Roll on the Festivals...

Bridge and I chilling at Reading last year

Festival season is looming, and money is haemorrhaging from my account as I grab as many gig tickets as possible. So far I Florence and the Machine, Band of Skulls, Hard Rock Calling and the Isle of Wight festival lined up... Due to the all round averageness of the Reading, I have been saved from having to shell out for that one, but now am looking towards perhaps a little outing to V festival.

For those of you who have never done a big music festival - do it! I went to

Reading last year and it is like a living monument to hedonism. I have never been to Vegas but I assume it operates on the same principal. Basically, it is a place that offers you every type of pleasure (okay not every...), at all hours - its what life would be like if we were millionaires and indulged our every whim - the way we would like to live in our wildest dreams.

As if days of watering ourselves with yummy cider and indulging in the great sounds of Rock 'n Roll weren't enough, when the last band left the stage every night there was a plethora of activities - a fun fair, an outdoor cinema, a silent disco and people taking every type of drug (I abstained of course) and doing every type of crazy shit - the last night is kind of like the maddest party you have ever been too, but on steroids... People are dressed up all mental - near our tent we had a bunch of guys who were all dressed up like vikings, there were boys in wedding dresses, smurfs, frogs, people in full on lycra suits that went over their faces - every kind of madness...

The funniest encounter we had was on the last nite - we were sitting under a gazebo at about three in the morning talking shit and slowly drifting down off the high of a 3 day party with the greatest music, when a ginger haired wild child proffering a glo-bracelet stumbled towards us from the dark. She told us her name was Sophie, she was a lesbian and she hadn't gotten lucky since Thursday and she was looking for another lesbian...apparently at this point she had trolled the camp site looking for hopefuls but had been unsuccessful and was now desperate enough that she was A) approaching groups of men in search of hidden lesbians, who inevitably asked her if she wanted to change her mind and return to the mighty phallus (to which she declined) and B) offering the glo-bracelet as an engagement ring to the next willing sexually confused yung'un she found...

After amusing us all no end with her straight forward desperation and proliferation of names for the female reproductive organs she headed off telling us to send any other lesbos who stumbled upon our little campfire after her...You just can't put a price on amusement like that...

One of the best things about festivals is seeing all these people in wonderful clothes and accessories, all chilling out and being someone else for a little while. The hats, sunglasses and wellies are wonderful camera fodder, and I wish people dressed like that all the time. In June last year I went with my lovely mum and aunt, and many others, to watch the amazing Bruce Springsteen play Hard Rock Calling. It was one of the greatest gigs I have ever been to. And my mom was totally channeling a sixties festino, and so she is my festival style icon...

Saturday in Southend

After the last couple of weeks of madness at work, and ongoing eye infection, it was such a treat to spend the day away. In the morning me and a few of my work favourites hopped on a train to lovely Leigh-on-sea in Essex. We began the day with cockles, still sandy and salty from the sea. Walking around the lovely Old Leigh, replete with cobbled streets and clapboard cottages. Alas, Kent had stolen the sea, but the whole place still had that sea salt scent that I haven't smelled since I left Durban - it made me quite homesick.

We moved on for fish and chips in Southend where we got to whip out the wicked 'I heart South End' pendant from Top Shop. Awesomeness - they also have a Billericay necklace too (ala Gavin Stacey)- that looks a little like the carrie necklace. It's brilliant! To walk off lunch we had a walk along the beach front where we found an abandoned boat, which we commandeered for a mortifying ammatuer photo shoot.

I haven't been to a fun fair in years. The last time I did go was on the Durban beach front, probably in the early years of high school, and South End's Adventure Island put us African types to shame. It was a total sensual over load of flashing lights, cranking machinery and overly stuffed soft toys. In an incredible show of sports womanship (a word?) I won a oversized Mario mushroom, and proved my bravery by riding the giant pink phallus of terror (pictured below) - really, amusement parks are kind of like drippy versions of Gladiators!

Also at Adventure Island I noticed the traditional Essex girl uniform. It is not compulsory, but is widely sported in the area. It is comprised of a fanta hued fake tan, tarantula like mascara, more eyeliner than I would wear to a KISS concert, and many a TopShop knock off. These girls are pretty trendy, but sometimes you can have too much of a good thing - and in the case of this seasons overwhelmingly popular floral print, there is only so many different patterns you can wear before you become a Biggie Best nightmare.

It was a day of gales of laughter, and good food and company, so many thanks to my companions and host! Viva Essex, I hope its not too long before I see you again...

Spring: is there an app for that?

Our first daffs of the year

The silence is due to my new iPhone...it's just so lovely! It arrived yesterday and I have spent the last 2 days lovingly adding apps, music and photos. It has taken my mind of the sty still taking advantage of my eye's apparent hospitality. It seems to be on its way out thank god.

The other thing that's been making me rather chipper the last couple of days is a big bowl of daffodils we have on our mantelpiece. They have all burst into bloom, and are filling the room with a scent of spring, and whenever I look at them I remember that their brothers and sisters are poking their little heads out of the ground all over England and that spring is surely here now and summer soon to follow. The sun has got his hat on...Hip hip hip hip horray...

Shantaram: So I took each sadness she confessed to me, and pinned it to the sky.

As soon as I finished reading Shantaram I wanted to start all over again. I knew that there was so much wisdom I had failed to absorb, and so much I had failed to understand. And now they are making a movie, and while it is to star the wondrous Jonny Depp, I know that the beauty will be diluted and much of the message will be lost in the translation. So I urge you, dear readers, to read this book before the hype begins, and you end up going to see the film, and this experience is lost to you.

Here are a couple of extracts from Gregory David Roberts' masterpiece, to whet your appetite:

"I let the raining silence close her eyes for the last time. She slept. I knew we did not have her story. Not the whole of it. I knew the small daubs of colour she'd excluded from her summary were at least as important as the broad strokes she'd included. The devil, they say, is in the details, and I knew well the devils that lurked and skulked in the details of my own story. But she had given me a hoard of new treasures. I'd learned more about her in that exhausted, murmuring hour than in all the many months before it. Lovers find their way by such insights and confidences: they're the stars we use to navigate the ocean of desire. And the brightest of those stars are the heartbreaks and sorrows. The most precious gift you can bring to your lover is your suffering. So I took each sadness she confessed to me, and pinned it to the sky."

"...no man is saved without love. What characterises the human race more, Karla once asked me, cruelty or the capacity to feel shame for it? I thought the question acutely clever then, when I first heard it, but I'm lonelier and wiser now, and I know it isn't cruelty or shame that characterises the human race. It's forgiveness that makes us what we are. Without forgiveness, our species would've annihilated itself in endless retributions. Without forgiveness, there would be no history. Without that hope, there would be no art, for every work of art is in some way an act of forgiveness. Without that dream, there would be no love, for every act of love is in some way a promise to forgive. We live on because we can love, and we love because we can forgive."

The whole book is not only reflections on existence, although his perceptions of the human condition particularly resonated with me. The narrative is vast and complex, filled with action, incredible characters and Roberts manages to give you a strong sensory insight into India - the sights, the sounds, the smells, the very feel of it. If you read only one book this year, let Shantaram be it.

Just a bit of Joan

The weekend was a total write off thanks to the fact that quasimodo decided to move out of the belfry and onto my eyelid...I have a huge sty which no amount of Golden Eye antibiotics or Jackie O sunglasses can apparently camoflage. Hence, I have had a weekend on the couch with Don and Betty Draper, Joan Holloway and the rest at Stirling Cooper. I have pretty much buried myself in the Mad Men box set, hiding my shameful peeper in a fugue of sixties cigarettes, slips, bourbon and sexism...

For those of you who have never watched the dirty indulgence that is Mad Men basically the show is a slick, sexy depiction of the world of advertising, and linked parts of American society and culture, in the 1960s. It's an education - just how far away is 40 years? At times the opinions and beliefs of the characters seem ridiculously quaint and old fashioned, at others the process of seeing opinions held and defended so long ago, allows you the cathartic realisation that in some aspects we haven't come that far at all.

A while ago I posed the question on my Facebook status (the Magic Eightball of modern times):

Can I be a modern woman and still want Don Draper?

Perhaps an easier question to answer is, can a modern woman still want to look like Joan Holloway?

Played by Christina Hendricks, Joan is a powerhouse of a woman. Perfectly put together, she is not the obvious feminist heroine, and her pandering to the men in the office at times borders on the sycophantic, however there is no doubt that the lady knows how to get what she wants (most of the time). And she is a style icon. Her clothes make me long for a time when dressing was an art. She lived in a time when the roles of gender were easily definable, and when ideas of what each looked like were pretty set in stone too. I can do without the gender stereotyping, thanks very much, but god, what I wouldn't do for those clothes! I am the queen of low maintanence, throw on outfits, however, after a weekend with Joan, I am desperate for a little bit more femme fatale, a little less happy hippy...

My Joan inspired wish list:

Giovanni Gold Brooch

Diana Vintage look pencil dress - custom made

Vintage Pen Necklace

Mixed Tape Track 4 - 'I think you know the answer to your question'

I love a ballad, especially when the singer is sombre and there is a slight desperation to it. Emily's Heart ticks all of these boxes. I wouldn't consider myself a fan usually, and Jamie's colloquial, plaintive whinge shouldn't be pleasing to the ear, yet the lyrics are sung with such earnest and honesty, and suprisingly with little regret but much empathy for Emily, despite her crime.

Jamie urges us not to meddle with Emily's heart, and yet sadly, he meddled with his original to release it as a single. And so the link I am providing is for the longer original...Enjoy.

Emily's Heart - Jamie T

"Bruised and bloody, I'm lying on the ground,

And I am aware that I let the poor girl down,

Now I'm dying, as a message to the town,

This what happens, if you fuck around,

So meddle if you want trouble, trouble then you should meddle,

But don't ever meddle with Emily's heart…"

One from the Vaults

The Dress, seen here with fuchsia fascinator from Accessorize

The Dress, on previous outings.

This has not been the best week, work wise, and so my creative brain is taking a bit of a dive. Therefore, I have resorted to the vaults for inspiration today.

I am going to a Shebeen party this weekend, for my lovely friend Lara's birthday, and I need something a little South African to wear. I have been racking my brains, thinking about what to wear, when I remembered my gorgeous Stoned Cherrie dress, wasting away at the back of my closet. Its a full skirted wrap around, made with cranberry and black shweshwe fabric - African Modern chic! It has had several thrilling outings in its time. And so I thought I would share with you a couple of its little anecdotes...

Early on in the dress's life it visited Moyo in Durban. It was surrounded by large sculptures of seaweed made out of recycled bottles, carved wooden tables, mosaicked mirrors and lounges padded with silken, sari pillows. Its full skirt lay fanned out against the sari silk under the moon on the deck. The dress ordered a strawberry daiquiri, and tried to sip it before the Durban humidity had turned it into a pink pool. She feasted on samoosas, as she bit into them each corner spurted soft cheese and spring onions. The irony of all these tourists looking for an authentic African experience at uShaka was not lost on the dress - she took the African face painting, and the engineered township music, the native crafts, and the toyitoyi-ing waiters, with a pinch of salt. And afterwards the dress went for a walk on the beach, got sprayed by the sea, and licked the drying salt off her lips.

The dress spent a night of revelry on the River Thames with other dresses. Everyone was in their best and yet nothing could compare to the magnificence of London by night. The eerie splendour of the Houses of Parliament, as the dresses floated past, was eclipsed only by the ominous presence of the Battersea Power Station. It haunts the edge of the river, in its own mists, daring the dress to question its emptiness. Battersea knows it is safe in its position of esteemed endangered site. It does not have the obvious flash of tower bridge, or the audacious iconic nature of the Eye, and it does not need it. The dress holds her breath as the mighty station recedes into the distance, and she softly flickers in the breeze.

This too is humanity

Somedays, humanity fails me. People seem angry and the papers are filled with stories that stink of pain, alienation and hostility. It seems that so much of what we have to see everyday in the media is just fear mongering. Let's make them scared and horrified and shocked enough, so that eventually they will no longer be able to think.

If you want to see the hope and the truth in humanity, you need to look towards the arts. It can be found in paintings and music and film and architecture and literature.

And so, when the misery and the isolation start to cloud in I look to the arts. The beautiful things I have seen, and will see. And one of them is the roof of the Palau de le Musica Catalana. I saw it when I was in Barcelona, and I was filled with wonder that someone could create something so beautiful. It was created to inspire awe, to celebrate beauty, and to celebrate art. This too is humanity. When I see it I remember that this too is humanity.

Hayley in Wonderland...

My outfit today is a vague tribute to Alice in Wonderland. I went to see this surreal cinema experience yesterday and, despite my own over hyping of the whole event and my unflinching love of Tim Burton (damn you Helena), it still managed to totally overwhelm me. Mr Depp's hatter was the maddest with a very real dash of melancholy and clarity, that is so characteristic of the mentally unstable. The red queen was ever the tyrannical despot, and yet unlike her animated counterpart, Helena Bonham Carter managed to eek some sympathy out of me. Her sister, the white queen, is played by Anne Hathaway, of the plus sized eyes and mouth. Something about her is so watchable, and I loved all the white (but they didn't have me convinced with the plum lipstick). Alice (played by Mia Wasikowska) is an ethereal flower, pale and pallid in reality, only ever blooming in Wonderland. A woman before her time, you can't help but feel sorry she can't stay having tea with the heroic hatter.

And so we have striped courtesy of tweedle dee and tweedle dum, a heart courtesy of the red queen, and the shoes and bow for little Alice herself.

A Night Bus Narrative

It's a rare occasion, in my case anyway, that I get a sober trip home on the night bus, but last night I got one. I was headed home from a (somewhat disastrous) evening in central London, where a group of friends and I had one of those nights where you have walked all over the place just to hear last rounds called in just about every pub! And so, after the loss of a phone, we decided it was time to head home, and so I ended up on the bus with very little drink taken.

As per usual there was a host of weirdos and drunkards on the bus, and for once I was able to properly take in everything going on around me. There was a guy with his face painted (very professionally) as a tiger, some mandarin faced chavs with bruised looking eyes, and a group of friends giving their evening a thorough post mortem. After a few minutes, however, it seemed that the majority of their stories seemed to centre around one particularly colourful character called Dan. By the time we had reached the Chelsea Bridge I knew the following about this fellow Dan:

• He has 'political friends'
• Last time him and Andre met, they had each other in headlocks (Andre?)
• He has a gorgeous girlfriend, that his male friends referred to as a 'casual shag' and his female friends referred to as a slag
• He once went to Paris, lost his plane ticket back and had no money so bought a cheap bus ticket and it took him 8 hours to get home through the night
• They were suprised that he didn't try and drag them into some late night den of inequity as per usual
• He often ends up picking up random people and dragging them along for the evening

Everything they said was laced with judgement and disapproval. Now I don't know this hedonist named Dan, but I want to meet him. I just couldn't help but think that this brutal bludgeoning of his character might just be because he is so much more interesting than all of them (they seemed dull, their only interesting conversation concerning this Dan)

As we sailed over Chelsea bridge, the Thames tempting in its evening finery, I though about the friends that I had spent the evening with. Luckily they are all well more interesting than me, so I could be pretty much sure that this same conversation was not taking place on a night bus going in the other direction.

A letter to my Liebe

The love letter is not dead! How do I know? Because the other day I played a little part in delivering one. I was getting on my train to go home the other evening, and I saw a cream envelope tucked into one of the seats. I extracted it, and it was addressed to someone in Berlin, but not yet sealed. Inside there was a letter in German, that was addressed Liebe. A few years ago my lovely friend Yvette bought me a little heart shaped pin that says Liebe on it. And so I know that it said Love. It was also signed with a kiss - and I think this may have been an adolescent kiss, as it was done with glitter lip gloss :) The letter had a faint scent that seemed lightly laced with violets.

The sweetness of this letter just plucked at my sense of romance (plus it was far enough after Valentines Day that I wasn't resenting the world's couples). So I decided to post it for this girl who had gone to all the effort of posting it. I hope it got there safely.

In tribute to the young lovers, I wore my Liebe pin yesterday, along with my favourite new bracelet. I bought it off etsy, and now I want a necklace to match!

Mixed Tape Track 3 - 'And she probably lives in Tahiti'

It seems I have a little movie theme going here with the Mixed Tape. It might be a coincidence, or it could be my media addiction, either way today's track is taken from Stranger than Fiction. There are moments in that movie that make me amazingly happy in my heart - Its something to do with the combination of Emma Thompon's voice, the peculiarity of the story, and the offbeat romance of Will Ferrel and Maggie Gyllanhal. It's the perfect Sunday afternoon movie, when you want something that warms the cockles of your heart, but without giving you that 'Oh god, I just ate too much chocolate and now I need to yack' feeling. One of my favourite scenes is the one with this song...

Whole Wide World - Wreckless Eric

"When I was a young boy

My mama said to me
There's only one girl in the world for you
And she probably lives in Tahiti

I'd go the whole wide world
I'd go the whole wide world
Just to find her"

Red Carpet Keepers

What is there to talk about today, if you are remotely interested in fashion, but the red carpet? That glorious parade of taffeta, silk, satin and chiffon is enough to make me sell my soul and head off for Hollywood! Now usually when looking at a few of the dresses I find it hard not to get the claws out and rip some of those brocades to ribbons, but as this is supposed to be a positive space lets focus on the gorgeous, glorious, womanly numbers...

Sticking with my latest passion for peach, I couldn't help myself when I saw this frilly phantom of a frock. Anna Kendrick looked like Titania's sister in this wonder of folds and floaty fabric. Its not something I could ever wear, but a girl can dream right? This dress is Romance.

Damn the internet - the woman won an Oscar, and yet I cannot find a fitting tribute to this dress. How I love the diagonal way the lace has been placed, to give curves and the one sweet little cap sleeve. But alas, another one that is not gypsy friendly. My colouring is no good for champagne, and lets face it, something that high necked is no good for one with the boobies, but damn Sandra looked such the Hollywood siren.

Oh god, I am a scarlet harlot, a total whore for red! And this dress is amazing. Amy Adams just blows the idea that red heads can't wear red right out of the water, and its such a flattering style - shows off the decolletage, floats over the tummy, long pleats make you look longer, and the geometric patterns make it modern and interesting. Generally its a keeper, and a style that would work for so many real women. Wondrous.

Maybe I live in a bubble, but I pretty much have no idea who this woman, Sherri Shepherd, is. She is off that programme The View, and apparently a lot of people hate her. Well whatever. I love this dress. I love the midnight blue with the black overlay, and all that drapiness makes for a very flattering style, while the band accentuates her waist.

Kate Winslet has long been one of my style icons. Firstly, the lady celebrates positive body image, and disagrees with having the shit photoshopped out of herself so she looks like something totally unattainable. Secondly, she knows how to do glam. I love how old school Hollywood this dress is, and as I am going through a bit of an art deco fixation, I am really enjoying the references in this dress. Now if only I could get some blonde forties hair going on...

The second midnight blue number, and another example of old school Hollywood appeal. This dress is miraculous for creating curves where I am pretty sure there are none. Seriously though, if even Miss Kristen Stewart, wants some curves, shouldn't us real women be celebrating ours and making the most of them.

Viva la Glam - Now someone take me to the ball so I can get my Cinderella on!

Peachy Keen

I have never been the biggest fond of peach...It reminds me of eighties weddings ( above: me as a flower girl in '86), and the frilly toilet roll covers favoured by grannies. However, lately I see it catching my eye. First, I saw this hopelessly girly, romantic tunic listed on Etsy - its all in the whimsy value I tell you. I then started seeing little bits of it I liked all over the place. (All items can be found when searching for Peach on Etsy). I even found myself coveting peach SHOES the other day - whatever next?!

However, I have not as yet given in to wearing any. I am just not sure if I am 'a peach'. While incredibly pretty I am just not sure I am that much of a girl. Give me your thoughts on this here femme dilemma...

Lady Luck

I always think of luck as that little something extra. Something you didn't see coming, and don't usually have. We are always looking for luck, but we only feel that we have found evidence of it with a sudden financial windfall, an empty parking space, or a returned possesion. I am starting to think perhaps we are looking in the wrong places.

I bought this necklace from Accesorize the other day to call my attention to just how Lady Luck is in evidence everyday (Oh, and because its pretty). I am lucky to have all my family and most of my friends so close. I am lucky to be able to travel and see the world. I am lucky to be loved. I am lucky to have beautiful clothes, and wonderful accessories. I am lucky to have a job (in this bloody economic climate). I am lucky to laugh every day. I am lucky to have seen Kings of Leon thrice (oh, i am a show off).

Now, don't think that this is me attempting to enlighten the world in some terribly arrogant and supercilious way, as I think we are all aware of how lucky we are. Rather this is to serve as a reminder - we just need reminding of it a little more often. So hence the necklace - often I don't see that luck, but I really am going try and see it more, and feel sorry for myself less... because I am lucky, every day.

TuTu Fabulous

From something a little serious to something a lot frivolous! These are the first, sneak-peek pics of my magical birthday tutu! A few years ago I was flipping through channels and landed on the enviable image of Amy lee (of Evanescence) in a fantastic deep red tutu - it was mighty Cinderella goes Shirley Manson, and I fell a little in love. And so with my 26th (oh God) birthday approaching, I decided I wanted one of my very own. Where to turn but to the joys of Etsy and the expertise of Kristin of PrincessDoodleBeans.

Kristin, the designer and maker of many a little (and big) girls dream, was brilliant to work with. She patiently answered my million questions, indulged my many mind changes, and completed this wonderful work of tulle whimsy in record time. And so, now, it is winging its way to me via UPS and soon I should get my box full of flouncy, gauzy goodness!

A people which is able to say everything becomes able to do everything.

"Free speech is the whole thing, the whole ball game. Free speech is life itself."

- Salman Rushdie -

Walking through Waterloo today I stood on an empty sticker sheet. When I turned the sheet over all the missing stickers were speech bubble shaped. I figured that they were probably the evidence of a street art sticker project somewhat like the Ji Lee Bubble Project. But it wasn't. I soon walked past a poster of young Billy Elliot declaring "97 billion on new nuclear weapons? now that's an expenses scandal!" Then a pouty male model on the side of The Tie Stop repeating the same sentiment.

Truth be told, I am really not sure about the validity of this statement, or who is disseminating it, but as I stood there, snapping away with my mobile phone, I realised the immense gift it is that they can say it.

Recently I finished reading Alone in Berlin by Hans Fallada. Written in 1946 this book is a study on the fear prevalent in dictatorial societies. The protagonists writes postcards denouncing the Nazi party and their policies. He drops them in places with lots of pedestrian traffic all over the city, hoping that people will find them, that his words will plant seeds of doubt, and slowly the tide will turn on the culture of fear. But the fear of these words, and the trepidation of discovery means that none of the card finders really get passed the first line, and immediately hand them to the authorities, thus instantly quelling their subversive nature.

So as I sat there taking in these critical words, that fear no one and only hope to educate, I couldn't help but revel in the luxury of their freedom of speech, and thus my freedom of thought.

Mixed Tape track 2 - There is a light that never goes out...

My mixed tape entry is a bit of a throwback this time! It was recently resurrected in 500 Days of Summer. I fell completely back in love with it after watching Zooey Deschanel somewhat butcher it in a lift. Morrissey is in a league of his own when it comes to arrogance but I have never been able to shake my devotion to The Smiths, and so today my nominated number is...

Track 2

The Smiths - There is a Light that Never Goes Out

This song to me is, in so many ways, and adolescent cliche. It's all angsty, and 'you and me against the world' and yet when you hear that dark, humorous declaration of a chorus,

"And if a double-decker bus

Crashes into us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die

And if a ten-ton truck

Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well the pleasure, the privilege, is mine"

you just forgive them for being those whiny, typical post adolescents, because those sweetly sung satirical lines are just the right blend of romance and impertinence. I say long live the obscure declaration of love, and down with meaningless banal platitudes! Morrissey, you can write me a love song any time!

What you pick up in a Vintage store

Yesterday I got stuck in a vintage shop for 45 minutes. Trapped unable to leave...

You see it was a sunny day in London, and by sunny I don't just mean not raining or light grey, but proper, sunny, yellow, glowing, light, emanating from that gorgeous orb in the sky. I have been putting off a trip down to my favourite vintage shop for a while now, because it's been wet and windy, but yesterday by some miracle the clouds cleared and I made it. And thank god because I needed to go and find a little something for my favourite vegan, as some of my people are leaving for SA tomorrow and I want to send a little care package.

The shop is called Radio Days (Slogan - tune into nostalgia at Radio Days :), its been open for 17 years and sells a variety of artefacts from the 1920s - 1970s. You arrive into a room decorated in various degrees of our recent consumer past. Old telephones in a menagerie of colours are shuffled onto shelves, ancient vanity cases, their insides pale with spilt powder, overflow with scarves from the past. Polystyrene heads haughtily hold up hats, glasses line shelves gleaming through their faint veil of dust. There are boxes of long forgotten postcards, addressed to long forgotten friends, from destinations that were once in vogue.

Being of a magpie-ish nature I am never quite sure where to look first in this veritable treasure trove, but todays it's quite simple. For I have interrupted one of life's perfectly orchestrated 'meet-cutes'. Behind the counter is a pretty, unusual girl with marmalade hair, in captivated conversation with the tall wearer of a mac. I feel the awkwardness of having stumbled upon a moment of inadvertant intimacy, and, realising that this intrusion was most uninvited, I retreat to the back room to intoxicate myself with mothballs and the fashions of former eras. The shop, however, is small, and their conversation irresistable. I can see him now - a straight Rupert Everett. She is open and friendly with a vague Dutch accent, he endearingly self depricating in that English way. He was an archeology student, and is now a struggling actor. She works here but really she's a set designer. He has a beautiful voice; she lives with a voice coach. He lives in Brixton...and she lives in Brixton. She lives in the pink house, he lives four houses away. She can't believe he hasn't seen her riding her bike with the big basket on the front. He rides a bike - it's outside. And so on and so forth.

I continue to lurk in the shadows, slowly flipping through decades of shirts, shifts, shoes and shoulder pads. She giggles, he laughs. He is buying glasses; she swaddles them in so much bubble wrap they can barely fit in the bag. He says he would hate them to be broken by the time he gets home; she wraps them in yet another layer. He says if they survive the bike ride perhaps she would have a drink with him. She laughs again. She says that they get these kinds of glasses often, maybe he would like her to keep some aside for him. He gives her his card.

I sigh. I am late back from lunch, I need a wee, and I found my treasure twenty minutes ago, but now I can safely escape the time warped back room. He leaves, looking over his shoulder. I come to the counter. She is shaking her head in disbelief, "Amazing...we have so much in common, we live so close, and yet we meet here...Amazing..." I say, "Some things are meant to be". She laughs once more, and looks down at her shoes; her face flaming like her hair - so self-conscious to be caught hoping.