I've just returned from a trip to the US, spoiling myself with a day in New York City - a place I hadn't been to before but completely fell in love with. Its not just that it really does look like it does on tv, or that there is never a dull moment, the people actually being nice or the shopping being unbelievable. The city is bursting with life - what an amazingly energetic place. I am in love.
I flagged down a taxi, unaided, all by myself. Turns out its not actually an achievement, but it felt like one! I had a hot dog from a street vendor - probably taking my life into my own hands on this one, but it tasted like one of the best things I've had. I had (a few too many) frozen mango margaritas in a place that looked like the inside of a trailer - and I wasn't imagining it after the first few either!
...and there it was, driving down 8th avenues, I only caught a glimpse, but it was enough - a shoe store, not just any shoe store, but {insert drum roll here} 'Shoegasm'! I have found my sole mate and I will be back to claim it. It will be mine, oh yes, it will be mine.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
I love this shoe!
Apologies for the filler post - I've not been feeling my chipper self the last little while, but if anything can cheer me up its a great pair of heels. How great you ask? Zombie-great, I say!
Friday, March 20, 2009
I won something!
Thanks a mil to Heart's Desire Jewelery for thinking that I'm fabulous! (which of course I agree with). As with shoes, you can never have a bad bling day, and she makes some pretty interesting ones herself.
Apparently its my turn to pass on the torch. Not really a fan of chain anything (unless it comes with handcuffs, but that's for the blogs I don't write...) and would like to hang on to the accolade for a while - yes, I am that pathetic. Will ponder on this for a little longer I think, before sharing the love.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Bounty is a problem
Less is more? Um...ok, possibly. Can you ever have enough shoes? If you're asking that question and expect a serious answer, you really shouldn't be reading this. You're welcome to continue, but you're wasting your time. Trust me.
I currently live about 40 kms from my place of work. That means I spend about an hour (minimum) each way in traffic to get to the place that lets me work there so that I can earn a salary, some of which I spend on buying shoes. That's 2 hours each day, 5 times a week. I don't want to continue to calculation because I can already feel my life force draining away at the mere though. All this time is not spent in vain, I hasten to add in a feeble attempt to make me feel less like jumping in front of the nearest bus. I make phone calls, check my mail and have some pretty darn good ideas in traffic as I let my mind wander free.
Aside from this, the bf and I have been considering moving closer to Johannesburg (we live closer to Pretoria) so that we don't have to deal with that kind of traffic on such a regular basis. We've weighed the pros and cons, looked at houses (ridiculously expensive) and have remained where we are. I am contemplating a move again though - house prices are bound to come down since no-one can afford to buy one anymore so maybe there's a chance for us. The issue, which deep, deep down was the issue the first time around as well, is storage. Not just any storage, but clothes storage. That and shoes. You may have deduced that I might own just a smidgen more of these items that some.
What's a girl to do? My current shoe storage solution - similar to these - doubles as the curtains for my spare room. Which is more of a store room and an overflow for clothing. Yes, they hang in front of the window where the curtains should be. I thought that was a pretty darn good idea - where else was I going to accommodate 60 pairs of shoes? (I had to move them out of the bedroom when the bf moved in - he knew it was true love then). The problem is - the window is full up and I keep buying shoes. Where to go?
Soo, I tried some clearboxes to accommodate the overflow. The work pretty well and are really the only way to store shoes if you're going to go for boxes. Who has time to write labels or take pictures of shoes to store in boxes that you can't see through?
I have tried Google, not much innovation in the shoe storage area, except for these guys, who might have a brilliant concept - provided you have the floorspace to accommodate it.
I am at last turning to you, dear reader, in the desperate hope that you have a brilliant, yet to be patented idea - love to hear it!
I currently live about 40 kms from my place of work. That means I spend about an hour (minimum) each way in traffic to get to the place that lets me work there so that I can earn a salary, some of which I spend on buying shoes. That's 2 hours each day, 5 times a week. I don't want to continue to calculation because I can already feel my life force draining away at the mere though. All this time is not spent in vain, I hasten to add in a feeble attempt to make me feel less like jumping in front of the nearest bus. I make phone calls, check my mail and have some pretty darn good ideas in traffic as I let my mind wander free.
Aside from this, the bf and I have been considering moving closer to Johannesburg (we live closer to Pretoria) so that we don't have to deal with that kind of traffic on such a regular basis. We've weighed the pros and cons, looked at houses (ridiculously expensive) and have remained where we are. I am contemplating a move again though - house prices are bound to come down since no-one can afford to buy one anymore so maybe there's a chance for us. The issue, which deep, deep down was the issue the first time around as well, is storage. Not just any storage, but clothes storage. That and shoes. You may have deduced that I might own just a smidgen more of these items that some.
What's a girl to do? My current shoe storage solution - similar to these - doubles as the curtains for my spare room. Which is more of a store room and an overflow for clothing. Yes, they hang in front of the window where the curtains should be. I thought that was a pretty darn good idea - where else was I going to accommodate 60 pairs of shoes? (I had to move them out of the bedroom when the bf moved in - he knew it was true love then). The problem is - the window is full up and I keep buying shoes. Where to go?
Soo, I tried some clearboxes to accommodate the overflow. The work pretty well and are really the only way to store shoes if you're going to go for boxes. Who has time to write labels or take pictures of shoes to store in boxes that you can't see through?
I have tried Google, not much innovation in the shoe storage area, except for these guys, who might have a brilliant concept - provided you have the floorspace to accommodate it.
I am at last turning to you, dear reader, in the desperate hope that you have a brilliant, yet to be patented idea - love to hear it!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Image by Hell is a metal tube...
...at 3000 ft in the air, trapped by the window seat with no means of escape from the world's most annoying passenger. OK, maybe not the WORLD's most, but certainly on the top 10. Most not wanted. Seriously. Suicide bombers should sit next to this guy - the plane won't even leave the tarmac.
There I was, minding my own business, terribly pleased with myself for booking the very back seat in the corner of the plane - they don't normally fill the back rows so if the plane isn't full, you have a good chance of having the seat next to you empty. Which happened. For a while. Along comes Ms air hostess to inform me that she is moving a passenger to the seat next to me - his tv screen isn't working. Likely story this turned out to be! Where are the words calm, compassionate and understanding written on my forehead?? Wipe then off! NOW!
Said passenger sits down and turns to me to introduce himself by holding his frequent flyer card, on a string around his neck, in front of my eyes so that I have to squint to read it - not that I do, because I don't care! Said passenger is an adult male, on the slightly larger side with a significant number of candles on his birthday cake - I think I would be safe to call him a senior citizen, but certainly not of the doddering kind - after all, he's here, flying all by himself and managing to take care of himself just fine.
I am now sufficiently annoyed at said passenger who has taken the very nice empty seat next to me and promptly turn on my 'F-you' shield. It works every time. Without fail. Well, it used to. Mr Senior Citizen introduces himself as a doctor and asks if I'm a nurse. (??!). Did I forget to remove the hat or the stockings?! Nope, no signs on my person that I own a nurse's outfit. So no, I am not a nurse. Oh ok, so you work for the airline then? Double check my attire - any air hostess paraphenalia? No. No, I definitely don't work for the airline either, but thanks for stereotyping me so thoroughly you annoying old fool. Now I'm going to put on my earphones and try to watch a movie, any movie.
Ten minutes into the movie, Mr Talkative wants to tell me something. He's trying to get my attention by pumping me in the ribs with his elbow and shoving a different sheet of paper under my nose. Can I pretend not to notice? Ouch! Apparently not - he packs a mean sharp elbow. Fucker. Look at this article about some uniteresting man who did something terribly boring - this is the guy I was staying with in London (oh yes, I forgot to mention, its a flight from London to Johannesburg - 11 fun filled hours to look forward to). Yes, that's very nice. Good for you. Headphones. Movie.
Dinner arrives. My special meal gets there first. The person to my left wants to know if I ordered the fish as well. No, actually its the hallaal meal, I'm working my way down the list of special meal options to relieve the boredom of travel and they taste better anyway. But I can't say that can I?! That might appear to be participating in coversation. So I just shake my head, smile and continue eating. (Yes, I am a nurse and I order eveything that you do, oh great and worthy doctor). Still wearing headphones, pretending to watch movie. But this is dinner time, conversation time, so a few more pumps in the ribs later, I am exposed to the story of the guy he sat next to before he joined me - how large a man this was (yeah, you're one to talk, buddy) and how uncaringly he stepped on Dr Excrutios package. Fucking lucky bastard, he had a package to step on to get rid of the guy. WHY DIDN'T I HAVE A PACKAGE?
Headphones. Movie. Lights are turned off, quiet time now Dr. No? Of course no. Indignant rib pumping action - how can you watch a movie in the dark?! Do you know how bad this is for your eyes? OMG! I'm on the plane with my mother!! Thank you very much you incredibly invasive shit. If I still had my plastic spoon left over from dinner, I would be gutting you right now. The only reason I am not doing anything at all is:
a) You really do remind me of my mother a little and lucky for you I love her
b) I feel kinda sorry for you, you can't have a great life if this is how you interact with the world
c) I will probably get arrested
What I actually said: I really don't want to continue talking to you. I think I'm just going to try sleep now. Good night. Turn around (as much as this is possible in cattle class), put on eye mask and pretend to sleep. For 6 hours. Pretend to wake up as breakfast arrives. Good morning, how did you sleep? Now just promise me you will go see an eye doctor as soon as you can. Watching tv in the dark is really bad for your eyes. Now, I haven't been a saint, but who deserves this?
A few weeks later I read that a new UK study reveals watching tv in the dark does not harm your eyesight at all. Fuck my life.
There I was, minding my own business, terribly pleased with myself for booking the very back seat in the corner of the plane - they don't normally fill the back rows so if the plane isn't full, you have a good chance of having the seat next to you empty. Which happened. For a while. Along comes Ms air hostess to inform me that she is moving a passenger to the seat next to me - his tv screen isn't working. Likely story this turned out to be! Where are the words calm, compassionate and understanding written on my forehead?? Wipe then off! NOW!
Said passenger sits down and turns to me to introduce himself by holding his frequent flyer card, on a string around his neck, in front of my eyes so that I have to squint to read it - not that I do, because I don't care! Said passenger is an adult male, on the slightly larger side with a significant number of candles on his birthday cake - I think I would be safe to call him a senior citizen, but certainly not of the doddering kind - after all, he's here, flying all by himself and managing to take care of himself just fine.
I am now sufficiently annoyed at said passenger who has taken the very nice empty seat next to me and promptly turn on my 'F-you' shield. It works every time. Without fail. Well, it used to. Mr Senior Citizen introduces himself as a doctor and asks if I'm a nurse. (??!). Did I forget to remove the hat or the stockings?! Nope, no signs on my person that I own a nurse's outfit. So no, I am not a nurse. Oh ok, so you work for the airline then? Double check my attire - any air hostess paraphenalia? No. No, I definitely don't work for the airline either, but thanks for stereotyping me so thoroughly you annoying old fool. Now I'm going to put on my earphones and try to watch a movie, any movie.
Ten minutes into the movie, Mr Talkative wants to tell me something. He's trying to get my attention by pumping me in the ribs with his elbow and shoving a different sheet of paper under my nose. Can I pretend not to notice? Ouch! Apparently not - he packs a mean sharp elbow. Fucker. Look at this article about some uniteresting man who did something terribly boring - this is the guy I was staying with in London (oh yes, I forgot to mention, its a flight from London to Johannesburg - 11 fun filled hours to look forward to). Yes, that's very nice. Good for you. Headphones. Movie.
Dinner arrives. My special meal gets there first. The person to my left wants to know if I ordered the fish as well. No, actually its the hallaal meal, I'm working my way down the list of special meal options to relieve the boredom of travel and they taste better anyway. But I can't say that can I?! That might appear to be participating in coversation. So I just shake my head, smile and continue eating. (Yes, I am a nurse and I order eveything that you do, oh great and worthy doctor). Still wearing headphones, pretending to watch movie. But this is dinner time, conversation time, so a few more pumps in the ribs later, I am exposed to the story of the guy he sat next to before he joined me - how large a man this was (yeah, you're one to talk, buddy) and how uncaringly he stepped on Dr Excrutios package. Fucking lucky bastard, he had a package to step on to get rid of the guy. WHY DIDN'T I HAVE A PACKAGE?
Headphones. Movie. Lights are turned off, quiet time now Dr. No? Of course no. Indignant rib pumping action - how can you watch a movie in the dark?! Do you know how bad this is for your eyes? OMG! I'm on the plane with my mother!! Thank you very much you incredibly invasive shit. If I still had my plastic spoon left over from dinner, I would be gutting you right now. The only reason I am not doing anything at all is:
a) You really do remind me of my mother a little and lucky for you I love her
b) I feel kinda sorry for you, you can't have a great life if this is how you interact with the world
c) I will probably get arrested
What I actually said: I really don't want to continue talking to you. I think I'm just going to try sleep now. Good night. Turn around (as much as this is possible in cattle class), put on eye mask and pretend to sleep. For 6 hours. Pretend to wake up as breakfast arrives. Good morning, how did you sleep? Now just promise me you will go see an eye doctor as soon as you can. Watching tv in the dark is really bad for your eyes. Now, I haven't been a saint, but who deserves this?
A few weeks later I read that a new UK study reveals watching tv in the dark does not harm your eyesight at all. Fuck my life.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wrong number
I suppose I should have anticipated that the title of this blog would lend itself to misinterpretation. I should also have realised that it takes all kinds to make this world and that some kinds gravitate towards 'words that rhyme with corn' more than others. While I welcome with open arms those of all creeds, tastes and appetites, I do regret that I continually dissappoint a certain readership who find me online when they were looking for something slightly different. I have been watching my hit counter with interest while predictable google search terms such as mex porn, zanzibar porn and safari (?) porn dash their hopes of a 100% match against the rocky crags of my shoe cupboard.
(click to enlarge - wouldn't we all....)
I was impressed with a recent 'woman invites worker in for tea porn' that found its way to my blog. What Dion Phaneuf fans were doing on my blog, I can simply not contemplate but I am sorry that I was unable to supply the 'maputo porn girl' to fulfil a clearly specific fantasy.
Sooo, with the wrong number quotient just doubled through this post alone, I thought I'd at least offer something in condolence. I don't get it, but hey, you probably don't get me either!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
The sisterhood of the travelling shoe - part duex
Sitting at Franca's I became very, very glad that I was born female. There were at least 5 private conversations occurring in a multitude of languages (some English) and at least another 4 public conversations (mostly English, at least one more Italian). I had absolutely no doubt whatsoever sitting there, observing this symphony, that any male entering the room and attempting to follow even a few seconds of this communication frenzy would simply end with an exploded head!
Even I, brought up on a steady diet of stop-start female conversations that jump from one topic to another with no apparent relevance - at the speed of thought, did not dare venture into what was clearly a practised ensemble. I did try to concentrate on keeping my mouth closed since my jaw kept on dropping in wonder. I also wished I had brought along a notebook as I kept missing crucial references to the best party planner in Joburg, or the two best (since the ladies couldn't seem to come to a conclusion) places to buy authentic chorico. The Bar Mitzvah of a shared (by many in the room) acquaintance's son seemed to have been a wonderful event and outfits for so-and-so's upcoming dinner party were being considered. And then...as it is bound to...the conversation turned to shoes. Of course it did. What were you expecting?
Did you see the latest pair of Jimmy Choo's displayed at that fancy shop in Sandton City? oh YES, I most certainly did - but they weren't as drool dead gorgeous as the little red crystal numbers I saw at Hyde Park the other day - at that place with the snooty assistant who can't afford to buy them either. But seriously, who would spend R12 000 (a STACK of cash) on a pair of shoes? Not us, the voices in the room chorused (yeah right, we all privately think, if I had that kind of dosh, I'd buy a pair in every colour)! And suddenly, I was part of the tide! Haven't we seen you around before? Who did you say referred you again? Oh..her?? Isn't she lovely? We just looove her (translation - you're cool...you're in!).
I have since gotten the low down on the best knock off Louis Vuitton handbags in town (yes, I buy knock offs - I also go to Franca's - people think I might actually be able to afford them) and gotten consultation from no less than 10 highly stylish women on which pair of Chanel sunglasses suit me best - I still get compliments when I wear them. I have also shared in the joy of new births and the concern over ill loved ones. They have laughed at me because I wouldn't get rid of my cats even though my (now live in) boyfriend has a severe allergy (he is much better now) to them. All things so wonderfully female. All because of the humble shoe.
Come to think of it...time to go see Franca again.
Even I, brought up on a steady diet of stop-start female conversations that jump from one topic to another with no apparent relevance - at the speed of thought, did not dare venture into what was clearly a practised ensemble. I did try to concentrate on keeping my mouth closed since my jaw kept on dropping in wonder. I also wished I had brought along a notebook as I kept missing crucial references to the best party planner in Joburg, or the two best (since the ladies couldn't seem to come to a conclusion) places to buy authentic chorico. The Bar Mitzvah of a shared (by many in the room) acquaintance's son seemed to have been a wonderful event and outfits for so-and-so's upcoming dinner party were being considered. And then...as it is bound to...the conversation turned to shoes. Of course it did. What were you expecting?
Did you see the latest pair of Jimmy Choo's displayed at that fancy shop in Sandton City? oh YES, I most certainly did - but they weren't as drool dead gorgeous as the little red crystal numbers I saw at Hyde Park the other day - at that place with the snooty assistant who can't afford to buy them either. But seriously, who would spend R12 000 (a STACK of cash) on a pair of shoes? Not us, the voices in the room chorused (yeah right, we all privately think, if I had that kind of dosh, I'd buy a pair in every colour)! And suddenly, I was part of the tide! Haven't we seen you around before? Who did you say referred you again? Oh..her?? Isn't she lovely? We just looove her (translation - you're cool...you're in!).
I have since gotten the low down on the best knock off Louis Vuitton handbags in town (yes, I buy knock offs - I also go to Franca's - people think I might actually be able to afford them) and gotten consultation from no less than 10 highly stylish women on which pair of Chanel sunglasses suit me best - I still get compliments when I wear them. I have also shared in the joy of new births and the concern over ill loved ones. They have laughed at me because I wouldn't get rid of my cats even though my (now live in) boyfriend has a severe allergy (he is much better now) to them. All things so wonderfully female. All because of the humble shoe.
Come to think of it...time to go see Franca again.
Monday, February 23, 2009
The sisterhood of the travelling shoe - part uno
OK, I didn't see the movie about the pants - seriously, who makes a movie about pants - so I take no responsibility for any associations. I do however feel like celebrating the ability of my favourite accessory (ok, besides my boyfriend) to bring us girls together.
Case in point - I recently joined the Women's Blogger Directory, one of those collections of blogs that are allover the place. Although it is probably one of the lower tech blog sites around, it seems to have captured the essence of blog socialising - for me anyhow, I am meeting lots of interesting women there (er...this is starting to sound a little fishy, isn't it?). Stay with me a little longer, I have a point, I swear. There is Pamposh from the Phillipines who has introduced me to the concept of the shoe cupboard (still not really clear on this...if I find out, I'll let you know). Peldyn and Ann Marie who, both confessed shoe addicts, also indulge in some beautiful bling - which, like shoes, never give you a 'fat' day and not to forget Marilyn, who called to order the meeting of shoe addicts anonymous. I don't consider these woman my best friends - I really do have a life, not to mention a day job, but it is kinda cool that women from across the globe can instantly connect over a beautiful pair of heels.
Let me cite another example of the social entry card that is the ability to hold a shoe-conversation. My hairstylist decided to leave the country and go live in Panama with her husband who was relocated by his company - selfish cow who always made my hair look amazing. So...what's a girl to do - can't let just anyone touch these tresses. After asking around for some references, I opted for Franca's Hair Romance - not based on the name, I am sure you will understand, but based on the fact that the woman who recommended her to me always has amazing looking hair.
Enter Franca's (home based) salon for the first time on a Saturday morning. There around about 15 women in the salon, all of relatively 'mature' age and clearly of different ethnicity (based on the Mediterranean languages wafting across the room) - spot the Jewish kugels in one place, careful for their Louis Vuitton bags not to touch the floor, the Italian ladies sharing recipes for the best cup cakes, ever and the group of Greek women talking about who the best florist in Johannesburg is. That's just what I could gather from the English conversations going on. I, a relatively young woman of Afrikaans origin - the only natural blonde in the room and English not my first language (I suppose at least we all seemed to have that in common). In addition to the private conversations, another 4 'public' conversations are being shared across the salon - my first hint that these women don't just have their hair done together, they are a tightly knit social circle!
Intimidation was not the word! But, I was in need of a good hairstylist who I could rely on to make my long hair look beautiful - so I wasn't going anywhere, no matter how many stares were coming my way. And I had a reference, someone from their 'in' crowd, who unfortunately didn't come with to hold my hand! So...I went in, found an empty seat and had one of the best experiences of my grooming life!
Case in point - I recently joined the Women's Blogger Directory, one of those collections of blogs that are allover the place. Although it is probably one of the lower tech blog sites around, it seems to have captured the essence of blog socialising - for me anyhow, I am meeting lots of interesting women there (er...this is starting to sound a little fishy, isn't it?). Stay with me a little longer, I have a point, I swear. There is Pamposh from the Phillipines who has introduced me to the concept of the shoe cupboard (still not really clear on this...if I find out, I'll let you know). Peldyn and Ann Marie who, both confessed shoe addicts, also indulge in some beautiful bling - which, like shoes, never give you a 'fat' day and not to forget Marilyn, who called to order the meeting of shoe addicts anonymous. I don't consider these woman my best friends - I really do have a life, not to mention a day job, but it is kinda cool that women from across the globe can instantly connect over a beautiful pair of heels.
Let me cite another example of the social entry card that is the ability to hold a shoe-conversation. My hairstylist decided to leave the country and go live in Panama with her husband who was relocated by his company - selfish cow who always made my hair look amazing. So...what's a girl to do - can't let just anyone touch these tresses. After asking around for some references, I opted for Franca's Hair Romance - not based on the name, I am sure you will understand, but based on the fact that the woman who recommended her to me always has amazing looking hair.
Enter Franca's (home based) salon for the first time on a Saturday morning. There around about 15 women in the salon, all of relatively 'mature' age and clearly of different ethnicity (based on the Mediterranean languages wafting across the room) - spot the Jewish kugels in one place, careful for their Louis Vuitton bags not to touch the floor, the Italian ladies sharing recipes for the best cup cakes, ever and the group of Greek women talking about who the best florist in Johannesburg is. That's just what I could gather from the English conversations going on. I, a relatively young woman of Afrikaans origin - the only natural blonde in the room and English not my first language (I suppose at least we all seemed to have that in common). In addition to the private conversations, another 4 'public' conversations are being shared across the salon - my first hint that these women don't just have their hair done together, they are a tightly knit social circle!
Intimidation was not the word! But, I was in need of a good hairstylist who I could rely on to make my long hair look beautiful - so I wasn't going anywhere, no matter how many stares were coming my way. And I had a reference, someone from their 'in' crowd, who unfortunately didn't come with to hold my hand! So...I went in, found an empty seat and had one of the best experiences of my grooming life!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Nothing like a little Italian
We're still in the throes of summer here in South Africa and going to work every day while the sun is shining and the flowers are blooming is just.not.right. So, I console myself with breaks gone by and wade through photos of happier, work free, times. (Yes, I am once again craving a holiday)
Whilst reminiscing on sun-filled breaks, I came across pictures of a cruise I went on with some friends a few years ago. The ship (boat?!, no, probably ship) went from Durban harbour, through to Maputo (Mozambique) via both Barra Lodge and Portuguese islands. Absolutely delightful and beautiful, with that typical East African coastline and turquoise crystal clear (luke warm!) ocean. Ah.
Anyway, to make matters even more delightful, the ship's crew consisted (almost entirely) of Italian boys. Now if there is a nation on earth that was made to stroke the female ego, it is surely the Italian nation. Brought up (I imagine) at their mother's knee to worship all that is female, they can acknowledge with a single appreciative look: 'Thou art woman". No expectations, nothing encroaching, just a simple statement that confirms all that you have always known. And they make amazing food, not the mention the shoes!! I was of Roman origin in a previous life, I'm convinced of it! I digress...
I even got to open the dance floor at the captain's dinner with the (very) Italian captain, who, even though he didn't speak much English and my Italian is limited to 'scarpe' (shoes, of course), managed to communicate a greeting (invitation?) to my mother! How can you not love them!
Perhaps shoes are a way to 'top up' on these feel good moments that are not always prominent...hmmm...perhaps that's just the excuse I'm going with for now!
I leave you with our waiter for the duration of the cruise, regaling us with an Italian classic. Now that's what I call service!
Whilst reminiscing on sun-filled breaks, I came across pictures of a cruise I went on with some friends a few years ago. The ship (boat?!, no, probably ship) went from Durban harbour, through to Maputo (Mozambique) via both Barra Lodge and Portuguese islands. Absolutely delightful and beautiful, with that typical East African coastline and turquoise crystal clear (luke warm!) ocean. Ah.
Anyway, to make matters even more delightful, the ship's crew consisted (almost entirely) of Italian boys. Now if there is a nation on earth that was made to stroke the female ego, it is surely the Italian nation. Brought up (I imagine) at their mother's knee to worship all that is female, they can acknowledge with a single appreciative look: 'Thou art woman". No expectations, nothing encroaching, just a simple statement that confirms all that you have always known. And they make amazing food, not the mention the shoes!! I was of Roman origin in a previous life, I'm convinced of it! I digress...
I even got to open the dance floor at the captain's dinner with the (very) Italian captain, who, even though he didn't speak much English and my Italian is limited to 'scarpe' (shoes, of course), managed to communicate a greeting (invitation?) to my mother! How can you not love them!
Perhaps shoes are a way to 'top up' on these feel good moments that are not always prominent...hmmm...perhaps that's just the excuse I'm going with for now!
I leave you with our waiter for the duration of the cruise, regaling us with an Italian classic. Now that's what I call service!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
My cup of tea
Ladies who lunch are increasingly becoming ladies who have tea in the afternoon (although I suspect this has been happening for years and that tea is just a convenient colour to disguise any manner of er, performance enhancing, beverages). Finally, someone with a little more flair and decidedly good taste has managed to combine this lovely leisurely activity (post-shopping of course) with some of the items you may have bought - earlier that day!
The Berkeley in London are now offering Pret-a-Portea creations based on the seasonal designs of some of our favourite drool-worthy deities. You can snack on Laurent Perrier and a Christian Louboutin green glitter shoe biscuit (complete with red sole), or enjoy Africa Amber tea accompanied by a bit of dark lace chocolate Prada inspired heaven. I can't wait to try this when I am next in the UK - finally something to look forward to besides the weather!
Which designer creation would you most like to sink your teeth into?
The Berkeley in London are now offering Pret-a-Portea creations based on the seasonal designs of some of our favourite drool-worthy deities. You can snack on Laurent Perrier and a Christian Louboutin green glitter shoe biscuit (complete with red sole), or enjoy Africa Amber tea accompanied by a bit of dark lace chocolate Prada inspired heaven. I can't wait to try this when I am next in the UK - finally something to look forward to besides the weather!
Which designer creation would you most like to sink your teeth into?
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The year of the shoe
This year, we're going to come into our own, me and my objects of desire. The past few seasons they have been inspiring all manner of trends, from spray paint colour techniques to architectural wonders in heel construction. They may have gone a little overboard there, but no pain has ever been to great if its inflicted in the name of beauty (and yes, sometimes this is just plain daft).
This year, I'm looking forward to what wonders the humble shoe with inspire. The theme of the moment, echo-friendly of course, no prizes for guessing there.
But will it simply be more responsible manufacturing processes, green materials and echo-looks or are we in for a real treat? I'm hoping for the 6 inch delicate wedge that feels as if you're walking through a carpet of moss...and the cross trainer that mimics running on wet sand, not to mention the glass slipper that looks and feels like a cool mountain waterfall. Perhaps taking the metaphor a bit too far? Well, fashion isn't pure unless it lives on the edge!
Looking forward to another year of endulging in the most beautiful objects made by man.
This year, I'm looking forward to what wonders the humble shoe with inspire. The theme of the moment, echo-friendly of course, no prizes for guessing there.
But will it simply be more responsible manufacturing processes, green materials and echo-looks or are we in for a real treat? I'm hoping for the 6 inch delicate wedge that feels as if you're walking through a carpet of moss...and the cross trainer that mimics running on wet sand, not to mention the glass slipper that looks and feels like a cool mountain waterfall. Perhaps taking the metaphor a bit too far? Well, fashion isn't pure unless it lives on the edge!
Looking forward to another year of endulging in the most beautiful objects made by man.
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