Did anyone else watch We'll Take Manhattan last night? The much-hyped BBC Four dramatisation followed David Bailey and Jean Shrimpton as they shagged their way around New York in 1962. Somehow, they found time in their busy sex schedule to squeeze in a bit of ground-breaking fashion photography and to single-handedly bring down the British class system. There was also a teddy bear. And a lot of hairspray.

I'm still not sure the film really explained what made this shoot so iconic, other than something complicated to do with the film format and the controversial inclusion of a rusty fence. To be honest, I was too distracted by our leather-clad antihero's jolly Dick van Dyke accent and Karen Gillan's gravity-defying hair to pay much attention to what was going on. Although I did notice some nice use of light (see, I'm learning!).

However, I am assured that Bailey and Shrimpton were quite the cool couple in their day. So you can imagine my excitement when I spotted this little detail:

That's my girl! Because what's the first thing you're going to pack for your once-in-a-lifetime modelling tour of Manhattan with your married lover and the fashion editor of Vogue?  Why, your knitting bag, obviously. Told you knitting was cool. I like to think she's knitting a snood for one of her dogs (two sheepdogs, an Airedale, a Schnauzer and a German Shepherd, apparently), but sadly my hypothesis wasn't confirmed. We'll never know.

In other news, tomorrow we are jetting off on a little adventure of our own. The French Alps probably couldn't be less like Manhattan if they tried, but I still can't wait to spend some quality time there with the Hubster, my family and huge quantities of cheese.

I'll be back in a week or so, bone-weary and goggle-tanned. À bientôt, mes amies.

{Top image: Jean Shrimpton for British Vogue shot by David Bailey (who else?). Bottom image via the BBC.}

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.

Shyly, almost furtively, I set up an account. Tentatively play around with names, a header. Decide both are shit, close the browser, write it off. No, I can't do it. I can't.

The voice persists. You can. 

I fixate on the name. A blog needs a name. I scribble lists in bed. Score them out on the bus, bludgeoning every tiny, blossoming idea with the blunt force of my insecurities. Stupid. Lame. Been done. 

If I can't think of a name, then I won't have to write anything, and then there is no possibility of it being rubbish.

Of course, a name comes upon me suddenly, uninvited. Sneaks in before I can crush it, and takes root. Now there is nothing left but me and an empty screen. Damn it. 

Guess I'd better write something.

Hitting post for the first time is agony. The second, the third, only slightly less so. I spend so much time carefully crafting these missives to the world but apparently the world isn't interested. The disappointment is immense.  I was right. I can't do it. Nobody is reading.

Until one day, miraculously, somebody is. Soon there are comments, and tweets, and sweet sweet emails, and hey, would you look at that: I'm a blogger.

I know the whole world isn't reading (although it's surely only a matter of time?), but YOU are. And to you, you who left me that amazing comment, you who bought me that drink that time, you there on the hunt for fake ponytails - especially you - I would like to say thank you. Thank you for this year. It's been kind of a big deal for me.

And thanks, too, to that whispering voice. Turns out I *can* do it. Maybe I ought to listen to you more often.

You remember that damn snood I've been knitting for weeks? Well, this weekend I finally finished it. Hooray! I'm a bit embarrassed to admit how proud I am. But just look at it, all grey and snuggly and perfect. Perfect from certain angles, anyway. I hope winter lasts forever so I can wear it all the time! And no, please don't remind me I said that when it's snowing in July.

If anyone wants to whip themselves up something similar, I used about a ball and a half of this wool in 'Wren' and I'd be happy to share my completely made-up and not-remotely-professional pattern. If I can remember it. Just email me.

(I'm not pregnant in that picture, by the way; that's just how I stand. Ask Lauren.) 

In other weekend news, I packed for my ski holiday. Oh, I didn't mention my ski holiday? Yeah, I'm going on one. With Fin, and my parents, and my brother and his girlfriend and his friend and his girlfriend and a van full of wine. I suspect we'll need it. 

We're not actually leaving until next weekend, but my dad is driving said van all the way to the French Alps  this week with our bags and skis and snowboards (and wine) onboard, thus saving us approximately ten billion euros in easyjet baggage fees, so we had to pack this weekend. This makes a change from my usual packing procedure, which consists of making endless lists of all possible holiday capsule wardrobe combinations until it's midnight the night before departure and I'm desperately cramming damp clothing into a bag because I've been too busy making lists to actually do anything productive, like washing.

Actually, that's pretty much exactly what happened this weekend. It just happened six days before departure instead of six hours. Whatev, I still call that an improvement.

So, that was my weekend. How was yours?

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