Tuesday, 27 December 2011

Lapland.

Lapland. It was beautiful. Go. Just go. Words cannot describe.

  • Snow.
  • Finnish accents.
  • 60mph in on the Ice.
  • Evergreens.
  • Bonfires.
  • Hot berry juice.
  • Gingerbread.
  • Ski legs.
  • Attractive humans.
  • Fairy lights.
  • Too hot.
  • Too cold.
  • Just right.
  • Kiitos.
  • Reindeer strokes.
  • Reindeer eating.
  • Reindeer fur.
  • Speeding mobiles.
  • Plough. Plough. Plough.
  • Hot chocolate.
  • Father christmas.
  • Hats.
  • Wool.
  • Elves.
  • Bright stars.
  • Powder.
  • Huskies.
  • Lauren.
  • Antlers.
My pictures. They don't capture the beauty there. I would happily live there.














We raced the sun home. We won.

A nice day.

Now I know that everyone has their presents, I feel safe in posting this picture.
On the 13th. I think. I had a lovely day. It was an early morning. Gusty. To town to sign the little form. To buy presents. Pretty presents. A little shop called the Golden Goose entertained me for at least an hour. Full of trinkets and little pretties. My favourite kind of shop. While in there I had alot of fun smelling candles. Beautiful scents. Honeysuckle sweet. Blush soft. They were bought. Some surprising tones coming from little tin pots.
I went to the garden cafe that day. By then it was raining. All shopped out and waiting for parking tickets to expire. Moneys worth.
I sat outside. Under the porch. In the rain. The wind subdued by the four stone walls. I smoked a cigarette. I drank my tea. Listening to sounds. Chatters and Clatters.

Yes a pointless little paragraph.
But a lovely day it was.

Friday, 16 December 2011

Miss.

Everything about Christmas this year, is reminding me about last year. So much has changed since. Last year I was in Falmouth. In love. Happy. Clueless. It was blissful.
Me and Chloë getting far, FAR, too excited for Christmas holidays. Going home. Food. Gifts. Parties. Shopping in Truro for party dresses. Wintery beverages. SNOWBALLS. Peaking too soon.
I am clutching onto my memories from last year like my life depends on it. In a way. My sanity does. I'm just reminding myself how many things can happen in such a short time.

2012. It's here quickly. It seems like only last week that I was in Bath celebrating New Year in the freezing cold. With J and the bouncer. It was a good night. And little did I know 2011 would be the most eventful year of my life as I can remember, so far.
All I can really hope from 2012 is that nothing much happens. That everything I work for puts me in a better place. Physically. That I can better myself in ways that I see fit. I hope to be able to bring in 2013 as a happier person in general. Maybe with some direction.
2012 is really a new start this time.
All previous years, I have been in the same situation year in year out. Same people, same surroundings. Same everything.

I am excited for things to come. Next year and onwards. But for now. The rest of 2011. December. I have Lapland to look forward to. I have another NYE to get excited about. Chloë, the boys, cardiff.
A change of scene.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Foxed.

Yes. I used tracing paper. Shoot me. No. Don't.
I really liked this image by Derek Guidry. I like it so much that I would like it on me. Ink. Ink. Ink.
The problem I have is that, I am completely copying someone else's work. It wouldn't be so bad, if it was someone who had been a life long inspiration. Or something. But because I have only seen afew of his works. And I mainly like this one because it's a fox. The best animals. I think it would be strange to get a straight copy tattooed.

So I changed it up. I made it softer, I think. Less intense. Blue eyes over green. Compass instead of a clock. SW. South West. Always.
The issue as always. With a tattoo.
Where to have it?
This would look quite nice a bit bigger. I think anyway. You never know until there is a stencil on your skin. I'm thinking arm. Upper inside. Maybe.

Just another thing to save some money for.

First Pages.

It feels good to start a sketchbook. To be able to draw. Doodles. Sketch. Design. Cut. Stick. Destroy. Sketchbooking was always what I most enjoyed. A book of secrets. The process of thoughts behind designs. Layers of mistakes. Seen as an aesthetic addition to the pages.
So far I have just been playing around with the noisy knitting thing. Learning to use it. Becoming friends. It is convenient. A weeks worth of hand knitting done in a mere two minutes. Automated needles. All I need to do is move my arm backwards and forwards. Taking the wool over the shiny, awaiting needles. It is not so easy however, to make a garment. The knitted world has another language, which I am yet to grasp.
Testers are filling my pages. Mainly because I cannot really work out how to do much else.

Colours. I have some disgusting colours at the moment. But it was free. No real complaint. When I start to make garments. Which I will. I will buy my own wool. With a nice quality. Tasteful colours. Pretty clothes.

I will make you all winter wrap ups. All cosy sleeves and comfort. Patterns and pretties. Plain and textured. Everything I can think of will be made, at least once.

I have the shed again. And yet to take any pictures. The knitting machine is not very photogenic. It is all metal and plastic. Industrial and ugly. I will take it down at some point. Decorate the walls inside with nostalgic pictures. Drawings and the like. Then I will take some snaps.
My lovely shed.
It's a home again.

Friday, 25 November 2011

Monday, 14 November 2011

Leather Jacket.

I thought I would show you a Jacket that I am selling on Ebay for my Dad. He used to wear it on his motorbike. Young and free.
I can't put my finger on exactly why it is that I like it so much. Maybe it is just the look of it in the images. Vintage through digital. Or maybe the emblem of the Native American Indian on the back. It is leather in distress. It's texture is very satisfying.
I like it.
I just like it.

Midnight Musings.

Last night I was thinking how I have just let myself get into this rut that I am not stuck in. It's a shame, that I have been so weak. Maybe selfish. Time to myself, but time constantly wanting company. I am over the initial shock of everything that has happened lately. Now all that is left is to sort myself out. Lounging around, doing nothing for a week helps, but only for so long.
Unproductivity is productive, but only for a short while.

This morning, I made another To-do list. It's a big one. It's a detailed one. It's the one that will help me get back on track. On it there are serious and quite urgent tasks. Get a job, for one. Listed inbetween, to remind myself that i'm allowed to have fun, are insignificant things. Take photos, get films developed. Etc.
Then the long term. Plans for the knitting. I have some tests done. It's exciting to make things. I forget that feeling, but I love it so much. Achievement. Surprising yourself. It's a warming feeling.
Moodboards for designs will be made. Pages and books of designs, tests, successes and failures will be compiled. Research will be done. I'm going back to the structure that I have known all my life. The one of school. This time however, I am teaching myself. My own education. My own questions. My own mistakes. My own success.

The downer to all these plans is ofcourse money. I need some. For everything. To get some, I am selling things on Ebay. Things I got given, bought and taking cuts for selling things that do not belong to me. It's a start.
With any money I make. Job or no Job. I will be using it to inspire myself. Drown myself in balls of wool. A strange image, I agree, but a lovely one to me. Pretty colours, soft texture, intricate patterns.
Again. My excitement.

I know I will be ok now. I feel calmer, more organised. A teeny tiny bit of direction.

The shed will be finished and warm by the end of the week. I will be able to sit in there with a warm drink, under my fairy lights. Be it rain or shine. Even frost and snow. The shed will be my home.
Again.

Thursday, 3 November 2011

Reading List

I thought it may be a good time to make a reading list. Seeing as I'm not really doing anything at the moment, I may as well read. My book collection at the moment mostly consists of Harry Potter, Tess Gerritsen thrillers, and a few random nice books containing love stories and fairy tales. Not the widest variety.

  • The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
  • To Kill a Mocking Bird - Harper Lee
  • Ulysses - James Joyce
  • The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers
  • The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway
  • American Psycho - Bret Easton Ellis
  • The Door into Summer - Robert Heinlein
  • Watership Down - Richard Adams
  • Perfume - Patrick Suskind
  • The Picture of Dorian Grey - Oscar Wilde
  • A Spell of Winter - Helen Dunmore
  • The Road Home - Rose Tremain
  • The Life of Pi - Yann Martel
Now I need to purchase some.

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Cat and Mouse.

Once upon a time, quite recently, there was a cat, and there was a mouse.
The cat was nice enough, but seemed a bit spiky when you first would speak to her. She had long hair. With the same colour as the sun, on a long autumn sunset. When the cat warmed to you, she would retract her claws, and put away her teeth. Perhaps too quickly she would set aside her instincts which told her that she was unprotected and vulnerable.

One day the mouse met the cat. The cat was not so eager to let her vulnerability show. She had just been scarred quite badly from a slash to her heart, one which she did not want to open again. She was taken however, by the eyes of the mouse. The darkest, richest brown, which in night time looked like dark comforting hidey-holes, ones like those that cats like to find on a quiet day, curl up, and go to sleep in. The mouse may not have realised, but the cat had noticed him, just as he had noticed her.

A little time passed and they both met again. They ofcourse had not forgotten each other. In the short while they were apart, the mouse had been imagining them together, fine dining and good conversation, discussing good entertainment and literature. While in the cats mind, they had both been playing with balls of string and lounging lazily in the warm evening sun. Maybe this was the beginning of their differences. Apart from the fact that one was natural prey, and the other natural predator.

There was a party. A summer party. The cat invited the mouse along with some other cat and mouse friends. They had a ball, with laughs, with sun, with food, with friends, What was a spark then turned into a flame. They would not leave each other's minds. The mouse perhaps, more aware of what was going on than the cat.

Just a little bit more time came, and then went, during which, they would talk every night. Telling fairy tale stories of things that never happened. Also planning things that never would. One thing did, the flame grew to fire.
The cat once told him of a story. A cat who ate a mouse. She thought that's when she really felt it.

The cat came home. The mouse came to see her, and the rest was history. Recent history. He flattered her. She admired him. He was more than she first thought. Intelligent, genuine, handsome, kind, modest, and most of all, he made her happy. It was almost like she was becoming less of a cat. Her claws had gone, her teeth had shrunk. He called her cute. It was what she needed. Her guard had been up for far too long. Sometimes she would think that, at heart, she was really a mouse.

Love was said and shown. She thought of them together. For months and for years. The cat, with all her guards let down, was falling into a trap. She did not know it. And to be fair. Nor yet did the mouse.

Mother cats always tell their kits to watch out for traps in the road, as they lead to big holes in their hearts. This is why cats always land on their feet. So that when they do get surprised by a hole in the ground, they can still get up, shake themselves off, and walk on.
Just now, as they go on, they will be a little more wary.

The time came when the mouse could not see himself with cat any longer. As mice are quite solitary creatures, he felt crowded, pressured almost. He likes his mouse time. He did not know how to tell the cat how he felt. So instead he did what he did best. He thought.
He thought about what was good. What was bad. Why he should stay. Why he should leave. The cat could sense that something was wrong. Or at least preoccupying the mind of her mouse. She asked him once when they were together, if everything was ok. He said yes.

Like a time before, the mouse came to see the cat. The air around them was different. There was no spark. No flame. Just a sad glowing ember, struggling to stay alight. There were words. Mainly from the mouse. But while he was talking, he realised that the cat to whom he did still adore was no longer a cat. She had turned into a mouse. A new mouse. Frightened and timid. No claws or teeth to defend herself with. The brutal truth of his words, opening the old wound of heartbreak on her shriveled cat's heart.

The timing was perhaps the worst. Already beaten from being a new mouse in a cat's life, she was fragile. She wanted to forget. She didn't know quite who she was. She even thought that the colour of her hair had faded. She cried. But when she cried she wept the tears of a cat. Not a mouse. She at least knew then, that her glorious cat self was still inside her somewhere. The cat that could again protect her.

The cat and mouse, both sad, spoke. It helped, but it didn't. Cats are not supposed to be alone. They are supposed to have a companion. To play with their hair. To stroke their noses when they are sleepy. They need someone to play with. For they cannot always play with a ball of string alone.
Mice are different. Mice don't enjoy playing with string. The ball might squash them and their brilliant minds. Instead they eat the string. Leaving the cat with nothing left to play with.
At least the mouse would be safe from the cat's reemerging claws.

The cat still trapped in a mouses body, with her fading hair and little teeth, misses the mouse. He hurt her. But she expected it. She always gets hurt. Just a careless little kitten. Instead of dwelling on what they had, she is now just thinking of what could be. An odd pair they were in the first place. A cat and a mouse. Who would have thought. Now they know however, that they can always be friends. The cat does not ever want to lose the mouse. He is small and witty. But she will chase him. She will never lose a friend if she can help it.

That is what the cat is now most excited for. That they can still be in each others lives. An odd pair of friends. There for each other when it is needed. She knows it may take some time. But she is prepared to wait.
Impatient in most things. The cat is most patient when chasing a mouse.

In the mean time. The cats claws will grow back. And her teeth will get long and sharp. Ready to defend herself from a heartbreak again.
Though the life as a mouse will be something greatly missed.

Sunday, 30 October 2011

Tears.

For various reasons I have cried every day for the last 7 days.
I wouldn't go as far as saying that I was depressed. I am just very very sad.
I am newly unemployed.
Back to being stuck at home.
Absolutely no money.
Frustrated.
Alone.
I feel hopeless and stupid. With no way to help myself.
I'm not even taking pictures of anything at the moment. Even with so many festive things happening around me.
I need to get away. Now. I have no way to run away. I have too little money to go far enough away. I'm too impatient to wait to go away. I'll never get out of this rut that I have created in my mind.

I need to figure out what to do. What I want. I don't know what I want. It would be so much easier if I did. Some direction would help. Something to aim for.
But I don't have that either.

Friday, 28 October 2011

Bedroom.

This is my bedroom. As you can see, my fairy lights are dying.
More have gone since I took this photo. It's sad that I'm upset about it. But they are pretty. And I've had them for ages.

Anyway. This is my fortress of solitude for the rest of my foreseeable future. Until I get a job. Sort my life out. And get out of here.

Caught up.

Last weekend I spent the evening and day at Chloë's house. It was lovely. Full of food, as usual. Drinks, catchups and gossips.
We had some lovely tapas to accompany Chloë's delicious butternut squash soup. We had cava, wine and flaming sambuccas! Drank with a bit more dignity than we may have drank them at uni though.

Sunday, we really may as well have been in the Blue house. Nibbles. Roasties. Red wine gravy. Misfits. Uni basically.

I'm glad I listened to my spontaneous thoughts last friday and accepted the invitation to go round. I've really missed Chloë. It's nice to know that we are both in the same situation. Stuck at home, frustrated, eager to make our own lives. It will happen, and we both know it will take some time. But at least for now we both have someone who knows how it feels to be trapped.
After all the reminiscing we did last weekend about times at uni, I'm sure in a year or so, we will meet up again and reminisce once again about how easy our lives were a year ago.

I'm hoping for the best. For both of us.