Thursday, 25 November 2010


The chaos has well and truly descended on my world, in a vain attempt to maintain order I have a pile for each category - traveling, charity, storage and shipping, this becomes confusing. Having to make decisions on sentimental items, clothing that I may or may not yearn for at a later date, fully aware that I will be kicking myself for the items eagerly sought and shed with haste. The bigger omnipresent mind engulfing sentiment is the unknown - what am I doing? why am I leaving my home behind, my world is good my head spinning with all the possible scenarios that await me down under. I guess I should be excited and I am, if only I could complete the packing then my life might feel a little clearer. Here is my room, perhaps a reflection of my current head space.

On the plus side I have spent the evening drinking red wine with a Melbourne/London friend talking through the finer points of life downunderover.

Wednesday, 17 November 2010

Back from the brink

Sorry for falling off the radar I have been momentarily out of action *(sickness related)./ But have no fear I'm back! This evening there are two openings of interest to report on...

My friend Vikrum who looks after the Apiary Studios on Hackney Road is hosting an exhibition entitled 'Come meet the strangers' a collection of works, live performance and installation by photographer Iulia Filipovscaia who explores the interplay between different mediums as a reflection of our increasingly technological based reality. With live photography, screenings and new developments in her 'o' project, the evening appears intriguing.

Iulia's images are from past works

39-39 open there doors this evening a fun shop with a concept store ethos, located 2-4 Old Street. The 'made in the uk' leather gloves featured on their blog look great. And I’m pleased to report I've made it onto their site in the style pages, good choice my friend. Must make sure I don't wear the same outfit tonight. With Gareth Pugh behind the decks there is sure to be some dancing involved.

Thursday, 11 November 2010

Horsing around

I like to escape the bubble of east London as much as possible; it is good for the soul. Country air blows perspective into life and makes all the inconsequential matters appear less visible. Ever since I missed the opportunity of the play scheme trip to go horse riding aged 10, I have been trying to make it up to myself. I long to be able to ride well, a heroine in a fantasy masterpiece, mounting my stead with assured dexterity before galloping off a impressive pace to save those in peril. Perhaps a symptom my dreams have been punctuated by horse based adventures of late. I was delighted to be invited to Coggeshall or Coggashael (as referred to in the Doomsday book), with Emma, to visit her family. The town, a Roman settlement dating from 31BC, is founded on ancient lay lines. It has three pubs, two local food stores and a dog shit alley, no town is complete without a dog shit alley. This particular alley connects the Woolpack pub (home of rowdy locals dancing on the bar to karaoke) to Emma's house, convenient when staggering home in the dark. Post staggering I woke early with excitement today was the day horsey and I would become one. It didn’t go quite to plan, my horse sensing my inability decided to play up a little, I was so happy to be straddled to the horse it could have bucked me and I wouldn’t have minded. The lesson began and my thighs and balance simultaneously sprung into action, I desperately wanted to acquire as much skill as soon as humanly possible. I’ve been on horses before, however it wasn’t quite the same; trekking horses follow the same route most days and require little direction. I had to lead the horse, cajoling into submission whilst I bounced purposely in rhythm. It was wonderful I wanted more; posthumously I was glad I didn’t. For three days post ride I took a john Wayne stance as my inner thighs recovered from such a feat, even an hour and a half walk home from work did little to ease the ache. Now the recovery is complete I look to the future with relish as the prospect of my next dalliance looms closer.

Foal and I chewing the fat, out of the 68 horses at Raine Riding School I think he liked me the most.

The Chapel Inn, 16th Century, the heart of town, this is where all the action occurs.

The conservative club, I didn't stumble accross a labour club.. nice building, shame about the contents.
I want to live in a house like this
The halloween weather lingers as the night draws in a truly mystical experience

Friday, 5 November 2010

From Deptford With Love, Bearspace Gallery.

Before the expansion of the east London line Deptford market and the delights of New Cross seemed slightly unobtainable - a tiresome trek negatively imbalanced. Yet on a rainy Friday Sarah and I decided to investigate. To our delight the overground remained pristine and speedy, upon arrival the grey skies applauded us with a light sideways shower. Seeking refuge in a cute train cabin cafe with inventive vegetarian dishes; where we debated the finer points in life. We stumbled upon a slightly grubby and charmingly random shop with an eccentric occupied by an eccentric save cantankerous attendant. On offer were a random array of foodstuffs and toiletries. I went for glass jarred items only, once I was sure they were in date and left pleased with my cut price larder.

On the main strip is the rather wonderful Bearspace gallery (once an old pub), inside, a considered selection of art fastidiously arranged for the maximum space/impact ratio. The invigilator’s dog (a cute shaggy yappy type puppy) merrily sought us out as playmates, helping himself to my belongings, including my wet brolly comfortably locked in his jaw, dragging them across the floor, stopping only to chew the freshly painted plinth. God I wish I were that dog.

We never quite made it to Deptford market as it was practically closed by the time we hauled our slovenly arses down there. Instead we scratched the surface of the notable art scene; home to Goldsmiths the area is brimming with galleries, as the rain did its worst we ran for the cover of the tube. Check out the Deptford Art Map for prompts on where to go.

Wednesday, 3 November 2010

New speak or recycled ideas? Saatchi Art Now...

We went to the private view for the new exhibition: Newspeak: British Art Now (part two) at the Saatchi Gallery, it was engaging, well some of it. Other works failed to grab my attention or if they did it was for the wrong reasons, obviously topical pieces, which seemed somewhat out of date, sensationalist art that had simply lost its effect due to overexposure. The venue is huge, three floors with an excellent, well stocked shop. There was however enough to make it worth the traipse from north east to south west, here are my highlights (I had half an hour, two glasses of wine and a tour guide for the adventure).

Tessa Farmer, brilliant name, great piece of art, intricately put together, with comical consideration.

Zoniel marvelling

We loved the quality of the painting, old school discipline with a modern subject matter.

Spot the difference

Good sense of depth, the print jumped out at you from across the room

Fairly tried and tested gathering of symbolic artifacts, yet on a massive scale, the piece raised contention as to the skill required to create said art.

Tuesday, 2 November 2010

Oozing hearts, pierced nipples, spots and all...

Eat your own heart out at Maiden was resounding success with people queuing down the road on the opening night and following days, alas its all over now, fingers crossed for next Halloween.

The launch was quite a racous affair with metal band The Defiled opening the shop, they smashed up a massive cake and hacked into a finger with a cleaver.

Oozing hearts by Lilli Vanilli

My pals, Matt and Natalie represent, loving the gifts on offer

The after party was held at Electricity Showrooms, gotta love the light up dance floor, (they filmed common people here, way back when).

Complimentary pre-tox potions (with added vodka) courtesy of Alibi, although unsure as to the effectiveness of the pre-tox, perhaps it was the tequila forced down my throat by Matt tipped me over the edge.

Love this bath boobie massacre sponge by Holly Andrews