For the wall

Images found at this glorious website

Us and them

The world is split into two different kinds of people. When I moved into my flat, we were having all our kitchen goods delivered. My then girlfriend got off the phone and said to me, “we need to stay in because the fridge men are coming.” The world is divided into those who hear that and think, “I need to be in because I’m having a kitchen delivery” and those who hear the word “fridge men” and immediately conceive of a kind of cyborg creature with a big open door in his chest and stopping arms and legs and kind of freezing demeanor—a fridge-man hybrid.

- China Mieville

A smile on the dial

Jung Park put a smile on my dial today with her slightly batty illustrations

Fodder fix

Sometimes breathtaking works of literature need to take a step aside for deliciously dramatic, romantic, incestuous, drug addled drama that can only be the work of Jacqueline Susann and V.C Andrews. Oh the deceit, addiction, bitchy fights and triumphant back stabbing. Choosing a fluffy piece of fiction is a fine line to walk. One doesn't want to lose all pride succumbing to the fodder of she-devil Marian Keys or Danielle Steel for fear of reading the same book (cleverly marketed as a different book) over and over again.

I first clapped eyes on a V.C Andrews book at eleven years old and promptly devoured its contents. My aunty gifted me the entire Flowers in the Attic series and I boasted about the contents at school. Most kids didn’t care (there was a myriad of things far cooler than me harping on about a book) although I did manage to lure a few into my in exclusive V.C Andrews circle and we discussed plot lines at length.

One afternoon my mother caught sight of me reading some rather filthy words one day all the while laughing loudly and banned the series for two whole years. This only raised the illicit desirability of such a work and I stole the books back continuing to read about crazy grandmothers and incestuous children late into night, torch slyly hidden all the while listening for creaks in the corridor which could be either mum or dad about to snap me with my forbidden fruit.

Jacqueline Susann came later in life, both books and movie. The glamour, the plastic world and insane meltdowns proved to be the perfect escapism while trapped in a boring suburban town devoid of drama. Watching Sharon Tate on screen all the while knowing her imminent fate in real life seemed so fitting of a plotline from one of Valley books that it was all the more sad and poignant.

I haven't picked up a heinously embarrassing book in a while now and I am hearing alluring things about Jilly Cooper. 'Sex and horses, who could ask for more?' said the Sunday Telegraph review. Enough said. I'm approaching with caution all the while secretly hoping for embezzled millions, big hair, ultra 80's glam and incomparable love affairs.