My payday treat this week was some magazines.  Having found that once I bought the magazines, I couldn't afford the gorgeous things in them, I entered into a self-imposed magazine moratorium a couple of years ago. (The general exception is airport purchase, but last time I flew I was replete with book.)

There's a famous line in Cold Comfort Farm (the book and the film) in which a communique from Flora, on said farm to her Aunt in the city ends "Send Vogue." 

I strolled back to work with an armful of glossy paper covered with ridiculously skinny airbrushed teenagers wearing stuff I could never afford. My untidy mind segued from Cold Comfort Farm to Dorothy Parker, a great humorist and poet, and along with Nancy Mitford one of the major influences on my twisted point of view. For Dorothy said "What fresh hell is this?": a quote I remember every working day.  

She also said "Brevity is the soul of lingerie"; and  "Men seldom make passes / At girls who wear glasses". Although I have evidence which renders the latter untrue, it has a certain metrical amusement value. I know one individual who may cite the former as empirical truth.

Vogue tells me that the New Look is - well - new again. Again.So the return to vintage has worked it's way into the fashion 'mainstream' - it's back to vintage corsetry, beautiful dresses,the silhouettes of the 50's. If only I was an uber-rich skinny teenager who could afford airbrushing. 

I can afford "The Collected Dorothy Parker", a better investment, probably.





  

Consumer capitalist commitment copout

Cocky cage for repurpose into a chook tractor

So my friend dropped me at the airport, and asked  'Do you have everything?'  Then we burst into hysterical laughter, because we had just unloaded a uteload of junk into her garage.  Not to mention the carload the previous day, and the bits we hid in there the day before that, on the way from the airport.  There was a circular saw, amongst other things, in my suitcase.

We have more fun at this time of year than should strictly be legal. And this last weekend it was verge collection in some of the uber-rich and super-tasteless areas of Perth. At first we thought that the two facial expressions of the residents were directed at us, as we drove slowly and examined their junk.  Then we realised that those expressionless, non-smiling women had had botox, and the ones with pursed lips just look like that all the time because it's so stressful being wealthy.

I get that it's below their dignity to have a garage sale,

Ooooh, wrought iron...

although we did observe some activity which looked surprisingly like listing things on Gumtree. I don't, and never will understand how the women who lunch for a living don't have time to drop stuff at an opshop, or call a charity for pickup of larger items.

If your house is big enough to have it's own postcode, and your housekeeper has a secretary, why would you prefer to send perfectly good stuff to landfill?  We picked up some lovely things to drop off in charity bins, rather than let them be ruined in the rain. I salute their capitalist commitment to consumerism. 

So many options for repurposing.

For that matter, no-one was playing tennis on the private courts, or lounging on the expensive up to date patio furniture,or even strolling in the landscaped grounds.  We did see some functionaries, functioning. 

The competition out there is killer.  One guy circled past 5 times while we considered options for rather a lot of wrought iron. At another places there were as many as 5 cars competing. I literally threw myself out of the car and onto a vintage David Jones leather suitcase just as a car screeched up behind us, intent on the same thing. We exchanged insincere pleasantries as I threw the suitcase into the back seat. The owner came out and went through the remnants, trying to talk up some items.  We left them to it.  

The early bird gets the suitcase.

once again onto the verges....

My favourite time of year has begun.  I'm a bit pressed for time so I'll just give you the highlights from week one:

A nomination for second in 'best finds ever'* is this young gentleman.  He positively leapt into the vehicle, several thoughts about how he may end up.  I'd love to know why someone painted his face green, and set fire to one knee. 
*Best find ever: the church hymn board last year, in case you were wondering.

In the same pic, polo ...um... stick things.  I'm going to need 2 horses, and a 'Polo for Dummies' book, especially if my new armless friend wants to play.

50's metal chair, faux wrought iron folding chair, and circular stand in the style I call 'curly'. How could I leave them? TLC required, consider these the 'before' pics.

An electric base guitar, in case, with amp.  I'm putting the band back together.  The mannequin will have to play harmonica, for obvious reasons, probably not very well. 









A vase, English, 1890-ish. Classic Nouveau shape. Sir Christopher Dresser design.
Gotta love Google.

On the practical side, a new awning for the back veranda, to replace the ones blown to shreds this year, another easel, 2 working Dyson vacuums (for friends), a new trolley, and bits and bobs, various.  I like the unused chantilly cream maker, like a soda syphon, complete with a full box of gas cylinders. I never wanted to make chantilly cream till now.

Now, I have to put my stuff out, so that I can fit the new stuff in. Lucky I got the trolley...

Dating advice from John Waters

I haven't posted for a while, the weather has been awful, the finds in the opshops have been minimal, and I'm adapting to retro not just being a style alternative but a way of life for all of Australia.

As the joke goes, due to cutbacks the light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off.  Morning tea, the Pit of Despair. Last week. Off-pay week, always a dark time.   Due to belt tightening, the morning papers have been cancelled.  There was a brave social experiment - more capitalist, really - whereby everyone was to chip in a few cents to pay for a paper.  That failed, epicaly, because it turned out that people preferred the socialist, government provided papers and long pockets and very short arms were the order of the day.

Due to my jaundiced view of the quality of press reporting, I avoid the world according to Murdoch (has nobody seen that James Bond movie* with the media mogul manipulating events for news? It was a documentary.)  I take a book to work.  A chap who sits nearby is also an avid reader, we have similar tastes and often share books.

The workforce, depleted by natural attrition, has divided into

three groups, the readers, the iphone game players, and the one who stares into space. Luckily, we haven't had to resort to conversation yet.  It transpires that the space starer hadn't read a book in 16 years. Not because of any learning disability, but purely by choice.  As you can imagine, I was stunned. Gobsmacked. Amazed. He has children, did he not even read them Pooh (the proper one); Harry Potter; Alice in Wonderland?

My son outgrew Harry Potter, but I had to have closure and kept on lining up for the books on the day they were released.  My daughter insisted I read the Twilight novels.  I would have preferred to poke my eyes out with a 2B pencil,  I was so relieved when she lost interest. I was losing the will to live. But at least she was reading. So read them I did.

There's a thing on Pinterest,  allegedly a John Waters quote, which says something like 'If you go home with somebody and they don't have books, don't f*** them.'  I have to say, I think Mr Waters has a valid point. My jaw dropped even lower when my esteemed but bookless colleague actually went on to ask what could be gained from reading a book?  The reading chap may have actually groaned at that point, and I believe I may have whimpered.

Knowledge. Amusement. Wit. Imagination. History. Exercise for the brain. Expanded horizons. 

A house is not a home without books. A person without books is liable to remain single and unloved for a very long time. And I can't believe I'm taking dating advice from John Waters.


*Ironically, not a Fleming book.

Seize the Book

It was Book Week, and quite coincidentally I've been finding lots of good books.

Those who know me know that although books aren't my only weakness (OK, obsession), they are certainly up there in the top three. Due to a tightened personal fiscal policy, I've been avoiding bookstores and even online booksellers.

Unfortunately, the inclement weather last week had me strolling home from work via the protection of the verandas of the main street retailers. Paperbark Merchants yielded another in the Jim Butcher Dresden Files series, Ghost Story. My son lent me the previous books, but he said that he couldn't get this one at the time. I have it up next on the reading rota and am doing secret little happy dances, as I've missed Harry. Thursday was a book disaster in waiting, as I called into another local purveyor of book happiness with time on my hands and books on my mind. 

Sometimes you can drop into a bookstore and find nothing that makes you go weak at the knees. On this occasion, however, any self control was seriously compromised.  

I don't know about you, but I have an established pattern for bookshop browsing. First, the fantasy paperbacks, such as the previously mentioned Jim Butcher books, and, of course Terry Pratchett, my indisputable King.  I am re-collecting all of the Discworld books, having given my paperback collection to the boychild (I'd say having them prised from my grasp, but that would make me seem selfish). I noted a couple of possible acquisitions and moved on, pausing to briefly re-live the reader betrayal that was the last book in the Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris. I reflected quietly on the hurt the woman had caused me, and decided that the wound is too raw for me to consider taking on another of her characters.

I moved on to Crime and Thriller, noting that a new Lee Child book in the Jack Reacher series was due out the next day. Happy Fathers' Day to me... They do know that lots of women read Jack, don't they?

Somewhere in Latest Releases, I found  my nomination for possibly best book jacket of all time. I wouldn't generally buy a book solely on it's cover, but this one made my heart beat faster. Luckily, I like Robert Drewe's books.

I moved onto Art, Craft. I need new and different in this category, original ideas, inspiration. Books which advise me on how to put curtains on wire across the front of cupboards simply don't cut the mustard. I grabbed Push Print, I loved the presentation, content - and with appalling restraint, put it's companion Push Paper back. There was just a schmick less new inspiration in the paper volume. 

I very nearly threw myself at Margaret Olley - love her work, an

amazing book, but once again, grown-up bill-paying need-to-eat-cannot-live-on-books-alone-dammit sensibility won out. I hate being a grownup.

I then move to Biography, Travel (books about Paris, mainly), History, non-fiction (general),and specials.

Friday's opshop round provided a mix of crime/thrillers, Karin Slaughter, Linda Fairstein, and so on, and I also picked up Evelyn Waugh's Scoop in Penguin paperback, as well as sundry others. 

Happy Book Week to me.

I got home from work on the only halfway decent day this week, to a gift from my next door neighbour.

It's a strange squelchy tiny thing that looks like a tiny internal organ, wrapped in some seaweed and served on a scallop shell.

Not edible, and accompanied by a note explaining that my neighbour and my dog had been to the beach but found no interesting dead fish.

Such a lovely little parcel and a lovely surprise.

I've been spending far too much time trawling the far corners and darker recesses of the internet of late.  It's part of my strategy to avoid becoming a homicidal maniac as a result of watching election propaganda on television, and is an extension of my vow to read only the garage sales columns of newspapers. 

Since garage sales are sparse in the depths of winter, I've been reliant on the op shops to cheer my cold heart.  There have been a few bargains to cheer me, a Liberty of London silk scarf, and an excellent book detailing the correspondence between Albert Tucker and Sidney Nolan.  

I love their references to breaking into the Paris art scene and their references to Picasso, who apparently spoke French with a Spanish accent. The descriptions of living in Paris as artists are sublime.

In a week which has not been in my top one thousand of weeks worth living through, I managed to break the adorable glasses which I found in Paris, after walking kilometres and searching every optician. I have broken one pair of glasses in my adult life, and it had to be the ones I loved most.

I hope my eyeglass obsession does not overrun a planned trip to Melbourne, the mecca for deluded Australian eyeglasses tragics. Luckily, I will be able to see, as I have spare pairs, and hopefully I will be able to distract myself, or be distracted, from any optical urges.

In the meantime, I picked up some tres chic classic French sunnies this week, so I shall not be squinting in the daylight as I venture out onto the streets of Melbourne.

Balls of steel

Spotted at the Kalamunda Markets this weekend, some of my favourite things: balls.  Spherical metallic constructions. Varying sizes. Different metals.  I could not restrain myself, I took a lot of photos. No self control, me.  Here they are.

Made by Martin Jaine.

In another location, all about wood, I found something called a nibbler.  A very nice man demonstrated it's use.  He had nine years experience and wielded it with great style.  It attaches to your drill, cuts wood, metal, perspex and plastic into curves, shapes and straight lines.  I'd heard of them, never seen one used.   I had to have one.  I have one now.  I shall nibble. My partner in trinket procurement for the day also satisfied a wanton desire for one.  We spent the rest of the weekend thinking of nibbling opportunities.  It was really quite thrilling. You will hear and see more of this from me.

The wood show at the Claremont Showgrounds also yielded some pics of some wonderful old tools, and a motorcycle hearse.  Wood is such a tactile material, wonderful textures.

I find it easier to manage than metal, since I can't weld, although this is a most desirable skill.

I didn't buy these lockers, spotted at the very fabulous Balcatta Tip Shop. (But only because I couldn't see how I could get them home.) I did buy the small oak shelf which is sitting on the red chair.  I can never have enough ways to store books.

The chair just happened to be there.  My collaborator in acquirement for the weekend got a red Webber kettle to repurpose as a herb garden, amongst other things.













And here is a small sculpture I completed on Thursday, instead of vacuuming the floors. In the spirit of the great philosopher Yosemite Sam: Ah HATES housework.