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.

Little Gifts.

All three clocks say 11:11, a lucky time according to Skippy - but then what does he know. A lot apparently.

Had our last proper evening together tonight, if together is the right word. He bugs the ass off me. He's pedantic, logical, sensible, predictable. Hasn't a spontaneous bone in his body, runs a mile at questions any more personal than 'can I borrow a pen?'. But he's logical, sensible, driven and all those other things I lack. Being around him 'completes' me in some roundabout way because he's everything I'm not but wish I was. Once again I've left him without asking all the questions that occupy the space in my mind where my thesis should be right now. Maybe I'll send him an email, and then I'll never have to deal with the inevitable pregnant silences and awkward body language that I just can't bear the thought of.

I almost trod on a snail tonight. It was the oddest thing, I just felt the slight crunch beneath my heel and managed to adjust my balance just in time to save him. Good thing too, I hate killing snails. I turn to a barefoot Skippy to warn him about our little mollusk friend. "That's no snail, it's a lizard" he says. He's a pedantic git to the end. Looking closer though I see right next to my little snail there is indeed a little lizard. It's striking for so many reasons, not least for the fact that for once we were both right. Wild lizards are almost unheard of here in England - in fact I've never ever seen one here before - and to see one next to a snail for me just seemed poignant given my strange affection for, nay, fixation with, the two species. Sometimes it's like the world sends me little gifts just when I need them most.

Sounds silly but I think I'm the snail - it's one of the creatures I identify with most, an armour plated mobile home. The lizard is only too apt for Skippy; not meant for this country, and sensible enough to make painful sacrifices when he knows it's for the best. (At least thought to be painful - the tail thing has never been proven, neither has the cutting me loose thing).

I look at it as nature's way of telling me that we're incompatible. Completely different creatures who find themselves at close quarters, despite the fact that the two should never have met. I'm glad we did.

I am Miserable.

Lots of grumbling and sulking.

Self Portraits

When it comes to judging beauty in others I like to think of myself as something of a connoisseur. There's nothing I like better than to people-watch. To sit, alone, drink in hand in some deserted corner of a cafe watching people meeting with friends, lovers, stopping for a drink before going on with their business. You might say I'm nosy. I like to look at clothes, shoes, hair, eye colour, learning from the bad and storing away the good for future inspiration. You might say I'm judgemental too. I also study demeanor, how a person holds themself, facial expression, do they return a passing smile in the street? I like to try to construct lives and personalities for these strangers around the basis of their looks and comportment. I have no difficulty in deciding which looks I like, which hairstyle pleases me most, who is attractive and who is not - until I am confronted with myself. You might, therefore, even say I'm conceited. We are all, however, permitted a certain degree of navel-gazing, a certain amount of time to spend 'staring, big -Narcissus, into some spring, to set the darkness echoing', and that is precisely what I spent an hour doing yesterday. The portraits are the result.

Why is it that the one person you would think you'd know best is often the one you simply can't get an objective handle on? Why does it even matter?

I have always found it odd that every time I catch sight of myself in a mirror or a photograph a different girl seems to stare back. I like to think that there is a different face for each of the little personalities which together constitute the whole (Suzy Home-maker, Power-dressing-business-bitch, Popular Party Girl, Cynical Social Recluse, the Kid, the Free Spirit) and that the camera is capable of catching each one as it surfaces momentarily.

I keep looking at these photos and trying to figure this girl out, see her through eyes which aren't my own so I can make my mind up about her as I would any other person. It's no good though.

Green Eyes. Greedy for things they can't have.