ONE OF THOSE POST THINGS...

I feel like posting a bit now I've got that off my chest! Anyway, this is Andalusia back in June - 2 midsummer days of hot white heat at a villa surrounded by wildflowers and mountains. The only neighbours for miles were a few shepherds and their flocks. The light was so strong that I was unable to take actual pictures with a camera before 10pm, when it was still light. We ate

PYRE...

It was this blog's eighth birthday yesterday and I was unsure what to do. Throw a party, or a wake? I considered putting it on a boat, setting fire to it and pushing it out into the Serpentine lake to watch it burn from a distance while sipping Pimm's. Since the whole "all my images were irretrievably deleted by Google" debacle I have been feeling unenthused. But honestly, as I've posted

HIGH SUMMER ROLLIN...

Hardcore evening gardening once the heat has subsided; finally taming a thorny, unruly beast of a plant into submission - it fought back, I won - sustaining scrapes, cuts and scratches all over. Bonus baby fox cub watching at dusk, dusk stretching into hours. The cuts and scratches on slowly tanned limbs are joined by bites and bruises, scuffed feet and elbows like those of a child: side

UNE SERIE NOIRE...

Time to get over the barrier of not wanting to write a new post. I'm not going to go on about how life is a rollercoaster, although that bloody song has been stuck in my head for the past six weeks and it's probably stuck in yours now. Suffice to say, a series of unexpected events has occurred recently, including but not limited to: my car being stolen, me having French lessons, then going to

COINCIDENCE...

I was reading James Salter's A Sport and a Pastime the other day and came to a scene in Paris, quite near the beginning, set at the old Les Halles market in the early hours of the morning. As soon as I started reading this scene, familiar images flashed into my mind of the photographs taken there by Tom Palumbo in 1962, which I've always loved. A Sport and a Pastime was published in 1967, Les

CHOPS...

I inexplicably missed celebrating the one year anniversary of chopping all my hair off, which was last month. It's been liberating and I now don't relate to the old me who had acres of dead protein to attend to daily. My spend on conditioner has reduced to almost nothing. I often don't use it and if I need to, I'll rub a little Kiehl's Creme with Silk Groom on the ends,

CRAZY PRICESLASH, BANK HOLIDAY MADNESS, BARGAINS GALORE, *SLUTSPURT ETC...

I just put everything in my shop on sale at 20% off until Friday. Spring things must go, summer's coming... Fun facts: I nearly called my shop Everything Must Go. And the Danish word for "end of sale" is slutspurt. Which is hilarious if you're English.

I really wanted to do one of those "It's a craaaazy bank holiday sale freennnnzzzyyy," a la Gary Glass the hot tub salesman in Desperately