This morning, I have mostly been doing star jumps.
My new red playsuit kind of demands star jumps.
Click the pic, people. Click that pic.
“There’s a fleekin’ vintage kilo sale on tomorrow!” I yell. He doesn’t answer. “Can you HEAR me? I sai-d… Hello? There’s a KILO SALE on in York Hall tomorrow! You know – in Bethnal Green?” And he still doesn’t answer. I don’t mind. In fact, I’m not even sure he can hear me. I’m shouting from the office and really, despite the plasterboard walls being fairly thin, they are still plasterboard walls and there are 3 or 4 layers between us. I’m not worried about the silence. I know that once I tell Beardy about the kilo sale properly (and when I explain to him what a kilo sale is), he’ll want to come. Flying in the face of what most women’s (and men’s) magazines will tell you, Beardy enjoys shopping. If I’m honest, when it comes to vintage clothes shopping, he’s much more the pro at it than I am.
We woke up on Friday morning – not early, not late. Around 9.30am. I guess that’s pretty late for most people with normal jobs but since we’re supposed to be on holiday this week it doesn’t count as lazy. After some Island pottering, some kitchen table tea drinking, some unimportant computering and a whole load of chit chat (I made a typo there and chit chat read ‘shit chat’. I gurgled out loud a little.), we made our way to Bethnal Green. Actually, that’s not quite true. First we browsed the containers at pop-up mall, Boxpark, in Shoreditch and cooed at the beautiful headphones (I know! Headphones?! What has happened to me?) in Urbanears, drooled over the wedge sandals in Irregular Choice and wondered whether or not we were too old to wear Gola in the Gola shop. I am pleased (and a little relieved) to report that Boxpark is pur-itty cool and probably warrants its own blog post – even if I am writing well after the launch hubbub has petered out. We did well to behave like responsible grown-ups and not blow our pocket money on these (or these) and instead promptly headed to Brick Lane where we bought salt beef bagels and slices of cake for tuppence. On our walk to the Vintage Kilo Sale, I was delighted to stumble upon Le Grenier – a shop I’d heard about and read about but never had the chance to look about in person. Days later and my heart continues to skip a beat when I think of the amazing aqua green plastic full-wall bathroom caddy for sale. £85. Worth every penny. Worth every penny, when you have plenty cashola to buy food and travel passes, that is. And we don’t. So, having stroked the bathroom caddy and bid it farewell, (Le Grenier Shopkeeper to pal later: “Yeah, there was this weirdo plastic fetishist in the shop today rubbing our bathroom wall cabinet. It was so creepy…”), we trotted along the road.
Now, I’m happy to admit that my trotting was fairly enthusiastic given that I was going to a Vintage Kilo Sale – but I do not feel it was extraordinarily enthusiastic and I’m quite certain it did not warrant my tights falling down right there in the street. No siree. I tried to make light of my predicament to Beardy but detecting my inner panic, he ushered me into the nearest bar in order that I save my modesty, tend to my chaffing thighs in private and howk my Nora Batties back up where they belonged. I am afraid this was not the end of Tight Trauma. In retrospect, I should have taken a photograph. By the time I returned to The Island, my bottom was entirely un-tight-ified and the waistband of my hosiery was wedged round the tops of my thighs kind of like some weird chastity stockings contraption. If there’s one thing you never want to utter to your husband in broad day light (or to anyone else, anyWHERE else, really) it’s, “Seriously – has my gusset reached the hem of my dress? Has it? Can you see it?” And that, my friends, is why they call me ‘Carrie Not The Kind Of Girl You’d Marry’. It’s a shame really… As legend has it, Abba DID compose a verse about Carrie’s tights falling down in ‘That’s Me’ but it didn’t make the final mix. Oh – and to anyone currently thinking, “But why, if you were wearing rubbish Primark tights, didn’t you put an extra pair of knickers over the TOP to keep ‘em in place?” – the simple answer is – “That’s gross”. And besides, what if I got knocked down by a bus? The paramedic might think I was some kind of self-healing super heroine and leave me to die.
THE VINTAGE KILO SALE
I honestly do not know why I continue to fool myself. If I look deep, deep inside my soul and really tell the honest truth, I knew before I even got to York Hall that I wouldn’t find (m)any vintage gems at the kilo sale. I just knew it. Not only had my brain yet to reset itself back to factory settings post-moving ordeal, I feel at the moment like I’m in some sort of style limbo. Can I pull off snow-wash denim? Do I really want to? Why am I finding it difficult to resist trying on a pair of shellsuit bottoms? What kind of varsity sweatshirt defines ME? Replace the Ikea catalogue with rails and rails of secondhand clothing and I find myself in the midst of my own personal Fight Club identity crisis meltdown. I’m wearing leggings more frequently – but because they suit me or because they’re the closest things to jammies I can wear outside? I take to stalking fashionable people, hoping their stylishness might rub off on me. I follow them around the venue peeping over their shoulders to see what they’re gripping on to and what they’re eyeing up. Inspired by the choices of one particular lady (she seemed to be placing ‘comfort’ as highly on her her list of fashion priorities as I do), I snaffled up a pair of electric blue wool culottes. I later tried them on (using Beardy as a changing screen) and although we both agreed that the colour was nice, I felt odd in them and Beardy said they made my arse look enormous so that was the end of that. The armful of jumpers I’d gathered was returned to the rails too. Not because I didn’t like them – just because I was in a huff, really. While I was disappointed at the distinct lack of Carrie-friendly clobber on sale, Beardy completed his checked shirt collection, weighed out at just under a kilo and went home happy. I left empty handed.
I’ve been back home in Glasgow for 4 days. In that time I’ve been drunk twice, have bawled and cried at a wedding, eaten the best chicken balmoral ever and scalded my ass. More about that later. First thing’s first. What with all my time in London being taken up with enjoying fun times, my blogging fizzled out in the final days as I tried to cram in as much as I could before heading home again. So. Here’s the first of my little catch up posts.
Disclaimer: This blog post was penned while Carrie Not The Kind of Girl You’d Marry was (i) suffering a post-wedding hangover and (ii) was nursing a burned ass following a nasty incident with a burst hot water bottle. Go easy…
Rewind to Saturday 10th September. Although the ol’ gommy body was on it’s last legs following my traumatic totter along the Thames, I took the long tube line round in a circle from The Southbank to Bethnal Green – the plan being that I could have wee soft seat and a little rest before attempting to do a circuit of Judy’s Affordable Vintage Fair. The plan just about worked – though to be quite honest, due to wobbly legs and an out of shape spine, it was, admittedly a prrrrrretty quick circuit :/
Setting up home for the day at the fabulous York Hall, Judy’s vintage shopping shindig seemed to put every last nook and crannie of the space to great use. I’ve visited York Hall a few times for the BUST Craftacular and absolutely adore the venue. On this particular day though, the usual array of BUST-style indie craft delights were replaced by hoards and hoards of clothing, homewares, accessories, ephemera and vintage craft & sewing supplies.
I’ve been to one of Judy’s Affordable Vintage Fairs before (in Glasgow). I’m not sure if it was down to my not being able to cope with the frenzied crowds (I’m not very good at crowds) or maybe it was because I felt a little bit disorientated in the semi-dark venue (I’m not very good at darkness), but somehow, my vintage goat was not tickled. There is, of course, every chance I was just being a grumpy Gertie. The endless gaggles of excitable teenage girls scooping up armfuls of secondhand delights would certainly testify that the event was bonzer. For this 30-something gal though, I found the clothing offer in Glasgow to be pretty 80s heavy, and I suppose that’s not really my thing. Though, that said, what I’d give for my stupid sensitive skin to allow me to don an enormous, embellished angora sweater or a big rainbow coloured mohair number… Eeesh… I guess that’s the beauty (and the bugbear) of vintage and secondhand clothing shopping though, huh? There surely is something for everyone, but depending on the luck bestowed upon you by the goddesses of thrift and the mothers of secondhand – some days you’ll find gems galore and on others, the vintage vibes just aren’t working with you!
Anyway, all that said, Judy’s London Town set up made my eyes pop and my heart skipped a little beat or two as I limped around the lanes of traders. Overwhelmed by the sheer volume of vintage clothing though, I kind of gave up on that aspect of the event and instead oohed and aaahed at other, non-wearable things instead…
It ain’t no secret that I have a button fetish. That little sewing supplies obsession I’ve developed over the years? That shows no sign of waning either. Had I had proper pocket money (and the means to ferry a decent haul home), then I’d have gone wild in the aisles! As it was though, I was happy just flipping through card after card of beautiful – not to mention really well priced – buttons, sewing notions and all sorts of crafty ephemera.
I’m not sure why, but vintage magazines seem to be weirdly rare in Glasgow. The last batch I managed to pick up came from a monthly antique fair, but there wasn’t too much choice and I just happened to be lucky in that titles I was interested in were the titles on display. See! Good vintage vibes. However… At Judy’s there were bundles of magazines, TABLES full of magazines – even the odd additional rack dotted around. Had I been able to bend properly (by this time I must have looked to the sellers and to my fellow vintage shoppers a bit like Quasi Modo), then I’d have spent much more time leafing through the masses and masses of vintage fashion booklets, women’s lifestyle mags and gentlemen’s journals!
Other favourite things included:
1. Upcycled cushion covers made from 50s Hawaiian flags/scarves
2. Loads and LOADS of beautiful bags. I’m still dreaming of the yellow knitting bag…
3. The stall specialising in vintage barware. This fella had it all – including several unusual Babycham pieces. Eep!
4. The £1 stall. I seriously wish I’d just bought the weird plastic doll I found. And – and this will sound a bit weird, but to those familiar with my liking for scabby old dolls (literal – not a euphemism), I wish I’d taken home a handful of miniature plastic babies (literal – not a euphemism).
5. A lady complimenting me on my Lucie Sheridan ‘Cock’ bag :)
Judy hosted her freshers’ edition of the Affordable Vintage Fair in Glasgow last week and her vintage roadshow is set to hit my home town again in October. I’m there!
You can find out more about Judy’s Affordable Vintage Fair here and you can keep up to date with event info and vintage chitter chatter on Facebook and on Twitter.
Oh – and P.S The following day, Judy was hosting The Affordable Vintage Furniture Fair. I resisted the urge to pop along – mainly since I have yet to secure a London flat to put furniture in. But as soon as I do, you can bet your boots I’ll be hot footing it to Bethnal Green!
Carrie Not The Kind of Girl You’d Marry is a big, fat, lazy heap of sleepyhead this evening. After a looooong day stomping around town in search of some bargainatious winter wardrobe staples followed by a looooong evening Made in the Shade-ing, I am officially pooped. So pooped infact that the filling I made this morning for my long awaited beetroot tart is still in the fridge. I was very nearly a good housewife there - just for a split second. But I’ve gone and ruined it now. The beetroot tart will need to wait until tomorrow. As will the post about my shopping trip I had planned. All you need to know for now are these salient facts:
1. I now officially own a pair of leggings.
2. I can think of at least hundred reasons why I no longer want to live in Glasgow – and, turns out? Most of ‘em can be found hanging out in McDonald’s on Argyle Street.
3. Today I became a charity shop champion. Made up ‘bargainatious’ simply is not the word. Well, it’s not A word, but… Whatever.
Talking of fabulous bargains – a great big box arrived at my house this morning. I wasn’t going to answer the buzzer at first (I very rarely do. Heck – it might be debt collectors. Or door to door charity muggers. Or worse still, the Irish Catholic missionaries that seem to enjoy holding my hand or, OR the stupid electricty meter reader guy who refuses to understand that I need at least two days notice to be able to guarantee him access to the Giant Cupboard of Crap where said meter is installed). Anyway, I did answer the door. And I’m glad I did. I am a big brave girl. The postman brought me a tonne of ‘desperately-trying-to-cheer-myself-up’ gifts I’d purchased from Leona Thriftola’s surprise £1 sale :)
Here’s just some of the treasure I bagged… (Let’s do pictures tonight, huh? Too much talky talky tires a gal out!)
I spotted this on Leona Thriftola’s shelf the very first time I visited her studio.
The Japanese rainbow keyboard lives in my house now – though it’s currently on display with it’s pretty red case closed. I’ve decided that it won’t flash it’s cute pastel keys until it’s sitting pride of place in our new flat in London.
I know what I’m doing with the rest of my evening! You’ll find me crimpin’ it up, baby. Crimpin’ it up – and not in a Mighty Boosh kind of way neither. Pretty soon, my barnet will be as bumpy as the ride to town on the 38 bus.
Rather ironically, I bought this beautiful vintage kitty bank to inspire Beardy and I to save, save, save. Hmm.
This is my new Holiday Book. I’ve decided that it will document next week’s Carrie Not The Kind of Girl You’d Marry solo trip to London Town. It is blue. And beautiful. And look! It even has handy phrases in French and Spanish and German and Italian in it!
I’m not going to say too much about this just yet since I can feel a full blown post coming on. What I will say though is, “Wow”. I think we know each other well enough now for you to guess how flippin’ excited I am.
Yes. I think you understand.
Tiny food! Everybody loves tiny food. When we finally get to move south to our new city life, Beardy and I will each use one of these to keep our new house keys safe. And cute.
Visit Leona’s shoppe at: www.thrift-ola.com – but I swear, if you buy the Elvis rug, I will take you down.
There’s a certain sort of baggage I really wish I could shed. Those knotted carrier bags full of rubbish and nonsense that build up in the corner of my brains in a big messy pyramid shaped stack. I’d like to ditch them. Throw ‘em on some psychological scrapheap and set them alight, maybe? Fears and phobias, weirdo hangups, failure hangovers, all sorts of paranoid androids, stupid limitations, bitter sweet memories (that was all I took with me), angry thoughts, green eyed monsters… “Let them melt to gloop!” I’d shout as I flounce off (probably covering my nose and mouth and coughing quite a lot. Bad baggage like this gives off hazardous fumes, you see*).
There’s a certain sort of baggage I shan’t ever, ever part with…
Poor Beardy. Beardy is exasperated by my penchant for a good piece of luggage. That said, I insist that our house needs more practical storage and what more practical, affordable (and what more bea-u-ti-ful) storage could a gal happen upon than some perfectly bashed and beaten baggage? I currently have about 8 full size cases and a couple of little vanity boxes. And a briefcase. And a case especially for storing cassette tapes. Some live on show, some live in my storage cupboard.
Today I was gifted one of the very best bits of baggage EVER. When I was little my parents had a small black leather case with a big silver buckle fastener on the front. In comparison to the swanky beige 80s matching set they had, the black case was dinky – and it was certainly the prettiest of the luggage stack. I’m not sure what ever happened to it. It was always my favourite. Imagine my delight then when my friend presented me with a suitcase super similar to this ‘lil piece of McMooglie family nostalgia! Even more exciting, this particular little gem is the perfect shade of GREEN!
I will treasure it for always. I cannot wait to take my suitcase on a new adventure.
*Fumes ARE still hazardous even when the bonfire is imaginary.
[Since I appear to be thoroughly uninteresting and indeed uninterested lately, I've decided to get the creative juices flowing again by looking to some clever people I like for inspiration.
Don't you just hate that phrase, "get the creative juices flowing"? It gives me the bolk. I think the word 'juices' is pretty disgusting generally. I take no issue with orange juice or apple juice. That's ok. Juices, plural, gives me the heeby jeebies. You know when people talk about cooking Sunday dinner and they mention roasting things (animals) in their own juices? That's the worst. Second to the notion of 'creative juices', that is.
I'm so sorry Jolene. This little preamble is turning into a most unfortunate introduction to my long overdue post about how great you are.]
I met Jolene almost two years ago. She visited my shop not long after we opened. Crazily supportive of what Clare and I were (are) trying to do with Made in the Shade and with our little Maisonette, Jolene quickly became one of our favourite and most loyal customers (not least because her name was really Jolene!). Over what was a relatively short space of time, I guess, I began to consider Jolene a friend. As is often the way in Glasgow, we discovered we had several pals in common plus we had tonnes of shared interests – and some shared bugbears. There’s nothing like a shared bugbear to bond a pair o’ gals together. Let’s face it. In a nutshell, I quickly learned that Jolene is a talented so-and-so. As is her husband. As are her daughters. She’s a feisty little creature and a pretty inspiring specimen of a woman really. And by god, she makes a mean bowl of soup.
A little while ago, I returned home from a week away* to find a parcel waiting for me at The Maisonette. I surveyed the box. I noted the ‘Thriftola’ sticker on the front. I checked and double checked that the box was definitely addressed to me. It was. I was confused – but excited. I knew I hadn’t bought any treats online. Heck! I wondered if there had been some mistake. Perplexed.
I opened the box. Inside, wrapped carefully in puffed up bubble wrap, was a cuckoo clock. A beautiful, red, vintage cuckoo clock. I already knew it wasn’t operational but I didn’t care. I knew because not weeks before, I’d posted up a link to said cuckoo clock on my Faceache profile, gushing about how pretty it was and about how much I loved it. I had a little blub to myself – blubbed up by the notion some secretive little mite had been so thoughtful and kind.
It wasn’t too long before my anonymous gift giver revealed themselves. Mid-blub, Jolene arrived at the shop and as I sobbed about what a nice thing some soul had done out of the very goodness of their wee heart, Jolene exclaimed, “IT WAS ME!” I blubbed even harder. Bless her multi-coloured hosiery. I’m not sure the tears were the reaction she’d been hoping for.
So. Jolene is a fellow bloggy blogger. Her site, Precious East, is dedicated to unearthing and sharing all the fabulous creative stuff that happens in Glasgow’s eastside and Jolene regularly shares little diary entries, crafty chatter and beautiful, inspiring photography. Her blogging schedule is much less erratic than mine. I recommend you pay her a visit.
After spending a short time hanging on the wall of The Maisonette, my beautiful decorative clock is now displayed proudly on my living room wall.
*We really must get round to discussing my ‘week away’ sometime soon. I was actually off filming a tv commercial. With Clare. For Nokia. I know! Bonkers!
Let’s face it… I ain’t no vintage glamour puss. Try as I might, with my longtime Bettie fringe and the occasional pretty frock or beautiful shoe (I do, however, normally don two at a time), I simply do not have the skill nor the patience to pull off the 50s moviestar ‘look’. All that preening! All those hot rollers and flawless complexions. Those high heels and poker straight stocking seams… Ooopht. Since it seems I am incapable of blow drying my own locks (yes, I can blast heat at my head but there is zero likliehood of me rockin’ the hairbrush and a dryer at the same time, my friends), I think it’s time for a rethink. And since my legs are of notably gommy stature, those seams just ain’t ever gonna be straight are they? As for the footwear dilemma, well… I can stand up in ‘em heels, but ask me to move around and we’re onto plums. You know that funny knees-bent-strut Tina Turner does? That’s kind of what I look like trying to totter around in a heel. Find me out and about just one measly hour after I’ve arrived at the party and we’ll not just be dealing with a funny walk – we’ll be dealing with runny eyeliner and gloopy mascara balls stuck on the cheeks from the tears I’ll be tearing all in the cocktail mix. (I should probably also get myself some new mascara). Sore feet. Sore legs. Sore hips. Sore back. Forget it peeptoe wedges – our relationship is o-v-e-r. You’ve hurt me one too many times. Hurt me so bad…
So. What to do? Beardy gave a little quote for my new craft book. He was asked the simple question, “What does Carrie look like?” and he replied, “Carrie looks like a wee girl but dresses like a granny”. I have decided to fully embrace my granny chicness once more. I may stop short of a blue rinse and tight perm – MAY stop short, but aside from that one minor concession, I’m grannying it up from here on in. When I’m not grannying around town, I’ll be dressed strikingly similar to my former 4 year old self. Comfy shoes. Elasticated waists. Ridiculously high beltbands and hilariously huge pants. This is the way forward, of this I am certain.
I joked with someone on Facebook a while back about having invented granny chic. I wasn’t even joking. I remember the exact point in time. There I was in Los Borrachos (I KNOW?!?!?) in 1998 (1997 maybe?) and had rocked up to meet my friends Nurse Betty (who, to be fair, hadn’t been christened NURSE Betty just yet) and Victoria Plum. I was wearing a pair o’ big baggy troos – a la Natalie Imbruglia wannabe – coupled with a twinset. Yes. A twinset. I had a little flocked round neck top with a matching roundneck cardi. “Ho! Ho! Granny chic” I chortled, wondering if maybe this fashion fiesta was a bridge too far for my dancing pals. Little did I know this was to become the wardrobe blueprint for evermore. That counts as inventing something, right? (I was in no way responsible for the hell that was gypsy chic incidentally. Ye’ won’t be laying that one at my door).
So. I picked up my Springtime granny jacket from a charity shop in D-Town last week. It cost £4. It’s pastel blue. It has white popper buttons and a hood. I flippin’ love it. When I whipped it off the hanger to try it on, Beardy thought I was japing around. Much to his displeasure, I was not. Jacket. Check. Next up – I need to sort out the barnet. Not to get it grannied up necessarily – but mainly because the trademark Bettie fringe has now reached the tip of my nose and quite frankly looks pretty hideous. More hobo than hottie for sure. I am contemplating a bowl cut. I am. I really mean it.
I’ve been researching the different sized bowls I might choose… Feedback and suggestions welcome.
I’m afraid I may end up looking more About A Boy than Camera Obscura – but nevertheless, a style to mull over methinks. You don’t need rollers to look after this ‘do’ do you? Shit. I bet you do…
Beardy and I moved into our little flat in Glasgow’s eastend about 8 years ago. Only now is our home starting to shape. Since deciding to add The Nesting Project as a regular blog feature, I’ve made but a teensy weensy bit of progress each week. Not in the boudoir as planned, but in our living room. Progress nonetheless.
Over the years I’ve accumulated a lovely collection of prints, photographs and bits and bobs to decorate our bare walls. Only now though (nearly a decade since we moved in), have we begun to hang and display things properly. Until just the other day, frames were propped on surfaces, stacked on the floor and stashed away out of sight in cupboards and in corners. Pretty objects were ‘stored’ rather than displayed and the layout of the furniture in our room reflected less what we like and how we use the space but more what we thought a traditional living room ought to look like.
Today I enjoyed a lazy day off. I spent the entire afternoon in the new-look living room. I listened to cds I’d neglected and I read magazines I’ve been saving for months. The day was quiet, the sky momentarily blue and Smokey Cat and I relished our lounge time with smug little grins on our faces. She purred and purred from her spot on the pink footstool as I enjoyed cups of tea and platefuls of warm buttery toast on the couch.
Before we can tick the living room off on the Nesting Project ‘to deal with’ list, there are a few niggly little things that need addressing.
The ‘To Deal With’ List
1. We used to quite like the bare bay window. The room feels bright and sunshiney when the weather is right. However, the view outside isn’t exactly what picture postcards are made of (our apartment looks onto a derelict school yard – truly blissful). You know that cosy feeling you get – the feeling that you’re cocooned inside your own wee nest? We don’t ever get that. We want it. Real bad. Into the bargain? It’s kinda draughty… This week I will be hanging a set of hand-me-down green velvet curtains. Given to me by my mother, the curtains used to hang in my parent’s old house. They were there for over 20 years. All I need is a darned curtain pole…
2. Oh – and still on the window theme… Thanks to a bit of problem solving inspiration from crafty Clare Nicolson yesterday, I am going to try to make my own roller blinds. Yes. I am. And they won’t be no ordinary roller blinds either. I’m going to be making lace/net curtain roller blinds. I am excited just typing it.
3. It’s weird what moving furniture around can do for a bod. The new music corner is just great and already we’re spending loads of time in it (well, Beardy and Smokey have set up camp over there more than I have – but I do enjoy a little sit down in the nook when I get the chance). It needs just a couple more bits before the ultimate loungin’ exprience can commence. I’m on the look out for a (set of) tiny side tables and a circular rug. Spotted any? Think thrifty.
4. On the far side of the room stands an enormous wall-sized shelving unit. It has ugly glass doors. Since we bought it (yeeeeears ago), our intention was to black out the doors with the perfect wallpaper – thus adding a bit of pattern to the whole living room ensemble and hiding the multitude of crap that’s stored on the shelves. However, turns out? The perfect wallpaper doesn’t exist. I came close to snaffling some on Ebay at one point, but I snoozed – and I loozed, and hence, my poor glass doors remain undressed and the multitude of crap remains visible for all to see.
5. Books are beautiful. It’s occured to me recently… People frame prints and photos and flat things. They frame record sleeves and even 3d objects in box frames. I have decided that I’m gonna build a book display area above my sofa. Oh yes. I am not ashamed to say that I do judge a book by it’s cover a little bit – and I want to show off some of my favourites. Required for this mini project – just one or two lipped shelves and a fine selection of booky wooks. Et voila!
So. If I don’t update in the next week with some movement on this ‘to do’ list – come poke me with a curtain pole.
So after devouring a scrumptious meal made by Beardy’s fair hand (blackbean chicken with fried vegetables and beansprouts), a little Josh Ritter sing-a-long round the kitchen table and a right ol’ rant about the political direction of the country (don’t even get me started) I have decided that…
1. I am no longer hungry and in a much better mood than I was but an hour ago
2. I really ought to listen to Josh Ritter more – the man’s an angel
3. If we ain’t got nothin’, then we ain’t got nothin’ to lose (how very Kris Kristofferson of me!)
I also felt inspired enough (while singing Girl in the War in fact) to take a few snaps of some choice items I want to include in my new bedroom decor.
The other day, when I was trawling through bits and bobs in search of some eensy weensy glimmer of direction for The Nesting Project, I pulled out my Domino decorating book. ‘Tis a lovely book. I am such the sucker for a hard fabric cover and pretty photographs! In there, along with loads and loads of other tips, I happened upon a wee snippet that suggested grouping favourite items together then organising them into rooms. Actually, the snippet suggested photographing EVERTHING in the house you want to keep - then shuffle items about into room clusters – but I didn’t have enough time or energy for that!
Here are just a few of my favourite bedroom picks.
Now… That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Let’s get to work!