thought a beautiful think 2

*not my photo or words. I've just mixed them. naughty i know. forgive me?

thought a beautiful think

*I've just put the words and image together. Neither the words nor picture is mine.

Come ride with me....

....come ride, let's ride away...

ha ha ahhhhhhh

I feel so invigorated!

I feel like I've spent the day filming an ad. For clothes? Sunnies? Mineral water? Perfume? Italian tourism? Any of it, all of it!!

The sunshine was glorious, and I spent the morning promenading in a '50s style frock. It's mint green with an abstract floral print in pink, lemon, white, charcoal grey and deep purple. Very Dior 'New Look' or January Jones in Mad Men, it swishes like a dream. The sunnies are faux Raybans in a pink&black gingham check.

After lunch, meanwhile, I rode a bicycle around the streets and wall of Lucca. The town's 4.2km wall is just MADE for an afternoon ride in the sunshine. A breeze to keep you cool, trees planted all along to dapple you in shade as you whizz along, dodging the evening walkers. I paused for a moment to pull the bottle of mineral water out of my basket, and as I opened the lid the water fizzed everywhere. It was refreshing after the heat of the ride, and of course there's nothing to do but giggle at the water spray.

By now I was wearing a shortie gingham playsuit with a little white straw hat. Weaving around, laughing, the hat tossed in the basket, the wind rustling my hair, hunting out gelati with my cousins, how could it NOT feel like a moment worth every penny?

-fin-

London...silver, silver everywhere

My mad search for "the" teacup

Having spent countless hours shopping in Paris, I was determined not so spend my precious London time combing the high streets. Not for Harrods, not for Fortnum Mason, not for Harvey Nichols, and not even for that British fashion mecca, Top Shop. The Portobello Markets, however, were another matter. The antique markets were one of the few things to be carved into my London itinerary from the start.

Portobello road, leading to the said markets, is jammed with people well before you reach the stalls. Ducking and weaving, with my friend Blondie, and her friend Blondie 2 trailing behind, I marched down the hill. Dodging the crowds by trotting along the road may have been a little extreme, but I was a woman with a schedule, dammit! (Also, the crowds were beyond ridiculous. Having spent my past year working INSIDE retail, I forget what peak Saturday morning shopping crowds look like. And that's just in Melbourne. The London crowds were infinitely denser.)

The terrace houses that give way to the markets all shared the same bright, colourful palette, lending to the upbeat atmosphere. And then, it started. I didn't realise that yes, the word market might mean roadstall, but it can (and here, does) also mean narrow shop fronts, six or ten little stores deep. Silverware seemed to be the most prolific item, and every second stall bristled with teapots, ladles, magnifying glasses, hairbrushes, gravy boats, bundles of cutlery and buckets of silver(ish) miscellany. Fascinating, but I just hadn't prepared myself for silverware shopping! My mission for the day was a pretty teacup for my collection and perhaps a not-so-pretty-but-cheaper-and-practical teapot.

The perfect antique teacup had eluded me ever since I arrived in Europe. Preferably in greens and/or pinks and with the classical curved sides, not a straight-sided coffee cup. (The French, annoyingly, seem particularly fond of the angular shape.) At last, I found her. In the dark and tangled depths of chickenwire that separated out this particular set of stalls, she called to me. The perfect shape, with a feature pink rose on the saucer and inside the teacup. Gold-gilded, with just a simple double stripe around the outside of the teacup. Blue is the featured colour, but she's so pretty I forgave her for not wearing my chosen team colours.

I should probably admit she's not the only thing I found. I also bought an old red OXO tin (a traditional English brand of beef stock cubes) and some letters that were once used in the old method of type-set printing, when individual letters were placed in racks to print newspapers.

Next stop, Oxford Street insanity.....

Chantal Thomass

Bras, knickers, le string, slips, slippers, stockings...
I just had the most fabulous lingerie shopping experience. I am a big fan of bra shopping, and I have made wearing a correctly fitted bra one of my personal causes. I tell all the women in my life how important it is, and also that lingerie is about you, it's not about 'him'.

To that end, I have been looking forward to Paris lingerie shopping immensely. I have browsed through many of the renown boutiques, such as Chantal Thomass, Aubade, La Perla, Eres, Chantelle, Lejaby and some of the smaller ones too such as Princess Tam-Tam, Simone Perele and Etam. It wasn't until this week, however, that the stars suddenly aligned and I found myself with both the time and inclination, during shopping hours.

My standard shopping haunt...
I started at Printemps (with its late-night Thursday shopping, and its proximity to my house, Printemps is one of my favourite shopping locales). With a spare 20 minutes, I plucked some bras in my size from La Perla (is a 200euro bra really worth it?), Stella McCartney (the colours were so gorgeous I broke my rule of not even bothering with non-lingerie brands. For anyone above a B cup they are normally hopeless), Aubade (their ad campaign, 100 lessons in love, has got to be the world's sexiest). Being within a department store, instead of within the oftentimes impressive but overwhelming individual boutiques, makes me feel at ease and comfortable enough to hoist a quick selection off to the change room. (Which, in the case of Printemps lingerie dept., is a couple of unattended cubicles in the middle of the floor.) I didn't have much time and not wanting to hurry through my first French lingerie purchase, I left a tangled pile of bras and hangers behind me and continued on with my evening.


Le Bonne Marche
The next night I found myself at Le Bonne Marche, another of Paris's exclusive department stores. Unlike Printemps and Galleries Lafayette, however, Le Bonne Marche is not centered around catching the tourist dollar, but the French franc. This makes it a much more satisfying experience. To be in Art Deco surrounds, only French signage, a more compact layout and each area feels like a boutique unto itself, instead of just another section of a department store.

The lingerie change rooms at Le Bonne Marche ("Les Salons") are placed in a circle all facing into a large communal space with settees and warm lighting. Each "cabin" has a telephone, so that you can call for help and get it, no matter what your state of undress. This is on top of the helpful assistant who is manning the reception desk at the entrance to Les Salons.

Success!
I found the mature lady at the Chantal Thomass counter to be unexpectedly helpful. She virtually ignored me when I "made the rounds" and gathered up all the bras that caught my eye (only bras with nice bottoms- I love having sets!) This didn't bother me, however, because I felt free to poke around without being pressured. And yet perfect when I "appelled" her on the telephone for assistance, and she even disappeared into a back storeroom for me!

And thus, a gorgeous (yet substantial- no flimsy lace for my girls) leopard print number is now mine. If you go to her website you may just be able to identify the newest addition to my collection....

Eat Cake More Often

Here is a random assortment of things in my life that I would like to share with you:

Gloves.

Bought by my mother in Berlin, brought to Australia in her suitcase, given to me upon the eve of my departure, travelled back to Europe in my suitcase, and much admired around Paris.

Felt flower.


Bought at La Droguerie on Rue de Jour. La droguerie is actually a fairly generic term, used to describe anything from a fabric store, to a corner store. In this case, however, it is one of the most amazing spaces I've been in. All woodpanelled and just COVERED in spindles and spindles of ribbons, racks of buttons, drawers of charms, jars of flowers, shelves of material, skeins of wool....This particular flower is an auberginey purple, to be pinned upon my grey winter coat de temps a temps.

Mini-satchel.


I spent my latest Sunday afternoon wandering Montmartre and came across, of all things, a Mexican store. I'm not surprised it drew my eye, I can be somewhat of a butterfly at times and it was COLOURFUL. I have been searching for a toiletry bag, but often the options are naf, not made in a my-shampoo-leaked proof fabric, and have holes at the zip ends. This baby is none of those things, and I'm happy to have her on display and use her all the time (the dust in my apartment is astounding, so bagging things instead of leaving them shelf-side should help protect them.)

Paperbag.


While in Montmartre I also tripped past a favourite bakery and grabbed my first piece of Parisien quiche. I normally eat only the pastryless quiche that I cooked with E, so I had forgotten what a deliciously naughty indulgence it is to have a perfect pastry crust surrounding the rich cream, egg, cheese, bacon filling. This is the bag it came in (I ate it outside in the sunshine to save money) and it says "Eat cake more often." Here, here.

Zebra


Love the colours, the composition, everything about it. It's stuck up in a possie that I see all the time.

Coeur de Pirate

Coeur de Pirate, par Comme des Enfants

(Still from the video clip> Click on the link below to watch)

So one of life's advantages when living in Paris is French television, and plenty of it. Much of it is rubbish, but I am a big fan of all the music channels. Living alone it can be nice not only to have the sound babbling away in the background, but also the image. This little ditty has me completely obsessed, and also OUTRAGED that it is not available for purchase in the Australian's itunes store.

What is the point, I ask, of having an international, digital store such as itunes if I, an inhabitant of Paris who happens to have an "Australian" itunes account can't purchase French music comme je voulais?? Are they planning a special release party for the Australian market??? Is it embargoed until Comme des Enfants tour?? Or maybe the next SO Frenchy, SO Chic CD has bought the exclusive Australian rights to it?? It is, in my little Franco-Australian opinion, RIDICULOUS!

How long does it take to fall in love?

Six weeks. It takes exactly six weeks for a baby to fall in love. I have been here for six weeks now, and seen Little J's affections grow and blossom towards me. He was always fairly comfortable around me. But then things started to get serious. He gently head butts me as I lean towards him to get him out of his cot after nap time. He gives me eskimo nose-kisses when we snuggle at the high chair. He gave me a love-bite on my shoulder after bath time, when he was all swaddled in his towel. He shared his banana with me on Friday. I tore off pieces to give to him to hold, he would take a mouthful, then put it at my mouth for me to also have a mouthful. And thus we shared two bananas together. But here's how I know for sure. For the first time, when I was leaving the house in the evening, he wanted to leave his dad's arms and come with me instead. xo

My cute presents II- things for Miss Seven

These little ants are marching across the back of the lunch tin!!

The emu stamp also comes with a rolling stamp to make little emu tracks. I put in the ipod headphones so you could see how TINY those lip gloss cupcakes are.
This little sequinned galah will make the most PERFECT Christmas present.

My cute presents- activities for Miss Seven