Monday, 21 May 2012

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

Oh yes, indeed
London train journeys are a constant source of amusement, a 'street' theatre in which you, unwittingly play a part each day.  You never know who's watching who and the characters change daily.  Personally, I always mind my own business, ahem, unless of course, my attention is drawn to fabulous footwear,  or some hipsters's choice of literature, and don't get me started on the juicy conversational 'titbits' that inadvertently fly by my delicate ears.  Like I said, entertaining.  Priceless too.

Last week, I stood on the platform at Green Park station, fully armed with de rigueur iPod and headphones, jostling with the usual band of faceless travellers, waiting for that goddamn train to arrive and lo,  - dead ahead, plastered on the tiled wall, I spotted the above poster, which made me smile.  Sometimes, you really should 'look' around you.  And, seeing as I am, unequivocally, JRR Tolkien's Number One Fan, this quote resonates through every minute fibre of my being.  Yes, despite their hairy feet and funny eating habits, I have a soft spot for the Hobbits.  Okay, maybe it's Lord Aragorn, jeepers.  Nonetheless, a beautiful quote.

And if you are in the city, as said poster tells us, the British Library's 'Writing Britain Wastelands to Wonderlands' exhibition is currently running from now until September.  It explores how Britain's landscapes have inspired many of the country's literary works.  Sounds wonderful, I just might, you know, wander over...

Photo courtesy via yours truly



Friday, 18 May 2012

Sometimes I Really Hate Natalie Portman

Picture perfect
You will probably think I'm being silly but some days, I really hate Natalie Portman, with her perfect hair, perfect eyelashes, perfect pout.  She's always arranged 'just so', on the perfect sofa, holding perfect flowers, her perfect body in perfect silk.  Why is that?  Wait...something, something, Dior? Stylists?  She gets paid to look that way?  Oh, well.  Okay, no, I'm not obsessed.  But just for the record, in that psycho thriller, you know the dark bird one?  I thought Mila was, like, way better.

Myself, I'm dressed in a similar black nightie, I can lay 'just so' on my sofa too... but I'm staring at week old flowers that wilted far too early, thanks to my mother's obsessiveness with the 'English weather'.  It's too cold, can you get 'that man' to turn the heating up?   I have to remind her that, there is no 'man' and the butler's rope really is broken.   And I should throw out those flowers before my neighbours complain about that 'dead-rat' aroma permeating through the walls.  There's only some much a bottle of Penhaligon's perfume can cover up.

Anyhow, this weekend plans?  Aside from arranging myself perfectly on the sofa?  I am happy to report it'll be an assortment of the following leisurely activities:

1. SPA treatment *ahem*  Necessary evil of city life.
2. Sleeping elegantly, possibly includes a dream sequence of Tom Hardy for my manuscript.
3. Enthusiastic Gym session.  Followed by more SPA.  Followed by writing.
4. Perfecting greek poses.  Followed by reading.  Possibly, a steam and sauna session.
5. Writing. Writing. Sleeping.  Eating. Sleep-Writing.


That's me done.  How about you?  What's on this weekend?
- T xo

PS:  Do not fear, no pictures of Natalie were defaced during the crafting of this post...honestly.


Photo courtesy via tumblr






Friday, 11 May 2012

Release Your Inner Wild Thing


As a young girl, I remember reading Aesop's fables, The Hobbit, Grimm's Fairy Tales, -even Enid Blyton's Famous Five, but one of my earliest memories of books came in the form of the iconic story, - 'Where the Wild Things Are' by Maurice Sendak.   The tale of the little boy who went to bed one night and found himself in the land of the 'Wild Things', - it's wonderful illustrations have always remained, deep-rooted in the grey matter.   As a child, who didn't check until their bed before sleeping or hide under covers from the unknown monsters who lurked in wardrobes?  Actually, as an adult, I still do.  And, how I wished I had that four poster bed in my room!

I was sad to hear the news of the passing of Maurice Sendak this week.  Ironically, or not, just a few days earlier, I'd stumbled across this little video which I suspect Mr Sendak may have found amusing himself, it's 'Where The Wild Things Are' - as read by Christopher Walker, whom I think is a demi-god himself.  Beware, though -it's a little sweary so if you have delicate ears, and are easily offended by the F and B words... don't click on play.  Wait, I said, don't... Oh well.  *deep sigh*  I knew you were all wild things at heart. 


Video via youtube

A/N: We have lost a few creative geniuses in the past week,  MCA from Beastie Boys, Maurice Sendak and Vidal Sassoon, - all contributing their own special brand of artistic flavour into our lives.  I like to think of  them hanging out on the wild side now, sharing some amazing banter.  
Happy writing, reviewing, editing to you all!  This weekend, I have been drafted into an overnight camping trip.  I'll either be frolicking on the beach or traipsing through muddy fields in the north east of England.  JOY doesn't cover it.  Wish me luck!  - T xox

Monday, 7 May 2012

Tom Hardy, Fluffy Rabbits, and an Awkward Silence


It's early morning, the tiniest shards of sunlight are peeking through my bedroom window and I'm burrowing under bedcovers, trying to recall that sassy dream about Tom Hardy.  You know, the one where he's half-dressed in his fireman kit, carrying a kitten in one hand; a martini in the other?  Ah, yes, there it is...  I drift off into fireman paradise for a while longer until I feel the presence of someone else, lurking near the doorway.

From the depths of darkness, a small shadowy figure appears muttering something about rabbits, and I wonder if my subconscious has crossed over into Donny Darko land.  Suddenly, the shadow pounces, landing heavily on my bed, - only it's not a giant blue rabbit,  it's a small tiger.  Scribe Junior, and he has a book in hand, his face serious.  He's on a mission.

Scribe Junior:  Mummy, what's this book about?
Me:  Huh?
SJ:  *shoves book at my pillow*  This BOOK!
Me:  Ouch.  That hurt.
SJ:   I want you to tell me about this book.
Me: Wha-aat?  Eh... no, no, still sleeping... *mutters to self, where's Tom?* 
SJ:  *shakes me, does a couple more tiger rolls around the bed*  MUMMMMEEEE
Me: C, it's waaa-aaaay...too early.  I'm still sleeping... come back later.
SJ:  But Mummy, why is this rabbit doing this?  *points to picture of rabbit in toaster*
Me: Oh.. OH.  *grabs book*  Nothing... he's just playing a joke.
SJ:  No, he's not.
Me:  Yes, yes, he is.  It's just pretend.
SJ:  But what is this book about?
Me:  Um, er... it's about....
SJ:  It's about fluffy rabbits who don't want to live anymore.
Me:  *startled look, sits upright*  WHO told you that?
SJ: No one, I just read it.  And it says so, -there.  *points to cover*
Me:  *awkward silence*  Oh! I forgot, you can read now...  
SJ:  *smiles proudly* 
Me:  Shall we get breakfast now?




Photo via yours truly