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A blog to go with the zine GUT FEELINGS. About food and everything else.

Wednesday, 2 April 2014

National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry month. You don't need me to fill this blog post up with my own clumsy words, just watch these videos of people who have mastered putting words together in beautiful ways. 










This final poem is something I think lots of people should read or watch before they speak poetry in public.


Saturday, 22 March 2014

Happy Fragrance Day - Sarah.


It was international fragrance day yesterday. It was also my 29th birthday so I spent the day watching the final episodes of Bron/Broen, giving myself tarot readings, eating buttery shrimps and tidying up. That's my, valid, excuse for this being a day late.

Here is my list of people, places and events and the perfumes that smell like them. 
  • The end of August. Trying to squeeze all the joy out of Summer before you have to go back to school and picking blackberries in the hot afternoon sun, juice running down your fingers. That sweet metallic pop in your mouth as you bite in - Jo Malone Wild Fig and Cassis.
  • Being 20 years old, living in a bedsit room with your best female friend and being infatued with your best male friend whose chest you fall asleep on almost every night - Joop.
  • Scandinavian cake shops - Kenzo Jungle L'elephant.
  • Grinding black pepper onto an empty white plate for no good reason - Marc Jacobs Bang.
  • That man you went on a couple of dates with who looked like a cross between Robert Redford and Paul Newman and smelled so good you could forgive how boring he was and bad at kissing just for the chance to push your nose into his neck. And when you asked what cologne he was wearing he point blank denied that he was wearing any and insisted he smelled that way from days spent making furniture - Tauer 02 L'air du desert Marocain.
  • Briny green olives fresh from your local deli - Aramis Calligraphy Rose.
  • Going to Colombia road flower market just before 3pm to get discount bunches of Stargazer lillies to fill your windowless room with before the 6ft 6 German you're dating comes over and soaks your sheets in his sweat then moans at you for eating cake without a plate in your own bed - Penhlaigons Lily & Spice.
  • Thin women with freckled faces and arms who have soft soothing voices and wonky teeth, who wear cashmere jumpers that fall off their shoulders to reveal perfect collarbones, who only cry when they're listening to records - Body Shop White Musk.
  • Dominatrixes - Molinard Habanita.
  • Being 6 years old and barefoot and barechested as you walk around your Granny's vegetable garden at the beginning of June touching and sniffing and pulling at and tasting everything you come into contact with. Making the girl who lives next door eat frogspawn. Laughing adults washing off your dirt with the garden hose - Hermes Jardin Sur Le Nil
  • Being a little older, and in that same garden eating sun warmed tomatoes straight off the vine. Getting goosebumps as your teeth pierce through their skin - Nina Ricci Les Belles De Ricci Liberty Fizz.
  • Femme Fatales and men with Cary Grant hair in the kind of bars that don't exist except for in movies, smoking pipes and fat cigars and making double entendres - Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille.
  • Going on holiday to a beautiful city with a boyfriend you've hated for longer than you've loved and wishing you were walking around the Sagrada Familia alone - L'occitane cherry blossom.
  • Spending all night sitting around the Strummerville campfire with your friends at Glastonbury. Dirty black hoodie on, blanket round your shoulders, a can of red stripe in your hand, best friend gurning on your lap and smoke in your eyes as the sun comes up. - Naomi goodsir Bois D'Ascese.
  • New cars and car showrooms - Bottega Veneta
  • Being 16 and in film class and the girl next to you leaning over during your tutors talk about how the moon landings were faked to tell you that you always smell like "a crystal shop" - Lush Karma.
  • Root beer, play doh, ferries from Dover to Calais and West London in the early noughties. - Dior Hypnotic Poison.
  • West London now - Tom Ford Black Orchid.
  • Being in LA in the middle of the Summer with Sophie, in the passenger seat of the Toyota Prius with Tom Pretty playing loudly on the stereo, singing along loudly, on the way to anywhere - West Third Brand Marche De Tabac. 
  • Christmas eve day, building a gingerbread house with your stoned mum that ends up looking like some very impressive outsider art - Alkemia Oils gingembre eve.
  • Late Christmas eve. Breathing in the smell of your superior-cos-it's-real tree and it's pine needles, drinking Glögg with your fat little belly full of cheese and crackers while you watch The Snowman. Imagining you could be flying over that forest when that little kid sings about walking through the air- The Vagabond Prince Enchanted Forest.
  • Being on holiday. Rubbing coconut scented sun screen into your hairless brown legs. Laying on the beach with your nipples out. Floating on the sea and letting the waves wash you up on to the beach. Drinking cocktails in the evening with your best friend in white cotton dresses and sandals. - James Heeley Coccobello.
  • Vincent Van Gogh's paintings of Haystacks - Annick Goutal Sables.

















Tuesday, 18 March 2014

what is America getting wrong?

I've woken up in the wrong fucking country. I flew back from LA with Sophie yesterday and was welcomed by grey skies, people with cigarette stained skin and dead dreams on the tube and a dog that could not have given less of a fuck when I walked in the door. I forgot to take my antidepressants for the last two or three nights as well which means my little molehill of misery has been magnified to the size of a mountain.

I'm already missing California like a limb (babygurl, I want to be deep in you always), so in order to make myself feel a little better I have compiled a list of some of the things that I think America is getting wrong. It's the same kind of thing I would do if I really liked a boy/man and couldn't see him anymore, "oh well, his laugh wasn't sincere enough and I hated his earlobes". For the record, I think you are infinitely better than London, Los Angeles. Your people are better, your men are hotter, your climate is hotter and your food is tastier.

Maybe you can work on changing some of these things for me before I come back in September though.

1. Pretending to be Irish.
This one is especially appropriate at the moment while you are all nursing your guinness and whisky hangovers from St Patricks day. You know that great aunt of yours that lives in Boston? That don't make you Irish. You know how your great grandad on your mum's side had a half brother that you think lived somewhere on the emerald isle once maybe? That don't make you Irish. New rule is that Father Ted needs to make sense to you if you wanna call yourself a paddy.
So, gwan and get that shitty shamrock tattoo lasered off your hairless chest and stop lying to yourself and me.

2. No electrical kettles.
It's 2014. You have google glasses, and techology that talks back to you and virtual reality. How can you still be using kettles that you have to put on the stovetop and listen for a whistle?

3. All showers and no baths.
Where do you all light candles and listen to your Enya cds with no bath tubs?
Okay, so there are bath tubs, but they seem to just be vehicles for standing in while your shower pounds down on you. The only place in the whole of America that I managed to find a bath tub that had a plug and worked as a bath tub was in the hard rock hotel in Las Vegas. It was a beautiful thing and I lay in it like a piece of flotsam until my skin pruned up, and then some more.
You know what one of my favourite things is to do with someone I am courting? Sit in front of them in between their legs in the bath while they shampoo my hair and tell me stories. This doesn't translate so well to the shower. If I am on my own in the tub I like to fill it with scented stuff, read a book by just enough candlelight that my eyes aren't too strained and take photos of my boobs.

4. Your way-too-low toilet seats.
I wanna feel like I am sitting on a throne when I am on the toilet, or at the very least that I am sitting on a toilet that was made for full grown adults. In America I feel like I am only a couple of inches up from the floor.

5. "That's so funny".
I didn't notice this at first, Sophie did and pointed it out to me and now I hear it all the time. You say something hilarious and instead of the beautiful musical sounds of laughter you hear "that's so funny".

6. Tipping and taxes.
I'm not anti tipping at all, I've been the tippee as well as the tipper before and it's great getting all that exciting extra money. But if it's mandatory, and it is really isn't it?, then can't you just include it in the bill. Save me from doing mathS at every mealtime. Same goes for tax.

7. Pronounciation of HERBS and RISOTTO.
I don't mind anything else about the difference in our supposedly shared language and the way we speak it. I prefer the word cilantro to coriander, eggplant is cuter than aubergine, and rutbaga is more fun than swede (of course all of my references are foods). But there is an H at the front of the word HERB, it is there for a reason, and you make H's sad the whole world over when you ignore it. Here is how risotto is meant to be said, when you say it any other way you sound stupid. http://www.howdoyousaythatword.com/word/risotto/

8. Your 'British' accent.
"I do a great British accent" You're doing an English accent there buddy, not something that magically encompasses the English, Scottish, and Welsh accents. More specifically what you are doing is an impression of Dick Van Dyke in 'Mary Poppins' (an American playing a cockney) and making me want to ram cotton buds into my ears so that I can no longer be tortured by the sounds coming out of your mouth. It's not great, it's fucking awful, stop it.

9. Healthcare and welfare.
The healthcare should all be free, Walter White should not have to resort to cooking meth for his cancer treatment.