My Winter Survival Kit

Guess what? I think we did it. I think we survived winter.

DorkyDad is much better at winter than I am. All those years he spent living in the woods of Idaho have paid off, and cold weather seems to put him in touch with his inner cave man. He’ll head outside to shovel snow off the road even though we don’t have a car, and tell stories about the times when he had to cut down trees and chop logs for firewood.

DorkySon and I are not so keen. We hate the hassle of all those layers of clothes; hate getting up in the morning when there is ice on the windows. We prefer to snuggle up together under soft blankets, sipping hot chocolate and dreaming of summer.

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Street Art: sell it to me

This is an updated version of a guest post that originally appeared over at Thinly Spread last year. Big thank you to Christine for allowing me to republish it over here.

I don’t know if you’ve been following the most recent drama surrounded Banksy, but these two stories story sum it up quite well. Basically, a Banksy mural ‘disappeared’ from a wall in London, and fairly shortly afterwards it appeared for auction in the States. A debate has raged about whether street art belongs to anyone, whether it counts as theft if you remove art that was created illegally in the first place, whether street art makes sense if it’s removed from its original setting and context, whether preservation of street art is something we should be trying to achieve… and numerous other questions along those lines.

Personally, I think that street art really does only make sense if it’s, erm, in the street. Take a look at the incredible evolution of this piece, which provides a a visual documentation of the feud between Banksy and Robbo, and would not have been possible if an art collector had come along and removed it in its first incarnation.

In relation to the most recent debate, I think that an artwork that was widely interpreted as a comment on last year’s Jubilee celebrations makes much more sense if it’s left on the wall of a Poundland in Haringey than it would do in the living room of a wealthy collector, but that’s just me. I don’t make any claims to be an art expert, I just like to look at it. (And point you in the direction of posts that support my view…) Continue reading

Friendship and Loss

I have not written about P before.

That is partly because I’m not confident that my words can do him justice.

But it’s also because loss can do funny things to people. It can make you claim a closeness that others don’t recognise, as you grapple with your own emotions and try to make sense of them.

I don’t want to do that.

There are others who knew P better than I did, so I’ve waited, because I didn’t want to speak on their behalf.

But he was my friend too, and now the time feels right.

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Learning to Love Charity Shop Shopping

charity shop books

When I was a kid, I hated charity shops. My Mum was brilliant in them – she had a real instinct for finding hidden treasures in the unlikeliest of places – and would always emerge victorious with a perfect pair of jeans or a cashmere cardi. She and a friend would take whole days to visit other towns nearby and trawl their shops for a change. But I didn’t to inherit her skill, and I wasn’t prepared to work at it. I’d get bored quickly, and could never be bothered rifling through the racks of musty smelling garments on the off chance that I might find something useful.

More recently, I’ve had a change of heart. I still don’t buy clothes in charity shops (mainly because, as you’ll have guessed from my post on fashion earlier in the week, I don’t really buy clothes at all…) but if I’m looking for books or toys, they are the first place I go.

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