Friday, August 31, 2012

broke flâneur adventures




Shoreditch, Hampstead, Tate storage archives (HOCKNEY YO), Lewisham kebab shop

Monday, August 27, 2012

trimm trabb like all the flash boys have

I've never been much of a trainers person (except maybe in 1997 when they lit up when you walked, where are you nowww light-up footwear), but this new A.P.C x Nike collab is making me cry, drool and jizz all at once.






SO FRESH AND SO CLEAN CLEAN. I don't know whether it's because of all the running around and standing for 12 hours my bum job entails (or because my current battered-to-shit Vans look like they probably belong to an overly boisterous 8 year old child who falls over a lot), but I would kill for a pair of these bad boys.

Friday, August 24, 2012

throw yourself into the road darling, you haven't got a chance

Wednesday night me and some buds went to see Withnail & I at the Queen of Hoxton Rooftop Cinema Club. Now, I have seen this film approximately 23,000 times (because I am a horrible student cliche) and it is my favourite in the world, even more than Clueless or Blade Runner or anything with Humphrey Bogart :O





The bar is great anyway, all bunting and fake grass and blankets to cover your knees while you get covertly hammered on bottles of wine after having skipped lunch & dinner (...getting in the spirit of the film, OBVIOUSLY).

As well as being totally heartbreaking and cough-up-your-lungs funny, its aesthetic is an utterly flawless blend of mud/rain/Edwardiana/grimy pubs/faded gentlemanly glamour/60s bohemia/grey kitchen sink modernism/nostalgia for a non-existent Wodehouseian Albion. From the one busted headlight on their Jaguar MKII to the liberty print cushions in their Camden flat and the casually poignant shot of Marwood reading Journey's End, from Monty's persian cat and Withnail's polythene-shod attempt at sensible countrywear to the wolves in Regent's Park, every detail is perfect.



















Sunday, August 19, 2012

it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's goodbye







Pictured: the littered ephemera of me and the boy's trip to Amsterdam, which was aceeee. With lots of sunshine and cycling and canalboats and gin and fleamarkets and trams and art and so on. I bloody love Amsterdam.

Also, while we were deathly hungover and the sun was killing our brains we snuck into the cinema (The Movies, which is a brilliant art deco palace of a movie theatre) to see On The Road, which obv had no plot and lacked the grimy madness of the book, but was fairly soothing and beautifully shot at least. The clothes! The music! SAM RILEY! Unf. Worth it anyway, I'd say.



Monday, August 13, 2012

emails from my sister

"was just talking to dad about your recent error while wasted (nice tattoo scumbag) and dad told me he hopes i look after you when we're old so i told him the life plan i have for when we are decrepit...
when we are like 80, we're going to live in a shabby motel apartment with an array of exotic pets wearing fur-coats we make out of the ones that die, and smoking shisha pipes and while you drink cocktails and whiskey i'll do paintings in a kind of julie heffernan/vladimir kush style and take photos like dora kallmus/man ray while you also write books about clothes and general insane things.
sounds like quite a plan to me, oh and i decided that if you want you can keep james like in a cupboard or something but he's not allowed to disturb my painting or upset the animals, deal?"









Yes.