beginnings

I love this place. I must say it out loud as he looks down at me and replies "I can tell."

Dim, rainy sunshine dripping onto the latticed roof. We walk halfway around the Reading Room, heading for the Parthenon galleries. Centaurs, ephebes, an explanation of why a small penis means you are a good Greek boy. The Rosetta stone, a favourite Exekias pot, the early Christian paintings I spent three months studying. The crowds are thinning as we leave to eat Thai. I get too drunk and rant about socialism all the way home.

The next day, cold cold wind on the Thames, hats and gloves and a pretend German Christmas market, wooden sheds and The Pogues on a loudspeaker. Coffee and cake by the steps of St Pauls. Sometimes, he says, I love London.

Sometimes, I do, too.

pick'n'mix

Few things I'm loving at the moment:

Things on repeat on my ipod;
Homecoming - The Teenagers; sample lyric: 'I fucked my American cunt/I loved my English romance'. Class.
Paris - Friendly Fires. Hot Chip-esque pre-party music.
Quicksand - La Roux. Electro-pop. I think she's singing about a girl. Do you?
Girls' Night Out - The Knife. Listening to this, I had a sudden realisation that the singer also appears on a Royksopp song that I adore.

A really, really well written piece on a favourite site:
I wrote this in the past

Shoes I want, violently. The Miu Miu store in the new shopping centre marks the end of my retail pilgrimage every time.

Real post at some point. Good weekend coming up. Must start making notes again.

london love

"Hey, baby."
I roll my eyes and walk past him.
"You think you're too good for me, ah? You think you're too hot for me!"
The man; short, shorter than me in my heels, Hispanic, slick hair.

He turns to his friend. "She thinks she's too hot for me!"
I walk through the barrier.
"You're nada! Nada!" He yells, at my back.

I think briefly on what I will do if they appear on the platform. My train arrives, I abandon my grimace of distaste and start to snigger into the high collar of my coat.