MeMoi ?!

"April skies are in your eyes, but darling, don’t be blue

Don’t cry, oh honey please don’t be that way.

Clouds in the sky should never make you feel that way

The rain will bring the violets of May

Tears are in vain, so honey please don’t be that way”


Don’t be that way ~ Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

Apr 19
A *soggy day in London Town
A soggy day in London Town. Did I say that?
..How about a *snoggy day in London Town?! ;~) 
Apr 19

A soggy day in London Town. Did I say that?

..How about a *snoggy day in London Town?! ;~) 

A novel idea (Taken with Instagram at Daunt Books Marylebone)
-
*New books on my wish list this week are 
-
Sally Butcher’s Veggiestan, “A vegetable lover’s tour of the Middle East”
&
Ariana Bundy’s Pomegranate and Roses, “Part memoir, part travelogue, this evocative collection of Persian recipes is a celebration of a vibrant culture and its cuisine”
Apr 20

A novel idea (Taken with Instagram at Daunt Books Marylebone)

-

*New books on my wish list this week are 

-

Sally Butcher’s Veggiestan, “A vegetable lover’s tour of the Middle East”

&

Ariana Bundy’s Pomegranate and Roses, “Part memoir, part travelogue, this evocative collection of Persian recipes is a celebration of a vibrant culture and its cuisine”

There’s a Jill for every (union) Jack..!
Apr 21

There’s a Jill for every (union) Jack..!

Why write a caption when there’s clearly a text there already?! :~)
Apr 23

Why write a caption when there’s clearly a text there already?! :~)

Two very enthusiastic thumbs up for BROKEN FINGAZ (Taken with instagram)
-
At last nights Q&A with Unga, Kip, and Tant, questions were asked and answers were questioned.
Immensely exciting was our time spent in their world. Brought any more to life and we would have been chased by wild boar, hugged by fat men and succumbed to an evening of sin and pervertedness. I’m left to wonder - had it not been a Monday night, I might have had some real tales for you…!
-
Anyway! I would say this is a must experience! ..Lucky for you their exhibition, Crazy Eye Hotel is on for another six days. So run, fast, to the The Old Truman Brewery for a feast of fun & fantasy, for all-to-see! (Did I mention the talent?!! ;~)
Apr 24

Two very enthusiastic thumbs up for BROKEN FINGAZ (Taken with instagram)

-

At last nights Q&A with Unga, Kip, and Tant, questions were asked and answers were questioned.

Immensely exciting was our time spent in their world. Brought any more to life and we would have been chased by wild boar, hugged by fat men and succumbed to an evening of sin and pervertedness. I’m left to wonder - had it not been a Monday night, I might have had some real tales for you…!

-

Anyway! I would say this is a must experience! ..Lucky for you their exhibition, Crazy Eye Hotel is on for another six days. So run, fast, to the The Old Truman Brewery for a feast of fun & fantasy, for all-to-see! (Did I mention the talent?!! ;~)

London’s underground scene : more rage than rave (Taken with instagram)
Apr 24

London’s underground scene : more rage than rave (Taken with instagram)

Then I saw her face, now I’m a Belieber! (Taken with instagram)
Apr 24

Then I saw her face, now I’m a Belieber! (Taken with instagram)

Hirst hirts


“Who is Damien Hirst?” were the first words I heard upon arrival at the Tate.

This surprising question followed me up to the third floor; smugly amused and entertained I stumbled upon an enormous queue.

I have always known I shall never be quintessentially British since I do not share this past time with my fellow countrymen. Nevertheless I obliged, although the word soon changed to indulged since everything which was a remote scrap more interesting than the rest required a time to queue.

I realize now I only have myself to blame for my sheer despondency.

If only I’d registered the forewarning of pots and pans and card board boxes which served as an underwhelming welcome to the exhibition. *(Note to Damien, adding colour to your kitchenware does not make it interesting. Thank you.)

But still I continued through the maze of excitable people towards the stench. The stench of rotting animals.

Everywhere I looked, I was being watched by faces which perhaps had not seen for months, years, maybe. And here they stood, exposed and undignified for us all to stare at. 

Sawed cow replaced the familiar seared beef. Nature’s beauteous butterflies adorned undeserving walls and schools of fish glared enviously at each onlooker.

Was I wrong in my preconceptions? Butterflies in my stomach I had expected to feel, a whale of a time I imagined I’d have and deliriously dotty I’d hoped to leave.

Instead I found myself empathizing with the flies, fighting for their lives. And as for the whales, ok they were sharks, but they too have seen better days, (including those spent on a plate). And as for feeling deliriously dotty, well, only once I’d made a mad dash for the exit, hopes of London’s fresh air and dreams of being swept far away with the April showers consumed me.

Had I stayed one moment longer I’m convinced I would have been driven to raid Damien’s very own medicine cabinet. Admittedly I would have been utterly spoilt for choice, lost amongst the abundant array of colourful pills, or better yet, the surgical instrument section – very-tempting-indeed.

Anyway! On reflection I’m sure if I’d entered from the exit I would have had a much better time. Had I the choice, my preference would always be a welcome of diamonds over kitchenware and colour over death. And so what, if I would have had to make a detour to the gift shop – at least I might have actually wanted to buy something.

And so my thoughts return to, “Who is Damien Hirst?”. 
…I can’t help thinking that the real question they should be asking is, “who does he think he is?”!
Apr 29

Hirst hirts


“Who is Damien Hirst?” were the first words I heard upon arrival at the Tate.


This surprising question followed me up to the third floor; smugly amused and entertained I stumbled upon an enormous queue.


I have always known I shall never be quintessentially British since I do not share this past time with my fellow countrymen. Nevertheless I obliged, although the word soon changed to indulged since everything which was a remote scrap more interesting than the rest required a time to queue.


I realize now I only have myself to blame for my sheer despondency.


If only I’d registered the forewarning of pots and pans and card board boxes which served as an underwhelming welcome to the exhibition. *(Note to Damien, adding colour to your kitchenware does not make it interesting. Thank you.)


But still I continued through the maze of excitable people towards the stench. The stench of rotting animals.


Everywhere I looked, I was being watched by faces which perhaps had not seen for months, years, maybe. And here they stood, exposed and undignified for us all to stare at. 


Sawed cow replaced the familiar seared beef. Nature’s beauteous butterflies adorned undeserving walls and schools of fish glared enviously at each onlooker.


Was I wrong in my preconceptions? Butterflies in my stomach I had expected to feel, a whale of a time I imagined I’d have and deliriously dotty I’d hoped to leave.


Instead I found myself empathizing with the flies, fighting for their lives. And as for the whales, ok they were sharks, but they too have seen better days, (including those spent on a plate). And as for feeling deliriously dotty, well, only once I’d made a mad dash for the exit, hopes of London’s fresh air and dreams of being swept far away with the April showers consumed me.


Had I stayed one moment longer I’m convinced I would have been driven to raid Damien’s very own medicine cabinet. Admittedly I would have been utterly spoilt for choice, lost amongst the abundant array of colourful pills, or better yet, the surgical instrument section – very-tempting-indeed.


Anyway! On reflection I’m sure if I’d entered from the exit I would have had a much better time. Had I the choice, my preference would always be a welcome of diamonds over kitchenware and colour over death. And so what, if I would have had to make a detour to the gift shop – at least I might have actually wanted to buy something.


And so my thoughts return to, “Who is Damien Hirst?”. 

…I can’t help thinking that the real question they should be asking is, “who does he think he is?”!

Words on the street!


It is often the fault of a street. Take Essex Street as today’s example.
When purposefully making my way along the Strand, direction in mind, high heels set to autopilot, I catch a glimpse, from the corner of my eye - something nearby. A hint of something splendid off-piste. And that’s it. It is rarely even anything more than that that causes me to take up a new route.

However each time, and today was no exception, I persuade myself I am surprised, caught off guard if you will, when secretly and subconsciously I know that it will only be a matter of moments before my curiosity strikes again.

It is those moments that I long for. With each surprise glimpse of something intriguing, I accelerate, my eyes alert and hungry. I imagine bells ringing, diversion signs flashing, better still announcements of change of direction - shut down of GPS. I am seduced into exploring, discovering what my radar has detected.

No more cruise control - off I go leaving the beaten path behind me. All this might only be for a bed of flowers (today’s scenario!) or some cute café, which lead me astray. But more often than not it, is something exquisite, exotic, out of the ordinary. However major or minor, unproductive or seductive my diversion might be, I always try to indulge it. Why not, if you’ve the time; embrace the journey, the sojourn can wait and then you’ll have something super to write in your journal!

Needless to say I did not make it to the Law Courts today ~ perhaps I’m just not quite destined to reach my destination!

..to be continued! 
Apr 30

Words on the street!


It is often the fault of a street. Take Essex Street as today’s example.

When purposefully making my way along the Strand, direction in mind, high heels set to autopilot, I catch a glimpse, from the corner of my eye - something nearby. A hint of something splendid off-piste. And that’s it. It is rarely even anything more than that that causes me to take up a new route.


However each time, and today was no exception, I persuade myself I am surprised, caught off guard if you will, when secretly and subconsciously I know that it will only be a matter of moments before my curiosity strikes again.


It is those moments that I long for. With each surprise glimpse of something intriguing, I accelerate, my eyes alert and hungry. I imagine bells ringing, diversion signs flashing, better still announcements of change of direction - shut down of GPS. I am seduced into exploring, discovering what my radar has detected.


No more cruise control - off I go leaving the beaten path behind me. All this might only be for a bed of flowers (today’s scenario!) or some cute café, which lead me astray. But more often than not it, is something exquisite, exotic, out of the ordinary. However major or minor, unproductive or seductive my diversion might be, I always try to indulge it. Why not, if you’ve the time; embrace the journey, the sojourn can wait and then you’ll have something super to write in your journal!

Needless to say I did not make it to the Law Courts today ~ perhaps I’m just not quite destined to reach my destination!


..to be continued! 

"Spring sprang. Summer sang."

-

Off to the park I headed.

Not Hyde, nor Green; it’s to Regents I’m wedded.

The gentle breeze, the whispering leaves.

All senses awoken, yet not a word spoken.

May 24

"MR. BRAINWASH Far from being brainwashed (although on reflection my brain could certainly do with a good wash). If you, like me, were wondering what larger than life would look like; waste no time in getting to London’s New Oxford Street. An hour’s exposure to MBW’s explosions of colours and quirks, imitations and hallucinations; left me compelled to pick up a spray can. If only to shock and surprise the dapper doormen who chose not to search my oversized Longchamp, (as they did with every other voyeur) seeking pens and bottles of coloured liquid. Offended they did not consider me to be competition to these (great?) artists lurking between the layers of London’s Old Sorting Office, not even to possess an ounce of creativity, god forbid I also had an urge for self expression! Little did they know I’d pens galore. I imagined even streaks of my lipstick would have been most complementary to the insistent ‘Love is the Answer’ theme. And would they have even noticed an extra splash of pink? I’m not even sure Einstein would have! Anyway, moving on to explore what the Royal Mail would certainly no longer recognize, we headed deeper and deeper into Thierry Guetta’s cavernous mind. The soundtrack - old school Jazz, the energy - infectious. We darted from canvas to mural, stencil to installation; every medium imaginable was experimented with; enhanced, destroyed - the effect - an orgy of visual frights and delights. Albeit more delightful than frightful – I urge you to experience it for yourself. (If only for the free goodies at the end. My kind of gift shop!)"

Aug 31

 

 

Monocle. Keeping an eye on the world. I just wish, like my mother, I had one at the back of my head. But more on that later..

 

In search of clues for the opening date of my favourite magazines new cafe, months of wild detours and many pops into the Monocle shop later. The date is April 8th and I’m finally here, in the centre of cool.

 

Greeted by bearded beauties, not remotely emasculated by their little criss-crossed aprons, merely basking in the glow of the low hanging lights; halos to these hunks, I ordered an espresso. 

 

While they prepared my neat little tray, a square of chocolate included, I explored the downstairs. Well worth the vertically challenging descent. A floor filled with possibilities, inspiration for even the most creatively lacking individual. A nagging ticket to Tokyo. 

 

And the loo, a must skip to! An education in itself; options such as ‘wand cleaner’, ‘seat warmer’, an entire panel of exciting buttons and flashing lights await you. Should your coffee date be rather more bla bla than ha ha, you could lose a good few minutes in the room of rest.

 

Moving back upstairs, now in absolute empathy with my brother who climbed Kilimanjaro, I set up camp amongst the soft furnishings. Tray table to my right, the wall against my back, I’m wondering if the paint’s still wet. Though that should be the least of my worries! Transported to club cool, a sea of turned up trousers and statement socks, I was awoken with quite an awakening. More effective than my coffee, a large bang on my head followed by a tremendous crash on my tray table, it took me a moment to realise that a weighty canvas had landed and slid down my shiny hair.

 

Gaining consciousness I regretted my longing for Monocle heaven. For the reality made my heart beat much too much for a Monday morning, and the work I needed to complete for the day required every one of my (now depleted) brain cells.

 

*Note to Tyler, I was expecting the crème de la crème, Brûlé, to be knocked out by Monocle cafe, just not literally!

Apr 8
Quite a spectacle at Monocle!
"Turning up the Turndown Service!"
Aug 7

"Turning up the Turndown Service!"