A creative rebellion against practicality.

Well, enter a new phase in my life. Post-masters, pre-job, and it's apparently all about feeding my senses. A year focused solely on the practicalities of an extremely practical masters has left me creatively malnourished and hungry for my next he'arty' meal. Now all of a sudden I'm overqualified for the crap jobs and under-experienced for the ones I have my eye on, and subsequently I find myself with a lot of time on my hands. And it's great. Definitely feels good to have it ahead of me rather than snapping at my ass.

And I know, I should be job hunting a little more seriously than I am. Kate Conformable - my sensible side - has had a lot to say on that score, but right now Wild Kate has her in a headlock and doesn't look like she plans to let go. To hell with reality for just another day or two. I shall continue to indulge myself with the buttery, sweet and good things in life. Here are a few of my favourite recipes for contentment at the moment:

Penhaligon's - truly the most beautiful perfume and luxury goods store I know. I've adopted their Lily and Spice fragrance as my signature smell. Their attention to detail and loyalty to simple, classic good taste never fails to satisfy me in a way that no other store can.


Dunkin' Donuts - I was thinking about my amazing year spent in Barcelona recently and remembered just what a joy the Donut stand in the Placa Cataluna Metro station was after a long day in the city. There are plans to open a Krispy Kreme here in Manchester in December. Are they as good as our mates at Dunkin'? I'm excited to find out.

Chouchoute chocolates - picking a favourite is, I imagine, like trying to decide which of your kids you like best. It's not been easy but I think a couple of clear winners are emerging; passionfruit infusion ganache, and peach/hops dark ganache. But then again the rose and violet creams are to die for, and the pepper ganache is pretty good....



Montezuma's chocolate - a new discovery for me on a recent day trip to Brighton with my family. These guys do an awesome range of old school choccie bars, all nicely boxed. Be sure not to miss their coconut and macadamia nut bar. One of the yummiest things I've eaten in ages.

Lindt chilli chocolate - I know, chocolate features pretty heavily on this list huh? But seriously now, if you've not ventured to try chilli chocolate - outlandish though it may sound - I suggest you do so. Now.

John Mayer - "waiting on the world"
Feist - "1234"
These two songs are currently rocking my world.

Interior Decor - Ok, so if I was the maternal type I'd definitely be craving babies right now. Talk about the 'nesting instinct' - all I can think about is an attic flat in Barcelona, vaulted ceilings, wooden beams, and those floor to ceiling windows with shutters that lead out onto little balconies overlooking the rooftops. Or perhaps a small clapperboard cottage, near a beach, with white plank walls, a mezzanine and a garden full of honeysuckle and jasmine. A lifetime of house hopping is, apparently, finally taking its toll. I have entire folders full of inspiration for a house I can't afford to own for at least the next 15 years.





Beading - or attempting to. I'm halfway through a small lizard, which I may use as a keyring. It's a bit pointless, but therapeutic nevertheless.

I could go on about avocado, pine nuts, honey roast pistachios or apple pie with cold custard or double cream, but you guys already know they're great. Right? Also loving chunky knit scarves, though it's still too warm to wear them (never thought I'd say that living in England), wooden boxes, paperweights, marbles, and a certain pair of boots with a knitted upper - a pic of which cannot be found.

I could happily shut myself off from the world right now, just pottering round in a little place of my own, minding my own business and doing the things that make me happy. I can tell, because at the moment I'm content doing just that at my parents' house, which usually makes me restless. Batshit crazy, even.

I even went on a date the other day with a nice guy, and as I sat across from him eating my duck and listening to his awesome stories of film-making in Palestine, I couldn't wait to put a door between us. I willed him to pop out of existance in a little puff of cologne-scented smoke so that I could savour my food in peace. Is that wrong?

I'm dreading the enforced interaction, polite chit-chat and 9 to 5 drudgery that will be my life 5 days a week as of Monday, but I suppose it is high time that I rejoin the rest of the world and earn my crust. Maybe then I'll be able to afford to buy some of the fun stuff I've seen on Etsy, or get my flabby behind in the gym before it hatches a master plan to take over the world. Perhaps pick up Mandarin again, attempt to recreate some of the really nice flower arrangements I've been checking out on http://www.tryflowers.org/, or maybe - just maybe - treat myself to some Polaroid instant film and go out in search of pics. I could of course also get myself a life, or my sister a Christmas present, but that would be practical, wouldn't it now?

P.S. If you recongise the bedroom photo as yours, please feel free to step in and claim the credit you're due - I've lost the reference.

Stuck.

The room is still save for the slight rattle of window panes in their frames as another truck thunders past outside. Endless traffic, the distant boom of planes overhead, and somewhere a solitary bird trills, out of tune with the urban symphony.

The smug carriage clock ticks away the tiresome minutes and the laptop hushes quietly like the sound of heavy rain or a distant ocean. I think my head would sound like that if you held it to your ear.

Staring at a blank screen. Blank screen stares back.

I am Miserable.

Lots of grumbling and sulking.

How to catch a fleeting moment without freezing its flight?

Alexandra and Pasha

Easter Sunday with the family at Chatsworth House. Blue skies, good company and a picnic. I'll miss these days when they're gone.

'Mega'bus?

Began my journey home yesterday at 11:30 - arrived at 22:30!! No, I don't live in Jamaica, that's how long it takes to get from Watchfield to Sale if you opt not to use the train. I love Oxford Tube buses, big, clean double deckers with few passengers and lots of leg room. My inner child ran straight upstairs to steal the front seat - sensible side said 'you're toast if you crash', but my inner adventurer reasoned that the vantage point makes it worth the gamble. Windshield was sporting a massive crack from one side to the other but adventurer insisted we 'risk it for a biscuit'. London's gorgeous on a sunny day. Everyone out riding their horses, jogging or chilling in Hyde Park - a small taste of what life would be like if global warming keeps its promises.


Bought a book and an ice-cream sundae which was presented to me in a fire bucket as I waited for my bus transfer at Victoria. Was waiting for the usual sleek, blue double decker Megabus when this turned up. (see pic) 'Pity the poor bastards getting that for their journey' I thought to myself. Hmmm. Four and half hours of being crammed into a little, un-reclinable seat with no leg-room in front of the smelliest, loudest girl on Earth and I was indeed pitying the poor bastards - namely myself. Seemed that the only thing working was the air-con., which had apparently decided to make up for all other short comings by being super-efficient. 20 degrees outside, and we were all wearing coats and scarves.

Was so good to get home to the family and a dinner plate sized slab of aged red meat. Today's Easter Friday, meaning we've decided to exchange choccies 2 days early. Chouchoute, champagne eggs and Reese's peanut butter cups...who needs a man when you've got chocolate?

Alektorophobia...Chicken Phobia??

Chicken for dinner again tonight. Why is it the only affordable meat/poultry not to have been put through a grinder and cut with sawdust? Oh how I burn for a good steak, or lamb chops, pork fillet perhaps...anything but bloody chicken!! Why does it have to be so slimy and whiff faintly of rotten eggs when raw? It's really off-putting trying to eat the damn thing when you're still haunted by the image of bits of it clinging stubbornly to the cutting board. Then bits of it get stuck in the brillo pad and you wind up trying to pick them off with your fingers until there's practically no scourer left...argh! What is this, the chicken's revenge?

Here's a great business venture for anyone interested; a take-away restaurant. I'm not talking McDonalds, Pizza Hut, KFC...if I wanted to eat giblets I'd buy a can of dog food. I'm talking take-away steak, cooked to your liking with a medley of vegetables and sauteed potatoes; salmon with asparagus and new potatoes; duck a l'orange on a bed of parnsip mash... On nights like tonight when the last thing I can be bothered to do is wrestle a dead chicken in the kitchen I'd pay good money to have someone cook decent, nutritious food for me. I suppose if I were less of a shrew I might have a boyfriend to do that kind of thing like just all the regular frilly girls do, but until I find my Petruccio it's a life of picking chicken off the brillo pad for me it seems. Guess it beats picking some bloke's dirty undercrackers off the bedroom floor everyday.

On the distinctly up-side I shall be going home for Easter on Thursday, where the man in my life - aka Dad - will be cooking up a storm. I'm told we'll be eating out a bit too, and of course there's always that little matter of Easter eggs...Hurrah!! Do I detect Chouchoute chocolates on the horizon? I can picture it now: Hi Mum, Hi Dad. Where's the chocolate?

Four seasons in one day.

The weather is about as stable as a two-legged table today. We've had, sun, rain, sleet, a few flakes and howling wind and it's only just midday. It's all over the place like a mad dog's poop, I tell you. One of the trees at the bottom of the garden is making an ominous creaking sound and leaning a little further in the direction of the house than I'm comfortable with in the strongest gusts, but with a casual shrug I reason that it's not my heap of bricks - and the landlady's a thorn in my ass anyway.

I'm dying to go for a run but it's difficult to gauge what to wear to get there. Running outside is definitely out of the question unless I can be sure of having the wind at my back...I'd have no trouble beating my personal best if I could manage that. Today's one of those days when you practically need to pack a survival kit just to walk to the end of the road: umbrella, jumper, coat, gloves, scarf, hat, tissues, lip balm, sunnies.....the list goes on. Am beginning to wonder if it's worth all the trouble. After all, the proper gym shuts at weekends (squaddie logic, go figure...) so I'm relegated to a tiny room in the mess where they throw all the old equipment that's too worn and shitty to be of any use to anyone serious about exercising. I guess I should feel right at home.

The treadmill is a deathtrap when all is said and done, but it's worth chancing if I can forget Skippy for a half hour and up my distance. Brettus Minimus will be accompanying me as my gym buddy because you can't exercise alone in this gym for safety reasons - whether they're worried about you simply pulling a hamstring or being crushed by dodgy machinery is open to speculation. I feel quite bad about inviting Brett because I know I won't speak a word to him while we're there. I'm still at the stage where I have to concentrate hard on breathing to survive a 20 minute run without a crashteam stepping in, and, to be brutally honest and very mean spirited, I generally run to escape people, not to make polite small talk with them. I'm becoming as crabby and anti-social as my sister, the self professed 'bitch-hermit' extraordinaire. ;)

Just cooked myself a salmon steak. Like all of it's culinary predecessors this week at least half of it met with a sticky end in the bin. It tasted just fine, despite supposedly having gone out of date yesterday (I reason 'no mould, therefore it's all good') but somehow I seem to have developed a powerful aversion to food I've cooked. I even ate at McDonalds yesterday to avoid having to cook, and after my abortive attempt at salmon earlier I reason I may have to order pizza later if I'm to avoid starvation or over-dosing on 'After Eights'. Luckily I already have two dinner invites this week, and Skippy will no doubt have something up his sleeve as it's been over a week since we last ate together. I can probably squeeze a meal out of Nina the housemate too at a push. It's times like these when I miss home the most. What I wouldn't give for a big, juicy steak and home made chips the way Dad does them. I'm missing mother's day too. I wish the train fares were cheaper and work-load was lighter.

Have another 2000 words to bash out about Cuban disaster reduction by tomorrow. Right now all I want to do is curl up and pile up some Zs. Think I might do just that. I'm sure the Cubans can manage just fine without me for now.