Has it already been a week? Dang.
All right: have some Sophie Marceau doing a happy little dance until I come back with more pictures and stories. It’s taken by the way from a not so good French film (Fanfan) – if you ask me this is the best part.
PS: Would you find it useful if I wrote some French movie and tv reviews?
PPS: You might be puzzled as to why Vincent Pérez is also dancing and what is actually going on. He rented the studio next door to Fanfan and had a fancy two-way mirror installed so he can watch her (he thinks he’s in love with her but he’s already engaged, bla bla bla). Creepy? Much.
- I have a tiny grater called Alexander – and he is my favourite kitchen implement. I didn’t name him, but I will admit his name was part of the buying decision…
- My favourite lolly is liquorice.
- I dream in both English and French. But never in the same dream as far as I can remember – I seem to be very compartmentalised that way.
- I don’t know how to cartwheel – I never managed to learn and now I’m too afraid to break my head. I’ve always regretted it.
- I’m shaped like a column: I have no waist to speak off.
- I haven’t ridden a bicycle since the age of 6, and back then I wasn’t very good at it or steady. So it’s safe to say I can’t really ride a bicycle.
- I keep a jar of L’Occitane L’Eau des Vanilliers solid perfume on my bed side table and I put on the teeniest amount when I go to bed. There’s nothing like drifting off to sleep smelling like vanilla.
You reading this, would you like a little award? It will feel like getting a gold star – consider it yours and start writing your list.
*If you don’t read Honest Fare you’re missing out on amazing looking food and witty text. I warned you.
… or both (ha!), head over to my new little Tumblr called Hipstamatically. And I’ve just realised looking at the second image, I’ve got a thing for photographing my red (or here, Bordeaux) shoes on a background of bright green grass…
This fountain is one of my childhood landmarks – and if I had to explain the concept of time this is the most poetic way I can think of.
The garden and the fountain are at the back of a humongous ‘hôtel particulier‘, in a street I skipped down every Wednesday to go to my weekly music lesson. Behind a dark green gate – so my only ticket to seeing the fountain was if the gate was open. Because aged 6, I was predictably too short to peer above the gate. I can’t tell you how many times I was crushed when I caught my breath in front of that damn closed gate… Arghhhh, so close!
Until I grew to a surprising 1.75m in height (maman and sister Sophie are both a little shorter) – and then, ha ha, could see the fountain whether the gate was closed or not, any time, any day. And I never got tired of looking at it. I always found it as magical and beautiful, and spared a thought back to my shorter, younger version who fumed in disappointment so many times being denied a peek…
This is a poor quality image taken with a disposable camera on an overcast day, but I am biding my time until I can take proper pictures with my good camera… Next trip…
Some quick orientation: the Music Conservatory that was for sale for 12 million euros? At the end of the street, same side as the garden and fountain. The Horseman on the Roof – shot a few metres down on the ‘Place des Quatre Dauphins‘ and adjoining streets in 1995. I used to walk down during my school lunch break to look at the set (my school, few streets up). There you have it.
I was not really familiar with the Swedish Chef from the Muppets until last night, when Christian showed me a bunch of videos on youtube.
I laughed so hard I cried. My favourite is Doughnuts, although the one where he thwacks a chocolate cake with a bat is up there too. Oh, and how about the one where he plays tennis using meatballs with the cantankerous senior citizen in the balcony?
The Swedish Chef has his own youtube channel (you know where I’ll be this weekend!). And I am going to start throwing my utensils around when I’m in the kitchen from this point forward.
I have folders, and rules. My rules dictate that when I like something, I put images of it in a folder. If I still like what I’ve put in the folder after at least 30 days, I congratulate myself for being so reasonable and in my mind allow myself to buy it (provided it’s a reasonably teeny amount).
This has been in my folder for over 30 days. And we keep on breaking mugs. And it’s pretty cheap. So it would be perfect timing. Except, I am still not going to buy it, because I don’t really feel like spending anything or buying anything. For reals. I’m happy with what I’ve got (not for long given the rate things smash around here). So I’m happy just looking at the graph paper mug.
Isn’t it pretty?
Some things of note about my sister:
- Her favourite flavour of anything sweet is vanilla. Always. (So the cupcake pictured is a vanilla cupcake).
- She doesn’t eat breakfast straight away when she wakes up – she lingers in her pyjamas for a while and after about half an hour, she’ll eat.
- She is the cutest in pyjamas.
- She reads freakishly fast – can knock a 500-page book in a few hours.
- She is afraid of spiders just like me, yet plucky enough to trap them under cups and shoo them out if need be.
- She met her husband during a job interview (and she got the job!).
- She always greeted my mother’s ‘Let’s repaint the hallway/corridor/bedroom/cupboards’ with enthusiasm.
- She’s great at painting walls.
- She is very very warm and friendly (that’s from Christian).
- She spent more than an hour coming up with ways to do my hair when a stupid Parisian hairdresser cut it too short.
- She screamed ‘You suck Britney’ from our kitchen window when the primary school kids next door were doing a dance number to a Britney Spears song.
I love you so much Sophie! Millions de bisous!
Read more things of note about my sister in last year’s birthday list.
My hair doesn’t have that long to go to reach my shoulders: maybe a few months. But in the meantime, when I pin it up I have to contend with some rebel strands of neck hair that always escape the clutches of my various clips and grips.
In a fit of ‘Enough!’, I decided shaving them might be the way to go. Until everything reaches the right length – then I’ll let them grow back and pin my hair artfully so they’ll regrow in stealth.
I’ve actually done it before and it doesn’t look half bad. Plus, it will make me feel a little bit punk. And since I have a baby face and I spent my Friday night at home watching a documentary on 10 ways to kill Osama Bin Laden (which was very interesting actually), I will take all the punk I can get.
So, should I shave my little neck hairs?
At the moment I know technically we’re supposed to be in spring. Except I’m pretending we’re in Autumn (because that’s what September is supposed to be in my world view, even after 8 years in Melbourne – stubborn I am). I think I’ve still got a good month and a half of denial ahead of me when I’ll be able to wear toasty stockings and shoes, and rug up in scarves and béret during our daily walks.
And then it’ll be on to summer and I’ll blind people with my paleness like every year, while my siblings go towards dark months and a winter Christmas. And like every year I won’t manage to get into the festive spirit of a hot Christmas day… I need freezing cold with a chance of snow, dark at 5PM, my brother scoffing marrons glacés and the telling of jokes from inside papillotes wrappers – and then it feels like Christmas. Stubborn and grinch-ey am I?
This is the best $2.49 I’ve spent in a while… So today I went a bit nuts and photographed anything and everything around my apartment. And my breakfast, shoes not yet put away, fringe, eye and nose have never looked better. Thank you Jess (monkey saw, monkey totally did).
PS: Mira and her Salvador Dali whiskers are killing me.