Wants.

I really, really want a neon sign. I really think it could change my life. I think it's a home essential.


It all started with a tea shop in Lourdes that sold macaroons and overpriced prosecco. God knows how we ended up in there...but we did.

(photo offov the Crackberry liiiike)

Imagine this on your kitchen wall. I can. If it was there, I'd die happy.

Then I got to thinking about the SEX exhibition I went to at the Barbican yeeeeears ago and the Tracey Emin neon stuff that was there.

It being the SEX exhibition it was some of the - well - ruder stuff. But some of the other stuff is pretty awesome, hey? Look.

I could put this on my office door so that people KNEW when they came to talk about a difficult kid or a staffing problem or whatever they could have my response immediately - I know, I know, I KNOW.

For the insomniacs amongst us.

I don't know if this is hopeful or hopeless, but it's one of my favourites nevertheless.

This is a lovely, very un-Emin-like reminder to stay positive. I almost wish it was 'IN your dreams' to get a wee bit of word play on the go.

So Emin. Sleazy and tacky but wanting desperately to be oh-so-beautiful and rise above it all.

Lumiere Durham was on recently. From the website, it looks a damn sight better than Leeds' attempt. There were multi-coloured lights on Prebends Bridge (amongst the scaffolding, like). And they had Martin Creed's (isn't his hair wonderful?) Everything Is Going To Be Alright which I LOVE displayed on Old Shire Hall (I believe).

So now I just need to start saving - ooo, I don't know - a grand? - to have a custom neon sign made.

And, of course, I need to start deciding what it would say. Hmm.

Note to self.

Oh Baby

I'm trying to find a present for some lovely friends of ours who've just had a little 'un. And I want to buy them some REALLY AWESOME baby clothes.

Now, I appreciate that dressing your baby like a gangster isn't for everyone. But how amazing are these?

No, indeed she isn't.

I appreciate a good pun as much as the next girl.

Actually bought this for a work colleague once upon a time. Well, for his child. He WAS a Dylan fan.

And these are my ACTUAL favourites. Love and Hate scratch mits!

Sadly, I don't think gangster wear is what our dear friends have in mind. They farm. They are wholesome. They are uber-lovely.

So...those Scandinavians. They're bloody cool, aren't they? Just type 'Scandinavian Baby Clothes' into Google (you know, if you're bored, like) and see what comes up.

In fact, you don't need to bother. Look - I'll show you.

I like the psychedelic LSD-inspired surrealness of this one. It's all a bit Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

This baby's daddy is a farmer! How perfect is this?

get your baby farmer-gear here

Oh, hang on. Not as perfect as this! (although secretly I suspect this might be a little bit ugly and I'm being sucked in by the kitsch factor).

When I have a child, it's going to be EXQUISITELY dressed.

Nyerrrrrrcasstle

I've been home for the weekend. HOME home. You know, like where my mum and dad live. Newcastle. Nyerrrcasstle.

credit where credit's due

Or actually, Washington, Tyne and Wear. Washington. Yes, as in America. No, it's not IN America. Hence the accent. It's the ancestral home of George Washington. No, there's not that many American tourists. Yes, an American president visited us once. I don't know which one. He planted a tree on the village green, or so my Year 6 primary school teacher informed us. Yes, it's a New Town. That means there's a lot of roundabouts. Yes, it was horrific learning to drive there. No, I've never seen Jimmy Nail. Or Gazza. Or Sting.

With Bedders still in Brussels, I had a Proper Family and Friends Weekend. And it was lovely. I had lunch at the Italian we used to go to when we were, like, 17 and fancied ourselves as a bit grown up. The lunchtime special (two courses) used to be £4.95 - now it's £7.50. Still a bloody bargain.

We went for a drink in the Central, site of a crafty hen do some months back. Ah, a grand time was had. 

(bloody art teacher outshining us all with her talent)

Oh, Newcastle. Leeds has nabbed me by accident of history, but my heart belongs to you.

And I love this Geordie Jeans sketch from Vic and Bob.

"They're geet tight roond the arse."

My Kind of Wonderful

Sometimes - just sometimes - when something is truly, truly wonderful, I hear the Jurassic Park theme tune in my head. Sometimes I hum it. It's my 'Soundtrack to Wonderful.'

Go on. Give it a listen. Nothing sums up a sense of wonderment quite as well. I imagine them going into the park, wide-mouthed at the dinosaurs. I remember that guy in the lab saying, "DINO DNA!"

Ah, John Williams. You're actually a genius.

Here is the latest reason for my Jurassic Park theme tune fix.

These are, like, ME, but in boot form, Seriously, if I was made out of green leather and hob nails and coloured fabric, this is what I'd look like. Oh, I love them. They've turned me into a gibbering wreck.

I hate you, Plumo. You're so freakin' expensive, yet so very, very beautiful. And even though the logical part of my brain knows that your advertising campaign is super-sneaky-sly (let's make all the models look BANG ON TREND with matte red lipstick! And thick fringes! And frowns! Let's use grainy 1970s photography! Nothing's 'grey' or 'green', but rather 'pewter' or ' teal' and all the styles have lovely old lady names like 'Myrtle') nevertheless, it makes me ache to be even half as cool.

Except I'm not cool. And these boots are NOT affordable. Sigh. £359 squid.

Bedford is about to embark on a work trip to Brussels for a fortnight and has caught me cooing over them again. Like, for the fourth time in two days.  

"Laura," he said. "Please don't buy those while I'm away."

Sniff.

But a girl can dream, yeah?

This is the PERFECT jumper for wearing on a ferry to the Arran Islands. What do you mean, that's not a good enough reason to spend 229 quid on it?

When I am a grown-up and I go on a work's Christmas do that doesn't invovle standing on a table in a German Beer Tent singing 'I Am The Music Man', THIS is the dress I will wear.

And when I start fancying myself as Jackie O, this is what I shall be sashaying into town in. For cocktails or suchlike. This is called a 'Bon Bon coat' - can you believe it? I'd wear it for the name alone.

So there you have it. What I would be wearing this Christmas, if 1) money was no object and 2) I wasn't off to India. Oopsy. Forgot that one.

Antidote for a Crap Day.

1) Give the nice girl from your office a lift home. Enjoy a gossip.

2) Decide en route to the maison to get fish and chips. After all, the husband is at a late meeting in Nyerrrrcasstle and is staying up there with your parents. You need SOME comfort in the misery that the knowledge of them all cosy together brings, don't you?

3) Eat fish and chips (curry sauce a Northern optional extra).

4) Drink a glass of wine.

5) Listen to Mike Harding's folk hour on BBC Radio 2. Love one's life.

6) Work out how to download Spotify. Realise you were five billion years behind everyone else. Enjoy it nevertheless. Be reminded of the vocal perfection of Damien Dempsey.

(singing one of them Pogues' songs - contains one of the most beautiful lyrics of all time - 'You're the measure of my dreams.") 

7) Toy with the idea of doing something remotely productive. Disregard such thoughts on the basis that you have been attempting to do something productive all day and failing spectacularly.

And it helps to have the loveliest husband of all time who send you flowers to work knowing that it will embarass you horribly (despite my love for Bev-On-Reception) but will also Make Your Fecking Day.

Well. Time for bed and my book club book, methinks.