To those kiddies that check this little thing even though I'm so bad at updating it. Thank you, I love you, and chances are I miss the hell out of you!

Iced Tiffany's

I'm not one for coordination, at all. 

I struggle to walk on flat surfaces, and no one is ever likely to list 'graceful' as one of my attributes. 

And while I trembled to step out on to the blinding and hella-slippery surface of the ice rink at Somerset House, I'm pleased to say that not only did I not slice my own fingers off (yes, I would somehow find it possible to run over my own hands with ice skates), but I didn't even fall over! And there were times, amidst the wobbles and the giggles, where I caught my breath with the cold, and glided, swooping around the corner, and felt a teeny ... bit ... graceful.

If you're in London, you should definitely do this. If only to marvel at the effectiveness of Tiffany's marketing. Skate at Somerset House, and you can:

 Catch the elevator, and step out of a Tiffany's box!

 Look inside a Tiffany's box and see a teeny bird sitting on a white grand piano!

 (It is pretty though, isn't it?)

 Eat a Tiffany's cupcake!

And drink mulled cider out of a Tiffany's cup.

As K said, we probably would have been skated so much more gracefully if we'd been draped in Tiffany's diamonds. Now there's a marketing thought...

Hello there, perfect facial structure.

Rosie Tupper. Vogue Australia 2010.

London life, right now, is a little like this. Please also include a complete inability to carry an umbrella.

Watching… The seasons change. So incredibly beautiful. 

This is right on Putney Bridge. That be the Thames, people. 

Medieval castle Church spires. Excellent.

 Doesn't it look like a painting?

 Listening… To Arcade Fire. And The Foals. Most often while riding these babies up and down as I try to find my tube. I fell up the escalator the other day, and now have two puncture wounds with tails scraped into the front of my ankle. I am just that talented at walking.

 Wanting… To eat breakfast all day, every day. Super happy to have found a cafe that serves Sydney style breakfast, with amazing coffee and a ridiculous selection of breads and cakes. Nommity-nomnomnom.

 

 Buying… Funny cards. Sorry to share your birthday card with the rest of the world before you receive it, mystery friend!

 Trying… Bolder shads of pink lipsticks.

Writing... In a brand new journal book thingy, with lined paper that is just perfect for writing rambling letters to people. Mmmm stationary.

Reading… I just finished 'Far From the Madding Crowd' and absolutely loved it. I feel like I am Bathsheba. I wonder if such a humblingtumble from self assurance is inevitable in everyone's life.

Watching... Mad Men. Starting at Season 1. "I don't make breakfast, and I don't make plans." That's a damn good line.

 The above jacket is a bespoke Burberry trench, designed just for her by Christopher Bailey. You know, as you do.

Can this girl be any more stunning?! Seriously, love her.

Just a few pics from promotions for the new HP film. And a random one (the last one) from Seventeen magazine. 

She can pull off all shades of lipstick. That is my test of true beauty.

images via: http://emma-watson.net/

In a cloud of clean sheets, listening to my favourite song on repeat, and loving that I don't have to rewind a tape to do so.

TechFail

There is probably nothing more frustrating than finally feeling like you want to blog again - take pictures, create a story, upload and resize, shift them around, and shove a few words here and there - than to unzip your camera, switch it on, and witness a little technological passive-aggression:

Change the battery pack.

Which is fine. I understand that after a certain amount of neglect, every inanimate object has the right to be a little stand-offish. Rusty doors and also wheelbarrows have this down to a fine  (squeaky) art. As do bikes - sulkily deflating their tires day by weary neglected day, knowing that when you get that fitness urge you'll be totally dished. 

The reason I am staring in consternation at my pretty little tired camera is that I just moved house today. 

And am now experiencing that slit in the lining of the world, where things just don't make sense. This slit in the lining of the world, by the way, is the one where socks get sick of their partners and decides to run off, timing their exit for some point between the washing basket and the washing machine. It's also the place your common sense goes, just as you slam the car door shutandlocked, while your keys dangle in the ignition.


So anyhow, today was going swimmingly. I packed:

Arrived with one suitcase. Jeeeeeez, London!

 Checked under the bed. Vacuumed, dusted, and waved goodbye. 
Worked out new keys and new locks, hauled numerous (how so numerous, in only 4 months??) bags upstairs, danced around the new room. Looked out every window. 

Autumn leaves, and a bend in the road, and terrace houses and chimneys! And slightly frosting windows. And a lightpost!


Revelled in a full length mirror (I can see my feet! Whee!). 

Unpacked. Put fresh vigour into the tired promise to keep my room clean and tidy. Tripped off to buy wine and dinner. 

Yes, that tub of black olives and hummous was full when I began. And yes, it counts as dinner. And yes, I have cheap taste in wine. 

Sat down, took out camera, all ready and happy to snap away and bloggity-blog. You already know the part about the flat battery. The whole slip in the fabric of the world thing is that I did all this today, and never once laid eyes on my battery charger. Ba-booowwww. Holy hot damn, where can it be?? I can't think for the life of me when I would have had it last.

And that's beyond passive-aggressive. That's downright bitchin' of you, technology.

*All photos courtesy of iPhone. Blogging circa 1999.