Last year's gift guide was a big hit, mainly among the various relatives who are obliged to buy me presents, so in response to popular (okay, paternal) demand, here are some bits and bobs that I wouldn't mind finding under the tree this year.
The final selection gives you an insight into my ideal activities for the next few weeks: sitting on the couch, wearing cosy slippers (1), luxuriating in the scent of a fancy Christmassy candle (4) and eating nibbles from a posh bowl (3) because everyone knows nibbles taste better from a posh bowl. If I'm not holding the baby for ten hours straight in an attempt to make her sleep (which is why I'll need some bronzer that makes me look less like a sleep-deprived corpse, 6), I'll be knitting myself yet another snood (5) or, more likely, writing the seven thousand thank you cards I have yet to write because I don't know where anyone lives, hence the need for an old school pen-and-paper address book (2).
I adore Inaluxe prints, but our walls are already covered in pictures and they definitely don't count as a "need." A calendar (3), on the other hand, is fairly essential for making sure baby massage doesn't clash with baby swimming (what has happened to my liiiiife?). As for the toothbrush, well. Every year, my mum popped a toothbrush in our stockings, and it seems like a wise tradition to maintain, for reasons of nostalgia as well as dental hygiene. An electric one (4) would be nice, but if we're talking needs rather than wants, manpower is good enough for me.
It's at this point that I realise how many of the things in this year's post were also in last year's post. Mittens (1), a tartan scarf (2), Tocca Cleopatra (3). Oh well, try try again, eh? This jumper (4) may be the answer to my sequins conundrum: comfy, inexpensive, sparkly but not too "Christmas." Oh and Zoë Ball wore it on It Takes Two, which makes it a million times more desirable. Jewellery that is outside the reach of tiny grasping fingers is also high on my list; bonus points for matching my blog's colour scheme (5).
I love getting new books that I haven't heard of and I'm not fussy, so these are very much just an indication of where my brain is at, namely how not to ruin your child (1), broody Scottish murder mysteries (2), ambitious craft plans that I will probably never finish (3), NEW BOOK BY RAINBOW ROWELL! (4), NEW BOOK BY AMY POEHLER!!!!! (5), poems about dogs (6). Yup, that about sums it up.
Enough said.
SEE ALSO:
Loss, by Wendy Cope
The day that he left was terrible -
That evening she went through hell.
His absence wasn't a problem
But the corkscrew had gone as well.
It's not entirely on point. It was she who left, not he. Her absence most certainly is a problem. She even left the corkscrew behind, not that it's any use to me (maybe they only have screwtops in heaven?).
But oh, what I wouldn't give for a large glass of wine right now.
If you didn't laugh, etc.
This poem previously seen here on the subject of a different loss, that of the recipe book my mum made for me. Not just painful because of the recipes but because she also wrote down all of her favourite poems and I bloody well lost them and do you know how hard it is to pick a bloody poem for a bloody funeral??
Illustration by Caitlin McGauley
Dear Santa,
This Christmas, I would like:
1. To get a good night's sleep.
2. To look and feel vaguely presentable, bearing in mind that my definition of "vaguely presentable" has relaxed considerably since the time you brought me those pink GHDs.
3. To accept that I am old and boring and that all I really want to do is curl up with a good book and a packet of biscuits.
To that end, I would not cry if any of the following made their way into my stocking.
1. Comfort and joy, £28 each, Fat Face
2. A hairdryer that isn't held together with parcel tape would be a nice change. I don't have a link because electrical items, zzzzz.
3. Silk sleep mask. Hello, my name is Elizabeth Taylor. £24.50, Silk Sleep
4. I wore Tocca Giulietta (pretty, delicate) for my wedding, but I almost chose Cleopatra (sensual, glamorous) instead. Now that my big bottle has run out and they've started doing cheaper mini bottles, I see no reason why I can't have one of each. £15, Anthropologie
5. I see this scarf everywhere. It's basically a blanket for your neck. £19.99, Zara
6. I threw out my Uggs and now need some warm, comfortable shoes with a decent sole. Like these bad boys, £110, Aldo (hey, a girl can dream).
7. Festive sparkles, £18, Hannah Zakari
8. I loved Eleanor + Park and now want to read everything Rainbow Rowell has ever written. Also, grammar. Duh.
9. I think my signature look this winter is going to be lumberjack-meets-librarian. £89.95, Joules
10. Looking like a French girl: priceless
11. Glasses that I think would make me look like a French girl but would probably make me look like Harry Potter: £95, Swag & Stare
12. French girls wear stripy jumpers, right? £59.95, Joules
13. I had big plans to knit a pom pom hat by Christmas, but let's get real. £60, Hilary Grant
Well, that's the fun stuff out of the way. Now, Santa, since I'm clearly in the business of asking you for things that I know are outside your remit (a £60 woolly hat? A £90 cardigan? Come on. And who buys someone glasses for Christmas?), I have a final request.
What I really want for Christmas is, quite simply, Christmas. Specifically, I want to spend another Christmas with my mum.
I know Christmas is a month away, and a month feels very long right now, but my family is so full of strength and guts and love and if we've learned anything from cheesy Christmas films, it's that love can work miracles. And also that Bruce Willis looks good in a vest.
I know Christmas is a month away, and a month feels very long right now, but my family is so full of strength and guts and love and if we've learned anything from cheesy Christmas films, it's that love can work miracles. And also that Bruce Willis looks good in a vest.
I know it's a tough ask, Santa, but please. See what you can do.
Failing that, I'll take the hairdryer.
Lots of love,
Kirsty x
P.S. I won't forget to leave your drink by the fireplace. A dry white wine, always and forever.
Top image: Anthropologie. French girl in glasses (who is not actually French): Eat Sleep Wear.
"A frock that made other frocks insipid, commonplace, unenterprising."
A frock fit for that winter wedding I never had, maybe?
PREVIOUS IMAGINARY WEDDING OUTFITS:
→ Tulle
→ Sequins
Quotation from Invitation to the Waltz by Rosamund Lehmann via @MrsHunterDunn, who quite often live-tweets little moments from novels she's reading, and is therefore wonderful.
Frock: Zac Posen Pre-Fall 2012, via Vogue. Also wonderful.
I don't write much about current affairs on this here blog of mine. There are precisely seven posts discussing the events of the day, and of those, two are about hair, two are about the Royal Wedding, and one is about whether an independent Scotland would have a separate Eurovision entry. Hard-hitting stuff.
A couple of people I know and respect, both online and offline, have recently stopped reading all but the occasional story from the mainstream news media. Not because they don't care what happens in the world - far from it - but for personal, thoughtful reasons that make a lot of sense to me.
There are plenty of arguments in favour of being aware of what's going on around us. It helps us to participate fully in society, and expands our understanding of the world we live in. Sometimes a story is more than just a story and compels us to act: to vote in a critical election, or offer aid in times of crisis. The news informs us, educates us, broadens our horizons.
But there's a dark side to news, too. The ill-informed malice spewed forth in comments on news articles. The blatant bias, and - worse - the stealthy pushing of partisan agendas under the cover of respectable impartiality. The obsession with tragedy and horror, the need to report in infinite detail on horrendous events that, really, teach us nothing other than that the world for many is a hard and hostile place, and people can be really bloody awful. Do I need to know that some poor mad woman has murdered her children? Will it do anything other than depress me?
I don't know the answer. What do you think?
P.S. As if to prove that the news isn't all bad, while I was writing this post I found a link to this picture from the Guardian picture desk of a newborn Kirk's dik dik antelope, which is being hand-reared by keepers at Chester Zoo. It is without doubt the most adorable thing you will see all day. You're welcome.
French bulldog by Denise Fiedler
If you know anything about Edinburgh, you know it has literature in its soul. What you may not know is that it also has literature in its masonry.
Here are three places in Edinburgh where words have leapt off the page and into the world, listed in ascending order of obscurity.
1. Canongate Wall
The charlatans and dreamers responsible for the creation of the Scottish Parliament got many things wrong, but some things they got so right. Edwin Morgan's poem is one; Canongate Wall is another. On a long, sloping, slightly awkward wall at the foot of the Royal Mile are engraved twenty-six quotations by Scottish writers on twenty-six varieties of Scottish stone. The chosen words range from the political to the spiritual and the sublime to the ridiculous. The following observation from Charles Rennie Mackintosh seems apt for me:
There is hope in honest error;
None in the icy perfections of the mere stylist.
Indeed.
There is hope in honest error;
None in the icy perfections of the mere stylist.
Indeed.
Canongate Wall, Scottish Parliament, Edinburgh, EH99 1SP. More details here.
2. Makars' Court
I stumbled into Makars' Court when taking a shortcut through one of Edinburgh's countless closes, no doubt running late for something or someone. (For non-Scots, a close is a narrow alley between old tenements - the "s" in close is pronounced like the "s" in toast. A makar is like a Scottish poet laureate and is not, in fact, a type of parrot.)
This particular close, I discovered, is home to the Writers' Museum, which contains so many words that they've started to spill out onto the pavement. Everywhere you step, there's a snippet from a Scottish author under your feet. All pavements should be like this.
Makars' Court, Lady Stair's Close, Edinburgh, EH1 2PA. More details here.
3. A random office building
An area near where I work was under construction for what felt like five years. Probably because it was five years. When the brand new office building finally opened, a gleaming behemoth of thinly-covered concrete and glass, it looked, well, pretty much exactly like every other office building in Edinburgh.
Until I happened to cut through the alley that separates the two halves of the development (another day, another shortcut, welcome to my life) and was drawn up short by the engraving running the length of the sandstone wall. It depicts a simple line drawing of the Edinburgh skyline, together with the most ego-stroking description of Edinburgh in history, courtesy of Alexander McCall Smith:
This is a city of shifting light, of changing skies, of sudden vistas. A city so beautiful it breaks the heart again and again.
Well, Sandy, I don't know about that, but we certainly know how to jazz up a piece of stone.
Atria, 144-148 Morrison Street, Edinburgh, EH3 8EE. No more details. Soz.
SEE ALSO:
Images: 1. By me 2. Via the Scottish Parliament 3. Chris Scott via Krakow City of Literature 4. Atria Edinburgh
Nearly a decade ago, Edwin Morgan wrote a poem called For the Opening of the Scottish Parliament, 9 October 2004.
It's packed with pithy, eminently quotable phrases, and some cracking collective nouns: "A nest of fearties." "A symposium of procrastinators." "A phalanx of forelock-tuggers."
But it's the opening line that slaps you in the face so hard that you want to print it out and stick it on your wall:
Open the doors! Light of the day, shine in; light of the mind, shine out!
I actually did print it out and stick it on my wall.
You can read the poem in full here, courtesy of the Scottish Poetry Library. I can't think of a better thing to do on a Sunday morning.
SEE ALSO:
Image: design by Gemma Tickle, photography by Kate Jackling
There's nothing I enjoy more than agreeing to do things that seem like a good idea at the time even though it turns out I'm lacking the time, energy and organisational capacity to actually do them, so when Zoë asked me back in the spring if I would take over the Edinburgh chapter of Blook Club, naturally, I said yes.
Fortunately Zoë has even less spare time than me, so it took us a good six months and drafting in an extra person (hi, Amy!) to finally organise something. But now the wait is over, and the next Blook Club gathering is just a couple of weeks away. So far, I've designed a pretty graphic and sent one or two emails. All that's left to do is organise a venue, set a time, figure out how to charge my Kindle after I threw the cable away in a fit of decluttering insanity and, oh yes, read the books (note the plural). Did I mention it's less than a fortnight away?
We've been putting the word out on Twitter, but it occurred to me that some local readers might fancy coming along. The only rule for joining in is that you have a blog or that you're a blog reader with a Twitter account, so we know you're not a creepy stalker who just happens to be really into women's fiction. Here's the aforementioned pretty graphic with all the details:
Fortunately Zoë has even less spare time than me, so it took us a good six months and drafting in an extra person (hi, Amy!) to finally organise something. But now the wait is over, and the next Blook Club gathering is just a couple of weeks away. So far, I've designed a pretty graphic and sent one or two emails. All that's left to do is organise a venue, set a time, figure out how to charge my Kindle after I threw the cable away in a fit of decluttering insanity and, oh yes, read the books (note the plural). Did I mention it's less than a fortnight away?
We've been putting the word out on Twitter, but it occurred to me that some local readers might fancy coming along. The only rule for joining in is that you have a blog or that you're a blog reader with a Twitter account, so we know you're not a creepy stalker who just happens to be really into women's fiction. Here's the aforementioned pretty graphic with all the details:
Yup, there's a Back to School theme, which made a lot more sense in August when we picked it. You can sign up for Blook Club here and the two books are Paper Aeroplanes by Dawn O'Porter and Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell. It's not exactly Dostoevsky, but (a) this is supposed to be fun, and (b) we're saving Dostoevsky for next term. We also thought it might be interesting to do a little compare and contrast (JUST LIKE SCHOOL!). I've already spotted some good reviews on Twitter from Blook Clubbers who are clearly way more organised than I am, so I'm looking forward to reading the books. When I find my Kindle cable.
If you're not in Edinburgh, don't despair. You can still join in, either by signing up for the London Blook Club or reading along and joining in the discussion online. I can't think of a snappy way to end this post, so maybe I'll finish with a question, like they teach us in blogging school: do you ever feel nostalgic for school? The structure, spending all day with your friends, learning things? Or is it just me?
If you're not in Edinburgh, don't despair. You can still join in, either by signing up for the London Blook Club or reading along and joining in the discussion online. I can't think of a snappy way to end this post, so maybe I'll finish with a question, like they teach us in blogging school: do you ever feel nostalgic for school? The structure, spending all day with your friends, learning things? Or is it just me?
SEE ALSO:
Image: Beyoncé channelling drugs mule chic. Blook Club graphic by yours truly. So proud.
I think we all know by now that I'm fond of a bit of poetry. I don't really know much about it - the last time I attempted any kind of proper literary analysis was over a decade ago - but I admire and enjoy it, and really, isn't that the point?
So, obviously, I am very into these free downloadable posters from the Scottish Poetry Library. Not only do I love the graphic type and candy colours, I love the very idea of printing poetry off and sticking it on your wall, like it was a Romeo+Juliet-era Leonardo DiCaprio poster.
I'm tempted to download "A tiny radiance" for the space above my desk, but I feel like my boss might take it the wrong way. I also can't get over the description of poetry as "the breast milk of language." Indeed.
If you prefer pictures to words, Pugly Pixel shared a link a while back to a new project from the Rijks Museum, which is offering free high-res downloads of artworks from its vast collection.
In order to help you narrow down which pieces you might like to download, the museum offers a 'Master Matching' service, which is kind of like a Cosmo "Which Sex and the City character are you?" quiz except infinitely classier. Instead of suffering the indignity of categorising yourself as a particular type cocktail or shoe ("Practical flats? You're so Miranda!"), you're invited to select your favourite Dutch city (who doesn't love Maastricht?) and ponder whether you were a hermit or a queen in a past life (hermit, obvs). This, ladies and gents, is my idea of a good time.
Update: I took my own advice.
Poetry posters via the Scottish Poetry Library. Porcelain plate circa 1778-1782 via Rijks Studio.
SEE ALSO:
I don't recall pain, or joy, only the blue dress
I wore, and the door open to the sea,
and the liquid sun across the floor beside the bed.
Excerpt from The Blue Dress, by Freya Manfred
No reason. I just liked it.
Wishing you a lovely weekend, filled with liquid sun.
Bambi Northwood-Blyth by Tim Barber for Muse Summer 2011, via Fashion Gone Rogue
SEE ALSO:
The Italian nanny was attempting to answer the teacher's latest question when the Morrocan student interrupted, shouting, "Excuse me, what's an Easter?"
The teacher called upon the rest of us to explain.
The Poles led the charge to the best of their ability. "It is," said one, "a party for the little boy of God who call his self Jesus and . . . oh shit." She faltered and her fellow country-man came to her aid.
"He call his self Jesus and then he be die one day on two . . . morsels of . . . lumber."
The rest of the class jumped in, offering bits of information that would have given the pope an aneurysm.
"He die one day and then he go above of my head to live with your father."
"He weared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he come back here for to say hello to the peoples."
"He nice, the Jesus."
From Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris
Hope you have the nice party, peoples.
Bunny brooch: SketchInc
If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say
Except that the garden is growing.
I had a slight cold but it's better today.
I'm content with the way things are going.
Yes, he is the same as he usually is,
Still eating and sleeping and snoring.
I get on with my work. He gets on with his.
I know this is all very boring.
- From Being Boring by Wendy Cope, the blog's Offical Poet
(Fun fact: this is also the poem that inspired the blog's name.)
I have nothing to say. I don't even have a garden. As Zoë put it, it's too January to blog.
But I'm content with the way things are going.
Is the 15th of January too late to wish you a happy new year? I hope not, but happy Tuesday, just in case.
Cinemagraphs by Jamie Beck and Kevin Burg - see more of their very-not-boring work here
Fin's a new book person. He loves the smell of them, the shiny spines in well-ordered rows. He could spend several happy hours browsing the shelves of a good bookshop and never get bored. Second-hand things - books, clothes, anything textile - give him the willies.
I, on the other hand, am more of an old book person. I find new books sterile, their scent vaguely chemical. I'll take a library over a bookshop any day of the week. For me, nothing beats the weight of an old book in my hands, heavy with dust and nostalgia. Whose hands have turned these pages? Where were they sitting, what were they wearing? What did they think?
I have a particular soft spot for etiquette and self-help books of the past; I just find them incredibly charming, with their crazy titles and ridiculous advice and rampant sexism. It's so easy to laugh, now.
For some reason, my Nana's worn and beloved copy of The Bride's Book caught my eye this week. One meandering, time-killing internet search led to another, when suddenly I hit vintage marriage etiquette book jackpot on etsy. What, like you've never hit vintage marriage etiquette book jackpot? Weirdo.
(Can we just take a moment to appreciate the amazing nom de plume on the bottom right?
I find the quotation marks deeply fascinating. My theory is it's really a man.)
So now I'm wondering how many vintage marriage etiquette books a girl can justify purchasing. And whether that number is more or less than the number of books on increasingly obscure aspects of World War I currently sitting, unread, at Fin's end of the bookshelf. I think I've got some catching up to do.
Are you a new book person, or an old book person? A really special new book can still get me excited; I just cracked the spine on my (brand new! hardback!) copy of Days of Blood and Starlight and I'm already well and truly sunk.
And while we're on the topic of books, are there any I should be putting on my Christmas list? You lot strike me as the people to ask.
All images from Eager for Word on etsy. You might also have noticed I've stopped linking to Amazon. That's because Amazon is evil, and Hive is the best idea ever.
"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a warm-blooded woman in possession of good eyesight, must be in want of some gratuitous pictures of Colin Firth."
Jane Austen. (Probably.)
If you were in Britain and had a pulse in 1995, you will remember the phenomenon that was the BBC's adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. It was a classic of the genre, the standard against which all subsequent attempts should be judged. Memorable performances abounded - Julia Sawalha as a giggling, brainless Lydia, Jennifer Ehle's moon-faced beauty and expressive eyebrows, the wickedly caddish portrayal of Wickham by that bloke off Peak Practice - but none permeated the public consciousness like The Man Himself. For me, there will only ever be one Mr Darcy: Oscar-winner and all-round charming man, Colin Firth.
We all know I like a man in period attire, and I can only assume that being exposed at such a tender age to the sight of Colin Firth striding across the lawns in all his manly, dripping glory had more than a little to do with it. That famous lake scene isn't even in the book (he simply walks round a corner - DULL), but what a stroke of genius it was. In one seemingly inconsequential scene, Darcy goes from Mr Uptight Stick-Up-His-Arse to a sensuous man, glistening with sweat, so desperate to feel the cool waters against his skin that he throws propriety (and his clothes) to the wind and surrenders to a deeper, physical urge. Also, you can kind of see his nipples through his shirt. It's steamy stuff.
But what, you might wonder, has prompted this little trip down memory lane? Is this just turning into a blog about on-screen hotties of yesteryear? Sadly not. Colin Firth has been on my mind recently for a very specific reason. This reason:
That's right, people. MR DARCY IS MOVING IN NEXT DOOR. Kind of. Okay fine, he's not technically *moving in*. And that is not technically *my* house, since I haven't actually lived with my parents for the better part of a decade. But Colin Firth is shooting a film all this week mere yards away from the house where I grew up. The very house, in fact, where I first saw him dive into that god damn sexy lake.
Oh yeah, and Nicole Kidman is in it too. Just a couple of Hollywood A-listers, hanging out on my street. No big deal.
As you can imagine, North Berwick is all a-flutter. This is the most exciting celebrity happening in the town since Ronnie Corbett appeared in support of the Save The Outdoor Pool campaign. My mum reports higher than usual traffic along our section of the beach, with people casually strolling first one way, then the other, attempting to appear disinterested while twisting back over their shoulders hoping to catch a glimpse.
The couple who normally live in the house in question have decamped to a neighbouring flat and the decoraters have moved in, transforming it beyond recognition. North Berwick's usual sci-fi-esque streetlamps have been replaced on our street with original 80s fittings, bathing the terrace in a retro orange glow. Soon, though, it will be basking in the bright white light of superstardom emanating from the perfect, screenworthy features of Colin and Nicole. (See how we're on first name terms already?)
Regrettably, I probably won't get to hang out with Col and Nic personally, since they have quite selfishly scheduled filming to take place while I'm at work. I did manage to snap some behind-the-scenes pictures on Saturday though, and my mum has promised me frequent updates, which I will no doubt be relaying on twitter and which I'm sure you're all very excited to hear. "I think I just saw Colin's arm in the window!" "Nicole's assistant's assistant just walked past the back gate!" That kind of thing. In a happy coincidence, Isla has just had her final jags and is now free to run around outside - I think there's a strong chance she might "accidentally" run into Colin Firth's trailer...
So, how was YOUR weekend? See any Hollywood A-listers? Snuggle any puppies? Take any pictures of lampposts?
Second image by Lillian and Leonard. Note the wedding bunting.
So, how was YOUR weekend? See any Hollywood A-listers? Snuggle any puppies? Take any pictures of lampposts?
Second image by Lillian and Leonard. Note the wedding bunting.
Have you seen this story? Oh, Topshop. You never fail to crack me up. I'm not sure which is more ridiculous - the fact you spelt Shakespeare wrong, or the fact that you felt the need to clarify who wrote Romeo & Juliet in the first place. Is your opinion of teenage girls really that low?!
My favourite part is this: "When informed of the error, a Topshop spokesperson reportedly exclaimed: 'Oh my god.'"
Quite.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy;
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met—or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
From Ae Fond Kiss
2. What exactly do you think is inside a sausage?
3. Did I mention IT'S DELICIOUS?
Image by Chloe Aftel from this beautiful polaroid wedding over on east side bride.
Robert Burns wrote this ode to unrequited love in 1791 (read the rest, and a snippet of scandalous backstory, here). As with all of Burns' best bits, his words are lovely to read, but better to listen to, especially when sung by the incomparable Eddi Reader.
Tonight is Burns Night, which means haggis for tea. To those of you who might balk at the idea of eating haggis, I have three things to say:
1. It's delicious.
2. What exactly do you think is inside a sausage?
3. Did I mention IT'S DELICIOUS?
Don't worry, though. If you really can't stomach it, vegetarian haggis is also, fortunately, delicious. Fun fact: my dad's friend invented vegetarian haggis. That's right, I move in exalted circles.
Anyone else celebrating Burns Night? And does anyone else get really quite upset when people cross their arms at the wrong bit of Auld Lang Syne, or - horrors - sing "for the sake of"...?
P.S. If haggis and poetry aren't your thing (in which case, we need to have a serious talk about our friendship), might I recommend this old but hilarious post by an altogether different Burns.
P.P.S. Thanks for all of your comments yesterday. You're the best.
Image by Chloe Aftel from this beautiful polaroid wedding over on east side bride.
A perfect white wine
is sharp, sweet and cold as this:
birdsong in winter.
Haiku by Wendy Cope
This weekend, I will be mainly:
♥ Drinking wine, which may or may not be white, and which is unlikely in either event to be perfect. Thank God I was too lazy to make any anti-drinking resolutions this year, or they would have been well and truly crushed by now.
♥ Taking Smidgen on increasingly blustery walks. What is with all this wind? Don't they know I ordered snow, dammit?
♥ Frittering away the hours making pretty grids of all the things I want to buy on etsy. It's kind of addictive - I've made four in the last two days. So far, I've managed to refrain from actually purchasing anything, but it's only a matter of time.
♥ Reading the wise and funny words of Wendy Cope (I like to think of her as the blog's Official Poet). I picked up her latest volume when my mum and I went to see her read in August, but I've only just sat down to read it, and it's heaven.
♥ Knitting a damn snood.
How about you?
'Birdsong in Winter' etsy treasury imported into Blogger using the Treasury tool by Red Row Studio, via DDay. Haiku from Family Values by Wendy Cope.
