the mightiest pen

I've always been much more of a "lets go for coffee" sort of person rather than one who goes for pints, and having never got what the hype was it seemed a much more expensive and much less pleasant way to spend a few hours. Perhaps it's because I didn't used to like beer and it was difficult to know what to drink when you had to sip it so slowly without reaching into your handbag to top it up (so classy, I know). But now I like German white beer so that part's okay. And I love pubs during the day for reading and doing a spot of people watching, sitting by myself with a cup of coffee, a book and a sketchpad, especially somewhere cosy and old-manny with lots of nooks and crannys like Neachtains. But now I like sitting there with other people too and just as much as in a cafe somewhere. So when the girls asked did I want to come for a drink I decided why the hell not.
However, instead of pints we all had hot whiskeys as the cold and the rain turned us that way inclined, but the barman didn't seem to appreciate the magnitude of work involved in filling our order. Sipping on our warming goodness (before moving on to the inevitable pints) we composed a circular poem - write a line and pass it on.
Entitled either "Pulsating Loins" or alternatively "What have we got to get up for", you can read and decide:

A steely stare, eyes of steel,
Shot me with a gun (it wasn't real)
I wish it was, I would have laughed,
But instead my will was halved.

But then I began to know him more,
His finest cheap beer he did for me pour.
He gave us each a discount card,
As he could tell our lives were hard.

He mistook Ruth for a student young,
She accepted the lie and swallowed her tongue.
Falling to the floor she hit her head,
'Alas!' he cried, 'I fear she's dead!'

Ruth awoke saying 'Why do you speak like Albus Dumbledore?'
He replied 'Oh this is awkward, I'll talk like this no more'
Can't write no more, my thoughts are sparse,
This has descended into farce.

Farce or no, we must go on,
Or Ruth will swallow a baby (my rhyming is gone)...
Gone with the wind like the day to the night,
Like our youth and our looks, we've lost the fight.

Well I'm not giving up you bunch of quitters,
I am the hurl I will beat you like sliotars.
We've forgotten the bar man, it got so wild,
Screw you Zara I still look like a child.

We've lost track of the point from which we did start,
So like the children we are... I'll end with a FART

granny gone gaga

Guess what, I'm in training! Oooh you had better believe it I'm prepping myself in the long run for retirement. Open fires and Hugh Fearnley Whittingdale are my new best friends and we've been spending lots of lovely time together the past few days. With the wind and the rain and the nothing to do I can stay snuggly indoors stitching alone and bitching at nobody in particular about the state of affairs in the world today and the shocking amount of Christmas adverts already on the television. Now where's my hot whiskey?

Perfect Ten

I have a self-imposed internet rule: No Shopping. Except for Amazon. I can look and I can like but I cannot have.

But sometimes, like the times when I'm suffering from cabin fever from hiding from three days and three nights of constant miserable rain, I see too much of the internet and too little of reality which makes me question whether it might be okay to make an exception to my exception.

Today I came across Dimepiece Designs who say their recurring theme each season is the interconnection of women and power. I just need to take that power and use it for positive thinking - I'mhappywithmyclothesIdon'tneedtobuyanymoreI'mhappywithmyclothesIdon'tneedtobuyanymoreI'mhappywithmyclothesIdon'ttobuyanymoreI'm happywithmyclothesIdon'tneedtobuyanymoreI'mhappywithmyclothesIdon'tneedtobuyanymore

Let them eat cake

In the beginning there were scarves. Mile upon mile of silk scarves and silk and cashmere scarves oh the luxury! The fashionable giraffes were in their element! Long necked zoo creatures and some certain folk have all the luck. Like designer Julien David- Paris-born, New York-trained, and Tokyo-based he was there in the beginning with the scarves. And he's here now with more.
His collections are themed along some of his strongest personal interests, including freestyle skateboarding, computer hacking and artificial growth. His concept for fall 2010 was graphically based around pills and the designs range from prints of hundreds of minuscule pills lined up beside each other to create a plaid pattern or just a giant two metre long pill....cool...

Expanding into other garment designs he is currently working on the connection he feels with the energy of big cities, their streetwear and urban mix of cultural arts and music. He wants to communicate the attitude of the street to those who hold a narrow perception of what is acceptable as high-end clothing by using precious materials but common references in his designs and so trying to challenge the current perception of what a luxury product is.
This time he has girls and their bicycles his focal point; BMX bike tracks shape the collection with dirt track imprints and bike graphics, ostrich skin shinpads and helmets constructed from lacquered human hair, and reflections of these hexagonal shapes in the shoulders of the jackets.
The pieces are more posh than they are practical but they're challenging and far from contrived, so a little bit of something for everyone (except the giraffes). Myself I like the 'shapeless' tent-shaped tops - one for the hippopotamus' I dare say.

raindrops on roses

An anniversary of twenty years in the business calls for celebration in the style of a birthday because this year that's how old Tsumori Chiasto is in fashion. Hip hip hurray, her SS11 collection is a round up of all of her favourite things and the dreamy colours and magical shapes amalgamate in sparkling style. As kawaii as can be, there are manga style girly dresses abound with sequined illustration prints of leopards running wild on imaginary pastel landscapes.

Half of the pieces in the collection are based on black and that's great because black's black and that's that. The other half look like they stole the wallpaper from a baby's nursery to use as their material, which confuses me as in theory it should look ridiculous but in effect I actually quite like it and I'm trying to decide why. Perhaps it's the soft flowing shapes or maybe it's the delicate colours that bring to mind happy thoughts of Polly Pocket and My Little Pony and such like... What do you think? Do you like them?

Stanza One : adoration of alexa

I said I'd take to wearing black and white which I've been doing a lot of since the summer anyway, having inadvertently accumulated a shocking array of white tshirts and blouses. But Issy went to France recently and, as everywhere seems to have better vintage shops than here, she got a good old fashioned victorian blouse, whose lace collar was fantastic at playing peek-a-boo! (Please excuse the VERY creepy photograph, my camera is easily excitable. And Halloween is nearly here...)

choong choong train

She's the style icon of all the girls I know whom I think dress really well. Which isn't all that surprising because she's just so... normal. Beautiful and ridiculously stylish but at the same time seems like if you met her she'd say hello. (although if I saw her coming I'd presumably fall over in a faint before she got the chance) It's probably the tomboy thing in her, puts her as the sexy boy next door not the intimidating slutty dreamboat from the next street over.

She has said herself of how she gets dressed: "Sometimes I've seen someone rad in the street or I try to assemble my version of their outfit. Sometimes it's just what's clean and attainable."

See... Totally normal.

In November's ELLE she's shot by David Vasiljevic and does plain jane so well that I wonder why I even try? From now on I shall dress only in black and white and speak only in Ode to Chung.

home alone

If you were to ask me what's the best thing about life as a graduate I guess my answer would differ quite significantly depending on the day but today's the day and we're all here now so I'm saying hangover days. Wondrous hours of utterly guilt-free unproductive nothingness wherein you wander languidly from couch to kettle and back without a care in the world, or, well, the immediate future at least.

Yesterday was one of such loveliness, augmented all the more by the absence of parents - father having decided for some reason to bring mother to Sligo for the weekend. The cats were away but as far as mice go we were rather meek in our playing; suffering from acute lethargy we lacked energy enough to bring ourselves to muster the energy to leave the house, even for coffee. So instead we had an afternoon of pure domestic contentment. We baked mini apple tarts with cinnamon and raisins and blackberry jam, before collapsing onto the couch again.

Empty batteries were the opposite of conducive to our plans for the night, for much as we love nothing more than hours of trashy television and Hugh Grant style movies, we had to go out dancing again. Which led us, in compensation to our sorry selves, to indulging in our new-found vice: The X Factor.

Oh the shame, oh don't judge us, oh forgive us, oh we know you secretly watch it too...