Cat model no.2

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Did I mention that Ava is on the James Wellbeloved website? Ahh, but she is! I wrote this about her the other day. Bit of a rant because she’s really, really naughty. But cute. This morning she pawed a vase of flowers to the floor, where it smashed to a million mini shards & 20 petals. She puts bolts, kirby grips & plant bits into the bath, where she plays with them in her spare time. She jumps on f cat continuously and sits inside the dishwasher. She sleeps on top of a cupboard. Her cuteness is matched by her naughtiness. She’s ace! I will tell her how bad she was when she’s old.


eight hours of sleep at eighty


Pretty much on the dot, every night at 3am Francois howls to the skies.

This little ginger cat ensures that his elongated meows are felt and his sentiments understood by the whole household. For this, we thank him. 3am is a wonderful time to be awoken from slumber. Just ask… everyone. However, we don’t understand what the whiskered one could be moaning about. Can he see the infamous black cat that patrols the garden? Can he sense something in the ‘air’? Or has he just taken a dislike to the fact we moved the pot plant the other day? Who knows. He is a cat.

Luckily Francois has one very nice owner (not me), who will get up and cuddle him for a couple of minutes at 3am, til he is happy again. He normally instantly purrs and snuggles. Then shuts up til 7am. This is testament to the bond between F and Charlie. I thought I had an amazing bond with Ava, but yesterday she trailed after Charlie with giant eyes throughout the day. Jumping on his lap and lying on her back, and pawing at him. Ridiculous. Cute, but ridiculous. I think Charlie may be an animal whisperer.

Regardless, I believe sleep is essential and I am obsessed with trying to get my eight hours. I am not a happy CAT with less than my eight. This, Charlie tells me is silly and I should embrace late nights/talks/dances (and seemingly, cat cuddles). I used to 100% agree. Not that long ago I would have been up with the cat, looking up at the moon. What happened? What do a few more minutes matter? Interrupted sleep? Peh. Being annoyed at my lack of eight hours is a waste of energy. This is a fact. Admittedly, I still like eight hours – glorious, but if I don’t, I don’t. I would rather see and experience. I know this.

Last night, I heard Charlie get up to cuddle the F, and rather than wanting to chuck them both some mackerel and out the door for being noisy, I thought of nice things. That was it. F is silly, C is sweet/twisted round F’s paw. End. So what if I had to use that eight hour cream this morning. So what?!

(Student parties and overly loud washing machines are obviously different and not included in this relaxed outlook)

the candlelight and the patatas bravas


Blah, blah Valentine’s Day is really commercial and an excuse for brands to… etc. But actually, sometimes it’s quite nice to crack out some love and if the V day prompts some declarations of love and forces you to look at what you have and find that actually, this Thursday morning, you’ve woken up to the equivalent of a dusting of love glitter, that aint bad!

So, I may have just had an anti-thrill sandwich (beetroot and cheese on old bread), but luckily, I am still filled with the excellence that is BRAVAS. Which we indulged in last night. MMMMM. May that happiness last, for food is the accessible heaven of life.

A tapas joint that originated as a humble supper club, Bravas on Cotham Hill (Bristol), left us utterly contented. From the gin with almonds, orange and tonic, to the patatas bravas with orangey tomato/ coriander tasting sauce, not forgetting the chorizo cooked in cider and the epic pork belly with spices atop. All winning, win, win. Plus it was packed, cosy and the service slick AND it cost just £29 for the both of us. Suffice to say, indulgence and romance is a great thing and though I love a night in, a night out – a date night out, is magnifique.

I also got some flowers from Chaz yesterday. So in a way, we did the love day, a day early – actually, never been for a meal on V day… I booked Bravas, but these flowers are something else, so I’ve got him a Kinder Surprise. Equals.

Love, love, loooove


Copy kitty


I am thrilled to be starting The Killing series this weekend. FINALLY. I await series addiction. Now, I was talking about those famous jumpers too (obvs) and came across this article on The Guardian website.The creators of the jumper Godrun & Godrun have ordered another company to stop making replicas of the jumper – the shop is selling patterns and yarn to make the patterned woollen statement jumpers. With anything that becomes iconic, it is inevitable that there will be replicas. However, to have the real thing is something special (especially at £240), so it’s nice for those who have the original makers’ creation in their wardrobe. They can be smug and content that they have the same one ‘as the woman in The Killing’. Does it really, really matter if there are copycats? They are everywhere no? Rise above fisticuffs with the CCs and be true to your own brand. Surely that’s better than getting all sue-like on each other.

Warm as toast.


It’s February, which in my mind, means that spring has already started to sprungify itself – boing! Up go the daff’s, pounce goes the kitten in the grass, weeeee goes the piglet across the errr pigsty and ooh, can you smell that? Warm bread fresh and bouncy under its crust, summer scented strawberry jam and a glass of orange juice, glistening in the morning sunray arrows shooting across the room. I like being right, as it was only yesterday that I was banging on to Charlie about the beginning of s.p.r.i.n.g. and tim tam bam, I can see it today. Still freakin’ cold, but springy.

Anyway, we have spent the day wandering around in the sunshine, baking flapjacks, flying Charlie’s darn glider and oh yes, I regret (NOT) to say, in IKEA. I purchased some frames, glasses and Charlie got me a scrubbing brush for washing up. We are an equal household, but I will admit I get more excited over buying household necessities – like washing up liquid and mops, than he does. Rightly so – when did this happen to me?

Back to frivolous. I love this new season coat by TOAST (top). In the winter particularly, I swoon at the earth that TOAST walks upon and makes pretty with lux detailed and yet rustic ideologies and a fantastical lifestyle swathed in cashmere. In reality, I (only) have an amazing bag by them and I have a TOAST hot water bottle cover. I don’t know what this means either.

So we switch on the television

Grunge vintage television

We have now been without TV for one month. This is apart from a week in NYC, where I became fascinated by US television’s love for feature length segments starring Taylor Swift singing while sat on a white chair and how to eat and drink without removing a smidge of lipstick. Their morning television had no dry humour, only jazz hands and the whitest teeth – without a smidge of lipstick. I now understand why every word and title Begins In Uppercase.

Anyway, no internet or TV. It’s been useful; to read, talk, go through all our stuff, listen to music and watch films (before the DVD player broke). But now, I want to be able to watch TELEVISION and use THE INTERNET. Christmas is nearly upon us, and I’m desperado to watch The Snowman and laugh at news reader’s ties. Bridget Jones, Turkish Delight and being able to tweet tweet. Let alone Christmas shop online. I want to see Anthropologie in the comfort of my own home. I want to watch Downton Abbey!

But, at the same time – I’ve loved having none of these things. Modern life demands them in many ways, but I mean… does it? I’ve loved reading my books, going for walks, sitting by the fire, listening to 6 music and cooking (occasionally – once a Nigella mega cake). I’ve liked looking through all our collected things and separating the good from the tat. And mostly, I’ve enjoyed sitting with C and the cats and looking at their funny faces, rather than screens.

So hello TV and internet (if the man succeeds to connect you) – my view of you is different from before, but I will be excited to see you.

Somewhere, someone, something

Rowing in the city

As much as I like skipping bunnies in the countryside, perhaps a real life deer as seen on a fairisle knitted print, berries, grass, twigs, the faint scent of apples – I also flippin love the city. Sometimes I feel more inspired by the urban landscape than by the trickling streams of the countryside. Being surrounded by anonymity, finding a seat somewhere with a hot steam wafting coffee, thrilled with the constantly changing sights and feel, the whispers of relationships. Being surrounded, being free. So with this in mind, I obviously loved New York last week. I thought it was a great, shiny bulb of ambition, positivity, poetry and that grey fatigue that I sort of love. The American Dream was palpable, it shone in every twinkling light and in some places (Times Square), great waves of it crashed and ebbed with every breath. I also liked the more family type areas, Williamsburg to name one. Red brick streets, small shops and warehouses for coffee shops. I find I always have the city V country conundrum. When I want peace the countryside is bliss, but can make me restless. Sometimes I want the countryside to be different – I want to move somewhere with larger skies and brighter sunshine. A bit like the cover of the latest issue of Lionheart.