sense of doubt

nolens volens

2010-02-24T14:10:00.000-08:00

I think I'm getting somewhere.

"smart is not a four-letter word. that would be smar."

2010-02-16T07:46:00.000-08:00

I MISS DARIA

'Alright, you figured me out. He's a senior who carves words into his arm. Together we're hoping to buck the trend in teen marriages.'

vision blurred

2010-02-12T13:55:00.000-08:00

Some interesting 'failures' from the black & white film I used shooting the Horrors at the London Forum last December.

Taken using Nikon N60 (no flash) - Ilford HP5 35mm

you can never have too many pancakes

2010-02-07T13:23:00.000-08:00

All images from Asian Drill Pop.
The weird and wonderful world of Japanese 45 sleeves.

in my heart there's flowers growin'

2010-02-05T05:56:00.001-08:00

Somehow, I have transcended my state as an amorphous, brainless blob, existing somewhere between the primordial ooze and Dominoes, and found some level of... for want of a better word, normality. Balance. Happiness. Not-feeling-awful-iness. It's only been 72 hours, perhaps making this post a little premature, but in all honesty I've not felt like this for a long time. I want it to continue. The weight that had been crushing me into nothingness feels like it has all but evaporated for the time being. Music is love, books are my bible, my need for fresh air and daylight has risen exponentially. My head is clear, my eyes are in focus, it feels like there's reason behind my madness again.

Tywyn beach - Kodak DX6490

falling and laughing

2010-01-31T16:45:00.000-08:00

You say that there's a thousand like you
Maybe that's true
I fell for you and nobody else
So I'm standing here so lonely
What can I do
But learn to laugh at myself
Falling and Laughing - Orange Juice

Paintings by Jeremy Geddes

Fiona: I can understand why you're angry, Marcus. But I don't feel the same as I did yesterday, if it's any help.
Marcus: What? It's all gone away? All that?
Fiona: No, but, for the moment, I feel better.
Marcus: The moment's no good for me. I can see you feel better at the moment. You just put the kettle on. What happens when you finish your tea?

Dialogue from About A Boy

(This post, as ever, is a mish-mash of the words and imagination of other people, while my own takes a bit of time out to readjust. These snippets have no visible connection, so I'll explain why they're there in case some deep meaning could be construed that really doesn't exist at all [or maybe it does and I just haven't noticed]. The song popped into my head when I came across the paintings, because I wasn't sure at first whether the figures were falling or flying - which my brain then naturally connected with the song Falling and Laughing. Referencing About A Boy with those ideas in mind stems from reading an interview with Nicholas Hoult in the Observer Magazine earlier today and remembering what a great film it is. Nick Hornby wrote the novel, which deals with the hefty subject of suicide, and falling figures are fairly inextricably linked with that [to me at least]. And I just liked the sentiment of not really knowing what might happen when you finish your tea. All very simple really.)

you get up and sleep

2010-01-18T10:27:00.000-08:00

It's Monday
Slither down the greasy pipe
So far so good no one saw you
Hobble over any freeway
You will be like your dreams tonight

You get up and sleep
You get up and sleep
Joe the lion
Made of iron

You get up and sleep
The wind blows on your check
The day laughs in your face
Guess you'll buy a gun
You'll buy it secondhand
You'll get up and sleep

Joe the Lion - David Bowie

positive thinking is a scam

2010-01-11T05:29:00.000-08:00

'We are told to see the glass half full even when it lies shattered on the floor'.

January is the root of all evil.

la vita è bella

2010-01-10T14:16:00.000-08:00

the serendipitous nature of existence

2010-01-09T09:23:00.000-08:00

It's hard to imagine two more different; innate calmness and stoicism are not the obvious match for unstoppable cheerful verbosity. How do these things occur? Evacuate or stay; one leaves for a quiet year among the haystacks, the other hides under the stairs with innumerable siblings, counting with a sense of exhilaration the number of seconds until impact. The war seems like marvellous fun. When the end comes - the final end, VJ day, when the church bells were silent and the vicars voice trembled - there's a missing date. He's gone to see his friend in hospital (TB, they say it's bad). Some time later at the bowling alley, said friend appears resplendent in a pinstripe suit too large for such a skinny frame, only recently released from the ward.

"That's Glenys, don't you know her?"

"No, but I'm going to!"

B-movies, avant-garde jazz, the endless slope of Bristol. "Coo-artin'" is a delicate process of course. Tie the knot why not, Oxford, and then perhaps a couple of children. The first boy has a Bailey button nose, the second sports a more triangular Warren sloping beak. Amid the dreaming spires it's botany and Boots, Byrd and the Bodleian. Skipping on some years, I'm born, adding a third generation to the party. I often wonder if 1955 already knew that was going to happen?

mousetraps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness

2010-01-06T06:49:00.000-08:00

Quote from the Dormouse in Alice and Wonderland, photos from somewhere.

Miss Nancy Ellicott smoked
And danced all the modern dances;
And her aunts were not quite sure how they felt about it,
But they knew that it was modern.
Cousin Nancy - T.S.Eliot

like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick

2010-01-05T09:29:00.000-08:00

Quiet first few days back in Southampton, I'm trying my best to get my scary workload to a managable level. Why must all the deadlines and exams be in the same two weeks? As ever, my refrain with writing stuff about books I don't completely understand is "Well, I've done it in German!". Even then 1,500 words in German still seems an easier task than 3,000 in English right now. English students are probably supposed to 'get' literature in general, but I think it says something about me that the only book I've related to on a level beyond thinking it was quite a good read is Helen Oyeyemi's The Icarus Girl, about a socially awkward and mentally disturbed 9-year old. To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf? Totally got the wrong of the stick there. Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson? Sure, I enjoyed it, but it didn't knock me flat (which I had been led to believe it would do). I find it difficult to minutely dissect novels I can't muster up much feeling for. Perhaps it's just my state of mind at the moment; I'd like to be enjoying them more than I am, but my brain just ain't playing ball. In the grand scheme of things, exactly how important are these essays anyway.

i've never felt better in my life

2010-01-04T12:20:00.000-08:00

There is no culture is my brag,
Your taste for bullshit reveals a lust for a home of office

THIS IS THE HOME OF THE VAIN!
THIS IS THE HOME OF THE VAIN!

Where are the obligatory niggers?*

HEY THERE FUCKFACE!!
HEY THERE FUCKFACE!!

There are twelve people in the world
The rest are paste

THIS IS THE HOME OF THE VAIN!
THIS IS THE HOME OF THE VAIN!

I just left the Hotel Amnesia, I had to go there
Where it is I can't remember,
But now I can remember...now I can remember

HAFTA! HAFTA!
MESSAGE FOR YER! MESSAGE FOR YER!

Too much reliance on girl here
On girls here, behind every shell-actor
Snobbier Snobbier
Too much romantic here
I destroy romantics, actors,
Kill it!
Kill it!

KILL IT!
KILL IT!
KILL IT!

You won't find anything more ridiculous, than this new profile
razor unit, made with the highest British attention to the
wrong detail, become obsolete units surrounded by hail.

THE CLASSICAL!
THE CLASSICAL!
THE CLASSICAL!
HOTEL AGGRO!
MESSAGE FOR YER! MESSAGE FOR YER!
THE CLASSICAL!

POLEAXE!..........one of the millenium of conspiracy,
Forever,
I know it means a lot of stomach gas,

I KNOW IT MEANS A LOT OF STOMACH GASSSSSS

I've never felt better in my life
I've never felt better in my life

POLEAXE!
THE CLASSICAL!

Stomach gas
I've never felt better in my life
I've never felt better in my life

POLEAXE!

Millenium of conspiracy
Play out Classical
I've never felt better in my life
Better in my life....

[* Allegedly this line cost the Fall a record contract with
Motown Records.]

"hlep peple and animals"

2010-01-03T15:59:00.000-08:00

Some words of wisdom from Iris (aged 6). These were from our Advent calendar matchboxes that she helped to fill with sweets and tasks for the day.

2010

2010-01-01T15:18:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!

My resolutions for the coming year can be summed up by three words:
Happiness
Creativity
Punctuality

you're a warden's pet, she's a screaming suffragette

2009-12-30T15:41:00.001-08:00

After my hugely successful fuzzy felt Cat-Pig that I made Edward as part of his Christmas present (read: it was quite poorly executed and looked rather more piggy than catty), I feel inspired to do more sewing this year. I live very near a huge fabric shop in Southampton so really have no excuse.

Nikon N60 - Fujifilm Superia 400 35mm (ew finger smudge!)

The sewing machine will be going back with me, as will various kitchen items that I've been gathering since I got back. It's surprising how neccessary a ladle is when you don't own one. Another thing on my kitchen wishlist is this one-cup teapot from Zero Japan, which they use at a really lovely cafe called The Larder in Edinburgh on Blackfriar's street off the Royal Mile.

They also had Eteaket's tea 'Blooming Marvellous', which is the nicest green tea I've ever had. Look, flowers!

A final word, again nothing to do with what came before - it's New Years Eve tomorrow, and I have nothing to wear.

all the while we wear a party smile

2009-12-28T15:33:00.000-08:00

Pictures (Of Cindy) - Josef K
I’m Gonna Sit Right Down And Write Myself A Letter - Fats Waller

Fireworks 12″ Nigel Gray Mix - Siouxsie And The Banshees

Heroes - TV on the Radio
I Happen To Love You - The Electric Prunes
Long Tall Sally - Little Richard
We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful - Morrissey
Melon Yellow - Slowdive
Strange - Patsy Cline, The Jordanaires
Misty - Robin Guthrie

Things I've been listening to, under the broad umbrella of 'silver lining'.

falling asleep to poirot

2009-12-25T16:18:00.000-08:00

I look and feel quite alot like Snorlax right now.

they sold me a dream of christmas

2009-12-24T11:33:00.000-08:00

Unbelievably, it's Christmas Eve - I've just come back from playing the organ at church to an indifferent seasonal congregation who didn't sing, and I'm listening to I Believe In Father Christmas by Greg Lake (actually one of my all time favourite songs?). I took these photos around the house a couple of days ago, mainly of the decorations that go up every year without fail.

Nikon N60 - 35mm Fujifilm Superia

Everything will be rather sad tomorrow though I think. My grandma sadly passed away this morning, after an 8-month battle with breast cancer. I'm glad she's no longer in pain. This will be the first Christmas Day spent without her ever though, and it will be very strange without her presence.

Glenys Warren
1932-2009

DEATH IS THE LEAST WE HAVE TO FEAR

2009-12-19T08:41:00.000-08:00

Scars - Your Attention Please

From the album Author! Author!, words from the poem of the same name by Peter Porter.

questions over coffee

2009-12-18T15:14:00.000-08:00

Kat in her garden - Feb 2009 - Nikon N60 35mm

I have experienced the snow in three different cities in two days:

The snow in Edinburgh yesterday fell fast on the Royal Mile and was the kind that sticks to your hair and refuses to melt.
This morning in York everything was crunchy white crystals, and there were confused ducks sitting in drifts and protesting loudly, their legs obscured.
My train journey to Kings Cross was at times arduous and slow, but it was vastly more beautiful than usual - I felt like I was in Switzerland when the windows were completely obscured by heavy, billowing clouds of flakes.
London and Beckenham were thinly veiled with a melting blanket of snow, that I doubt will last until Christmas day.

We should never stop enjoying snowfall is the point I think I was trying to make here.

telegram ma'am

2009-12-12T15:28:00.000-08:00

Here are some useful tips for surviving the winter, from the lovely Maranda (her etsy is here). I bought this at a zine fair I attended recently at the Art House in Southampton, and I re-read it today. I've not been at my best recently, and there are some really good ideas for keeping positive in the dark winter months. Home from university now, hoping to get better for going back in January. Click for bigness.

I want to say, "Screw it!" to everyone and everything.

2009-12-08T17:30:00.000-08:00

Polly.

dr gradus ad parnassum

2009-12-01T13:37:00.001-08:00

I really miss the piano. I don't miss that particular Haydn monster, rather the ability to leaf through the pages of one of the multitude of books usually found on the stand, and play to my hearts content. Or at least until my brother or dad hear the piano and are reminded that they would also like to play. Finding and playing a piano here is not something easily done unless you're studying music. The keys to coveted practice rooms are not given out to any old junkie pianist wanting a fix unfortunately. My hands are actually getting twitchy.

Amazing performance. Russian Dance from Stravinsky's Petrushka ballet.

what if you don't have a secret?

2009-11-24T15:25:00.000-08:00

Girl, Interrupted

120mm

2009-11-19T10:27:00.000-08:00

I got a Diana F+ for my birthday. It's so toy-like it hardly feels like a real camera, but I'm hoping to get some good shots. It'll be my first foray into the world of lomography....

"We three Fossils," she said in a church voice

2009-11-16T19:57:00.000-08:00

I re-read Ballet Shoes again today - I wanted something undemanding, though as it turned out I went on a huge nostalgia trip that took in a watching of the BBC adaptation that was aired a couple of years ago on Christmas day and reading every webpage I could find on Noel Streatfield, the author, and the illustrator Ruth Gervis. It also made me long for my ballet shoes. The copy I have is about 30 years old, and was bought by my mum, who loves Noel Streatfield's Gemma series. Ballet Shoes is the first book I remember being read to me, and has been an enduring favourite since. Though it's a children's book, it served as my introduction to Shakespeare (Pauline and Petrova appear in A Midsummer Night's Dream and Richard the Third), and to the world of ballet beyond that of my classes as a 5 year old where 'good toes, naughty toes' was the limit of my knowledge. Petrova, dark-haired and boyish, was my preferred Fossil out of the three. Trend I've noticed: all my favourite heroines have the same hair as me. It was the only book from my childhood I brought with me to university, though I think next time I go home I'll retrieve Toots And The Upside Down House...

The BBC did a really good job with making it for tv; the 30s costumes were great, and Emma Watson even toned down her eyebrows for the role of Pauline.

I celebrated my 19th birthday on the 5th of November (remember, remember), but have felt no more mature since the event, as evidenced by my reading of a children's book instead of my set course novel for this week!

existing in a world of darkness

2009-11-11T22:26:00.000-08:00

I only see pictures of daylight.

Photos from fwystudios.com

our bruised arms hung up for monuments

2009-11-04T19:07:00.000-08:00

a handbook for feminists and revolutionaries

2009-11-01T20:50:00.000-08:00

It's 05:38AM, and it's been that time for about 3 weeks. This time my excuse is an essay; it's due in 12 hours, and I'm taking my own alarmingly leisurely time over it's completion, for reasons I can't quite comprehend at the moment. This is the tail end of my allotted 'break time', during which I've mindlessly meandered around the internet and sipped at a disgusting can of Relentless every couple of minutes because I'm too much of a wimp to drink the required amount of coffee...

I apologise for the terrible quality of these photos, taken using ancient Kodak digital...

Halloween was memorable, in that I can't quite remember it all. We stumbled between Archers and our flat at least twice, each time having gathered more people and more pointlessly appropriated traffic signs, until I couldn't be bothered any more and just cooked myself a pizza. I think. I certainly ate one, anyway. Everyone floated back in on the chilly breeze of the early hours and made a joint effort of trashing the kitchen before retiring for the evening, and that was the end of another October.

i thrive best hermit style

2009-10-28T19:56:00.001-07:00

...with a beard and a pipe.

05:05

04:21

05:17

These are all wildly different in style, but I feel they're united in general feeling and purpose by other things. In each of them there are moments where it doesn't require the listener to focus on an individual aspect to the sound but rather let the whole wash over them.

sonnet 73

2009-10-27T17:34:00.000-07:00

My close and extended family on my mum's side make at least two pilgramages to Tywyn in Wales every year (though none of us have ever lived there) and have done for nigh on sixty years. I was just looking through these photos I took during the autumn holidays in 2008 and missing the traditional October half-term activities of wildly wind-swept beach walks, hikes up Bird Rock, traversing floods, carving pumpkins, playing quidditch (don't ask) and attending the bonfire and fireworks at Rhydyronen. Right now my family are in Tywyn as usual, enjoying all of the above, while I'm here in Southampton translating Anglo-Saxon poetry. Badly. However I'll not be disheartened, pumpkin shopping is on the cards for tomorrow and I need to plan my Halloween costume!

1-6 taken using Ricoh X10/Fujifilm Superia 400 35mm
7 with digital Kodak DX6490

insomniac, take an original tack

2009-10-22T17:53:00.001-07:00

Stills from Christiane F

give a girl the correct footwear

2009-10-20T18:45:00.000-07:00

and she can conquer the world.

Cheers Bette Midler, I'll use that phrase as some sort of rationalisation for my shoe love. It started with my first pair of 'real' shoes when I was a toddler - apparantly I was so enamoured with my feet that I kept falling over because I stared at them constantly. Basically, I blame my recent extravagant online purchase on my parents, because they bought me tiny patent shoes all those years ago. When I first saw the studded Chloë Sevigny ankle boots above (from the Pre-Fall 08 collection) on the Jak & Jil blog I fell head over heels in love with them, and started to make elaborate savings plans though I knew deep down it was unlikely that I'd ever own a pair myself. Then just when I'd given up hope, Office came to the rescue and put an almost identical pair on the market at 10% of the price. I bought them, delirious with happiness and student loan.

SO BEAUTIFUL. I wore them for the first time today, to Sainsburys. It wasn't a particularly glamourous outing but at least they've been introduced to the outside world. Their wonderfulness is such that it actually made my feet feel happy.

Puritan dress - Uniqlo, leaf necklace - 50p from a clock shop in Tywyn, ankle boots from Office.

I was feeling particularly nun-like today, so wore my puritanical but lovely Uniqlo dress. The material is really nice, as are the bell sleeves. It could do with a belt really but I can't find any thin enough - where sells skinny plain brown leather belts these days? I haven't worn the leaf before now as it didn't feel autumny enough. 50p!

cut adrift

2009-10-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connexion, uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted.
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë

awake from dreaming

2009-10-16T20:35:00.000-07:00

I've already written about the new single "Whole New Way" by The Horrors, due to be released on 2nd November, as being my absolute favourite song right now. The video debuted online yesterday, and I thought it deserved a post. Aesthetically I think it's a great concept for a video, as essentially we see the rising of the sun over 3 minutes in time with the gradual crescendo of the music; the colours move from the twilight spectrum of blues, purples and greys to the pinks and oranges of early dawn. Add some steam punk-esque goggles and some very good 'mood walking' and you've got yourself a music video.

Loathe as I am to link to Pitchfork, you can see the video here!

as time goes by

2009-10-13T15:24:00.000-07:00

i hid under your porch, because i love you

2009-10-10T16:41:00.000-07:00

I went to see the new Pixar film "Up" yesterday, the first day of it's UK release because I was that eager. Don't hesitate to see it. Preferably in 3D. It was the best cinematic experience I've had all year, not just because it was stunning to look at, but because it was also a brilliant story - one that had me weeping 10 minutes into the film. I've not been impressed with Pixar's output much in recent years as obviously nothing had really beaten Toy Story 1 or 2 in terms of characters and creativity, but in my opinion they've done one better with Up. Firstly, it's premise is quite unconventional: an aged gentleman flies his house to South America using helium balloons in order to honour the memory of his dead wife. Compared with some of the other fare for the under 12s, for instance say, that film where a group of genetically modified celibate high school children sing and dance to no discernible end, Up is curiously adult. The first ten minutes are made up of a flashback of Carl and his wife Ellie's life together, moments of which are very moving and not typical fare of an animated film. This sets the tone, and the plot steers away from the usual dead-end plot clichés. One of the main characters is a giant (female) bird called Kevin that can only gargle. In addition to all these things, it was really quite hilarious. I laughed uncontrollably and embarassingly more than once, which is more than I can say for the films I've seen recently billed as "comedies". Go see, basically - it's beautiful and fun and joyful.

happy birthday

2009-10-06T17:26:00.000-07:00

...and it's another happy day

he was born eleven years ago
and this year it's long trousers
and a very smart tie.
just think in five years he'll be shaving.

and see how his face glows
it's an ninja sword. what a surprise!
it's a samurai sword. what a metal surprise.
he'll remember this day for the rest of his life.
- The Birthday Party "Happy Birthday"

I've been having my own little Birthday Party renaissance to counter feeling like a piece of grey fluff. Oh youthful Nick Cave, you were outta your tree. This performance of Junkyard goes some way to proving that. It's so visceral and weirdly sexual, I can't actually believe they were allowed on tv.

there's more to life than books you know

2009-10-04T11:21:00.000-07:00

...but not much more, not much more.

Yesterday evening was spent in a mild panic after having looked properly through my timetables and weekly reading list for the first time since getting here, and realising that not only have I got loads more lectures than I thought I had (12 hours a week, plus film screenings every couple of weeks!) but I've also got a huge number of books to beg, borrow or steal this first semester. I am currently speed reading through The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde in time for my first Narrative and Culture lecture tomorrow and I have to finish Sense and Sensibility (DENSE, Austen, your densest yet) by next week. If I don't keep up I'll become mired in a sea of unread words!

Illustrations from http://www.agatanowicka.com

latitudes and longitudes

2009-10-03T13:46:00.000-07:00

breakfast

2009-09-29T06:38:00.000-07:00

I wish I could wake up early enough to enjoy this almost forgotten meal.

i feel like a piece of 2x4

2009-09-28T06:45:00.000-07:00

Right now I'm totally at university! On saturday I loaded up the car with everything I could think of, and yet still managed to arrived completely under/overprepared - eleven scarves, but not one belt in sight; comic books, but no coathangers; giant pink umbrella, but a complete lack of shower gel - so the past few days I've been in quite a topsy-turvy place. However, a trip to the budget emporiums of Southampton (Asda, I love you, though you are owned by Walmart and therefore evil) sorted me out with what I was missing, and I have been collected enough to make one meal so far! I quickly discovered that I can't function on crisps alone, as much as I might want to. My new home is flat 23 in Romero halls, with eight other lovely people. There are photos to put up, but I think this one reflects best what is to be expected in the next three years:

whole new way

2009-09-24T09:37:00.000-07:00

It appears that the following equation of

+

=

I was really excited to hear that Damon Albarn would be working with the Horrors (and vice versa - I think they're appearing on the upcoming third album from Gorillaz?) because I love him most unashamedly. And I really love this track. It's a reworked version that will be released as a single in November, the fairly good original of which was a bonus track on the Japanese release of Primary Colours, but Damon's presence has only improved it.

cake, or death?

2009-09-22T16:44:00.000-07:00

The death part doesn't really feature much in this post. I just really like Eddie Izzard's Church of England analogy. I could have titled this 'the cake is a lie', but I've never played Portal, so... I would also be lying. IT'S JUST ABOUT CAKE.

All fairy cakes by fondant wizard hello_naomi on flickr.

mostly i just feel like poisoning everybody

2009-09-21T15:51:00.000-07:00

Scarlett Johansson is TOO BEAUTIFUL. This is the conclusion I have come to, for her beauty is such that it actually hurts my eyes. Her face and figure make her look like she's from another era entirely; she is this decade's only plausible 'screen siren', looks-wise, and a good actor to boot despite all those dreadful Woody Allen films. In addition she is the only woman thus far to pull off an entire album of Tom Waits covers. In almost every conceivable way she goes against the grain as far as Hollywood is concerned. She is resolutely pale, enviably voluptuous, and speaks her mind. Compared with the almost interchangable army of boney, tangoed and above all completely vacuous actresses, she stands out a mile.

In constrast, today I watched two episodes of Hannah Montana (I have no life) and felt like I'd looked into the abyss. It was terrifying. How are the coming generation going to cope if all they have is the Disney Channel? I don't understand how the young girls of today can endure these half-hour ordeals that so effortlessly combine the twin evils of bad music and bad acting. Also, Miley Cyrus comes across as being real mean to her friends and family! But I guess to be rich enough to keep yourself in promise rings, powerful enough to insult people without fear of retribution, and leading a double life based entirely on strategic wig swaps is what appeals to the youth these days.
I switched to watching the classic 80s cartoon THE TRAP DOOR to soothe my nerves.

everyday is like sunday

2009-09-21T04:38:00.000-07:00

Time holds no meaning for me right now. I'm looking forward to being able to tell the difference between weekdays and weekends again, the lines have blurred beyond all recognition. This has recently been exacerbated by the fact that I've not left the house for two days due to a foul cold. I have spent the so-called 'weekend' setting up awesome Pokemon decks/watching anime/drawing badly, all while snuffling and sneezing and generally being disgusting. Dad made Charlie and me watch the video Everyday Is Like Sunday for purposes of education - his devotion to Morrissey's solo work is touching.

Things I will miss at university No. 82: listening to Morrissey with dad.

i like this place and willingly could waste my time in it

2009-09-18T15:27:00.000-07:00

I had what will probably be my last night out in London before uni on thursday, and boy am I gon' miss it. Ten of us had dinner at the new Vapiano on Great Portland Street, to stuff ourselves full of the best pasta in London for a mere £5.50. It brought back happy memories of Berlin, where Vapiano was our saving grace from the horrors of hostel catering. It's basically fast food - you queue, tell the chef what pasta you want, and they make it there right in front of you in a couple of minutes. Then you return to your bench, tear off a few leaves from the basil plant, and tuck in. Seriously good.

Kat, me, basil, and what looks like a saucepan lid.
Then seven of us carried on to Candybox in Soho, passing the launch party of Christopher Kane's new Topshop line (which looks mostly a bit shit, with one good crocodile dress) and a crowd of paparazzi outside Jazz After Dark, waiting for Amy Winehouse to emerge. We saw her towering hair, but nothing else. The guy standing on the wheel of the car is the best thing about this picture.

At Candybox it was cheap to get drunk/drunk to get cheap, and they played indie disco hits that warmed my heart. As we arrived, they were playing Blue Boy by Orange Juice, then played Belle & Sebastian and Echo & The Bunnymen in quick succession. There were some alarmingly well-dressed and angular people in attendance, but it wasn't too pretentious. Dancing moment of the night was Jump in the Pool by Friendly Fires. I don't know what happened, but Kat and I went slightly crazy.
I'm wearing: YourEyesLie menswear skull tee, Camden - leggings, TK Maxx (sale, yes) - blue suede shoes, Topshop - denim shirt, mum's from the 90s - rosary, from the Vatican.

This guy was literally unconscious. Imogen was using him as a dancing puppet. It was both disturbing and extremely funny.

As we left, wobbly-legged and numb-eared, we had a collective shouting match about how much we were going to miss each other, and weepy farewells upon separation. We were accosted by some French men, and some Australians whom we completely misdirected in a well meaning manner. I got back at about half 4, having got an ever faithful night bus from Piccadilly Circus, and thought to myself, WHY ARE WE MOVING AWAY?!?? In capitals, with unnecessary punctuation. I'm now broke, and am paying dearly for going out ill (powered only by Lemsip), but it was worth it to have my last night out in London for at least three months, with my super most bestest friends in the world.

i need a home

2009-09-12T17:01:00.000-07:00

Where am I? Where do I live? My home is feeling less like home, everyday I'm looking at all my stuff and wondering how on earth I'm going to transport it to my new student-box. My mum went slightly overboard on the kitchen front and got me twee but pretty flowered Cath Kidston oven mitts. I like them lots. Thus, the transition has begun... The only way I can avoid becoming a Stepford Wife in the future is to decamp to a treehouse.

the jim, jam, jump on the jumpin' jive

2009-08-22T10:41:00.000-07:00

There's just something about Cab Calloway. I've had a long affair with Minnie the Moocher, kicking the gong around since childhood (not literally, I wasn't a dope fiend), and recently I've been checkin' more and more stuff by Cab Calloway and the Cotton Club Orchestra. They swing, but there's a darker side to their music; I love the cautionary tales about Minnie and Smokey Joe, with their diamond cars, zillion dollar coffins and the estate down in Hades... They were amazing musicians and their performances are full of a raw energy which I've not heard replicated in the 21st Century. We're just not hep to the jive.

These screenshots are from the 1943 film "Stormy Weather", featuring Cab Calloway, and the amazing Nicholas Brothers. What's that, it's on Y00T00B ?!

Miss Otis Regrets (She's Unable To Lunch Today)

Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today, Madam,
Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today,
She's so sorry to be delayed,
But last evening down in Lover's Lane she strayed, Madam,
Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today, madam,

When she woke up and found that her dream of love had gone, Madam,
She ran to the man who led her so far astray,
And from under her velvet gown,
She drew a forty-four pistol,
And she shot that dirty rascal down, Madam,
Now, Old Lady Otis regrets she's disabled and she can't lunch today.

And the moment before she died,
She lifted her lovely head and cried, "Oh, Madam,
Miss Otis regrets she's unable to lunch today."

In other news, I got three As and I'm going to HARVARD (Southampton)

Then scrub the terrace, sweep the halls and the stairs, clean the chimneys. And of course there's the mending and the sewing and the laundry...

2009-06-17T10:20:00.000-07:00

Oh yes, and one more thing. See that Lucifer gets his bath.
- Cinderella, 1950

all photos from
http://www.dinagoldstein.com

Who'd want to be a Disney princess?

Grumpy: Angel, ha! She's a female! And all females is poison! They're full of wicked wiles!
Bashful: What are wicked wiles?
Grumpy: I don't know, but I'm agin' 'em.

Gaston: This is the day your dreams come true.
Belle: What do you know about my dreams, Gaston?
Gaston: Plenty! Here, picture this: A rustic hunting lodge, my latest kill roasting on the fire, and my little wife massaging my feet, while the little ones play on the floor with the dogs. We'll have six or seven.

Cinderella: Suppose they heard you upstairs. You know the orders. So if you don't want to lose a warm, nice bed, you'd better get rid of those dreams. Know how? Just learn to like cats.

Rapunzel's Prince: High in her tower she sits by the hour maintaining her hair, blythe and becoming and frequently humming a light-hearted air.

Princess Jasmine: At least some good will come of my being forced to marry. When I am Queen, I will have the power to get rid of *you*.
Sultan: Well, now. That's nice. All settled then.

heartless hounds

2009-06-13T03:22:00.000-07:00

Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs,
The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,
The traces of the smallest spider's web,
The collars of the moonshine's watery beams,
Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film,
Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,
Not so big as a round little worm
Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Mercutio

I talk of dreams: which are the children of an idle brain/Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.

"and every song, every single song on that tape, said exactly the same thing"

2009-05-10T13:50:00.000-07:00

...why don't our parents worry about us?
...why don't our parents worry about us?

This is THE mixtape. The mixtape I received when I was 11 from a colleague of my dads I mentioned I liked Nirvana to, and a few weeks later she presented me with this tape, which has arguably formed my entire music taste from then to the present day. Not entirely conciously - I discovered this while we were going through the neglected dusty tape boxes today, having not listened to it for about 5 years, but the key elements are there: Nick Cave, My Bloody Valentine, Joy Division are all artists I enjoy now, whereas back then it was Muse and The Pixies that struck me the most.

It was like finding an old friend hiding in the cupboard...

sweetness, i was only joking

2009-05-04T13:42:00.000-07:00

"the brainium contains the brain"

2009-05-03T13:33:00.000-07:00

It's exam season again, and everybody is gearing up to do alot of the above in the coming weeks. I should be feeling like this is the end of the line, that all my secondary schooling has led up to this one moment - but somehow, I'm feeling strangely apathetic towards it. This is the fourth year in a row where I've had supposedly 'important' exams (year 9 SATs, GCSEs, AS) and now that they really are important I just don't have the will to worry about them any more. British students are apparantly the most tested in the world, and spend more of their youth at school than most kids in Europe and the US. People my age had their first national SATs tests in year 2 at the age of 6 or 7, which was already their third year at school. French and German children don't even start school until that age! From the age of 4 to 18, we're subjected to an intellect-crushing national curriculum that focuses entirely on making us into reliable little government-boosting exam-robots, ready to tick the boxes that need ticking and not much else. In reality, exams don't tell you anything apart from who is good at doing exams.

"I have the knobs on my side"

2009-04-22T09:34:00.000-07:00

I'm wearing: trilby from Oxfam, white shirt from the White Company, braces from Clock House Vintage, peg leg trews from H&M, 1950s court shoes from crazy vintage shop in Howarth (Yorkshire, Bronte town).
I got told I looked like Steptoe & Son today, which I actually quite liked.

"chaos was what killed the dinosaurs, darling"

2009-04-04T13:28:00.000-07:00

It's 1988. Perms? Check. White tights? Check. Impossibly large shoulder-pads? Check. Winona Ryder? CHECK. Throw in a young Christian Slater, the jocks, a geek squad and some teen-angst and you've got Heathers, an atypical American highschool film where the popular clique are all killed off it even gets to Prom. I love this film. The dialogue is sometimes a little clunky - you can't help but laugh at Christian Slater saying things like "the only place different social types can genuinely get along with each other is in heaven" as justification for murdering three people - but the whole film is just brilliant. And as far as the 80's goes, these girls are going to be my style bible this summer...

Inspiration (al).

the perks of being a wallflower

2009-03-22T14:03:00.000-07:00

The phrase "the perks of being a wallflower" is far more interesting than the novel of the same name by Stephen Chbosky. It is probably due to the aesthetically pleasing cover, the dreamy-sounding title, or the many recommendations I've had of it that the novel turned out to be the complete and disappointing opposite of what I had expected. I had imagined an understated but affecting tale of unappreciated beauty, but in this case I was judging it entirely by its cover. It's one of those books that I've always been told to read, a supposed 'generation defining' work, adored the world over by a multitude of teens labouring under the misapprehensions of youth. And although I count myself among that multitude, I just didn't get it - I found it trite, condescending, and inconsequential. The plot was weakened by the first person narrative of Charlie, as in an effort to be more accessible perhaps, Chbosky gave his central character only the most basic and functional language to tell his story with. This could quite obviously be a reflection on the character - were Charlie a real person I doubt he'd be prone to verbal acrobatics - but it made the narrative incredibly boring.

Some kids look at me strange in the hallways because I don't decorate my locker, and I'm the one who beat up Sean and couldn't stop crying after he did it. I guess I'm pretty emotional.

Stop press - Strange? Crying? Emotional? The very essence of the troubled youth... In reality, it has more in common with The Story of Tracy Beaker than anything else.

I was trying to find a photo that represented what my idea of a "wallflower" had been, and found this picture:

I took this at the Neue Wache sculpture by Käthe Kollwitz in Berlin. It's a strange memorial, housed in a massive, grim-looking grey concrete box, and dedicated to all those who died in the Second World War - including the Nazis. Anna standing alone had escaped my notice, but I really like the effect of her isolation from the group. She looks almost superimposed, a pale ghost looking on from the outside.

"You're a freak, you know that? Everyone says so. They always have." "I'm trying not to be."

2009-03-21T07:47:00.000-07:00

I feel old.

"it looked like Hollyoaks getting off with Trainspotting on the set of Christina Aguilera's Dirrty video"

2009-03-08T12:43:00.000-07:00

So said Charlie Brooker on his first impression of Skins way back when the singularly debauched trailer for series one burst forth onto our screens, taking up whole adbreaks with depictions of a house party, the like of which I hadn't seen since the advent of Facebook. The rise and rise of Facebook and the sudden decline in free-for-all house parties is directly linked; news of a parentless house would previously have only spread so far via word of mouth, but these days thousands turn up, cause massive collatoral damage, and get a gleeful Daily Mail in full yoof-damning mode involved. 2007 seems like a simpler time in comparison; Skins was new and exciting, an event, featuring at least one familiar face - 'oh my God, it's About A Boy but all growed up and attractive in a clown-like way!' - and the buzz surrounding the first series was immense. The sheer scale of anticipation showed, more than anything else, how little television there was that was either aimed at teens, or that purported to show them as they are. Aside from the interminably boring OC and Hollyoaks, worlds apart but equally alien to most UK teens' experiences, there was literally nothing for that demographic before Skins stumbled onto our screens in a drunken haze and proceeded to shock middle-England.

Original cast series 1&2

And what made it so schocking exactly? The revelation that teenagers have sex with each other, take drugs, drink and generally behave in an audaciously stupid and dangerous manner most of the time? There is plenty of all of the above in Skins and the argument has been made for all three series that it is gratituous in its portrayal of them. However, logically it wouldn't be a drama without the drama - and it never pretended to be a bastion of high culture, so why expect it to be anything more than a slighty zany and exaggerated view of a dozen or so chlichéd teenagers and their trivial times and trials? That said, I have always felt that for all it's faults, there have been several episodes in each series which were really outstanding pieces of television. The writers Bryan Elslie and Jamie Brittain have formulated some dud episodes between them, but in general the have got their characters very right. Everyone knows a Tony, the arrogant self-assured good-looking one, or a Jal, a brilliant musician who is nonetheless plagued by self-doubt. I'm not sure what this says about teenagers in general - what are we if not clichés I suppose. The character of Cassie played by the beautiful if somewhat rabbity Hannah Murray, may have spawned a thousand pretenders in the real world saying 'wow' in a ditzy way, but her storyline was in fact very well executed. She is frightened of change, uncertain of what she wants or how to get it, things which any teenager could relate to.

The new cast have taken some getting used to, and I personally feel that this series got off to a bad start; the puerile humour increased, and there seemed to be little character development in the first few episodes, which included a particularly cringe-worthy turn from Mackenzie Crook and a frankly perverted Ardal O'Hanlan. This weeks episode completely reversed my opinion however, and I am now hooked once again. It focused entirely on JJ (played by the quite adorable Ollie Barbieri), a nervy autistic boy who can only deal with social interaction by doing magic tricks, who is caught between his feuding friends and completely incapable of dealing with it alone. The question of what it is to be normal was panned out in a creative and unusual way. The scene where he is prescribed more drugs to solve all his problems simply because he is autistic, instead of receiving any real help from the NHS was a sadly accurate reflection of how they treat teenagers - there is a pill for every ill, whether physical or mental.

What made it particularly interesting was that the music was, apart from a live band in a club scene, entirely Debussy. It was a bold device for a show that has knowingly immersed itself in the slightly off-beat indie scene, the frequenters of which have probably never heard of impressionism. That might sound a little condescending but it's probably true to say that most people haven't, unless they play the piano with an obsessive and possibly unhealthy enthusiasm, in which case Debussy is impossible to avoid. Clair de Lune is included in almost every anthology of music, anywhere, ever. Also used in the episode were the Deux Arabesque, and Golliwog's Cake Walk, a brilliant piece I'd forgotten until it appeared while JJ smashed up a psychotherapy unit waiting room, and I immediately sat down to play it after I'd watched the episode. Not entirely sure whether I'm allowed to call it the Golliwog's Cake Walk. I discovered that at a school recital recently, a friend of mine was told she couldn't play it for fear of offending the audience. I thought this was ridiculous over-censorship as this piece was written nearly a century ago and was intended to be a children's piece, but oh well... Bring on the rest of series 3. They've caught me good and proper now.

empty spaces, abandoned places

2009-03-02T13:52:00.000-08:00

Smithfield meat market, London

There is a certain romance in abandoned buildings, as they crumble into oblivion. London has hundreds of examples, from the long-derelict Battersea Power Station to the numerous abandoned mansions in Shoreditch. The fate of Smithfield meat market is of particular interest to me; I think as a collection of buildings it is just too beautiful an example of Victorian architecture to destroy. The Fish Market, General Market and Red House of the huge market complex are currently in planning permission limbo, and will probably be scheduled for demolition as soon as a suitable developer of 'affordable' luxury £1m flats approaches City authorities.

Leap frogging in the 'Grand Avenue' at Smithfield

I visited the more modern neighbouring building that still houses London's biggest meat market on a working day, and even in the brightly lit surroundings of the renovated East hall, the macabre scenes of less enlightened days could be clearly imagined; the rivulets of blood still run into the gutters, and the carcasses of animals line the walls. A market has existed on the site for over 1000 years, and it holds a special place in the blood-spattered history of London as a site of executions. In 1726 Daniel Defoe described Smithfield market as "without question, the greatest in the world" - high praise you might think, but then he was a journalist.

Without these wonderful, sprawling structures, London will simply become a collection of Gherkin-esque conceptual office buildings, completely devoid of any true character. It would be a bold step to invest in Smithfield but done correctly it would be manifestly better than any of the new buildings popping up to the East in preparation for the 2012 Olympics - I'm all for the renovation of East London, but Olympic parks tend to look like town planners' wet dreams and not like living spaces for real people once the Olympic charade has left town. Smithfield is one of the last original markets standing, and I think that alone makes it deserving of some attention lavished upon, even without its varied and interesting past. Also, the best scene in Spice World: The Movie was filmed in the green (née purple) building on the corner - voila - justifying its being kept purely as a monument to the Spice Girls.

While I'm on the theme of the empty and abandoned, here are a few photographs from two recent rolls of film. These first two were taken at about 7am at the end of Oxford Street, on my way home after a moderately dreadful night out. The Astoria and the buildings around it are being cleared in order for Crossrail to cut a swathe across it. It wasn't the best of venues, but I still felt a pang of regret at its demise.

"Goodbye Astoria, we love you 14 Jan 09"

Empty underground corridors also have the same effect on me. A solitary walk through the maze of passages towards the platform can give you an entirely new perspective of the Tube.

Notting Hill Gate tube, Central Line

I hope to be able to go and photograph some more abandoned London landmarks soon. Right now I've got my eye on a desolate looking old factory near a friends house in Fulham... Bis dann.

kate, do the decent thing

2009-02-24T12:54:00.000-08:00

..and give back that Oscar you won for your performance in The Reader - you may be a six-time nominee, but that doesn't give you the right to win the most prestigious gong there is. She didn't really have much to do apart from take her clothes off and look as though she might have been an SS guard in a past life. As a cinematic experience it had so much going for it, with Germany's best actors forming the better part of the cast list. David Kross worked really well as the young Michael Berg, Bruno Ganz, who we last saw acting a deranged Hitler in Downfall, was excellent as the law lecturer, and Burghart Klaußner as the judge was a good turn. It ought to have had a great screenplay, adapted as it was from the novel of the same name by excellent German writer Bernhard Schlink. His Reader has great emotional depth while dealing sensitively with a difficult aspect of the German population's involvement in concentration camps.

I felt the film failed to be a true portrayal of how German's feel about the war, and how they react to it when it comes up in normal conversation or on the news. This is possibly because it used the 'Allo 'Allo technique of presenting foreign languages - in English, with a hammy German accent over the top, especially true in the case of Winslet. Just as the novel works better in German, I felt this film should have been filmed in its original language. It's on location in Berlin, Hamburg and Auschwitz, but for the sake of the two Brits Winslet and Fiennes, and presumably any British backers they had, the film has been made dreadful by distracting accents. There was no real sense of the collective "Schuldfrage", or question of guilt, often used to describe how Germans feel about the war. In the scenes made up entirely of German actors, such as in the university lecture theatre discussing the trial of the female SS guards, the impact was not as powerful.

As far as the 'reading' went however, I enjoyed hearing snippets of my favourite books being read aloud. Lady Chatterley's Lover, Tintin, T.S Eliot's Four Quartets, Huckleberry Finn, The Lady with the Little Dog... It did something for reading at least.

bring me the head of aladdin sane

2009-02-18T14:12:00.000-08:00

Two pots of fabric paint - £5
100% cotton PE t-shirt for young boys from Marks & Spencers - £2
Knowing that my Aladdin Sane t-shirt is not from Topshop - Priceless

My previous foray into the world of fabric paint and stencils was not a success, so I'm very pleased with how this turned out. It has thus far survived a very sweaty Late of the Pier crowd last night, though I'm afraid it may all come out in the wash - I ironed and ironed it, but I'm still a bit dubious.

Late of the Pier at the Kentish Town Forum were quite wonderful. There's nothing like a gig to blast the cobwebs out of your brain and get those toes a-tapping. Their set closer was Focker, a riotous affair that even managed to coax the ever-present middle-aged stationary stalwarts into doing a little more than nodding their heads sagely (they've seen it all before of course).

"We journalists make it a point to know very little about an extremely wide variety of topics; this is how we stay objective."

2009-02-13T13:46:00.000-08:00

The written word, and more specifically journalism, has always held great intrigue for me, but I am beginning to feel that I have chosen the wrong profession to aspire to. In September I will turn up at university with my collected works of Shakespeare other various tomes by the authors of the past millenium who are thought worth remembering, and spend three years of my life in the festering quagmire of words and criticism that is a degree in English Literature. And for what? Looking at the letters page in today's papers, it seems like every English graduate from Oxford to Aberdeen has left university and found themselves applying for the lowest of journalism posts with 500 other graduates desperate for work - and invariably, they've either failed or only managed to find unpaid internships. Now don't get me wrong, I definitely didn't want to become a journalist for the money, but somehow it's a future that is becoming less and less appealing as readership of newspapers with any intellectual integrity falls year on year (and yes, I am a snob in this respect having met the editor of a certain bile-filled red-top and found that he truly believes that the readers of his rag have the mental capacity of rocks). Junk journalism is like junk food - it's the easy alternative, and addictive. The sleaziness of the world of journalism, the hypocritical culture of double-think - "Buy our paper! But we're better people than you!" - is a surely a sign that something is wrong.

Why can't we return to the journalism of old? Roving reporters, ranks of telephones, exciting, chaotic newsrooms. I could bypass my worries about the future and morality of the world of journalism today by simply becoming a photographer, in the vein of Vicki Vale...

My own box camera, superhero boyfriend, fiery red perm and mint green suit wouldn't go amiss either.

"in life as in dance, grace glides on blistered feet"

2009-02-05T14:02:00.000-08:00

Are we so petty that we will begrudge our inner-child's delight at the most snow since 1988? Calm down Britain. I've spent two weeks doing not much apart from biting my nails and feeling anxious, but the snow offered a literal and figurative clean slate. I'm even doing some ballet again. Since my studio burnt down in December and my class moved to an evening I can't do, I've been really missing it. It seemed like such a futile end to years of hard work and commitment; ballet was the one area of my life where I'd really done my best. An arson attack on the carpet storage factory next to my studio is a ridiculous but oddly mundane end to a 15 year career, having worked up from the good-toes-naughty-toes level aged 3, to taking grade 7 next term. Qué sera sera?

There's nothing to stop me admiring ballet from afar however. I saw Matthew Bourne's Edward Scissorhands a few weeks ago, and although it didn't quite capture the effervescent atmosphere of the film, it was very well danced. Matthew Bourne's focus on the male choreography is refreshing, as men tend to play the part of wimpy love interest in ballets, whose only function is to do various lifts. Seeing a man dressed in a complex costume with scissors strapped to his hands dance that well is a sight to behold.

I really enjoyed the other costumes too. It had the same 50s vibe as the film, the characterisation of the neighbourhood was great.

Next on my list to see are Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, which I first glimpsed in Billy Elliot and have had a minor obsession with ever since, and La Sylphide, which much of the grade 7 syllabus was based on - very romantic, soft arms rather than stiff, with romantic long skirts. I think the huge tulle tutus are nice, but the longer ones make all the movement more flowing.

Above photos: 1. Swan Lake 2,3. La Sylphide 4. Copellia 5. Swan Lake

jeeves & wooster

2009-01-24T12:32:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to look more and more like Hugh Laurie. It is perhaps due to my incessant viewing of either A Bit of Fry & Laurie, Jeeves & Wooster or House MD at any hour of the day. It is also perhaps due to genes. People used to not be able to tell between Hugh Laurie and my uncle Paul back in the 70s, when Oxbridge was full of exciting things and people. It's the Bailey side coming through I think, right down to the bald patch.

Hugh Laurie:

Uncle Paul with Em:

Me:

I'm wearing: very old and comfy double-breasted coat from Next, Vivienne Westwood scarf, navy Docs from a vintage shop in Canterbury, necklace with the One Ring attached - ring from Tiffany, I'm going on a Fellowship with some short friends of mine.

context, strategic, restorative, empathy and intellection

2009-01-23T09:05:00.000-08:00

According to a psychometric test I took (properly, not just on quizilla or something), those are my 'top 5' strengths. I've always been sceptical about any type of test claiming to know me better than I know myself, but this one seems to have caught me out. If I'm not a word-obsessed, backward-thinking, argumentative introvert, what else could I be? It's nice to have them termed as 'strengths', having spent my whole life holding my tongue due to that nasty intellection habit. Reading between the jargon, I think it's saying that I'm good at seeing things objectively, in a different light, able to find the wood for the trees, the most direct solution to problems. I get the 'empathy' one particularly (oh how ironic). Unfortunately I don't have a natural predisposition for sympathy to counter it. I generally have a pretty good idea of how people are feeling and what the possible causes are, but if they just want comforting I'm the absolute worst at it; empathy combined with honesty means I will want to tell tem exactly what they don't want to hear. Sometimes the truth is not the best policy, but in that case I'd rather say nothing than dress it up for their benefit. Concealing things from others always has unintended consequences, like stepping on a butterfly - it could easily cause a hurricane somewhere else...

...yeah I've been ill this whole week. This is what being trapped indoors and toked up on vitamin C with only House to keep me company does to me.

Another Beyond Retro jummy. I always have to obey my shopping list when I go out hunting, and it invariably says "NEW JUMMY WIV CUTE STUFF ON". I bought this because it's like a Green Peace top I had when I was in nursery but lost. If I can find a white-striped jersey skirt I will re-create the whole outfit. Being 3 was fantastic.

Today I wore: pale pink tee from American Apparel, lilac jersey skirt (beth) DITTO, coloured lace belt from Beyond Retro, scarf from my uncle. It says "Made in Cornwall", and is thus a Cornish Scarf.

I'm not a pastel person usually but I, like the whole planet, have been suckered into believing the Topshop Unique 80s vision of Summer 09. Also, beware getting your haircut next to a woman who's just got back from Thailand and is telling a fascinating story about an attractive male clairvoyant and his mysterious eye paintings - me and my hairdresser got so engrossed that neither of us noticed how fast my fringe was disappearing.

"love is the province of the brave"

2009-01-15T12:29:00.000-08:00

There are moments in life when you stumble across something, be it a painting, a song, or a particular few lines in a book or poem, that makes you stand absolutely still and reflect on your self and surroundings. This happened to me last year with the song 'Province' by TV on the Radio. The various elements of this song have converged in one place through chance, and the result is a song which speaks volumes to me; the lyrics are the modern equivalent of T.S. Eliot's disillusioned post-World War I poems, the piano has exactly the kind of unearthly timbre which I am constantly trying to recreate, and David Bowie sings backing vocals.

Suddenly, all your history's ablaze
Try to breath, as the world desintegrates
Just like autumn leaves, we're in for change
Holding tenderly to what remains
And all your memories, are as precious as gold
And all the honey, and the fire which you stole
Have you running through all your red-cheeked days
Shaking loose these souls, from their sacred hiding space

However until recently I'd never seen the video, until an idle afternoon last week following a youtube maze I came across it. If possible, I now like Province even more than before.

It's a very simple idea - the woman in military uniform is the main focus of the video, just her singing with a male voice, while the background constantly morphs between images of a forest, birds, cages, planes, planets and stars. She is shot twice by the animals which lurk at the edges with hunting guns, and finally dies. I actually get teary at this video, and an AMV which uses the song with clips from the anime Grave of the Fireflies from 1988, which tells a heartbreaking story of two children orphaned in the firebombing of Kobe in the World War II... I well up just thinking about it. Gah.

After all that, today I wore:

Denim skirt from Next 90s and chopped in two unceremoniously by me, white jumper from Beyond Retro (Great Marlborough Street), burgundy tights from Topshop.

I long for the return of being able to go to school and come home in the hours of daylight.

a real pea souper

2009-01-14T13:16:00.000-08:00

Today marked the return of a traditional knees-up pea souper to East London. Breath in that toxic sulphurous fog!
I'm wearing: dress that looks like a negligée when worn without a cardigan from Urban Outfitters, wrap-around ballet cardigan from my local dancewear shop, red tights from M&S (the finest purveyors of coloured tights anywhere in the world, I hasten to add), patent broques from ASOS, CONDOLEEZZA RICE POWER PEARLS from Granny Tree's jewellery box, pearl and diamond Orb bracelet from Vivienne Westwood, buckled beret a gift from grandparents via Peru.

There isn't really a way to wear pearls without looking like the Queen, but I'm not sure that's even a bad thing. She's set the bar high for the modern monarch, and apart from the lime green monstrosity from 2007's Christmas Speech, I can honestly say that I've never seen her wearing anything hideous; for a woman of 82, her dress-sense has remained remarkably ungarish. Throughout her reign, she has invariably played her regal role with style, which I suppose is not too difficult when you have the Crown Jewels in your trinket box. She looked fabulous at her Coronation (1953):

If I were Queen, I would willingly wear a velvet, jewel-encrusted crown and brocade dresses that could only have been embroidered and beaded by tiny magical creatures at all special occassions. I was attracted to the wonderful robe-like dresses and extravagant headgear in Alexander McQueen's Fall 2009 collection, though I am a little uncomfortable with reminiscing about the Imperial age...

I wouldn't say I'm a monarchist by any means, but there's something quite comforting about having a Queen or King. Part of me likes being a royal subject, and living in a country where the elected parliament is still checked in some way by a 'higher power'. Long live the Queen?

greys to suit a grey day

2009-01-13T14:16:00.000-08:00

I'm wearing: grey tee from American Apparel, denim shirt from Gap circa 1994, checked skirt from Topshop Oxford Circus vintage section, necklace from Granny Tree's jewellery box.

It's gone from cold and snappy to soggy and gloomy in a matter of days. Having railed bitterly against the necessity of wearing long johns every day, I now really miss the blue skies and white frost. The above ensemble is an experiment in grey really, I don't wear it that often but feel like I want to. Christine said I looked "really denim".

i've known true love, and it's called the nikon N60

2009-01-13T13:39:00.000-08:00

My uncle had more cameras than he knew what to do with, so he kindly passed on his old Nikon N60 from the 90s on to me.

I thought my digital was a bit on the large side, but this really takes the biscuit. Despite its size it isn't too heavy, not that I really mind lugging cameras around anyway - if you want good photos you will invariably need a sturdier model than a little pocket digital. God I hate those. The ones of the size of a credit card which all look the same and oh my, have 10Megapixels so they MUST be good. Megapixels do not good photos make. In fact, I would argue the opposite. To hell with Megapixels! Give me wonderful photographs! So, I got my first roll of film developed (from my friend Dev's 18th dinner party), and I am head over heels for the clarity and atmosphere of the photos the N60 takes.

I can't wait to snap some more. Watch this space.

"every sentence is an end and a beginning"

2008-11-30T10:40:00.000-08:00

My name is Becky. I'm an eccentric thinker/eclectic dresser/photographic perfectionist. I hate the digital dawning and once referred to blogging as "an autobiographical plague". Clearly, I have since eaten my hat, and am here to vent with the best.
I live in London.
I'm 18.

And I look a bit like this. Sometimes.