Ascension of Polka Dots on Trees

Some evenings when the weather is fine I walk along the Thames after work. It gives me time to clear my head, daydream and most importantly look at the pretty polka dot trees. They are so enchanting and childlike; I cannot get enough of them at the moment.

These trees are part of an art project by Yayoi Kusama called ‘Ascension of Polka Dots on Trees’. Kusama started getting hallucinations as a child and all she could see were polka dots covering the walls, objects around her and her body. Literally everything she could see was covered in spots. Like Minnie Mouse, Kusama’s trademark is polka dots. She covers objects, peoples and trees in different coloured polka dots as a reflection of how she sees the world around her.

I think this artwork is delightful and incredibly charming. Who feels sad or grumpy with polka dots around them?

Wild Thing

Right now I am bonkers for leopard print. It is the epitome of sexy and cool and has always reminded me of 1950’s bombshells. Fierce girls who have a rebellious streak (I am thinking Rizzo from Grease). I hope that someday my bottom will fit into leopard print pedal pushers. I aspire to becoming a future member of the B-52’s and rocking out with them in Hawaii. Sing it now – love shack baby!

The top of my wish list at the moment is a Vivienne Westwood leopard print handbag. I make special trips to Selfridges just so I can gawk at it and envisage myself walking around the streets of London with it hanging from my shoulder. It is so dreamy. I always leave Selfridges feeling a little dreary – there is no way I can afford that bag. Could I steal it? Vivienne is a punk at heart… Surely she would understand?
I walk gloomily down Oxford Street thinking of leopard print bags to my next port of call Topshop. Everything in Topshop has shoulder pads or sequins at the moment. I don’t really feel like joining the cast of Dynasty today (or ever for that matter). I notice a leopard print top tucked in behind all the protruding shoulder pads. I might not be able to afford that Vivienne Westwood bag but I can definitely indulge in a new leopard print top. It did sooth my cravings for some fierce leopard print action.

Craftacular

Five years ago when I took up my first job in magazine publishing it was because I adored magazines. The way they smell, look, feel and most importantly the influence they have over their readers. Magazines are incredibly powerful tools – they can make or break musicians, actors, models and politicians, they educate us, tell us what to wear, how to look and think and even how to act. That is a mighty accomplishment for pieces of paper with pretty images.

Although I have all the free magazines I could ever desire at my finger tips, I still peruse the newsstands for new and unusual magazines which grab my attention. I have been known to buy Spanish and French magazines because they were the most impeccable and divine items I had ever laid my eyes on. My favourite magazines are Lula, Elle, Love, Nylon, Dazed & Confused and Bust. I now look forward to flying on planes so I have an excuse to stock up on magazines and read them for several uninterrupted hours.

At the moment I am really digging Bust magazine. It is so different from other women’s magazines out there and I really respect what they put together each month. When I heard that Bust was hosting their annual Craft fair in London, I was excitedly waiting for Saturday morning to approach.

I arrived in Bethnal Green at midday (official start time) and the queue to get inside Craftacular was winding half way down the road. When I finally got through the doors (45 minutes later) I was greeted by tables of delightful nic nics and glamorous girls wearing their best brooches, floral dresses and immaculate hair styles (what is their secret?)

Craftacular was everything I could have hoped for. There were great tunes playing all day, a retro tea shop with 50’s waitresses serving tea and cupcakes and most importantly the crafts were amazing. I could have gone away with so many items (namely the pink ceramic pink bunny necklace, the floral ring and the gold skull necklace) but I limited myself to one piece – a gold necklace with a sailing ship pendant. I am already jotting down next year’s event in the calendar!

Flower Power

Liberty fever is spreading across London. Everyone seems to be going crazy for their dainty floral prints at the moment. Floral prints are the epitome of spring / summer chic. Every year they grace the catwalks and high streets and Liberty has been riding this craze since the beginning. They prove that floral is timeless and here to stay for years to come.

I am relatively new to wearing floral. At the beginning of last year I decided to become a bit more of a girl. This meant venturing away from jeans and tee-shirts and my tendency to wear head to toe black. I was hesitant towards wearing flowers. They scream ‘I am a girl’ and if you are not used to being lady-like, flowers can make you feel awkward and like an imposter. Nowadays I cannot get enough of flowers – it seems that all of my summer dresses have flowers on them and when I am shopping I gravitate towards anything floral. My wardrobe looks like a grandma’s tea party.

I was delighted when I noticed that the back of Liberty was covered in a Betsy floral print. Liberty is currently exhibiting the history of their prints (Prints Charming). I haven’t seen the exhibition yet but I look forward to Grayson Perry’s take on Liberty florals and checking out the collection of floral accessories. A shopping trip to Liberty? Yes Please!

A Trip to the Operating Theatre…

A few oddball things interest me – ghost and vampire stories, Japanese Samurai’s, astronomy, ancient Egypt, maritime history, and the history of medicine and surgery. So when I heard that there was an old operating theatre tucked away behind London Bridge station, I was intrigued to check this place out.

How does an old operating theatre exist in London after all of this time? Surely most hospitals become modernised when the times change and it seems odd for an out of date operating theatre to still be intact and preserved after hundreds of years, unable to be used. Apparently when the original hospital was relocated to a new site, nobody knew that wards and an operating theatre were up in the attic of the hospital. It remained intact for a good 60 years before it was re-discovered in the 1950’s and turned into a spot for visitors to soak up a unique piece of London history.


I was a bit stunned when I came to the entrance of the old operating theatre. It is this tiny and unassuming building. In fact – I walked past this place everyday for 5 months and never realised it existed. You climb up these tiny winding stairs but at the top you enter the most magnificent building I have ever seen. It is like something out of a Lemony Snicket book with giant circular windows and exposed wooden beams. It is clammy and poky up there; I cannot believe that this place once served as a hospital…

On display are old operating instruments, preserved body parts, medicines from the era and also have a section on herbal remedies. You can go into the old operating theatre and see where people had limbs amputated amongst other awful things. I am taken aback about how unhygienic this place would have been. They operated on this rickety wooden bench type thing and the general public could come along and watch operations although horrible flu’s and diseases were all over the city at the time. The room was so stuffy as well – the smell must have been dreadful on a warm summer’s day. They also used to put sawdust all over the floor to soak up the blood. A tad frightening as a church lay below the operating theatre’s floors. I am also struck by how many people would have died on the same spot I am standing. This was before the time of anaesthetic or antiseptic and your chances of surviving an operation would not have been great.



Sometimes London really surprises me, how could something that interesting exist in this city? How could it exist for so many years tucked away in an attic, remaining hidden from everyone? It makes me think about what might be in the ceiling above my head as we speak.

The Bag of Undies

Once upon a time I adored second hand clothing. I could spend hours trawling through racks and racks of unwanted clothing trying to find my next wardrobe gem. Then something happened – all of a sudden I despised it. I wanted to burn every second hand item I owned and never step foot in a second hand clothing store again.

I can pin point the exact moment I went from being a second hand queen to only buying brand new items. I worked in a second hand clothing store at University. Part of the job was sorting through peoples clothing and pricing their items for us to sell. I opened a bag of clothes to access what they were worth and whether we would sell them to discover that somebody had given us a bag of men’s underpants which were all old and dirty. When I say dirty – I mean it had to be a practical joke? A bitter shop assistant who was sacked reaping her revenge? I think I even accidentally touched one of the underpants in the bag. The only thing I can do to reassure myself about this incident is tell myself that it was seven years ago now and if I was going to have caught any illnesses or diseases from this man’s undies it would have happened by now.

So that was the moment – the bag of dirty undies. It made me think that I had no idea who wore these clothes before I had put them onto my back and what their previous life had entailed. Second hand clothes were something I just could not be bothered with anymore.

I have asked the question for many years following the undies incident - do I still really hate all things second hand? I have tested the water every now and then and there has been no change to the way I feel towards pre-loved clothes.

After surfing around on the internet being bored at work I came across a tempting website. It looked fun and it looked cool, but it was a jumble sale. How could it be? Was it time to test the water again?

So this weekend I had a date with the second hand clothing devil itself in North London. I was slightly hesitant but curious as I was approaching the jumble sale. It had been described as the hippest jumble sale in town and the people definitely looked hip. They were all pouting and posing next to racks of clothes, boxes of records, books, and toys. I mean I am a stylish girl right? Surely I should be able to whip up a stylish outfit from second hand tatters like the kids surrounding me?

As I stood there scouring through the racks of clothes and surveying the tables of junk I became aware that I had no idea how to act – I was definitely out of the swing of things as clutched onto unwanted goods and grinned nervously at the trendy beings who occupied the tables of stuff. I was trying to say – yes this is natural and I belong here, can’t you see I do it all of the time? I definitely wasn’t convincing myself or becoming tempted by the mounds of junk piled up to my ears.

I emerged from the jumble sale 10 minutes later empty handed and in need to some hand sanitizer. To ease the pain I wondered along to Angel for a smoothie and some fries. I guess second hand goods and Emma are still chalk and cheese. Not made for each other. Although there is one more date in the ‘second hand clothing’ calendar – a trip to Bang Bang Boutique to see if we are truly destined to remain fashion enemies. If anywhere is bound to turn me – I hear it is Bang Bang…

I took this picture before the jumble sale… This was my outfit of choice to help me blend in with the cool cats of North London. Convincing? They could smell the fear I tell you…