is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.
It occurred to me this morning: I forgot to do that year-in-photos thing that I’d got into the habit of. I seem to remember having a jolly old time putting them together for 2010 (here) and 2011 (here) – [yes, it’s beyond weird looking back at those] [and quite sad, actually]. Somehow that went out of the window this year. And out of the window it shall stay. So, in lieu of that, here’s more photos from this year. That’s how we’re going to play this game from now on. The pictures go like this: John power at the Brixton Jamm, flea-market finds, N1, that all-too-familiar Manchester scene, an artist’s secret, an artist’s shop, Mein Haus Am See, a Berlin bookshop, and 1960s Valentino couture.
This week I have been mostly: watching the snow fall through my window and waiting for the shows to fall [into my lap, via the internet, all the way from New York]. There is yet to be a show that has entirely got me [nor I it], though there’s been more than a handful of looks that I would, if I could, wear. [Like, if I would even dream of wearing red or stepping out the house bare-legged.] [Like, if I had the life for them.] [Like, if any of those things could ever be the case.] Nonetheless, no harm in looking/wanting/needing. I’ve picked out my favourites below, consisting of the following – if a little unlikely – combination: 3.1 Phillip Lim, DKNY, Assembly. I haven’t included any Theyskens’ Theory, though that show is certainly worth a mention.
The inevitable holiday phone snaps. Count yourselves lucky that I’ve narrowed it down – there’s about a million more where these came from, clearly. Videos, too [Vine: how fun]. Anyway, I’m back now [with a newly developed fear of flying – thanks, wind] [admittedly it doesn’t take much to switch my brain from fine to fear but still, il y avait du vent] and I’m all over the sorting/my/life/out stuff. Watch this space, won’t you?
please don’t confront me with my failures;
i had not forgotten them.
I’m still in Berlin, avoiding real life and having an all-round lovely time [wish I was making up (but I’m actually not) the fact that as I write this I’m sitting on my hotel bed with a bottle of beer by my side and the sight of snow falling on the East Side Gallery through the window] [this would all be well and good if not for my frequent tendency to feel melancholic about the fact that there are an insatiable number of bloody brilliant cities in this world that I have neither the fortune nor wherewithal to live in]. In the spirit of renewal [and since I’m still on holiday/gin-fizz time] I’ve decided to share the following points with you. I’m not sure what I should call them; they might be my new year’s resolutions [if you’ll forgive their untimeliness – I didn’t have the plainest of sailings into the year]; perhaps they are promises to myself, borne out of the lessons taught to me by upheaval; or maybe it is simply an unashamed piece of didacticism. Whatever. They’re being said. In fact, they should be etched in stone [or just scratched in the sand].
ONE. Use as much energy as it takes [and I mean as much as it takes – all your might] to totally ignore the fact that your confidence is in tatters, even when your confidence is looking distinctly tattery.
TWO. Take a leaf [or several] out of your best mates’ books. Not only because they’ve got your best interests at heart [unlike you and your probably/sometimes/most-of-the-time neurotic brain] but also because they’ve got it so much more sussed than you.
THREE. And on that note [I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again]: the good people are like magnets. One of my finest quotes, I’m sure you’ll agree [it actually led to another friend once saying, ‘You’re my iron filings!’ which is evidently hilarious]. It’s a phrase I’ve been banyding about for years and a rule I’m sticking to: surround yourself with the good ones.
FOUR. Now, forgive me while I go all mercenary for a moment, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t see this point as a crucial part of my current/future/forever-and-a-day contentedness. If a pair of shoes [or, in my case, a pair of 1962 Adidas Originals Sambas] cause you to emit involuntary noises and to squirm inside with delight, bloody well get ’em bought. Don’t hesitate. Oh and also, buy a new make-up case. And spend disportionate amounts of money on loungewear. All of these are game-changers and will bring you no end of joy.
[I can’t believe I’ve reached my fifth and final point. The way my brain is thought-training at the moment, I thought there’d be a lot more; perhaps I’m not as disastrous as it would have me believe. Anyway, I will leave you after this one. There’s a lounge downstairs with even better views and a gin-fizz with my name on it.]
FIVE. If you think something seems too good to be true, you can bet your Sambas it is. Never let anyone convince you otherwise, not even for a second.