

Barcelona in the autumn half-light

2007-10-15T16:56:00.000+01:00

Poached

2007-10-13T23:04:00.000+01:00

Gingerly I step into a deep white bath while an eager-faced woman looks on. I'm not prudish, and by the looks of things neither is she. In broken Spanish I agree with her questions and, she carefully adds a cup of yellowy oil to the warm water. A few seconds later she's gone, replaced by a ferocious noise as a tumult of bubbles crack the surface of the bath. I lie there, trying to aclimatize myself to the strangeness of being poached, like a big pink salmon in a fish kettle. I'd like to say I enjoyed it, but I didn't. I tried to, really, but all I could muster was a resigned indifference and some very pink skin. Man was I glad when my Spanish friend returned.

'Te gusta?'
'Claro que si!'

I'm such a good liar in a foreign language.

Cherries

2007-08-28T23:03:00.000+01:00

As I stood next to the bin
eating cherries and spitting
the stones in, some missed
staining the floor with a
streak of crimson.

As I first met you that time
in the theatre bar and clasping
the cast list the ink
stained my fingers with a
stubborn blackness.

still

2007-08-24T23:52:00.000+01:00

Sometimes I live through these times of heightened reality, no other way to explain it. I'll smell or see or feel something and it doesn't just remind me of the past, but actually take me there. Today I saw a guy carrying a hockey stick and I was 12 again chasing a ball around a wet field. I could feel myself trying so hard to be quick, skilled, running hard and then the disappointment that I wasn't ever going to compete with the sporty girls. Then I ate sausages and mash for lunch (it's winter already here, all grey and cold and wispy), and the mash was heavy and thick like the one my granny makes, and I was back in her kitchen with the red and blue striped tea towels and the upside down fish screwed the wrong-way-up on the wall, and her soft tone droning over the washing up as I ate silently. Then I take the tube from Oxford Circus to South Ken, and on the way I decide to stand still on the escalator instead of walking, just to watch the kind of people who stand. To my surprise they aren't all old or fat, or carrying heavy shopping. They're just not bothered about rushing like me. I'm humbled. Then a line from The End of the Affair pops into my head... the scene where Bendrix and Sarah meet after several years, in the restaurant on Piccadilly. Sarah's late and Bendrix asks her why... 'The tube would have been quicker' he says. 'I didn't want to be quick.'

So much emotion, so much more said in those six words than in their whole stilted conversation that follows.

(dis)Affection

2007-08-04T22:53:00.000+01:00

I think we missed each other, years back now I come to think of it. Distracted, life got busy and time threw distance between us. Moments of incomprehension, misunderstanding, let go for politeness now clogging up the space our life used to inhabit. It's like you can't see me... I think of waving, like a window cleaner, sure the face I'd see would be vacant, looking over my shoulder. We could be anyone to each other, save a few shared memories thrown into a heap at the back of a wardrobe, we could be anyone to each other.

--

2007-08-02T22:49:00.000+01:00

In the half-light, stretched out on an apple green coverlet, I think of you. Far away, miles our enemy, your memory like a ghost. I imagine your thick toes poking out from an unfamiliar blanket and the way your right hand twitches in those precious moments before waking. I wonder what time it is for you, and where you'll lay your twitching hand tonight. The light is snapped off and I throw my life upon these thoughts of you, hope in the darkness and a vision of you coming on the winds of sleep.

--

2007-07-30T22:47:00.000+01:00

"There are always perfect times with the people we love, moments of joy and equality that sustain us later on."

Ann Pratchet, Run, (Bloomsbury, 2007).

Reflection

2007-07-28T08:45:00.000+01:00

That night her reflection taunted her in the gilt-framed mirror. Far from home, a case of unfamiliarity breeding contempt. Her thoughts patchy, unsettled as the night. The face staring back was enrobed not in beauty, but indifference - the worst kind of ugliness.

ants

2007-07-26T22:37:00.000+01:00

Sometimes, when she's stressed, she has this dream in which she's being eaten alive slowly by a myriad of ants, black and shiny with small teeth. They devour her feet and their way up hot calves, chomping muscle, cartilage and sinew until the bones remain, grey and smooth. She almost always wakes up once they get to her thighs, some things are too awful to imagine, even in dreams.

Last night was an ant night. She woke, some time before dawn when the first light pokes itself gingerly through the slats on the blind. Scratching her hot legs, eczema devouring those first precious moments before waking. At once, she's distracted, the day creeps in and the night is gone, and he ants with it.

Nine Dragons (again)

2007-07-24T22:34:00.000+01:00

Though mountains surround me,
Clear lakes and skies of azure,
Stillness, stasis in darkness,
My favourite sight - tress, black
Against the sky, I can't feel
At home here. It's my homeland,
My country, that I know, but
My heart looks East and no
Matter how hard I try I can't
Help but search for nine dragons
Siloutted, black against the sky.

Po-faced cheeks

2007-07-22T22:06:00.000+01:00

Inside the hushed darkness of the gingerbread shop, there were two po-faced ladies, trussed up in blue ticking, white lace bonnets crowning their scorn. It got me thinking... if you're grumpy, why work in a gingerbread shop? Surely happiness and tea and thoughts of houses enrobed in icing and dolly mixture should prevail therein?

Leaving

2007-07-20T22:09:00.000+01:00

I pulled a familiar dress over my head, and waited for the rushing in my ears to subside. I sat on the edge of my bed and thought for a moment. My head hurt. Two clamps around my ears, a dagger through the back of my cranium. I can do it, I said to myself. Go in, you have to. It's the end, and the end is always important. I did a Myers Briggs once and I'm a completer-finisher. I like to tie gifts in grosgrain ribbon. So, I slowly and diligently clasped my oyster card in one hand and walked decidedly to the tube, each step accentuating the swoosh of blood through my head. I made it, opened the door to the office, and sat at my desk for the last time. Inanimate objects took on a sentimental touch, I found myself putting old mugs, a greasy mouse mat and a badly-written book into a bag. At 2pm I tried to leave, laughter had left the building and I was alone. In the ladies touching up faded blusher I felt a sadness, a low kind of regret, and I returned to sit at the desk for another few minutes. Just me and some memories, now fading, now not mine, and I cried. I'm ashamed to say, I cried, with no one watching but God.

Untitled

2007-07-17T11:14:00.000+01:00

Each week I pay a not-insignificant-sum to a man in a white shirt, who sits perpetually in a white room. A small low chair, a blue screen and a bed with two pillows. I stand with my back to him and his eyes stroke my neck, looking for change - am I crooked? Still? Stiff? For an hour I let him touch me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, squeezing gently, pushing below each shoulder blade, holding my head in both hands firmly. Each time I leave and I try to work out if I feel better. I do! is the usual conclusion... But today, as I wake with a stiffness in my neck and a feeling of strangeness I wonder why I keep on keeping on with him... I don't like the reason, it doesn't seem right... I go because I like being touched. I feel safe there, I feel free, valued.

Sick

2007-07-15T11:07:00.000+01:00

I reckon I've spent more time being ill this year than the last three years put together. Bronchitis, migraines, stomach bugs... most were exotic, picked up alongside souvenirs and unfamiliar food in countries far from home. Germs blowing decidedly through aircraft air flow. All this sickness has been a disability. I've fought it, ignored a cough for weeks until the stuff coming up is red and thick and I drag my aching lungs down to the hospital, where a guy my age guffaws in shock and doles out high-strength drugs. Surely this can't go on? The rest of the year will surely stretch out like a white sheet of health... vitamin-enriched, mineral-full, health-surrounded?

Untitled

2007-07-13T20:11:00.000+01:00

Once I saw a girl fall clean off her bicycle. It would have been more tragic than amusing had she been riding it at the time. She had stopped at the traffic lights on Exhibition Road, her head facing up towards the lights, waiting patiently for them to change, when she fell sideways - perfectly at 90degrees into the tarmac. No one saw, except me. Visibly shaken she dusted herself off and heaved the solid red bicycle up onto its wheels. Cautiously she got back on, and limped slowly along the pavement towards Hyde Park.