Big Up Your Bad Self.

Do it now.

To Let The Warm Love In

Anthropologie's new bridal range has caused a bit of a stir. If you're remotely interested in anything wedding-y, you'll be be aware of the extent of that understatement. 

It. Is. Stunning.

It's called 'BHLDN', and pronounced 'Beholden', h'appparently. I don't know if I like that. Bit text-speaky for me, but hey. I'm not their PR gal. However, apparently it's inspired by the Dutch word for 'to keep', which is actually a little bit beautiful. 

I knew I would like it from the moment I clicked onto the website and saw some lines from Keats' Ode to Psyche:

And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign.

A literary reference? I'm sold. 

 And what a lovely reference, too. Does he not paint a picture of the most beautiful drowsy summer evening? Does 'rosy sanctuary' and 'wreath'd trellis' and 'buds' and 'stars without a name' not just conjure up images of a glorious midsummer wedding garden party?

I fink it does.

But hey - it's all about the dresses. And then I saw this one and thought, "If I looked remotely like this - EVER - I think I would die happy."

It's not even a wedding dress, people. It's a Dress What You Might Wear As A Guest To A Fancy-Fancy Wedding. But I for one would be happy to walk down the aisle in that little number. 

And isn't the green ribbon just darling?

I tell you, it gave me some dress wobbles for a few minutes there. That was until I talked myself round by muttering things like, "You can have a green ribbon on YOUR dress if you really want one, Laura. There, won't that be lovely?" to myself. 

The real-life wedding dresses are equally fabulous.  My favourite of the wedding-y dresses? This one. I think.

And the shoes. Oh, the shoes. I've picked a couple of favourites here but honestly, this is just a sample of the beauties that await.

Jelly slingbacks, anyone? What's that you say? Something more traditional? Try these...

 And I say who bloody cares if green is unlucky?

Lovely lovey. Have a look. My only warning is that the combined effect of the soft-focus photography and the beautiful models and the artfully-mussed hair might make you hate your own life and everything in it. Just for five minutes or so.

Oo my.

I had an email from the lovely Joycey the other day. In it, she said she's been prompted to email me by finding a beautiful fine-tipped pen that would have "blatantly been up mine and your streets circa 1997. And we'd have used it to draw all sorts of pictures of our imaginary prom."

And I laughed. Out loud. I suppose that means I LOLd, in fact. 

It's true. I have always been a stationery-lover. Good pens ("Ooo, that's a nice writer") have been unleashing Actual Quivers Of Joy since 1991. I was crap at Maths at school, but absolutely ACE at working out how many packets of 69p stickers I could buy with my pocket money in Stationery Box at the Galleries during my weekly shopping trip (the best ones? The furry Jack Russells. No question). I've taken an unprecedented interest in our good First Lady Sam Cam purely on the basis that she works for Smythson. Oo, Smythson wedding invites. Or even Thank You cards. There's the dream right there. 

So about a week ago we set about trying to decide on wedding stationery. And I was excited. This is my thing, you know? Whereas dresses were an unknown minefield of potential disaster, I'd anticpated that stationery would be easy peasy. 

But do you know what? There's a hell of a lot of crap out there. 

Believe me. I've been looking for a while prior to the obligatory Me-And-Bedders-Sitting-Down-Together-To-Sort-It session. And I've been astonished by the amount of - for want of a better word - tack. Rhinestones, for God's sake (rhinestones make me think of Sweet Valley High. Jessica had a rhinsetone-covered jumpsuit in one scintillating edition). Butterflies. Swirly-wirly-twirly fonts. What a load of guff.

I'm opposed to traditional wedding stationery on two counts.

1) Lots of them look like the poor bloke hasn't had a look in. I'd be embarrassed for Adam to have his name on the majority of the ones I've seen. He'd look like a big wet girl.

2) They're really spenno.

So the obvious port of call was etsy, but even there - EVEN THERE - there was a load of crap.

It's made from felt, ergo it's crafty and cool? Err, no. I feel a website coming on. crapweddinginvites.com. A collection of the most hideous wedding tat you've ever had the misfortune to receive through your letterbox.

But if you learn one thing from this post (hark - this blog as educatational resource!), learn this. Perservere with etsy. Even when you're being bombarded with crap from all angles (FELT! SEQUINS! RETRO! VINTAGE! KITSCH! Err, no, just crap, actually), stick with it. Because eventually you will be rewarded. God loves a trier, after all. And here it what God showed us. ellothere wedding invitations. 

Oh, behold. Behold with joy. 

I know. I know, my child.

And again. Stready yourself. Yup.

Delectable. And what about this?

So which one are we going for? You shall have to wait and see ;)

Current Squeeze. I mean Read.

I am rather enjoying Blair's book at the minute. Not much about Cherie-And-The-Love-That-Kept-Me-Strong! yet, though. Hopefully it's still to come...oh, the label? It's from my pyjamas.

Happy Valentine's Day

The Morris View Valentines card selection.

Seven things

Seven Things What You May Or May Not Know About Me

1) Awful schmaltzy country music is my guilty pleasure. I blame it on summer holidays in Ireland and being subjected to hours of Mid West Radio. If it's got a chorus about Daddy, pick-up trucks or lurrrve, and is sung by a fella called Doc or Chuck, the chances are I'm weeping in the corner.

2) My favourite place in the world is probably Northumberland. I spend inordiante amount of time hatching 'The Plan' whereby I could go and make it my home. This involves winning the lottery/sacking off the teaching/becoming a hippy home tutor/no longer caring about having money for lovely shoes and stuff...




3) I don't like prune juice. I don't care how good it is for you. It's rancid. It makes my mouth full up with water and soon enough I'm projectile vomiting.

4) My nickname is 'Pottymouth'. Ahem. I have no idea why.

5) I like to speak Franglais. I know it makes me sound like a twat. When I actually went to France in the summer my French was rubbish, too. An injustice, given the practice I put in at home.

6) I was an indiscriminate reader as a youngster. I'd read owt. Still will - well, with limits. I wouldn't stoop to any shitey Chick Lit - that's about the only no-no there is, though. I'd cast my eye over the back of a cereal packet if I was desperate. Or an Autotrader - you know, if I was in a garage or something. I remember being in Year 9 at school and reading Jane Eyre one week and then a Maeve Binchy novel the next and thinking that they were EQUALLY BRILLIANT.

7) And finally, I am LOVING playing Lady Gaga en route to work at the moment. She gets me pumped up for the day. In fact, she's rivaling Springsteen AND dodgy Irish folk.

I heart Poker Face the mostest.

PS I got this idea from  imperfectpages, who knows infinitely more about blogging than me. I just thought it sounded fun :)

On hearing of a recent break-in nextdoor, my mum send me this through the post...

Brilliant.

We Have Booked Our Honeymoon

Well hello there.

Self-explanatory title this time, you'll note. We've only gone and booked the ruddy honeymoon.

Somewhere in the distance, a crowd roars in celebration. *raaaaaaaaawrrrrrrrrr*

Am considering a minor celebration as I sit here in the English office, otherwise known as The Bunker (there's no natural sunlight, you see. And low ceilings. Debs referred to it as being "like the bloody Cabinet War Rooms in here" yesterday and I nearly choked on my tea).

 A little conga, perhaps. A solitary Mexican wave. A shimmy around the table.

It's taken what seems like forever to make our choice. We thought about going to Northumberland and doing some serious walking. But then we decided that would involve camping and after last summer's debacle in France (err, do you like sand in your sleeping bag? No? Shame, 'cos it's BLOODY EVERYWHERE!) we came to the conclusion that wouldn't be un bon idee.

Then we thought about Italy. I fancied Croatia or somewhere else a bit Eastern-European. But then the ex-factor reared its head (can you really go on honeymoon to a place where you/your beloved has been with an ex? I don't think I'd be overly delighted with that prospect). 

Then it became less of an issue and we started to toy with the idea again. Ooo, Italy. Ooo, pizza. Ooo, vino. Ooo, Mr and Mrs Smith. Pretty website. Pretty boutique hotels with exposed stone walls and roll-top baths and oh Lordy, Adam, look! They offer breadmaking classes and - 

- ERR, YOU WHAT? £340 a night?

We've decided we're not Mr and Mrs Smith. We're Mr and Mrs Bedford. Or will be, anyway. And we need a more budget-friendly option.

Sardinia? Argentina! New Zealand? Bit of Australia? Combination?

This is our honeymoon, yeah?

This needs to be the best holiday of our LIVES. The pressure is ON, man.

What's the best holiday you've ever had? Where's the best place you've ever been?

Blank faces.

Umm, Northumberland?

Do you remember that weekend in August when we stayed in a fairly average B&B and the Polish owner shouted at us for not wanting the full English in the morning?

Ha, yeah, that was funny. We got some serious mileage out of doing impressions of her.

And when we went on the boat trip to the Farne Islands to see The Amazing Varieties of Bird and Wildlife.

Cue Geordie accent over the ship tannoy: "As yer can see, MOAST of the bords have migrated to Africa...."

And all we could see were views of totally deserted bird-shit-covered rocks. 

Yeah, and then we got engaged there. In Rothbury. 

Where Raoul Moat shot himself. 

Yeah. And the man in the B&B was the campest creature ever.

'Bellini? Bellini?' Aye, gan on then, I'll have a Bellini. Ta. Oh, whats this? A hot flannel? Err....OK.

I love Northumberland. I love the wild skies and the deserted beaches. It's as beautiful as Cornwall (FACT), but not as trendy. The coastline is amazing. The air is so clean and tuckers you right out. The pubs are ace. It's friendly. It's Northern. It's just the BEST.

And, as a decision, it just seems RIGHT.

And LOOK AT WHERE WE'RE STAYING:



I am so excited I can barely BREATHE.

That is all for now.

Sunlight is a Thing To Do. And it will Cheer You Up. Promise.

Googling Auden for Year 12, I came across a blog. It's called The Wondering Minstrels. It seems to have been dormant for a while, but when it was active it worked on a simple enough concept. They published a poem a day, and give some background to it. And stacks of people then commented on it.

This is the poem I came across. It isn't Auden (although there IS a Larkin poem underneath it). I read it and felt...sunny.

And after a terrible Sunday, an unspeakably dreadful Sunday night and a fairly hideous Monday, it was just what the doctor ordered.


The Word

 Down near the bottom
 of the crossed-out list
 of things you have to do today,

 between "green thread"
 and "broccoli" you find
 that you have penciled "sunlight."

 Resting on the page, the word
 is as beautiful, it touches you
 as if you had a friend

 and sunlight were a present
 he had sent you from some place distant
 as this morning -- to cheer you up,

 and to remind you that,
 among your duties, pleasure
 is a thing,

 that also needs accomplishing
 Do you remember?
 that time and light are kinds

 of love, and love
 is no less practical
 than a coffee grinder

 or a safe spare tire?
 Tomorrow you may be utterly
 without a clue

 but today you get a telegram,
 from the heart in exile
 proclaiming that the kingdom

 still exists,
 the king and queen alive,
 still speaking to their children,

 - to any one among them
 who can find the time,
 to sit out in the sun and listen.

-- Tony Hoagland  

I really like love the lines below:

"...among your duties, pleasure
is a thing,

that also needs accomplishing..."

Damn straight it is.

So smile. Be happy. Try to work hard, because that's important, you know. Working hard. Do the boring-but-necessary stuff like buying stamps (argh, I forgot) and a tax disc (oops). But also make time for the sunny stuff, because that's as important.

I've just had good news of a moeny-related nature. Could this be why a chirpy poem about sunlight and love has perked me up? Materialistic little me? Never.