Sunday, 27 September 2009


It is taking all of my willpower to not spend seven hundred dollars on a raincoat. Oh my goodness.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I was technically 'working' today, when I fell in love with these. But that raincoat... ohh dear. I've never been so in love with an item of clothing.

From the totally amazing Fifth Avenue Shoe Repair.

Saturday, 26 September 2009



Songs are lovely. I first saw them with Deerhunter in Melbourne; last night they came here, and played at my favourite venue in Adelaide, the Metro. I think 'intimate' is a good way to describe it. From the outside it's very unassuming, but weave your way towards the back and you will almost always find a good mix of people and highly underrated bands. Adelaide is having a bunch of great bands come through in the next few weeks... I'm looking forward to the Vivian Girls and Love of Diagrams.

In a completely unrelated matter, I am so disappointed with the grand final result. Who would ever have thought this could be a football blog? Nowadays, it's a hidden passion... I just don't have the time for it like I once did. I am so proud of the Saints though, but also so devastated that they've fallen short once again. It's a heart-wrenching ride.

Friday, 11 September 2009

the bell jar.

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig-tree in the story.

From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and off-beat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.

I saw myself setting in the crotch of this fig-tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Never before has a book spoken to me like this one. It's quite depressing, but ever so enlightening.

Monday, 7 September 2009


hills + horse.

So much to do.