Time is passing terrifyingly quickly. I’m one who avoids clichéd conversation about the effects of daylight saving or the fact that it’s windy out, but I just can’t help falling for the old adage that time passes more quickly as you get older – because it does. I blinked and missed January; my February is already spoken for; my 2016 is filling up fast. All I can do is make sure I’m soaking up the good stuff. Good food, people, places and books. On which note, I’m currently reading Ruth Ozeki’s A Tale For The Time Being (obsessed), we’re off to Berlin next week (third time lucky), and we can’t stay away from Tottenham’s Chicken Town (no, really – can’t stay away). Hopefully I’ll catch you again before February’s out.
independent as to have no needs, or at least none that they, single-
handedly, could meet. This is the curse of the capable, it leaves them
prone to pockets of aloneness, sudden elephant traps in the grounds.
whenever her face is frozen,
unable to fake it anymore,
her shadow is always with her,
her shadow can always keep her small,
so frightened that he won’t love her,
she builds up a wall.
oh no, she’s nowhere to hide in the dark.
she’s a star. she’s a star.
she’s tried to disguise her stellar fuse,
much brighter than all this static,
now she’s coming through.
put on your shades if you can’t see.
don’t tell her to turn down,
turn up the flame,
she’s a star.
If in doubt, I always find myself returning to Francoise. And in doubt I am. I’m back to work and yes, I know, I’m sinking off the radar. This is what happens, you see. The sunshine never holds as much promise when you have to work. Also, my speakers aren’t working properly (they’re an essential part of my equilibrium) . And I was considering buying the Topshop Aruba’s in black, but now they’re out of stock. And it’s Sunday and I’ve got to work soon. And oh, how I wish it was this time last week.