Crimbo Rehearsal!

Revelled gloriously with my nearest and dearest yesterday. I roasted three chickens a feat I was quite proud of, those birds were prepared with copious amounts of love. We ate, we drank, we laughed out loud most of the time and played charades.

It was quite a shin dig and a great way to rally your friends up before Christmas Day. I have included some great pics courtesy of Sheeks ( Check out her awesome blog: chunkydoubledeuce).

Merry Christmas and all that!!! M x

1978

Pouring through napthalene scented albums is a past time savoured for those quiet moments of indulgent solitude by the fire. This afternoon I did just that and came across a rare jewel of a photograph. A Buddha baby version of my current self, on the cusp of taking the first tentative steps as an upright human being. Aside from being a reminder of how impossibly cute I was it is testament to how stylish and hip my parents were. The back drop is the living room of my parents' Hong Kong Condominium circa 1978. Perhaps I am drawn to the amber hue, common amongst photographs of this vintage?  There are nuances within this meticulously curated space that I have carried with me into adult life. I am welling up with nostalgia and an irrational longing for bamboo furniture. The Phalaenopsis orchids in a vase on the coffee table are a staple within my home and my bloom of choice for any occasion. I am convinced the key to my outlandish taste is hidden within every fibre of that noisy three-piece-suite. The mental snapshot I took at 9 months regurgitates itself often, it is clearly imbedded within my subconscious.

I miss the balmy days, the smell of my Snoopy pencil case and nanny Aurora's chicken adobo.

M x

 

A Child of the Jago

This twisted lovechild of Joe Corre ( Co-founder of Agent Provocateur) and Barnzley (designer) is quite possibly the sickest menswear boutique in the capital. It's been open since July of this year and my virgin visit last night has left me quite scarred and inspired. 

The name of the shop is taken from a novel by Arthur Morrison, who recounts the murky tale of Eastend squalor in Victorian London. The interior does not disappoint, as I crossed the threshold I was greeted by a Dickensian scallywag, resplendent in tailcoat and handlebar mustache. He ushered me into a time warp of a space decorated with old weaponry, prosthetic limbs and Apache Indian head pieces. I was torn between a Navaho style cashmere hoodie and a genuine 'Brothel Inspector' sheriff's badge'  but settled for a 1960s vintage Pirelli Calendar, a Christmas gift for a very lucky man!  M x 

A Child of the Jago

10, Great Eastern Street

London, EC2A 3HT

Ashes and Bones.

Graveyards fascinate me. This morning I meandered through the grounds of Hampstead Parish church. I was awestruck by nature's sublime invasion of such a space. The battle between man and time is a futile one.

The aged stones, garnished in moss and lichen all tell similar stories of some: "Selfless mother, beloved son, adored husband," whose ashes are interred beneath a crumbling sarcophagus. The simplest epithets are the ones that move me most.  There are forgotten stones on the periphery that serve as shelter for a roaming vagrant who has the decency to piss in a bottle and not the sacred turf upon which he sleeps. He shares his bed with many a forgotten soul.

The yew tree offers its sinewy boughs to the winter sun and the din of traffic fades into a distant hum. Stillness reigns and I pretend to be invisible.  M x

The Wall

There are times we all arrive at some sort of impasse be it physical or emotional. I am there. I have just walked into a gargantuan brick wall.

I do not know who to trust or believe anymore. It frustrates me to the core. Resolution is the order of the day but somehow not achieved. The battle is a peaceful one but a battle nonetheless. I find comfort in Nico's innocent, chocolate button gaze, a gaze that can only convey love not judgement. She is my reason, my strength and my family. 

The Fox

Had a wildly debauched 'knees-up' in aid of the Fox's Birthday. Stolen kisses, fisticuffs and frayed egos were rife. Never, never again! No, I take that back, life's too short to be rueful. I shall cherish every moment. I danced until my feet bled, lost all sensation in my toes by wearing the most precarious heels ever. I bear my wounds with pride. 

Copious amounts of champagne, good company and a kick ass band in the background make for a night of pure jollity. The Fox looked splendid, a Rossetti Goddess in rubber thigh boots and bandage dress. 18 forever!

The Art of Play

This morning I played, played and played until my cheeks became ruddy. Fearlessly I scaled great mountain faces and threw myself off imaginary canyons into rivers of multicoloured balls.

It is easy to get lost in children. Their innocence and ability to exist within a moment serves as a time vacuum. It is a practice I wholly recommend and liken it to sort of conscious meditation. It would do our souls a world of good if we could only shroud the mundane with some semblance of play- if only for few minutes a day. Here are some ideas to soften the most hardened of grown-ups:

• Making yourself dizzy 
• Building a den
• Climbing trees
• Swinging with abandon
• Dancing with abandon
• Singing with abandon
• Hula Hooping
• Cartwheels
• Handstands
• Peeing behind a bush
• Juggling
• Flying a kite......       Love M

Don't hate, create and curate!

                                                                                              Butterfly catcher >
                                                                Anonymous masked woman


Mark Leckey has won the coveted Turner Prize this year and in homage to such an 'illustrious' awards ceremony I have curated and created a shortlist for my very own imaginary selection. 

Art is omnipresent. From weather beaten planks of wood and gnarled rope to every creaking crevice and forgotten photograph. Look for curios collecting dust under the stairs or in the attic, give any oddity or objet a platform and it will look glorious.  Love M

<Wooden Spectre in plaid jacket                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Astonished woman in restaurant>

Let's begin at the end.........

Tis' the first day of Advent and I am gazing out onto the rolling Cotswold Downs tinged with crisp, white hoar frost. What a perfect way to begin this blog as the year draws to its festive close and the promise of 2009 is imminent. I am filled with inspiration and a desire to share it with you.

In the grim wake of the current financial crisis there is a glimmer of hope, a renaissance perhaps? We should seize this opportunity to reflect upon our lives with a certain reverence. Appreciate the beauty in things we already own and those we love. Reclaim, recycle and reinvent, the way forwards is to hearken back!

Love M