So, I’ve got the afternoon off. I planned to come home and send out a few emails, you know, catch up on my admin. But no. Hotmail is not working. For, I think, the first time ever? So now I feel stranded. I’ve just had a banana and a diet coke. And that’s about all I have to report. Oh, apart from the fact that when I wore my new jeans for the first time the other day, they ended up with beer all over them (booze Britain) so I washed them immediately. Stepped out in them for the second time today and have come home with mud splashed up the back of my leg. It’s not even raining? Only me. Harumph. And now, because I’m so annoyed about all of the above and more, here’s an aesthetically pleasing picture.
Topshop Petite.
Once again Topshop Petite came to my rescue this week. They are the only jeans that fit/look how I want/come in miniscule leg-lengths. And I was kind of worried that they were burgundy, because I hate burgundy, but the boy kindly informed me they are in fact CLARET, which explains the whole me-liking-them thing. As much as I thank Topshop Petite for providing such a wonderful service, I do think I should be slightly concerned about the fact that my leg-length is a lower number than my waist. Note to self: must work on that.
Coffee.
I’ve made the seasonal transition from frappe latte to just a latte (an extra shot if the occasion requires it). I must say I’m thoroughly enjoying them. My favourite thing though, it has to be said, is the cardboard sleeve around the cup.
Holidays.
I need one. Like, now. I mean one where I don’t feel guilty and anxious. A proper rest where I can pretend life is not passing me by far too quickly. And I can drink without hangovers and eat with abandon. Any offers of a beach-break or city-break or log cabin or cosy cottage would be gratefully received. Ta.
Alone In Berlin.
(Did I just say I need a holiday? No, Berlin’s not on the brain at all.) I just finished Alone In Berlin by Hans Fallada. I do love a good wartime novel. This one is a translation though, so it wasn’t as epic as I was hoping. If anything, it made me wish I could read German. Still good though. Worth a read.
The Future.
So, having celebrated our fifth anniversary this week, I’m naturally thinking ahead. Like, where will we be in another five years? There’s a million things we want to do. Hopefully we’ll have bloody done some of them! But anything could happen in that time. I already have a bad habit of factoring for the unexpected and tragic – I plan to knock that on the head. As it stands, we’re both just looking forwards in anticipation. See, here’s me, looking forwards.
I’m up, up and at ’em. Woke without my alarm for the first time in ages, which is a treat. Had myself an early night, counted some sheep, and it seems to have done the trick. However, there is some shade to this light (there’s no such thing as light without shade). I’ve sat down with a coffee and a cereal bar, all ready to put the news on, and I can’t get the tv to work. Honestly, there’s not a day goes by when I can’t work something, whether it’s the tv, the computer, the fan controllers (don’t ask me), the speakers, the internet or the bloody hoover (the other day, I couldn’t get the hoover plug to fit in the socket – the boy had to use pliers and all sorts). Things just fail at my touch and I haven’t got the logic to put them right (which is where the boy comes in, every day). Dare I wake him and say the dreaded: I can’t work the tv?
But when he took her to his apiary and told her about the life of bees, which were creatures he loved with a passion, when he walked with her through the fields in the evening and showed her how untidily a certain field was sown and with how little effort it could be made far more productive, when Kienschaper helped a cow to calve or, unasked, righted a toppled fence, when he sat at the organ and improvised for the two of them, when everywhere he went looked tidy and at peace for his having been there – then that did more than any words could do for Eva’s contentment. It was a life gently inclined toward its end, peaceful and bringing peace in a time full of hatred, blood and tears.
I’ve missed two fads in a row. For that I can only apologise. The first time was self-inflicted illness, the second was illness-illness. Now, I’ve got no excuses. So here you are:
Shopping?
Right, so I’ll admit it: I’ve been spending too much on clothes lately. Call it a shopping fad, if you will. I just can’t help myself! Especially when it comes to American Apparel. I’m sure they see me coming, every time. I’m trying to counteract any purchases by selling on ebay, but the ratios definitely aren’t up to scratch yet. So I’m taking action with a self-imposed shopping-ban. Is such a thing likely to work? Meh. I can dream.
My New Bag.
When I was in London a couple of weeks ago, I accidentally stumbled across my latest must-have bag in Topshop (I wasn’t even looking for a bag – that’s just how these things roll sometimes). I was with my Mum and she kindly treated me to it. It’s basically an exact copy of the Celine doctor’s bag (and about as close to one of those as I’m ever going to get). I love it.
My New Coat.
So, as it happens, I completed the winter-coat challenge with relative ease this year. Went back to my indie roots and sorted myself out a parka. Only problem being that I opened the Guardian yesterday to find a full on article about my coat. Not just the coat itself casually strewn amongst other items, but the coat singled out and talked about all by itself. And there was I, wanting to keep it on the lowdown. TUT. Not going to perpetuate the problem by revealing the coat here. Instead, a picture by association.
Christmas. Ha!
Now, I’m not usually one to get excited about this sort of thing until the twelfth month rolls around, but since time is evaporating on me these days, I know it will be here before we know it. It is for this reason that I felt my first Christmas pang yesterday. Helped by the fact that the John Lewis Christmas catalogue came with the paper. Oh yes, I had myself a little nose at that. Have concluded that this year I need some Christmas paraphernalia. You know, like a Christmas pudding bin bag or something along those lines.
Mad about the boy.
This week will mark our fifth anniversary. Who’d’ve thought it, eh? Well, everyone probably. We’re not going to do much (because I’ve spent all my money on clothes and he’s spent all of his on unfathomable computer parts) but we’ll probably eat some fancy food together at some point. So to mark this occasion: a song. I’d never be so cringeworthy as to say it’s our song. But. Well. It kind of is.
Today, I got my hands on a Stone Roses ticket. Of course, it was not without tears or tantrums (I’ve been to Glastonbury five times and have never successfully got my own ticket). Obviously, luck wasn’t going to go my way this time either and I’m not going on the day I wanted. But I’ve gradually started to see through that disappointment and the butterflies have landed.
This is one of those musical moments I never thought I’d have. Up there with Bob Marley (yeah, yeah, I know, but I can dream). The Stone Roses have had such a massive impact on my musical life. Their self-titled album is in my top five. In terms of accomplishment and sublimity, it probably tops the lot. And coming from the fussiest person ever, that really is saying something. Until then, Roses.
I left the house for the first time in four days earlier. I was excited to begin with but quickly realised I’m still not one hundred per cent and that the general public are generally vile. Like the man picking and sucking his tooth behind me in a queue (apparently he didn’t notice the fact that I kept turning round to glare at him). Honestly though, are people for real? After getting the few bits I needed, I hurried straight home to snuggle back up. I may or may not have watched another episode of The Model Agency which I discovered on 4od last night. I wish I hadn’t found it. I wish there weren’t seven episodes waiting for me. I’m going to have to ration myself. It is so addictive. There’s one girl featured in the documentary who reminded me instantly of Penelope Tree. Which can only be a good thing.
I’ve been so poorly. Haven’t left the house in three days. Needless to say my blog-inspiration is minimal. So, I shall go to my default. Twiggy. Goes without saying, really. And this picture, particularly, is just sublime.
A cheeky bit of morning rugby. Then to work. Then I’m off out later. Fancy nancy. Oh, and speaking of fancy, those of you who follow me on twitter will be aware that I got my hands on an iPhone 4s yesterday (I may or may not have queued). It’s beyond fancy. Hopefully it’ll improve the quality of my blog photos (8 mega pixels – what are YOU sayin’). Watch this space! But for now, I’ll let George do the talking.
