Well. That last post was a bit of a tear-jerker. I'll try to keep the weepies to a minimum, promise. Thank you so much for your lovely comments; you are all wonderful.
Moving swiftly on to something marginally more cheerful; it appears that visiting all those churches in Rome has had a profound effect on me. Time to confess.
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| Purveyors of comfiness, £185, Kurt Geiger |
I've witnessed a lot of Ugg-bashing on the interwebs recently. I have heard them described as looking like loaves of bread and, on a purely intellectual level, I can't disagree. I know, objectively, that they're hideous. I was too ashamed to take mine to Italy with me and instead hobbled around the cobbles in some stylish black leather boots that are comfortable-ish... but they're just not as comfy as Uggs. I mean, can you imagine anything more comfortable than sheepskin-lined loaves of bread? (Actually, I can. I also own a pair of Moon Boots, and I love them too. Go ahead, judge me.)
Confession: I obsessively watch Grey's Anatomy.
Online, preferably the day after it's been on in America. I want Christina and Owen to come over to my house for dinner.
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| Clockwise from top: Rock N' Roll Bride, East Side Bride, 100 Layer Cake, A Practical Wedding, Rock My Wedding |
Well, you just never know when one of your friends might get engaged. Have to keep my finger on the wedding pulse. Plus it's all so pretty (or snarky, if we're talking east side bride).
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| Via su-lin's flickr |
Confession: I eat scones and jam for breakfast.
Not every single day, obviously. Just on Fridays. And sometimes Mondays. And hungover days. And the days when I don't have enough money on my swipe card at work to afford a coffee (scones are cheaper. It's like they WANT me to get fat).
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| Via fohnhouse.com |
Confession 5: I purposely watch films that make me cry.
Beaches is my number one, I know it by heart. As a little girl, when my friends and I used to play the "our parents have kicked us out because we've all had illegitimate babies so we have to live in the woods" game (I know - wtf?), my "job" was to sing The Glory of Love in a "bar" to earn money for us and "the babies". My second favourite thing about Black Swan - after all the feathers, obvs - was the reassurance that Barbara Hershey is still alive and can still rock that uptight bitch role like nobody's biz.
It's not limited to films though, oh no. Documentary about mistreatment of children in Bulgarian orphanages? I'm all over it. Novel about teenage girl whose sister dies of leukaemia? Borrowed it from the library twenty times. Programme about children whose faces don't grow properly and have to have operations but then their parents don't recognise them anymore and it's so sad you think you might explode? Oh yes, pass the tissues.
Maybe it's just me, but I feel like there's something wildly cathartic in crying over pain (fictional or otherwise) that isn't yours. It soothes the soul. Beaches might be cutting a little close to home at the moment, though. I heard they have just re-released Bambi;
that ought to do it.
that ought to do it.
Confession 6: I have a Dominos problem.
Don't tell me how many calories there are. I DON'T WANT TO KNOW. All I know is, it's called Pepperoni Passion for a reason. Mmmmmm.
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| Snoozy and blonde. It's basically me. Via danncer's flickr |
Confession: I'm a snooze pest.
Is there anything better than a sneaky wee afternoon snooze? Drifting off under a cosy blanket on the couch while the tv talks on to a silent room, or (the decadence!) jumping back under the duvet and cuddling up for a nap while you really should be doing the ironing. Heaven.
Go on, confess. I won't tell anyone.
Go on, confess. I won't tell anyone.
