Harajuku shopping map

Boom! Harajuku shopping guide street map, totally awesome. All thanks to the latest issue of Vogue Nippon. Nice.

Jille magazine

Cho kawaii! Overcome with desire...chopping up the credit card.

Classics revisited

How I love the grumpy ranty ways of Notes from the Underground.  This weekend I am starting my revisit of the classics.

Forgotten habits

Lovely Natasha sent me the best package from Korea, filled with the best imaginable stationary. The joy of receiving it in the mail was overwhelming. And, it couldn't have come at a better time. I had been mulling for a few days about starting something I hadn't done for years.

A diary. Not a 'dear diary, today so blue' but more sporadic thoughts as they struck. It started shakily, I had almost forgotten what it was like, what I was supposed to write and how I ended things. I couldn't shake the feeling I was writing it like someone else was going to read it so it wasn't really truly for me. This feeling is slowly sliding away and I'm getting bolder with my words and thoughts. 

It strange the way you feel in a moment when you write something, that is your total truth for that moment. Then a week, month, or year later everything is different. It's great for learning but that's is also the danger in diaries.

Above, the cover, the first page which is self conscious as talking about Mum and Dad and my grandma, a grocery shopping list quickly jotted for tonight and my boyfriends little brother Adrian and I practising writing our names.

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.

What's that sound?

Oh weekend I thought you were never going to arrive

Cat mania

It seems cat mania has gripped the imagination of the people. They are every where I turn. On TV, the internet, even crossing the road! This weekend I went to 'Cats Galore', a shop dedicated entirely to cat paraphenalia in Petone. It's heavenly. Cat umbrellas, cat pillows, cat mugs! I think I will still be frequenting the joint when I am a 60 year old spinster living in my cat themed house - perhaps I should leave those fears for another day.

My own cat, Tim, died when I was a teen after eating the string tied around a roast. A victim of his own greed he went out quietly to our river bank and died a painful undelicious death. He was a bit of a sassy bitchy cat and never sat on my lap or showed me affection. All the same I loved his tyrannical and moody ways. That's one of the best things about cats, you have to take them on their terms, not yours, they're not afraid to show a bit of sass and their personalities are as diverse and interesting as humans.

Plenty of cat glory can be found at

Cat Party

Cat Paint

Fashion Loaf

Dream cats

Cats that look like Hitler

Looking like somebody else

Perve nation

    

I love Robert McGinnis and his pervy, sexy, OTT art work. It's all boobs, bikes, guns and the slightest hint of irony. He illustrated over 1200 paperback novels, mainly trashbaggery novels of foul play, mystery and seduction. His more famous works includes film posters for Breakfast at Tiffany's and Barberella

Inspiration

Creative friendships : Robert Mapplethorpe and Patti Smith

Neil Young's Vampire Blues

Moving houses and a temporary new space

My impending departure to Japan

The painted hairstylings of Winnie Truong

Kewpie mayonnaise, nom nom

Clogs in any way, shape or form

Joanna Newsoms triple record 'Have one on me'

Sylvia Plath

Religious paraphernalia

and recipes from this website