If i was one for making new years resolutions, i guess that would be it. I'm bored of regretting things. I've only been 20 for 2 weeks and there are already things i regret not doing, so i say that this is the year i say "fuck it" and give things a go.
If this backfires horribly, at least i'll have tried. In the (hopefully) unlikely event of my death as a result of this decision, i want my remains put in fireworks and shot over the south bank.
Here are some quotes i found which i hope are more inspirational than cheesy.
If i don't write before new years then i hope you have a good one. Start as you mean to go on.
André Gide:
The most decisive actions of our life ... are most often unconsidered actions.
Mark Twain:
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
Mark Twain:
Let us so live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.
Isaac Asimov:
If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster.
I thought that one was particularly appropriate for the blog, although, if i did only have 6 minutes to live, i'd probably spend part of it on the phone, because there are some things which should be said rather than written, and i'd hopefully be near someone i could kiss, so i could go out with a bang!
Have a good one.
Monday, 29 December 2008
Wednesday, 24 December 2008
Happy Christmas Eve
Hello there boys and girls.
This was on the top of the A Softer World page today, and it made me laugh, like most of their stuff does. Think of it as an early Christmas present from me to you.
(remember to click on it to see the full sized image.)
I'll try and post something awesome tomorrow, if i can find anything super cool.
Have a lovely break.
x
This was on the top of the A Softer World page today, and it made me laugh, like most of their stuff does. Think of it as an early Christmas present from me to you.
(remember to click on it to see the full sized image.)
I'll try and post something awesome tomorrow, if i can find anything super cool.
Have a lovely break.
x
Monday, 22 December 2008
Oh i do love my best friend!
Just a little gloating message to say that my best friend is better than your best friend, whoever that best friend might be!
Miss Kelsea-Jane Gates is my very best friend. She is cool and pretty and smells good even though she works behind the deli counter at Waitrose! Also, she gives the best presents in the world.
For my birthday last week she gave me not only "A Lifetime of Secrets," and not only "M" by Jon Muth, but also...
BEN WHISHAW IN A BOX!!!
Oh yes my friends, i now have that sexy little pixie in a cardboard box in my room. I promise i'll post a picture soon (for which i should give credit to my parents, they bought me a beautiful and very high tech little digital camera to replace my brick which no longer takes photographs, something of a flaw in any piece of photographic equipment!)
You are now free to go about your day, jealous in the knowledge that my friend is better than yours.
Ha!
Miss Kelsea-Jane Gates is my very best friend. She is cool and pretty and smells good even though she works behind the deli counter at Waitrose! Also, she gives the best presents in the world.
For my birthday last week she gave me not only "A Lifetime of Secrets," and not only "M" by Jon Muth, but also...
BEN WHISHAW IN A BOX!!!
Oh yes my friends, i now have that sexy little pixie in a cardboard box in my room. I promise i'll post a picture soon (for which i should give credit to my parents, they bought me a beautiful and very high tech little digital camera to replace my brick which no longer takes photographs, something of a flaw in any piece of photographic equipment!)
You are now free to go about your day, jealous in the knowledge that my friend is better than yours.
Ha!
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
The Great Debate
Yesterday at Write Club everyone got into a bit of an argument about books, which is always an entertaining thing to do. The book that started this discussion? The Great Gatsby. (and i wasn't the one to bring it up, before you ask!)
I know it's a divisive book, one people love or hate, and i know that i'm one of the people who absolutely love it, and find it hard to see how anyone could possibly hate it. I get that people see Gatsby as naive and obsessive, and in a way he is, but that's part of his attraction.
I'm not going to write an essay about why i love Gatsby, but i do want to point some things out, direct quotes from the text, which illustrate his lack of creepiness, his naivety, his almost childish optimism in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. I hope that these will interest you if you've read the book, or inspire you to read it if you haven't. At the very least, i hope that they'll allow you to see Gatsby as I see him, as quite possibly the most romantic, tragic, compelling character ever written. Strap in, here we go.
"There was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life...it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as i have never found in any other person and which it is not likely i shall ever find again."
"He stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as i was from him, i could have sworn he was trembling."
"He smiled understandingly - much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced - or seemed to face - the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favour. It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey."
Probably my favourite moment of the whole book, which won't make sense until you read it, but is painfully adorable. "Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes."
"But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply confounding. He literally glowed: without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room...there were twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light."
"His heart was in a constant, turbulent riot ... Each night he added to the pattern of his fancies until drowsiness closed down upon some vivid scene with an oblivious embrace. For a while these reveries provided an outlet ... They were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing."
“I wouldn’t ask to much of her,” I ventured. “You can’t repeat the past.”
“Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you can!”
He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadows of his house, just out of reach of his hand."
"Jay Gatsby" had broken up like glass against Tom's hard malice"
This bit never fails to make me cry, it's so hopeful and hopeless at the same time. "Of course she might have loved him just for a minute, when they were first married - and loved me more even then, do you see?"
Suddenly he came out with a curious remark.
"in any case," he said, "it was just personal."
Umm...so yeah, Gatsby is tragic and beautiful and lovely, and i think sorely misunderstood in today's overly cynical society. In my opinion there is nothing sinister about his love. Possibly he is naive, but this just adds to his innocence and charm.
Basically, i love him. That's all there is to it.
I know it's a divisive book, one people love or hate, and i know that i'm one of the people who absolutely love it, and find it hard to see how anyone could possibly hate it. I get that people see Gatsby as naive and obsessive, and in a way he is, but that's part of his attraction.
I'm not going to write an essay about why i love Gatsby, but i do want to point some things out, direct quotes from the text, which illustrate his lack of creepiness, his naivety, his almost childish optimism in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. I hope that these will interest you if you've read the book, or inspire you to read it if you haven't. At the very least, i hope that they'll allow you to see Gatsby as I see him, as quite possibly the most romantic, tragic, compelling character ever written. Strap in, here we go.
"There was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life...it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as i have never found in any other person and which it is not likely i shall ever find again."
"He stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as i was from him, i could have sworn he was trembling."
"He smiled understandingly - much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced - or seemed to face - the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favour. It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey."
Probably my favourite moment of the whole book, which won't make sense until you read it, but is painfully adorable. "Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes."
"But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply confounding. He literally glowed: without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room...there were twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light."
"His heart was in a constant, turbulent riot ... Each night he added to the pattern of his fancies until drowsiness closed down upon some vivid scene with an oblivious embrace. For a while these reveries provided an outlet ... They were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy's wing."
“I wouldn’t ask to much of her,” I ventured. “You can’t repeat the past.”
“Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you can!”
He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadows of his house, just out of reach of his hand."
"Jay Gatsby" had broken up like glass against Tom's hard malice"
This bit never fails to make me cry, it's so hopeful and hopeless at the same time. "Of course she might have loved him just for a minute, when they were first married - and loved me more even then, do you see?"
Suddenly he came out with a curious remark.
"in any case," he said, "it was just personal."
Umm...so yeah, Gatsby is tragic and beautiful and lovely, and i think sorely misunderstood in today's overly cynical society. In my opinion there is nothing sinister about his love. Possibly he is naive, but this just adds to his innocence and charm.
Basically, i love him. That's all there is to it.
Edgar and the Earth
I'm thinking of making a collection of modern fairy tales, taking everyday situations and twisting them into something vaguely absurd. The Man Who Fell in Love with a Paper Doll and this one are the first 2 in that series. I wrote another today, so i'll type that up soon and post it. Anyway, enjoy this one.
Edger used to own the world. He won it in a game of cards, either poker or gin rummy, he can no longer recall which. He put in his best comb and came out with the world. Life is, as they say, a game of chance. Edgar carried the world back from the pub in a jam jar in his pocket and put it on his bedside table so he could watch over it. He took his responsibility very seriously, not wanting harm to come to come to his planet through his own thoughtlessness, but sometimes this could not be helped. Back in ’87 he bumped into the table getting out of bed and in San Francisco 100 people died in an earthquake. In 2006 he was enjoying his new cocktail shaker, a Christmas present from his grandson when he slipped and a tsunami ravaged Asia.
Eventually he could no longer live with the guilt of the suffering he had caused. Every time he looked at the news, in the papers or on the tv, he wondered if it was his fault. Had his yelling at the cat influenced someone in the world to an act of anger or hate? Did his weeping at a film cause the depression of thousands? He decided he had to get rid of the world, had to put it out of harms way, where no human action could influence the fate of the whole planet. But where? Should he lock it in a storage container like the lost ark? What if it didn’t get enough light, would Edgar then be responsible for eternal planetary darkness? The same problem came from burying it or throwing it in the river, but with the added risk of a global shortage of air. An alternative must be found. Eventually, Edgar decided on a course of action. He donated his jam jar world to the British Museum, where it would get light and air and be viewed by its own clueless inhabitants.
The curators of the museum were very polite, took the jar with smiles and open hands, and when the old man had left they put the old jam jar with its contents of green and blue, it’s continents and oceans, families, friends, pets and cars, into a basement cupboard, to wait for years to be classified, valued as worthless and thrown out.
Edgar went to the museum occasionally, hoping to see his little world on display, but when he did not see it he was almost relieved. He told himself that, realizing the worth of his jam jar’s contents, they must be keeping it somewhere where no harm would ever come to it, away from the shouting and tapping fingers of schoolchildren and the calculated indifference of adults. Edgar found hope in the thought that his little world would survive, safe and unharmed, long after his old self had left it.
Edger used to own the world. He won it in a game of cards, either poker or gin rummy, he can no longer recall which. He put in his best comb and came out with the world. Life is, as they say, a game of chance. Edgar carried the world back from the pub in a jam jar in his pocket and put it on his bedside table so he could watch over it. He took his responsibility very seriously, not wanting harm to come to come to his planet through his own thoughtlessness, but sometimes this could not be helped. Back in ’87 he bumped into the table getting out of bed and in San Francisco 100 people died in an earthquake. In 2006 he was enjoying his new cocktail shaker, a Christmas present from his grandson when he slipped and a tsunami ravaged Asia.
Eventually he could no longer live with the guilt of the suffering he had caused. Every time he looked at the news, in the papers or on the tv, he wondered if it was his fault. Had his yelling at the cat influenced someone in the world to an act of anger or hate? Did his weeping at a film cause the depression of thousands? He decided he had to get rid of the world, had to put it out of harms way, where no human action could influence the fate of the whole planet. But where? Should he lock it in a storage container like the lost ark? What if it didn’t get enough light, would Edgar then be responsible for eternal planetary darkness? The same problem came from burying it or throwing it in the river, but with the added risk of a global shortage of air. An alternative must be found. Eventually, Edgar decided on a course of action. He donated his jam jar world to the British Museum, where it would get light and air and be viewed by its own clueless inhabitants.
The curators of the museum were very polite, took the jar with smiles and open hands, and when the old man had left they put the old jam jar with its contents of green and blue, it’s continents and oceans, families, friends, pets and cars, into a basement cupboard, to wait for years to be classified, valued as worthless and thrown out.
Edgar went to the museum occasionally, hoping to see his little world on display, but when he did not see it he was almost relieved. He told himself that, realizing the worth of his jam jar’s contents, they must be keeping it somewhere where no harm would ever come to it, away from the shouting and tapping fingers of schoolchildren and the calculated indifference of adults. Edgar found hope in the thought that his little world would survive, safe and unharmed, long after his old self had left it.
Wednesday, 26 November 2008
Film reviews
I reviewed a couple of films for The Badger. They had to be only 400 words, which is really not enough, but hey. Here they are, if you're curious.
Waltz With Bashir
When trying to find someone to go to Waltz with Bashir with, I described it as what it is, an animated Israeli documentary about soldiers’ recollections of the first Lebanon war of the early Eighties. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I went to the cinema alone. This is a shame, since Waltz with Bashir is so much more than a sum of its parts, and a truly exceptional piece of filmmaking. The story consists of the filmmaker, Ari Folman, trying to unearth his long repressed memories of his time in the Israeli army at the age of 19. He does this with the help of his friends, fellow veterans, and television journalists present during the battle. The use of animation serves to distance the viewer from the horror of what they are viewing, while at the same time highlighting the absurd futility of war. The film is made from the point of view of Ari Folman as a man, looking back at his adolescence as a common soldier. He is no hero, no great warrior, simply a man little past boyhood, thrust into a situation which he does not fully understand, and from which he may not emerge alive. Some people I have spoken to have expressed the opinion that the film is Israeli propaganda, designed to demonize the Christian Phalangist militiamen, and certainly it can be viewed in that way; there are several references to concentration camps and links drawn between the Christians and the Nazis, but I think that in reading the film that way you miss the essential point. This is a film that removes any glamour or glory from war, presenting it in it’s starkest form, that of young men shooting young men without really knowing why, and then going home to try and forget the horrors they have experienced. Rather than being a Michael Moore-ish didactic, one-sided documentary, intent on beating you over the head with his argument, here you are presented with images and (up to a point) left to decide for yourself. Using powerful interview and real testimonies to illustrate his own growing recollection of events, Folman presents us with a film as powerful as it is beautiful, as touching as it is terrible, and one that I would recommend everyone to watch. Not always enjoyable viewing, but essential none the less.
Lodz film school shorts
I have to admit I was a little apprehensive about this screening. The little experience I have of Polish cinema paint it in my mind as a rather grueling affair. The first three films in this collection did nothing to dispel this idea, Universal Spring, Training and Dragon Flies all dealt with largely dissatisfied people living lonely lives, trying and failing to connect with each other, and ending up hurt or broken. After these though, the light broke through. The Princess was an adorable piece of fluff, in the best possible sense of the word. Only four minutes long, it told the story of a Princess setting off into the snow with her tuba in the hope of finding some friends. With no dialogue, beautiful production design and a colour palette completely of white apart from the red of her hair, it was charmingly simplistic and the perfect antidote to the somber mood of the previous 45 minutes. After this the tone was markedly lighter. Episode was a beautiful pastel and pencil animation about a mental patient and his loyal pink ducks, which stay with him even after he is lobotomized; visually stunning, if not a little odd. Red Dot told the story of a woman at a petrol station running away with a man buying petrol, and seemed oddly like a car advert from the 70s. How Are You? was a documentary about a deaf couple who communicate through video messages from Poland and Japan, with a stand-out performance from the quite possibly senile grandmother. But the film that really stuck with me, both stylistically and in terms of content was 13 Years and 10 Months, a documentary about Anastazja, a 13 year old girl with cystic fibrosis, which means she will probably not live beyond 30. Anastazja’s life force, sense of humour and overall demeanor were heartbreakingly positive, and a reminder to the rest of us to make the most of the time we have. She jokes to children at school who say they don’t like her that “they’ll get a break from her” once she turns 30, and while she says she has no fear of death, she worries how her mother will fare when she is gone. This nine minute documentary served the simple aim of making the audience realize how lucky they are to be alive, and how fragile life really is. Overall, a mixed bag of films, but far more uplifting than I ever would have expected.
Yeah...watch Waltz With Bashir. You won't regret it, honestly.
Waltz With Bashir
When trying to find someone to go to Waltz with Bashir with, I described it as what it is, an animated Israeli documentary about soldiers’ recollections of the first Lebanon war of the early Eighties. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I went to the cinema alone. This is a shame, since Waltz with Bashir is so much more than a sum of its parts, and a truly exceptional piece of filmmaking. The story consists of the filmmaker, Ari Folman, trying to unearth his long repressed memories of his time in the Israeli army at the age of 19. He does this with the help of his friends, fellow veterans, and television journalists present during the battle. The use of animation serves to distance the viewer from the horror of what they are viewing, while at the same time highlighting the absurd futility of war. The film is made from the point of view of Ari Folman as a man, looking back at his adolescence as a common soldier. He is no hero, no great warrior, simply a man little past boyhood, thrust into a situation which he does not fully understand, and from which he may not emerge alive. Some people I have spoken to have expressed the opinion that the film is Israeli propaganda, designed to demonize the Christian Phalangist militiamen, and certainly it can be viewed in that way; there are several references to concentration camps and links drawn between the Christians and the Nazis, but I think that in reading the film that way you miss the essential point. This is a film that removes any glamour or glory from war, presenting it in it’s starkest form, that of young men shooting young men without really knowing why, and then going home to try and forget the horrors they have experienced. Rather than being a Michael Moore-ish didactic, one-sided documentary, intent on beating you over the head with his argument, here you are presented with images and (up to a point) left to decide for yourself. Using powerful interview and real testimonies to illustrate his own growing recollection of events, Folman presents us with a film as powerful as it is beautiful, as touching as it is terrible, and one that I would recommend everyone to watch. Not always enjoyable viewing, but essential none the less.
Lodz film school shorts
I have to admit I was a little apprehensive about this screening. The little experience I have of Polish cinema paint it in my mind as a rather grueling affair. The first three films in this collection did nothing to dispel this idea, Universal Spring, Training and Dragon Flies all dealt with largely dissatisfied people living lonely lives, trying and failing to connect with each other, and ending up hurt or broken. After these though, the light broke through. The Princess was an adorable piece of fluff, in the best possible sense of the word. Only four minutes long, it told the story of a Princess setting off into the snow with her tuba in the hope of finding some friends. With no dialogue, beautiful production design and a colour palette completely of white apart from the red of her hair, it was charmingly simplistic and the perfect antidote to the somber mood of the previous 45 minutes. After this the tone was markedly lighter. Episode was a beautiful pastel and pencil animation about a mental patient and his loyal pink ducks, which stay with him even after he is lobotomized; visually stunning, if not a little odd. Red Dot told the story of a woman at a petrol station running away with a man buying petrol, and seemed oddly like a car advert from the 70s. How Are You? was a documentary about a deaf couple who communicate through video messages from Poland and Japan, with a stand-out performance from the quite possibly senile grandmother. But the film that really stuck with me, both stylistically and in terms of content was 13 Years and 10 Months, a documentary about Anastazja, a 13 year old girl with cystic fibrosis, which means she will probably not live beyond 30. Anastazja’s life force, sense of humour and overall demeanor were heartbreakingly positive, and a reminder to the rest of us to make the most of the time we have. She jokes to children at school who say they don’t like her that “they’ll get a break from her” once she turns 30, and while she says she has no fear of death, she worries how her mother will fare when she is gone. This nine minute documentary served the simple aim of making the audience realize how lucky they are to be alive, and how fragile life really is. Overall, a mixed bag of films, but far more uplifting than I ever would have expected.
Yeah...watch Waltz With Bashir. You won't regret it, honestly.
Tuesday, 25 November 2008
'Tis the season...
To buy me stuff! Christmas and my 20th birthday are fast approaching, and i just know each and every one of you are desperate to find out what i want. I'm not one of those coy people who say they don't know when in fact they do, and are then disappointed that the person giving them a gift didn't magically read their mind and got them something other than what they desired. Oh no my friends, for your peace of mind and my future happiness, i am very upfront about what i want. It makes life easier for everyone, i find.
Ok, here we go:
The best magazines being published in the world today are, in my opinion, the American edition of Esquire, and Little White Lies. A subscription ot either of these would make me happy continuously throughout the year. It's a gift that keeps on giving!
My obsession with Postsecret is no secret, and i covet all of these books (my lovely friends gave me the one about teenagers and young people for my birthday 2 years ago, which is why it's not up here.) If you buy these books they help support postsecret, keeping it advertisement free, and give money to 1800-suicide, giving people free advice and guidance when they need it most.
It's possibly the voyeur in me, or the hopeless romantic, that attracts me to this. To me this book is just about perfection, it's sweet, funny, touching and at times tragic. If you buy me this book, you will get to see my cry (if that's an incentive to you cruel hearted bastards!).
Vanity Fair Portraits. Need i say more?
Those Dancing Days debut album, available in all good record shops. They're adorably cute swedish teen indie pop with killer vocals, and i want them to be my friends.
Now this one might be slightly harder to get your hands on, but i promise that if you get it for me i'll love you until the day i die.
I'm not sure exactly where you'd find him, i've seen him on the south bank a couple of times, he hangs out by the National Theatre. Or i suppose you could arrange something with his agent.
Wow, how odd would it be if on my birthday i opened a box and Ben Whishaw was inside?
Ok, here we go:
The best magazines being published in the world today are, in my opinion, the American edition of Esquire, and Little White Lies. A subscription ot either of these would make me happy continuously throughout the year. It's a gift that keeps on giving!
My obsession with Postsecret is no secret, and i covet all of these books (my lovely friends gave me the one about teenagers and young people for my birthday 2 years ago, which is why it's not up here.) If you buy these books they help support postsecret, keeping it advertisement free, and give money to 1800-suicide, giving people free advice and guidance when they need it most.
It's possibly the voyeur in me, or the hopeless romantic, that attracts me to this. To me this book is just about perfection, it's sweet, funny, touching and at times tragic. If you buy me this book, you will get to see my cry (if that's an incentive to you cruel hearted bastards!).
Vanity Fair Portraits. Need i say more?
Those Dancing Days debut album, available in all good record shops. They're adorably cute swedish teen indie pop with killer vocals, and i want them to be my friends.
Now this one might be slightly harder to get your hands on, but i promise that if you get it for me i'll love you until the day i die.
I'm not sure exactly where you'd find him, i've seen him on the south bank a couple of times, he hangs out by the National Theatre. Or i suppose you could arrange something with his agent.
Wow, how odd would it be if on my birthday i opened a box and Ben Whishaw was inside?
The mystery and the danger
Again clearing out my computer, i thought i'd give you something to perve over. Shall we all take a minute to appreciate the hotness of Fleur? These were taken for my photography exam, and you can see the etchings i did of them in the June archive, if you're curious.
She's a stone fox.
She's a stone fox.
Monday, 24 November 2008
Shameless vanity
I'm clearing photos off my computer because it's full, and i thought i'd share with you a photo shoot that my mum's friend's daughter did of my this summer. She's only a little thing (i think she's 15, but i'm not entirely sure) I used to babysit her, so it's cool to see her turning into a talented and driven photographer. Anyway, here are my favourites from the shoot.
I try not to put up too many photos of me, but i thought i'd show Taylor off a bit, and clear my computer in the process. Isn't she good though? I think she got some great shots, despite my constant giggling during the entire shoot!
I try not to put up too many photos of me, but i thought i'd show Taylor off a bit, and clear my computer in the process. Isn't she good though? I think she got some great shots, despite my constant giggling during the entire shoot!
Sunday, 23 November 2008
The edge of love
This is the movie that made me actually feel some affection for Kiera Knightly. Believe me, i'm more surprised by this than anyone. Atonement made me stop calling her a bad actress, but this one i actually kind of liked her. It's still Sienna's movie, and her performance has me seriously weighing up the name Catlin for non-existent future children (con - it doesn't sound that pretty, pro - she's so damn cool!).
Even if you hate Dylan Thomas, want Kiera and Sienna to die of bulemia (watch "the hole", very cathartic when you're having a fat day!), and find costume dramas duller than i find watching snooker, you should watch this movie. The simple reason: The costumes!
I want every item of clothing in this film, as well as the accessories ... and the men! Seriously, it's made me want to wear wellington boots. If that's not enough to prove to you the influence this film has over me, you obviously don't know me very well!
Even if you hate Dylan Thomas, want Kiera and Sienna to die of bulemia (watch "the hole", very cathartic when you're having a fat day!), and find costume dramas duller than i find watching snooker, you should watch this movie. The simple reason: The costumes!
I want every item of clothing in this film, as well as the accessories ... and the men! Seriously, it's made me want to wear wellington boots. If that's not enough to prove to you the influence this film has over me, you obviously don't know me very well!
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