london calling

It may be a cliche, but London does sometimes seem to be the centre of the world. Alongside New York and Paris, there just seem to be so many opportunities for individuals hoping for a big break in so many varied careers. 

As an Australian, let alone someone from the bottom of the country, these cities become even more fantastical when compared to what sometimes seem to still be colonial outposts. It is exciting to see that students in music have so many chances to see respected musicians, and dance students are never far from the original opera houses where the ballets they dance were first performed, and students can use the incredibly vast collections in world famous museums for free, practically every single day! 

One of my favourite rooms in the Victoria and Albert Museum are the Cast Courts which are filled with the scale moulds taken from all over Europe. 

When I visited last I stayed practically from opening until closing time, became lost looking for the glassware collections, gazed in awe at the tapestries and had afternoon tea in the most beautiful rooms above. 

Clunes and Mother's Day

Last Sunday week, one of my favourite events was on, so I took a countryside jaunt with my dad to visit the Clunes Booktown festival. It happens to be a place where lovely bookshops are everywhere you turn. I came away with a book of critisism  on Jean-Luc Godard and a darling King Penguin on the Sculptures of the Parthenon that was in search of a home. 

This week has felt crazy for a number of reasons, most of them quite exciting. I recently became the 'preferred candidate' for a role that allows me to become better in my chosen field and also allows me to continue on my various intern and volunteer projects. They all seemed to like me, but then another urgent call told me that I couldn't being any time soon. Perhaps any time in the next month!

I ventured over to the Public Records Office, Victoria for an information session about what it is like to be a volunteer there, and although I have been on tours there several times, I felt quite excited that I may be a part of something great. I could see that they were in the process of setting up a new exhibition, there was great disarray in the foyer. That same day I became once more wrapped up in my role scanning stills for the Archive at the Victorian College of the Arts. I always find such interesting photographs, but the process itself is impossibly slow.

I love beastly stormy weather as it reminds me of my travels in foreign countries, and gives me a good excuse to stay indoors with a good book and a very large cup of tea in my new Kikki K mug I bought myself for by birthday. It's the perfect size for an afternoon home alone.
Last weekend was no exception. glorious sunshine on Saturday and the most turbulent excuse for a storm on Mother's DAy. This didn't prevent us from visiting Station Pier and having a lovely afternoon tea.

xx bronte

about me

I have never been very good at describing myself and what I do. I chalk it down to shyness, but on a blog there is no real need to be shy. After all no one else is likely to read it except the people you ask to specifically. 

I like describing what the other people in my family do, I am very proud of my hardworking brother who hopes to be an actor, and look up to my parents who seem to know so much about everything. They seem to know so much they have even written little books!

I come from a long line of teachers but I couldn't imagine anything I would like less, I would get stage fright all the time! My grandmother was a librarian and I know that my love of reading is definitely an inherited trait.

I am trying to forge a career where I get to do interesting things and look at very interesting objects, like silent movies and things like that. I am worried about film history because I don't want people to forget how old hollywood told majestic tales and how glamorous the actors and actresses were. They are completely irreplaceable.

I decided that I wanted to breath life into my blog once more when I was sorting through my travel photos. I have so many and can't print every one. I want to develop my writing skills so I can find new ways to talk about myself without using sentences that begin with "I" every single time. Maybe I will be able to become more articulate and write better letters that help me to get the career that I dream of. 

There are many interesting things that I am doing at the moment, and these revolve around my internship at the Victorian College of the Arts, and my devotion to volunteering at the community radio station PBS (the music is what brought me there but it's the endless cups of tea that are the reason I won't ever leave). Here I am gaining an insurmountable amount of experience, and have been given the opportunity to help guide terrible interesting projects that have such a satisfying conclusion to work towards (and perhaps involve some lovely parties).

As a compulsive tea drinker, and when I was meandering down the King's Road in London last December, my dear travel companion and I stumbled into T2. My friend was so excited because we were about to return home after months of travelling and she waxed lyrical with the sales assistant about all we had been up to. I stumbled across the Earl Grey Royale for the very first time and ever since its has undeniably been my favourite.

I hope to return to London in the guide of a research trip, where I can research interesting institutions and the ways that they keep their material, and study at the University of Edinburgh or the Courtauld Institute, but really what I want to do is get lost in all the beautiful streets of West London and St Germain des Pres in Paris.

When I visited the Lourve I made sure to do my best impression of Audrey Hepburn next to the Winged Victory of Samorthace.

xx b

hello again

from my instagram!

You can now follow my blog with Bloglovin!!

I've decided that this moment in time is the right moment to revitalise my long forgotten blog and create something a bit more focused. In my next post I'll share a bit about myself and what my hopes are. 

xx b

au revoir

Isn't he the most wonderful?, part two. Glenn Gould

Glenn Gould March 1956

Glenn Gould by Gordon Parks for Life Magazine, March 1956

Glenn Gould by Gordon Parks for Life Magazine, March 1956

Glenn Gould by Gordon Parks for Life Magazine, March 1956

Isn't he the most wonderful?, part one. Bas Jan Ader

Tea Party, 1972

Primary Time, 1974

Primary Time, 1974

Fall II, 1970

Tea Party, 1972

Jean

Jean Shrimpton wears denim in 1964 for a spread from the first ever Sunday Telegraph supplement.
Photographed by Ronald Falloon in 1964.

“

Sebastian met Isabelle outside the Hillhead Underground Station, in Glasgow. Belle harrassed Sebastian, but it was lucky for him that she did. She was very nice and funny, and sang very sweetly. Sebastian was not to know this, however. Sebastian was melancholy.

He had placed an advert in the local supermarket. He was looking for musicians. Belle saw him do it. That’s why she wanted to meet him. She marched straight up to him unannounced and said, ‘Hey you!’ She asked him to teach her to play the guitar. Sebastian doubted he could teach her anything, but he admired her energy, so he said ‘Yes’.

It was strange. Sebastian had just decided to become a one-man band. It is always when you least expect it that something happens. Sebastian had befriended a fox because he didn’t expect to have any new friends for a while. He still loved the fox, although he had a new distraction. Suddenly he was writing many new songs. Sebastian wrote all of his best songs in 1995. In fact, most of his best songs have the words ‘Nineteen Ninety-five’ in them. It bothered him a little. What will happen in 1996?

They worked on the songs in Belle’s house. Belle lived with her parents, and they were rich enough to have a piano. It was in a room by itself at the back of the house, overlooking the garden. This was where Belle taught Sebastian to put on mascara. If Belle’s mum had known this, she would not have been happy. She was paying for the guitar lessons. The lessons gave Sebastian’s life some structure. He went to the barber’s to get a haircut.

Belle and Sebastian are not snogging. Sometimes they hold hands, but that is only a display of public solidarity. Sebastian thinks Belle ‘kicks with the other foot’. Sebastian is wrong, but then Sebastian can never see further than the next tragic ballad. It is lucky that Belle has a popular taste in music. She is the cheese to his dill pickle.

Belle and Sebastian do not care much for material goods. But then neither Belle nor Sebastian has ever had to worry about where the next meal is coming from. Belle’s most recent song is called Rag Day. Sebastian’s is called The Fox In The Snow. They once stayed in their favourite caf’ for three solid days to recruit a band. Have you ever seen The Magnificent Seven? It was like that, only more tedious. They gained a lot of weight, and made a few enemies of waitresses.

Belle is sitting highers in college. She didn’t listen the first time round. Sebastian is older than he looks. He is odder than he looks too. But he has a good heart. And he looks out for Belle, although she doesn’t need it. If he didn’t play music, he would be a bus driver or be unemployed. Probably unemployed. Belle could do anything. Good looks will always open doors for a girl.

”

From the sleeve notes to belle and sebastian's first LP, Tigermilk.

record girls. mark2

jane b.

Annie Nightingale

Francoise Sagan

Audrey Hepburn

Sylvie Vartan

Andy Warhol and Kip Stagg in the Factory

Sunday September 29th

Archers omnibus. Egg, bacon, fried bread, the People. Roast beef, roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, cabbage, carrots, peas, Yorkshire pudding, gravy. Apple crumble, custard, cup of tea, extra strong mints, News of the World. Tinned salmon sandwiches, mandarin oranges and jelly, sultana cake, cup of tea.

 Adrian Mole, the Wilderness Years. page 167, by Sue Townsend.

ive set a goal for myself to make each and everything from this cookbook.

so far i have made marmite and cress sandwiches, cinnamon toast, flapjacks and honey biscuits. yum

now all ai have to do is decide that i really ought to see petula clark and jane birkin considering they are both playing concerts this month. even though i am already seeing the wedding present too. how exiting!

xx

up the junction

a [Sir William] Russell Flint

Cecelia Reclining

I could not speak for amazement at your beauty

As you came, down the Garrick stair,

Grey-green eyes like the turbulent

Atlantic And floppy schoolgirl hair.

I could see you in a Sussex teashop,

Dressed in peasant weave and brogues,

Turning over, as firelight shone on brassware,

Last year’s tea-stained Vogues.

I could see you as a large-eyed student,

Frowning as you tried to learn,

Or, head flung back, the confident girl prefect,

Thrillingly kind and stern.

I could not speak for amazement at your beauty;

Yet when you spoke to me,

You were calm and gentle as a rock pool

Waiting, warm, for the sea.

Wave on wave, I plunged in them to meet you -

In wave on wave I drown;

Calm rock pool, on the shore of my security

Hold me when the tide goes down.

Sir John Betjeman

Shall I tell you about life? Well, it's like the big wheel at Luna Park. You pay five francs and go into a room with tiers of seats all round, and in the centre the floor is made of a great disc of polished wood that revolves quickly. At first you sit down and watch the others. They are all trying to sit in the wheel, and they keep getting flung off, and that makes them laugh, and you laugh too. It's great fun. It is very much like life. You see, the nearer you can get to the hub of the wheel the slower it is moving and the easier it is to stay on. There's generally some one in the centre who stands up and sometimes does a sort of dance. Often he's paid by the management, though, or, at any rate, he's allowed in free. Of course at the very centre there's a point completely at rest, if one could only find it. I'm not sure I am not very near that point myself. Of course the professional men get in the way. Lots of people just enjoy scrambling on and being whisked off and scrambling on again. How they all shriek and giggle! Then there are others who sit as far out as they can and hold on for dear life and enjoy that. But the whole point about the wheel is that you needn't get on it at all, if you don't want to. People get hold of ideas about life, and that makes them think they've got to join in the game, even if they don't enjoy it. It doesn't suit every one.



in Evelyn Waugh's Decline and Fall


I am reading Scoop by a woman called Evelyn Waugh; Adrian Mole

illustration

Hilary Knight's Eloise (and skipperdee too)

Hilary Knight

Quentin Blake

some things are tremendously significant, some things are moot.

i do want to be an artist, and a poet, and sometimes i want to be an illustrator. i want to work in a library, or in a museum, or for a publishing company, but mostly i want to be a continuity announcer, just like Kathy Clugston. 

i adore Hilary Knight, Lugwig Bemelmans and Quentin Blake, and the sinister motivation of Joe Orton's defacement of sacristy. the pelicans i lay my hands on have led me to become a little obsessive and i found such a website that seems to be filled with gems.

record girls

Sandie Shaw

Marianne Faithfull

Cathy McGowan

Susannah York

Juliette Greco

dear friend, there are things i want very much to tell you, i simply dont know if i can. perhaps tomorrow i will have the time. you know that chanteuses make me cry, that i'v been lonely for too long, that i am just like someone else but that i dont know who that is. 
i've found some things to cry over.
its no more who i want to be but where and with whom. you do know its you.
meantime its c'est la vie, etc.

adventurous children inspire my daily wear.

Swallows and Amazons (1974)

source: asos.com

The Secret Garden (1993)

source: asos.com

The Railway Children (1970)

source: topshop.com

the long train ride along the coast

And then England—southern England, probably the sleekest landscape in the world. It is difficult when you pass that way, especially when you are peacefully recovering from sea-sickness with the plush cushions of a boat-train carriage under your bum, to believe that anything is really happening anywhere. Earthquakes in Japan, famines in China, revolutions in Mexico? Don’t worry, the milk will be on the doorstep tomorrow morning, the New Statesman will come out on Friday. The industrial towns were far away, a smudge of smoke and misery hidden by the curve of the earth’s surface. Down here it was still the England I had known in my childhood: the railway-cuttings smothered in wild flowers, the deep meadows where the great shining horses browse and meditate, the slow-moving streams bordered by willows, the green bosoms of the elms, the larkspurs in the cottage gardens; and then the huge peaceful wilderness of outer London, the barges on the miry river, the familiar streets, the posters telling of cricket matches and Royal weddings, the men in bowler hats, the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, the red buses, the blue policemen—all sleeping the deep, deep sleep of England, from which I sometimes fear that we shall never wake till we are jerked out of it by the roar of bombs.


George Orwell, Homage To Catalonia, the last page.