Take it all, just stay a week

Sorry I have been a bit absent, with Chris gone, the stress of the end of the summer term arriving with Christmas and worrying about the revenge of the builders (a pointless concern) I am afraid there has not been a whole lot of joyous moments to preserve. But I am feeling better about uni, there is a less than a week until I will be in sunny Brisbane and Chris is home again after an amazing time watching the Foo Fighters and visiting Keegan. Life is looking up!

Sumner

 Yesterday Chris and I went to Sumner, we have been having some issues with the builders working next door and it was nice to get away from the house for the day. On the way to the bus stop there was a brass band playing Christmas carols, which as opposed to dreadful CDs, was rather lovely.

The wizard was there too! I have not seen him since the quakes but it was a lovely reminder of old Christchurch seeing him. He used to stand in cathedral square and as a contrast to the people who yelled out religious stuff he lectured publicly on scientific ideas. Yesterday he was protesting the possible removal of heritage buildings.

 We got off at the wrong stop so had to walk around the bay to Sumner (my fault) and while there was a lot of damage, with cliff faces gone and buildings hanging off the edges, there was also many beautiful sights like the seaside flowers blooming in ecstatically bright colours.

We wandered around and climbed the rock on the beach, looked at the bookstores and second hand stores.

 :)

We had dinner at the Indian restaurant, which though small was hugely popular and the food was good, very smokey tandoori chicken.

 While we waited for the bus to take us back to town we made a friend.

When we got home we watched a movie and ate some lollies and I drawled over my new Jonathan Safran Foer book which is what I got with the book voucher my brother got me for my birthday.
Now Chris has gone away for a few days to see the Foo Fighters in Auckland, I hope he has fun, but I miss him.

The Dreamer - Part Two

 

When I woke it was early and I was cold and sore. I peeked through the hole, the telephone people were long gone, and all the wires were stitched and tucked away. By each of the one hundred and thirty six phones was a phone number hand written on a little scrap of paper. No one was around and there was no noise so I rolled out from under the table and stretched with stiff agony. I had dreamt about William and in the dream he was a model and he begged me to dance with him or go to dinner. But I declined because there were crowds of men, each one different and stunning, begging for my attention, they all gave me beautiful things and I collected them, detachedly, as though they were stamps and shelved them like a catalogue giving points out for the rarest or most thoughtful.
            The fungi on the bench had grown overnight, it was like a small forest, I wondered if it was edible, and if it was left there long enough whether it would grow in a meal. The jug boiled and I took last night’s teabag from the saucer, the faces in the lino glared up at me and the steam from the jug made condensation on the windows. The newspaper was still full of tedious advertisements, the rain still fell outside and the trains a few streets over made sounds like fog horns.
            My eyes closed and I let myself believe that the sea had surrounded the building, ebbing away at the wood and brickwork of the city. I would build a boat from the debris in my flat, the chair legs and the table top; I would waterproof it with my raincoat and with greaseproof paper held together with candle wax. I would sew together my sheets, tea towels and old clothing for the sail. Then I would float away when the water reached my window and the stars were out and the ocean glinted black beneath me with the tips of street lamps exposed. Maybe I would save William with my makeshift ship and he would be grateful and we would tap telegrams all day to the people who had survived.
            A phone rang three times downstairs rousing me from my day dream and then another joined in, older and deeper like a bike bell. I heard footsteps running, and as I watched through my peep hole, William was climbing up the ladder. He answered both phones at once.
            “Hello?” He took one away and said into the other “Can you just hold for a moment.” Then he talked into the original one “Essie, hi. He did what? No! Really? And how are you? That’s good. Yeah the new place is fine. Your sister? That’s great news! Well I have to go; I have someone on another line. Yeah. Oh, tonight though, you should come around, I’m having a party. Yeah. Cocktails. Great, see you later.”  He picked up the other phone. “Hello. Sorry about that. Oh a questionnaire, ok I guess I have time.” He proceeded to answer questions about his shopping habits for five minutes. He asked the person on the line to the party also.
            He then dialled a number “Hi, operator, could you tell me the time? Nine fifty two. Thanks.” Again he dialled “Metservice? Rainy till Tuesday? Ok, I would ask you to my party but you’re a bit too automated.”
            I snorted into the dusty floor, he may have heard because he looked around, but seemed to dismiss it as nothing. He had several more calls, a few people trying to sell him things, he politely declined saying his vacuum cleaner/ventilation/charity desires were satisfied at the moment but he would get back to them should the need arise and he invited them to his cocktail party. A few friends rang, mostly with news to tell him that I was unable to hear or make out from his replies and they too were invited.
            It started to seem like half the city would be invited, William made some calls specifically to ask people. I had no idea how they would all fit in his apartment, it seemed like it might burst at its freshly sewn seams.  I also decided that I wanted to go, if I turned up and looked amazing and had witty things to say and laughed prettily he might notice me, maybe he would kiss me. Should I just turn up? What if someone asked if I had been invited? Maybe I could call him. I took down one of the numbers; eight seven two four three eight two. I dialled, slowly punching in each number with purpose.
            “Hello?” his voice echoed from downstairs and then through the phone. I couldn’t speak, he would realise I was upstairs, maybe he would work out I had been watching him, I wondered if it was illegal. I had no idea what I had been planning to say anyway. “Hello?” I held my breath. “Nothing? Well let me tell you something. Did you know that animals can rain from the sky? Mostly frogs and fish and no one know quite how it works. Amazing right? Sometimes they even live. Well if you still have nothing to say? No? Come to my party tonight if you think of anything, seven Acacia Street. Bye.”
             William had talked to me; he had said words directed at me, he had invited me to his party. I ignored the voice in the back of my skull whispering that he didn’t know who I was, that I rarely had anything interesting to say. Tonight I planned to be enchanting; I skipped around the room dancing alone as I might dance with someone. I planned small rolls of conversation, minute facts I could reveal about myself as though they were secrets.
             I exhausted several hours watching William plan his party, he hired servers and caterers, organised nibbles and barmen, decided on decorations and had them constructed, lights were hung and silk streamers were twisted, people came and went with tables and cutlery and William stood in the centre of the room conducting the pandemonium.
            Time to get ready, I went to my wardrobe. It was old and the mirrored door sat slightly ajar because where it hung on the top hinge the wood was a bit swollen. What to wear? A dress obviously, something sexual, something classy, there was a long, black dress reserved for funerals and job interviews, a summer dress in garish yellow, and some bright oddly shaped dresses I had inherited from various relatives; they all looked and smelt like they had come from a school costume cupboard. Maybe make up would be a better starting place, I thought. I looked at my face in the mirror, my hair was limp, there were bags under my eyes and a picked-at pimple on my chin. I couldn’t go. I looked a mess and there was no way William would notice me. In fact I might be asked to leave if I showed up like this. I would watch the party, up here where it was safe, where no one would stare, or laugh, or point or ignore.  So I waited and then I watched. People started to arrive. A couple entered the room.
             “Lovely weather we’ve been having,” said a man at the door, he was sitting there in a tuxedo and greeting all the guests as they arrived, I assumed he had been hired.
             “Yes, yes very nice,” the couple agreed vaguely. They shuffled in further towards a man taking coats. He helped the woman out of her wet swathing, the man handed across his overcoat and it was hung.
            “Abysmal weather, isn’t it? So windy and cold.”
            “Indeed, yes,” they agreed blandly. “Can’t get a thing dry.” The weather was neither lovely nor windy, though I suppose it was cold.
             The woman was wearing a gold cocktail dress, her hair was slicked back, she looked very made up, but there was some undercurrent of shabbiness about the leaked creases of her lipstick and the gunk of black in the corner of her eye. The man was in a suit and looked jolly but hardly attractive. More people arrived and I clawed at the edge of the hole to make it a little larger.
            “Balmy weather; such a mild and enticing spring.”
            “Yes, why we were just picking daffodils last weekend.”
There were servers standing almost as still as statues, I got a thrill from staring at one till he had to blink or move his weight, I never saw one of them talk. They had platters heavy with glazed prawns, cakes dusted with icing sugar, mini soufflés, stuffed mushrooms and little cups holding ambrosia. The barman was making cocktails as fast as his arms could shake.
            “How’s your week been?” His voice came out in bursts and ice clinked in the shaker.
            “Oh, goo—”
            “Yeah, my week has been appalling too. Never mind, nothing like a drink to fix you up, eh?”
             “Yes.” The woman said it in an undertone, her eyes were close together and large; it gave her a dazed, unintelligent look.
            “Essie!” It was William; he seemed tall and smiled charmingly. He grabbed a couple of nibbles, glazed prawns; I could almost taste the salty honeyed flavour as he put them to his lips. His handsome arms reached out to the dull woman, she looked confused and then curved her lips up, dazedly allowing herself to be pulled into a clumsy hug.
            The room was beginning to bulge with people and it became hard to make out individual conversations, I heard mainly fragments, odd sentences, froth of laughter, the quite beat of music and queer collective pauses. The smell of it all was heady; a mix of spirits and fruit and cucumber, cigarette smoke, crisp grilled food and expensive perfume.
            “But if we lived under water how would we drink tea?” A woman across the room yelled into a tight circle of people, she wrapped her chubby hand tighter around her martini glass as the group exploded with chuckles.
             A few couples danced, dresses flared out in easy turns, there was laughter and apologies at trodden-on-toes and bumps into bystanders that sloshed drinks.
            When I looked over to see where William was, he had left Essie at the bar. She was glaring at the woman he had moved on to who was like a Barbie doll with blonde hair trailing waves down her back, a tight black dress, manicured nails and an engagement ring. I gasped at its sharp glittering surface, William couldn’t be engaged! They were chatting, he laughed, clutching her arm and I strained to hear the conversation.
            “What a lovely idea, have you told your mother?”
 A man walked up with a distinct bald patch, he draped his arm around the Barbie possessively and the relief made me feel giddy.
            “Exceptional weather all week, the warmth has been outstanding” The doorman was greeting a late comer.
            “Oh yes.” But as soon as she turned away the doorman’s face fell into drooping lines, everyone ignored him now, but I didn’t, I saw him, he looked hot in his tuxedo and bored and alone and I felt I had the superior view of the room.
            “Moths don’t eat human hair!” A tall, tanned woman said, she snatched some nibbles, smoked salmon and some green thing tied together with seaweed off the closest tray, she chewed loudly with her mouth gaping. William walked up to the group.
            “They might if you stayed still long enough Miriam.” I saw a server sneer at William’s charming smile, enviously I assumed, and who wouldn’t be? My eyes followed him around the room for another hour, maybe more. Eventually the bar staff began to clean up, the servers discreetly disappeared, the coat man dragged the coat rail further into the room, the doorman perked up in his seat.
            Couples and people in sets of threes and fours left, those that had arrived single departed with a partner, a sly smile upon their painted lips, and they lied parting quips about each other’s taste in clothes and proficiency at work.
I saw Essie lingering against the bar; sipping a drink and watching William thank people for coming and detaching them from the party with a quick handshake or cheek kiss.
            “Watch out for the hail, comes down the size of rocks this time of year.” The doorman said to the last couple to depart as he stood up. He stretched his bulky body, took his coat from the back of his chair and left with a nod to William. Essie walked over, sauntering and swaying her hips like a cat getting ready to pounce.
             “Oh Will, what a lovely evening, it was perfect, really, let me help you clean up.” She moved in very close to him, her hip touched his; she ran a finger down his arm. I couldn’t watch, my mind screamed, send her away! He took a step back; it made me wonder if he subconsciously heard me.
             “No, no, that’s why all these people were hired and I am sure you have an early morning.” He faked a yawn.
            “Well, if you’re sure...” She lingered for a moment, and then her body seemed to snap, her senseless eyes had an angry glaze and she grasped her coat and clomped out. The folded tables and trays of now dirty glasses followed her a few minutes after. The room was now empty except for William; he gave a heavy sigh, and went into the bathroom and a moment later I heard the shower go on.
            I sat under the table in my dark flat, rolling my ring along the floor, the party had been beautiful, the food had looked so delicious, the lights had lit the party with a warm glow and best of all, William seemed to be single. Maybe one day I could collide with into him in the hall carrying groceries, I would drop them, he could pick them up for me, we would start talking and maybe I would invite him for lunch. It would make an endearing story of how we met, if we had literally bumped into each other. I whirled my ring like a spinning top and it twisted around and around reflecting the grey light and then fell through the hole, I heard it clunk conspicuously on the floor below.
            My ring! It felt so close, almost like I could touch it, if I just stretched my arm a little further. I could leave it there but maybe, if I went and he came out, wet from the shower, steaming a little in the draught, I could ask him about the phones. Why did he have so many phones? And he would tell me. We would run away together, hitch-hiking and leaping onto boats as they left from docks, stealing bicycles to ride to the next town. Plotting against minimal rural museum security, for the next telephone, and once they were done, the first fax machines or typewriters or letter openers. There would be parties and glamorous dresses and endless sophisticated games to play.
            So I crept out of my flat and into the dark hallway, the floors creaked in a way that I had never before noticed during the day. Every dark corner seemed to hold a threat and I started to run, taking stairs two at a time, stumbling over my feet. My heart beat so hard against my rib cage that it hurt. I fled into William’s apartment and slammed the door behind me. I could hear him splashing around in the shower and he came charging out of the bathroom in just a towel.
            “Who the fuck are you?” I hadn’t heard him swear before, it lashed like a whip. I was gasping for breath against the door.
            “My ring. I dropped.” I pointed at it on the floor between us. “Hole in the ceiling. I live upstairs.” I pointed up. He relaxed; I could see he had been frightened of me, it seemed a little pathetic.
            “Next time try knocking. Take it. I will call the landlord to fix the hole tomorrow.” I snatched up my ring and looked around. It felt like being on the set of a T.V. show, so very surreal to stand in the stage.
             “Why do you have so many phones?” It came out demanding and rude rather than conversational as I had imagined and he frowned.
            “It’s a collection, a hobby. I buy them, or they’re gifts. Your parents will probably be worried, you know, don’t you think you should...” He gestured the door. He thought I was a kid, so removed was I from the glamorous women that had been here but an hour before. I was suddenly self-conscious of my dirty dress, unchanged for two days, my limp hair, unwashed, my skin greasy. I blushed and left, as I stood in the hallway looking at the light glowing beneath his door I realised that he wasn’t so attractive up close, he was sort of scrawny and lanky when seen at the same level and he was quite rude.
             I returned to my flat, I threw the newspaper over the hole in the floor, I wouldn’t be watching William any more. Upstairs there was a loud thump and a dreadful yell. I looked at my ceiling, at the cracked paint, mouldy patches and the places where it was crumbling away.

The Dreamer: Part One

 This is a story I wrote last year for my creative writing course. If I could design my life I would become a published novelist one day, I would love to see my name on the cover of a book and spend my days typing away in my own time about things I really want to say.
Anyway I hope you enjoy this first half, the second half will be along shortly. 

(Image source)

 The Dreamer

Everything in my flat was saturated with must and mould, dim corners dimpled like paper when gently pushed and the wallpaper itself sagged as though weighed down by the floral vines on its surface. I pulled on wet socks from the pile of dirty clothes beside the bed, my left toe stuck out through a worn hole and they clung to my feet uncomfortably. Even the second hand dress I pulled over my head had its own new tinge of must and it had clearly shrunk in its latest date with the Laundromat dryer; I tugged at its hem.              Crossing the kitchen floor my feet squelched wetly on the greying lino, figures and faces always peered grimly at me from the burn marks and indentations that floor had accumulated with years. With the jug switched on I watched the steam and imagined it actively sinking into books and swelling the doors so they would stick in their frames. As it boiled some new variety of fungi on the edge of the bench caught my eye. Maybe I should have plucked out the small brown suckers and been revolted at their texture and their dirty, earthy smell; but instead I took last night’s teabag off a chipped saucer and stewed it with hot water. The tea had a mouldy taste as it turned over my tongue.
            I sat at the table with the newspaper. It started to rain and the sound made me shiver and notice my bare legs. The Star Post had a minuscule job section and I trawled its small columns, Experienced Swim Teacher Required. I recalled my own swimming lessons, the floundering, the choking gasps and the swim teacher’s overweight daughter showing me the perfect example of floating. No, I didn’t think swim teacher was a viable option. My toe, the one that stuck out, ran over a rough spot on the floor. The phone rang once and then again, I rushed over and clamped the plastic to my ear.
            “Hello?” there was a heavy breath buzzing through the telephone wires. “Hello?” a click and the absent tone hummed.
            I let the phone drop, it bounced against the cupboard on its spiral cord and I left it hanging there like a broken yo-yo and went back to the paper. The single ring that adorned my finger glinted faintly in the dreary light. I took it off and rolled it along the table, really it was just a bit of tubing found on the street, but it fitted my finger and I liked to pretend a boyfriend had given it to me. The fibres of my sock pulled on the uneven patch of floor. The pouring rain made me feel like a child stuck inside, so very trapped and passive, the feeling was so strong it had a smell, like damp shoes and toast and plastic.
               Downstairs in the flat below, the sounds of someone moving in reached me; a couple of loud bangs echoed in the high ceiling, a few masculine expletives; Human Resources Administrator the newspaper read. Even the ad had a tedious, orderly look about it. It continued drip outside and I thought of rain songs, bumped his head and went to bed...,my toes had worn away a little at the rough spot, Rain, rain go away..., it was spongy and my smallest toe sunk in.
            I abandoned the newspaper and crouched between the table legs. My fingers scuttled to the hole and my nails clawed at the soft surface. It felt like I was ripping some living being apart, like opening up a wound in the belly of my floor. Wood turnings scattered round me, they looked like nail clippings. I stuck my finger in and pushed; the sponginess collapsed into crumbling grit, like sawdust, and below that a portion of rotten wood gave way. I sprawled out of my stomach and put my eye to the small hole. On the floor in the flat below I could see the crumbled piece of floor board; however I felt sure in the chaos of boxes below me it would go unnoticed. The room was bigger than mine, it must be one of the flats that had been done up, as the paint looked fresh and clean; eventually they would ask me to leave so the same could happen up here.
            Moving men came into the large living room, they crouched and lifted mechanically. I could see inches of hairy back and legs and dirty faded clothing moving like pull string toys. They left and for several minutes I stared down into the room with the dust and the stack of pale brown boxes; with childish impatience I started to count them, thirty six. They now carried things that could clearly not be boxed, furniture, appliances and other, odder things. There was a taxidermied miniature pony, a man-sized kite and several odd sculptures. Hints of other, presently indefinable things, passed by the cut-out of my vision and I imagined it as a parade with the dust as confetti and myself, the watching crowd, cheering internally with delight.
            The faded, hairy men let out a collective sigh as they placed down their last loads and the mechanical unity, that once defined their bodies, relaxed. One sat on a box, got out a pouch of tobacco and busied himself with the precision of rolling a cigarette; another leaned against a heavy metal frame and dragged out some sandwiches; yet another pulled out a bulky cell phone.
            “Boss. Yep, nah, yep. All done eh.” There was a long, muffled, electronic reply. “He’s not here eh, just taking smoko now. If he doesn’t show up in five, I’ll just leave Jimmy here. Sweet.”
            They sat for several more minutes; the man with the sandwiches finished them and rolled the gladwrap into a small sticky ball. The one with the cigarette smoked it with efficiency and I, above, muffled my coughs from the ashy fumes, the one with the cell phone called ahead to their next job saying they would be there in half an hour.
            “Jimmy, stay!” he pointed his phone at the one with the cigarette the others laughed “Good boy!” they ambled towards the door; one kicked a box with spitefulness. “Oi!” said the one with the cell phone and then they were gone, leaving only a sweaty odour and Jimmy behind. He rolled another cigarette.
            The door opened and a man came in. He walked with such confidence, his dark hair was wavy and his clothes looked so expensive that he would not have looked out of place in an advertisement. His eyes seemed to pierce all he saw and my heart fluttered as he looked up and around the room; it felt like he could see me.  He strolled over to Jimmy, who leaped up and referred to a thin piece of paper, maybe a receipt.
            “Mr Logan? Hi, I’m one of the movers,” he put out his hand but it was ignored by the striking Mr Logan.
            “Have you been smoking in here?” it appeared to be a rhetorical question because he left no pause. “Leave the bill on the table on your way out would you.”
Jimmy walked out quietly and closed the door tentatively. Mr Logan surveyed the room again, lay down a case he was carrying and started to push a large floor-to-ceiling shelf further along its wall. He grunted as he pushed it and slowly it scraped across the floor, he placed a tapered ladder up its length. There were many compartments in the shelf and each section had a small hole in the back. He spotted the dented box that the mover had kicked and rubbed at the side with a sigh; pulling out some scissors he ran the blade along the packing tape with a loud zipper-like sound. There were three of four telephones inside the box, one was pink and had a holder over the top for the receiver, it looked quite old, another was modern and cordless and another was wooden and large and boxlike. The pink one had a crack from the kick, I could see it, even from above; perhaps the old plastic was quite brittle. Mr Logan ran his fingers along it gently as though soothing a wound. I could not help but imagine his large hands running over my skin in the same calming fashion.
             Another box was unpacked, and yet another, until the floor was covered in what might have been the history of telephones. There was over a hundred, he even had a telegraph with worn finger holds from many hours of tapping. He placed each one in a section of the shelf; there seemed to be some sort of order, because he took a long time doing it. I wondered why he had so many; maybe he was a telephone thief who went around small country museums coming up with elaborate schemes to steal more. Eventually every shelf except the top right one, the one nearest to me, was filled. He disappeared and I heard his footsteps go towards the kitchen, he came back with the phone that was already in the flat; it was grey and compact and its cord dragged behind him. He climbed the ladder and placed it in the empty compartment. He was so close I could smell the wet wool of his jersey and the soapy odour of his hair, three small moles were on his cheek; I held my breath so it wouldn’t be heard. Mr Logan dialled.
            “Hello, yes this is William Logan, yes, that’s right, I would like to set up one hundred and thirty six phone lines in my apartment. Yes. No, don’t put me on hold... ugh”
            William, his name was William.
            “Hi. Yes. William Logan. Yes. No, today, I can pay double what it is worth to have it done this evening. I understand that. Look, can I talk to your manager? Thank you... Hello, William Logan, and who is this? Hi Betty, I would like to set up one hundred and thirty six phone lines in my apartment. Yes, I realise that but I will pay any price to have it done today. Please don’t—ugh.” I assumed he had been put on hold again because he started humming Moon River.
            “Hello. Right, yes Logan, with an ‘A’. Sure I realise that. No, whatever you think is fair; I’ll leave that up to you. It’s apartment seven, at number fifty six Acacia Street. I will be out but I will leave a key under the mat. Ok, thank you very much. No any phone numbers will do. If they could label...? Yes. Perfect. Thanks, bye.”
            William climbed down the ladder, pulled out his keys and left. With the lights out it was hard to see as the light was dimming for the evening. My stomach growled at me as though there was a monster living in the pit of my gut angry at my negligence, hissing and writhing with snakes for hair. I had been watching for half the day, hours had ticked by and I had been unaware. When I got up my body was stiff and my hip bones ached from the hard floor. I fixed dinner, there was half a can of baked beans in the fridge to heat and I spooned them out trying to avoid the blackened sauce crusted at the top of the can. There was some pumpkin that I scrapped the mould off and boiled. I ate and was alone in an quiet, though it was not a real silence; the dull traffic noise drilled at me and the rain continued to pound at the window. I tried to search the newspaper again but the words left meaningless trails through my mind as my eyes struggled to follow the lines. I boiled the jug for the dishes to save power and scrubbed the plates in the light of the street lamp outside. The bench curved up at the edge catching a pool of water that soaked into my front as I leaned forward. A small cup of tea and a half filled hot-water bottle came from the remaining warm water in the jug.
            The people from the telephone company must have arrived; I could see light glowing from the hole underneath the table, but I didn’t really want to watch them. I replaced my telephone receiver and stared at it for a while, but it remained silent. Voices volleyed back and forth below and the glow from the hole looked golden, warm and inviting in my grey street-lit flat.
            I took a cushion from a chair and put it under my stomach as I lay down again and started watching the men in blue uniforms drill into the core of the building and thread wires in and around as if they were stitching it together. I fell asleep to the sounds of them sewing and splicing.



To Be Continued...

Christmas Decor

We don't make a huge fuss about Christmas visually around here. No tree, no carols, our fairy lights are not seasonal but a genuine outdoor lighting choice and the mistletoe I made from felt and hung in the doorway is more of an excuse to kiss and a chance to debate the Winter seasonal tones to our southern hemisphere Summer festivities than any true decoration. But the acid lollies on the table with their snowy dusting of icing sugar seem like celebration enough at this early stage of December.

Markets and Zines

Yesterday morning we went to the farmers market.

It was very busy because we have been having the sunniest, most beautiful weather, the kind of weather that smells like sunscreen.

<3

 Some luch was had, we were looking everywhere for apples but noone was selling them, it made us both sad.

 Afterwards we biked across town to Zinefest which was at The Darkroom, I got a whole bunch. The one with the print contains a letter inside, these things I found is a collection of found images, the large grey one behind is a collection of drawings.

 But my absolute favorites are the three by the Sheehan Brothers, this one in particular is so beautiful.

They made me want to go away and draw woods and magical creatures and mysterious happenings.

Locked Inside the Ferris Wheel

 Some quotes from books I have been reading lately:

 This is from Haruki Murakami's 'Sputnik Sweetheart'.

 Truman Capote's short story 'Miriam' and is about an old woman being menaced by a little girl. It is truely brillient in its sly sense of horror.

And this is a short story that explores the dialogue of a family explaining extra punctuation marks from Jonathan Safran Foer's 'The Unabridged Pocketbook of Lightning'.

Om Nom Nom

Some of the wonderful food I have eaten this year (or at least in this half of this year) I can't wait until I can do full year reviews!

You know it balances on your head just like a mattress balances on a bottle of wine

 Brunch on the balcony; toast with avocado, salami, poached eggs mushrooms and yogurt with strawberries for desert.

 Ready and about to get on my bike.

 We biked out to the bowling place on the edge of the city.

 Chris won the first game by a smidgen and the second by a whole smudge.

 The bowling place was pretty great with disco balls on the ceiling. There was one old guy with a good three inches of sock showing who would crouch down really low to watch his ball and point in glee if he got a good shot and turn away making a nineteen fifties gesture of annoyance (the fist swing) if it was poor. He was amazing.

 When I got home Mesha and I had a bit of a Nana nap.

 Keith came round and as he has an obsession with iced tea I made him a jug, we drank it out on the balcony.

 I made iskender for dinner, yum!

 We had a quiet drink out at The Darkroom.

 :)

 We played cards until the game felt pointless and then trundled home.

A peek at some of my wonderful birthday presents!

 I was going to put these up nearly a week ago but Keith accidentally took my camera cord, so I have been out of camera comminication! This is the sewing machine Chris got me, I love it, it was made in the mid to late 50s.

 He also got me the Bob Dylan Blonde on Blonde record, I have been listening to it non-stop. I love Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat.

And some of the other super nice things from Mum and Dad, Hannah, Liz and Keith.