Phat Beats and Shiny Paper

Who Are We Who We Are

2011-06-01T08:08:00.003+12:00

These three songs featured in my dreamscape last night. I love when this happens. (Once I watched an entire episode of Grand Designs in my sleep. Kevin McCloud all to myself? Now that is a good dream.)

Given To Fly - Pearl Jam

2011-05-27T23:35:00.002+12:00

Your Friday night Pearl Jam. Fly free, wild things.

Wellywood Or Wellywon't?

2011-05-24T15:07:00.008+12:00

You may or may not know that New Zealand's film industry, centred in Wellington (birthplace of Sir Peter Jackson's empire, the LOTR trilogy, Weta Workshop and a host of other amazing filmic features), is affectionately referred to amongst locals as 'Wellywood'.

And if you live in our little part of the world, you'll be aware that one of the big news items of the week is the public debate raging over a Hollywood style sign, planned for one of the hills in Miramar, the suburban home of Weta Workshop, Stone Street Studios and Park Road Post - in other words, the hub of the industry.

It's an initiative of Wellington Airport, who owns the land, and they've decided to erect a sign declaring 'WELLYWOOD', in the misguided hope that such a sign will magically boost tourism in the region and as Steve Fitzgerald, Wellington Airport CEO enigmatically stated, to get Wellington "onto [the international community's] bucket list."

Yes, he said bucket list. He used a phrase made famous by a B-grade American film, to justify an American style sign on our beautiful Kiwi soil. WTF? And also, I'm confused as to how exactly a painted wooden sign makes Wellington a more attractive destination for overseas travellers. His creative team appear to be seriously misinformed and/or totally out of touch.

While many Wellingtonians are pissed at the pointless idea of superimposing an American cultural icon onto our own quirky culture, the thing that bothers me is the fact that by making an unofficial title, offical, you effectively suck all the fun out of it, turning it into a tacky parody of itself. As Thatcher said, "Being powerful is like being a lady. If you have to tell people you are, you aren't." This is a creative nation and I think we can do better. Or how about forgetting the sign altogether and sending the money down to Christchurch, where they really need it?

Needless to say, I hope the council shoots it down. The plus side, however, was discovering the Wellywood Sign Generator while I was on lunch. So I took advantage and added my own contribution at the top. All other pics courtesy of the Wellywood Sign Generator Gallery, the cheeky New Zealand public, and clever site creators, Skull & Bones.

Wayne's World - Foxy Lady

2011-05-18T10:46:00.000+12:00

A regular day at the office: "Eri, can you turn Hendrix down a bit? I can't concentrate...because of his AWESOME GUITAR SKILLS."

A Few Of My Favourite Things - Rope

2011-05-16T10:23:00.002+12:00

If you're a regular reader, there are two things you may have noticed: #1. When I'm running low on excess energy, you get VIDEO POSTS. #2. I'm a little bit addicted to The Foo Fighters. And today's post is completely gratuitous.

Best Of You - Foo Fighters

2011-05-14T05:45:00.009+12:00

Strange dreams? Awake far too early for a Saturday, with the Foo and Joni Mitchell in my head. (An unusual pairing. But not bad.)

Rain At Night

2011-05-11T23:46:00.002+12:00

Since the renovations (double glazing and insulation - no more waking to the sight of our own breath in an iced room) I no longer hear the rain falling at night. Even the familiar sound of wind sweeping through trees is muffled. Cuddled up cosy inside but...I miss the elemental symphony. {With thanks to GhostBore for the night trees in rain.}

須藤元気のフル / World Order - Machine Civilization

2011-05-10T17:05:00.003+12:00

Japan's answer to OK Go. Brilliant.

LMFAO

2011-05-08T19:11:00.003+12:00

So in the last 24 hours I've tried to solve the world's problems about three times over, am still nonplussed, and have now hit the champagne course. Later, this will be moving my feet across the midnight dance floor. There's not nearly enough dancing in the street. Get to it, peeps.

Show Me How You Burlesque

2011-05-03T09:04:00.012+12:00

Christina Aguilera - Show Me How You Burlesque from Christina Aguilera Fanatic on Vimeo.

This morning, two clips from Christina Aguilera's Burlesque. The first because this high energy little piece popped into my head as I entered the office, kicking the early morning cobwebs away. Have I seen the film? YES (she answered with guilty glee). Verdict? Eye-roll-inducing writing, a pretty boy with guyliner, stupendous sparkles, LOTS of dancing and Stanley Tucci. All in all, not bad for a fairyfloss film. If you like burlesque (which I do).

The second, because this scene caused my fellow cinemagoers to gasp collectively at the horridious result of Cher's make-up lesson. SLAPTASTIC.

Punch Brothers - Song For A Young Queen

2011-04-25T08:39:00.002+12:00

Yeah I'm pretty much in love with these guys. Happy thanks to Eilidh and Mark (also clever musicians) for the introduction.

Eternity

2011-04-23T00:41:00.002+12:00

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Live's in eternity's sun rise.

- William Blake

The Mountain

2011-04-22T00:22:00.002+12:00

Beautiful time lapse from Terje Sorgjerd (via Hannah via Joe). There's a full explanation of what you're seeing on his Vimeo page. Go check it out.

In Two

2011-04-21T16:38:00.006+12:00

It is highly ironic that just when 2011 has hit the point of equilibrium I've been looking forward to - finally staying put in one place for six months - I am feeling very much like travelling.

First it was the UK (craving London like you wouldn't believe). Then Iceland. Lapland. Western Canada. And today, Eastern Europe. I can feel the Northern Spring in my bones and the cold earth calls.

Spring and Autumn, Summer and Winter, sunrise and sunset, all at once within. A living paradox. I wonder if it will always be like this, connected in two hemispheres with parts of my heart in both? Possibly this is the life of many migrants. {With thanks to Gwen, Wallcoo & the Brecon Beacons Park Society.}

Queen Zaha Mary of Sudan

2011-04-20T11:49:00.004+12:00

Since we're on the subject of international aid, say hello to Zaha Mary. I caught her story last year and just the other day she came to mind again. I'm introducing her to honour the heart of a little girl who has seen - and experienced - more than any child should ever have to. Ten year old girls should not have the broken frame and wearied gaze of someone who has already seen decades of brutalised living. To learn more and see what you can offer to help, visit Women For Women International. They do excellent work in some of the countries hardest hit by war and poverty.

Support The Poppy Project

2011-04-19T23:31:00.000+12:00

Can somebody please explain exactly what benefit there is in cutting government funding from the Poppy Project? Even a good reason? Because I can't see any. These guys do some of the best work around in terms of specialist care and rehabilitation for trafficked women in the UK. I have no idea who reads this small patch of space, but if you've got money, please send some their way. Every bit helps. And while you're at it, why not drop by the Helen Bamber Foundation and leave a donation there too. Takk.

Morning Face

2011-04-17T08:44:00.009+12:00

Stumbling out of bed far too early after a six day work week that blurred into one endless day, I enjoyed the comedy of my Morning Face in the mirror. Last year when I wrote about The Beauty of Bed Hair, I neglected to mention that Morning Face is also a source of simple happiness.

Unfortunately I'm a bit of a morning person, so mine doesn't last too long. The Best Morning Face Of All Time, belonged to my friend Luana when we were at Uni together. She was not a morning person. She'd hobble haltingly out of her bedroom wearing an expression of stunned wakefulness, confused at the morning and angry at its inhabitants. And when the cheerleaders of the morning grinned enthusiastic hellos, she'd just stare at you with a sort of vacant malevolence. Never failed to make my day.

My other favourite morning face belongs to my little dog friend, Poppy. When you wander into the loungeroom to let her out in the morning, invariably she will jump straight off the couch she is not allowed to sleep on, then drunkenly patter towards you with sleepy eyes, crazy hair, a squashed up face and ears all over the place, pretending she's been awake for ages and really hasn't been sleeping on the couch. Cracks me up.

All these wonderful morning faces - and many more - are proudly brought to you by the quirky little site, Good Morning Face. Go check it out for some grins.

Dreams

2011-04-13T01:41:00.001+12:00

Here we are all by day; by night we're hurl'd

By dreams, each one into a several world.

- Robert Herrick. 'Dreamer Of Dreams' by Edmund Dulac.

My Fair Colbert - An American In London

2011-04-12T08:00:00.003+12:00

Stephen Colbert gets the lowdown on traditional english etiquette from royal biographer, Hugo Vickers. My friend Steve calls this low-brow. I call it funny.

Groove Is In The Heart - Deee Lite

2011-04-09T13:34:00.007+12:00

Downloading music over lunch, I rediscovered this 90's dance track from Deee Lite - as a ten year old, I FREAKIN' LOVED this song. Lady Miss Kier and her harlequinesque bodysuit easily blitzed Barbie and She-Ra off the list of childhood role models (though failing to topple Cheetara as reigning champion). Gave me the grins again today. Enjoy.

Hope

2011-04-08T11:22:00.002+12:00

"Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without words,

And never stops at all"

- Emily Dickinson

In The Unfortunate Event Of My Untimely Passing

2011-04-04T07:06:00.016+12:00

With all these natural disasters kicking up around the Ring Of Fire lately, mortality has been much on my mind. Pondering questions like, 'What would you want to do or say or make right or regret if death came tomorrow?' It's healthy to have a realistic acceptance of our precarious position on earth. Life can alter forever in a second. Watching a tsunami obliterate thousands of people so suddenly - and the futility of trying to outrun it - is sobering viewing.

Just before we moved to New Zealand's volcanic plateau, I'd read Michael Palin's Full Circle and become a little bit fascinated with my new home's geological volatility. The possibility of a random earthquake or volcanic eruption is real (though to be honest, minor earthquakes are so commonplace here, we all get a bit blasé about it. Hence the unexpected shock of a big one in Christchurch.) so when we settled here, I had to ask how comfortable I'd be with dying. Or how I'd cope with those close to me doing so.

Death itself does not terrify me (a slow and painful exit I may be a little more reticent about). Life is more of a gift than something I cling to for fear of losing it. Same with relationships. They're best held with open hands. But are there things I need to do before I go? Things that it would bother me now, on this side of the veil, not to have done before I left?

An anonymous postcard revealed the same thought process over on PostSecret last week, with the sender saying all the amazing things she thought about her best friend, but had never verbalised. The results were so positive that she decided to do the same with all her primary relationships. Let's face it - life in the developed world tends to be so fast paced that we all take things for granted. Friends, freedom, love, relationships...even everyday things like public transport, electricity, supermarkets and a warm bed.

So what would it be like to say all the things left unsaid, before it was too late? To say your famous last words before they really are your last words? (My mother's father uttered 'Awww shit' just before he keeled over and died. Is it terrible that I kinda love that?) All my sorrys are said and done. And most of the people I love and enjoy, know I love and enjoy them. As for faraway loves like my little niece and nephew - those words of wisdom will be better served by letter writing than blogging. Notes to be sent in the unfortunate event of my untimely passing.

For the rest of those whose hearts I dwell in (and who dwell in mine), I would leave behind the knowledge of just how beautiful and amazing you are. I mean it. Take it in. Each of you is not only capable of greatness, you already are. And it is also deeply important that someone/anyone/everyone besides Will knows I want 'Don't Stop Me Now' played at my funeral. None of this maudlin crap. And no sentimental rubbish. I want a goodbye PARTY with champagne, dancing and cake. Preferably ending with a starlit bonfire, liquers and pipe smoke.

If I'm buried, it won't be in a graveyard. Lay me in a hill looking out to sea, surrounded by snowdrops. And if I'm turned to ash, throw me to the coastal winds of Ardnamurchan. Somewhere wild and free. As for New Zealand, land of my heart, my freedom - to you I would say thank you for welcoming me home with open arms. This green earth is where I rest my head and I love it with my lifeblood. Me tōku aroha tino nui, tēnā rāwā atu koe.

So how about you? If you had time to plan your final words, what would you say and who would you say it to? What would you give away? And how would saying it all now, change your life?

Antarctica By Way Of The Atlantic

2011-03-25T11:48:00.003+13:00

Aurora Australis over the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station. (Patrick Cullis)

Snowy peaks along the Antarctic Peninsula. (Kelly Jacques)

Gale winds blow across the ocean at Elephant Island. (RayAndBee/CC BY)

Crates of whisky and brandy recovered by a restoration team working at Ernest Shackleton's hut. (Antarctic Heritage Trust)

The Southern Celestial Axis turns over the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station. (Patrick Cullis)

Dawn breaking over the Ice Cube Laboratory after six months of darkness. (Mel MacMahon) These are just a few of the beautiful pics showcased recently over at The Atlantic. Follow the link for the full gallery (truly worth a geez).

Elizabeth Taylor 1932 - 2011

2011-03-24T20:53:00.007+13:00

She Of The Violet Eyes has departed. I have to admit, I was a bit of a fan. The iconic beauty, the tempestuous relationships, the glamour, the heartbreak, the jewels - one of the last of the old-school Hollywood generation. Not to mention the fact that she had a huge heart and was a tireless campaigner for raising AIDS awareness and support. Here she is in her own words...

"I don't pretend to be an ordinary housewife."

"I feel very adventurous. There are so many doors to be opened and I'm not afraid to look behind them."

"The problem with people who have no vices is that generally you can be pretty sure they're going to have some pretty annoying virtues."

"Richard [Burton] is a very sexy man. He's got that sort of jungle essence
that one can sense."

"I've only slept with men I've been married to.

How many women can make that claim?"

"I adore wearing gems, but not because they are mine. You can't possess radiance, you can only admire it."

"It is strange that the years teach us patience; that the shorter our time,

the greater our capacity for waiting."

Foo + Glee = Never Gonna Happen

2011-03-21T20:16:00.028+13:00

This article about Dave Grohl's thoughts on Glee and its creator, Ryan Murphy, cracked me up. Mostly because I'm not such a fan of Glee myself. (Or musicals, as it happens. With few exceptions.) The playground intrigues of the entertainment industry. GRINS. {Photograph from The Glee Medicine Show.}

Without You - Silverchair

2011-03-13T04:06:00.010+13:00

Sleep is not my friend tonight. And Silverchair is playing the interior world.

Swimming In The Rain

2011-03-05T18:06:00.002+13:00

Oh my, but the weather is beautiful today. Some friends lent us their bach by the lake and all day I've been watching veils of rain fall soft upon the water. Late in the afternoon, the kids came out to play. Swimming in the rain must be one of life's greatest pleasures.

Paris And The Missing Birthday Cake

2011-02-24T09:42:00.012+13:00

Considering the crazy shit that's going down in my beloved NZ at the moment, a bit of light relief in the form of Paris Hilton's stolen birthday cake made my day. Some random dude snuck into the kitchen at her birthday bash and managed to nick off with all three thousand dollars worth of baked goods, sometime between the blowing out of candles and the cutting up of cake. Then he gave it away to LA's homeless. LOVE.

Which reminds me, if you haven't seen it this 2007 interview between Paris and David Letterman, you need to. It's like watching a hyena taunt a gerbil until its head explodes. Excrutiating. But you CAN'T LOOK AWAY.

Times Like These - Foo Fighters

2011-02-18T09:20:00.003+13:00

So I'm sitting happily in the office by myself, blasting some early morning Foo. Suddenly there's a knock at the door and two workmen peer hesitantly in.

Workman #1: "Who are you talking to?"

Me: "I'm SINGING, man!" (Yes, I talk in Vintage Surfer.)

Workman #1: "Ohhhhhh. I saw you through the window and thought, 'Freak, she's talkin' to herself. Dunno if I wanna knock on that door now.'"

I start laughing and Workman #2 grins from ear to ear. I show them where they can find the person they're looking for, and as they leave Workman #1 calls over his shoulder, "I'll let you get back to talking to yourself eh?" Love it.

Cold Mornings

2011-02-17T07:01:00.001+13:00

The day is dawning bright and clear in the world outside my window. High cloud streaked with gold, sky like a deep-lit frozen ocean. Old trees nodding their heads in a fresh wind, fluttering amber-washed lashes. The exciting promise of a new day. I love mornings like this. {With thanks to Michiel Rutteman & KitKatGo for their early morning pics of NZ & UK}

Dear Daily Show (THANK YOU)

2011-02-15T14:29:00.008+13:00

I will fall to the ground and kiss the feet of whoever fixed The Daily Show's international online streaming. Will found this clip for me and watched my grins - "Your two favourite men in one room", he says, "You'd marry these guys eh?". "At the saaaaame time," I reply with a lascivious drawl. Then break into laughter as a pillow comes flying my way.

A Valentines Selection (Things I Have Loved)

2011-02-14T07:45:00.000+13:00

Pretty words from Andre Jordan.

You Are Here poster from Street Anatomy

Secrets from PostSecret. Happy Love my beauties. x

BRING BACK THE DAILY SHOW

2011-02-13T22:05:00.008+13:00

Sunday evening, exhausted. A little Jon Stewart and The Daily Show to ease the mind, perhaps? WRONG. Comedy Central have curtailed all overseas enjoyment of The Daily Show (and The Colbert Report) by refusing to allow the videos to stream online outside the US. ~~Comedy Central~~ ~~Obama~~ AMERICA - WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? These are your two smartest shows. Do your country a favour and reinstate the rest of the world's ability to view them online. If you're a Facebooker, join The Rally To Restore The Daily Show Stream Outside The US, here. If you're a Googler, put your face on the map, here. If you Twitter, GET TWEETING. I am sad. And cranky.

Race Relations

2011-02-12T23:18:00.008+13:00

Lounging about with some friends last weekend, I asked, "If you could be any nationality - any race - you liked, which would you be?"

Trevor, from England, immediately jumped in with 'Italian!'. He and his wife lived there for many years as a young couple. And it's true - one of the things I enjoy most about him is the fact that he appears to have an Italian soul trapped in an Englishman's body. He's highly animated, romantic, a natural comedian, a creative gourmet, and he isn't afraid to show his emotions.

My Northern Irish friend Steve, chose to be French. He leans more towards the cerebral and enjoys the finer things of life. Like rum, cigars and bonfires. Which, incidentally, are a great combo. (After a night out with the lads, Will came home smelling like childhood Hogmanay. Happiness.)

Becky said she would like to be from mainland China a few generations ago, qualifying her choice with a gender - male. Because then she could be the wise figure of the village and know everything, without having her feet bound. Her version of heaven-on-earth would include tai-chi, leaf tea, Asian food, an eastern understanding of the body/soul/spirit and a simple way of life.

She asked, "What about you?" I grinned. Then listed Spanish, Russian, Maori, African and Inuit. Spanish for the firey passion and warm skin. Russian for the strength and spirituality. Maori for the warrior heart and song. African for the rhythm and dance. Inuit for the bone structure and mythology. If my genealogy included every nation on earth, I wouldn't mind a bit.

So how about you? If you could be any race on earth - or a beautiful mix of more than one - which would it be? And why? {With thanks to Oliviero Toscani and Benetton.}

A Change Is As Good As A Holiday?

2011-02-06T10:53:00.006+13:00

Behold the Beats with a fresh lick of paint. Bear with me while I work out the kinks. (Which may take some time due to my current workload.)

Drink Coffee

2011-02-04T23:02:00.005+13:00

Do I have a massive design job on at the moment? Yup. Does this mean I've been working crazy hours? Yup. Building things like a double helix made of shiny paper? Sure thing. I realise this is way more interesting than data entry, but at the end of a long day (week/month) I had to go jump in a cold pool just to feel ALIVE. Weariness from sitting in front of a screen, is a sad turn of events.

Fix You - Contemporary Dance

2011-02-02T22:51:00.006+13:00

For all the dancers out there, WATCH THIS. My new favourite thing. And STUNNING. {Choreography by Travis Wall, danced by Robert Roldon and Allison Holker.}

Norwegian Wood

2011-01-27T15:05:00.008+13:00

I am a shameless Beatles fan and know FAR too many lyrics. If I had to pick a favourite album it would probably come down to a wicked cage fight between Rubber Soul, St Peppers, Magical Mystery Tour and Abbey Road. Anyhoo, while researching bark textures, Norwegian Wood hit the playlist. How apt. So I'm sharing the love.

In Praise of Inclement Weather

2011-01-23T11:18:00.009+13:00

This song has been bouncing around in my head all morning - the weather here is truly TERRIBLE this weekend. Wonderfully so. Which means I've slept beautifully and am happily cosied up against the elements. Frank, you can come make me popcorn anytime.

Midget Gems

2011-01-20T09:37:00.002+13:00

Sorting through old design notes, I stumbled upon a randomly scribbled conversation that took place between Will and I...maybe two years ago? Time has dulled the context - though it appears Will was either trying to buoy my confidence or break its legs - but it still made me laugh out loud.

Will: 'Men do find you attractive you know, Eri.'

Eri: 'What? I'm like a midget with a weird face!'

Will: 'People love midgets.'

AWESOME. Also, take a stroll on over to Little People, where you'll find other clever little street art installations like the kite-flying one above.

Of Wigs And Wild Coincidence

2011-01-19T21:33:00.007+13:00

Part of the reason I'm back with the Beats & Paper, is due to a conversation I had with a new friend on the weekend. I was at a 30th Birthday Bash for magnificent Maya, sitting amongst a gaggle of girls wearing wigs (I may provide evidence of this at a later date), when an attractively bewigged young woman - let's call her ELLA - says to me, "You haven't updated your blog for AGES."

My eyebrows, which until that stage had been pleasantly engaged in coquettish conversation, suddenly shot up a couple of storeys while my mouth fell into an incredulous gasp. We've inhabited the same air space most of the evening but who is this woman? How does she know ME? Do I know HER? And how the hell did she find my blog??

"Oh yes", Ella continues, "I know all about the leek in your bed." WHAT??!!!! For a minute I forget that I have indeed posted about a bedroom vegetable visitation (guys, read the post - that sounds WAY weirder than it was) and wonder if I have serious plumbing issues.

We then proceed to have a rapid fire, pop culture conversation on everything from blogging to Twitter to how Katy Perry's California Gurls video BLOWS. I dropped the ball on American Idol because for some reason my current reality show knowledge is confined solely to British X-Factor (which is hilariously, mind-numbingly awful btw).

Anyhoo, turns out Ella and I have a mutual friend (The Auburn Fox) so she's been quietly following my ramblings for some time. I thought I'd return the favour and introduce all of you to her. She has a beautiful white room over at Vanette, full of freshly laundered fashion pics (so clean and crisp), inspirations and intriguing artifacts. I like it as I like her, which is very much. Go check it out.

{With many thanks to the dearly departed Nagi Noda for her fabulous hair hats. They make my $8 retro-french-space-nymph wig look...well, about $8.}

Kiss Me Quick

2011-01-18T10:46:00.019+13:00

Oh bloody hell. I CAN'T BREAK UP WITH YOU. Take me back, Beats! UrbanAviatrix is working wonders for me - particularly in terms of creativity (frankly, RaspberryApples was always a little bit half arsed) - and I love it, but I MISS YOU.

This little blog and I have been through a lot together and I don't think I can let it go quite that easily. I've got history here. And three years worth of Random Stuff I Like. It's like a colourful filing cabinet for my brain. Plus, is UrbanAviatrix really the right place to be revealing that guitar feedback turns me on? NO.

UrbanAviatrix was meant to be a salty mix of Beats, Apples, and all the other things I didn't have space for online. But by the look of it, it's leaning more towards the Creative and less towards the Opinionated or the Random. And since leaving, I've discovered that I CAN'T have all three on one site (not unless I add tabbed browsing, which is entirely too much commitment). There's no continuity.

Which means that though RaspberryApples has been superceded, there's still a place for Beats & Paper. (I think.) BAH. Curse my impulsive bridge-burning! But if I stay, there need to be some changes. The Beats need to evolve. So now I'm electing to renovate rather than obliterate. Knock out some walls and repaint the place, that sorta thing.

So friends, if you're still with me, I'll still be here. And with a little bit of luck I'll have the reno's done in a few weeks. Depending on spare time. SIGH. p.s. I am an idiot. (But a happy one. *crazy dancing*)

Come Fly With Me

2010-12-31T17:51:00.010+13:00

After three years of Beats & Paper, I'm bidding a fond farewell to my spunky little site and its more sensitive sister, RaspberryApples. 2010 closed with a marathon world tour and as I returned home, it became apparent that RaspberryApples had run its course and PhatBeats had become too small.

But the journey ain't over yet! I'll be writing, dancing, filming, photographing, and generally faffing about, over at URBANAVIATRIX - and I'm a little bit in love with the larger creative space (it's still a work in progess). Come check it out. Nuthin but love.

Excerpt From 'A Child's Christmas In Wales'

2010-12-25T04:08:00.005+13:00

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.

All the Christmases roll down toward the two-tongued sea, like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street; and they stop at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves, and I plunge my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find...

Years and years ago, when I was a boy, when there were wolves in Wales, and birds the color of red-flannel petticoats whisked past the harp-shaped hills, when we sang and wallowed all night and day in caves that smelt like Sunday afternoons in damp front farmhouse parlors, and we chased, with the jawbones of deacons, the English and the bears, before the motor car, before the wheel, before the duchess-faced horse, when we rode the daft and happy hills bareback, it snowed and it snowed. But here a small boy says: "It snowed last year, too. I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea."

"But that was not the same snow," I say. "Our snow was not only shaken from white wash buckets down the sky, it came shawling out of the ground and swam and drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees; snow grew overnight on the roofs of the houses like a pure and grandfather moss, minutely -ivied the walls and settled on the postman, opening the gate, like a dumb, numb thunder-storm of white, torn Christmas cards."

...Looking through my bedroom window, out into the moonlight and the unending smoke-colored snow, I could see the lights in the windows of all the other houses on our hill and hear the music rising from them up the long, steady falling night. I turned the gas down, I got into bed. I said some words to the close and holy darkness, and then I slept.

- Dylan Thomas. Photography by Rob Wells.

Merry Grinchmas

2010-12-24T22:48:00.007+13:00

Merry Grinchmas my darklings. I don't do sentimentality, crowds of shoppers make me crazy, eggnog ain't my bag and carols sung by pop stars make me want to punch things. I do however, like the trees, snow and mistletoe. So. Kisses all round. (And for some real Christmas cheer, head on over to Charlotte's blog. She does a beautiful job.)

Weather With You

2010-12-16T23:26:00.010+13:00

This song has been with me since I was 11 years old, singing it to myself as we travelled through Glencoe. Tonight it provides the soundtrack to my homeward journey. Wherever we've travelled these past two months, the good weather has followed - even amidst the snow in Scotland (brilliant blue skies on the West Coast, baby). I longed for quiet rain when we reached New Zealand shores and now here it is, soft as cobwebs. Beautiful earth. x

Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale

2010-12-02T01:24:00.002+13:00

For those of you who are, like me, a Little Bit Humbug, Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale should bring the yuletide cheer. A horror/comedy from the Finnish creatives who brought you Rare Exports Inc. and Rare Exports: The Official Safety Instructions (both featured above), it expands on their reimagined vision of Santa as a feral creature dwelling in the wilds of Lapland. Whether or not the premise has enough steam for a full length feature remains to be seen, but it's a welcome alternative to the usual schmaltz. Watch the trailer here.

Tron: Legacy / Daft Punk

2010-11-30T06:22:00.007+13:00

Am I gonna go see this just because Daft Punk wrote the film score? You bet. Is it gonna have kick ass visuals? YEAH. Am I confident the film will be any good? Mm, notsomuch.

Cee-Lo Green - It's Ok

2010-11-25T13:34:00.009+13:00

Catching up on all the music I've missed during our travels, I stumbled upon these punchy little Lyric Videos from Cee-Lo Green. Upbeat vibes, dancing typography...they brought the smiles this morning.

Peter Parkour / Spiderman

2010-11-23T21:12:00.008+13:00

Dear David Belle, Hello. Yes please. And AWESOME.

Curiosity Killed The Cat

2010-11-22T01:40:00.012+13:00

Curiosity, I don't mind telling you, is one of my best - and worst - traits. In the best sense, it has been responsible for the exploration of new ideas, rising to challenges, discovering abilities, making new friends, pushing creative boundaries, venturing outside the realm of the known, and constant learning. All positive life experiences.

And at worst, it has led to impulsive decision making such as, 'What would happen if I press this button?' (Click. KABOOOOM!!!) Or 'Lets just see where this leads...' (Unforseen implosion of relationships / Unexpected detriment to my own health and safety.) Much like Alice, the rabbit hole holds an intense fascination for me.

I've often wondered whether our early memories have something to say about our personality development. And one of mine involves the collision of curiosity and watching mum brew coffee in our retro copper percolater. As a child, it was an object of wonder to me because #1 It appeared especially large and unwieldy to a small person, rising like a shadowy behemoth from the kitchen bench #2 It was battered and SHINY and #3 It made monstrous noises as it brewed.

This particular morning I was watching the percolater steam and growl, when curious, I asked what would happen if I touched it (I hadn't come across super heated surfaces before). Mum replied that it was very hot and would burn my hand. So what did I do as soon as she left the room? Snuck up to it and put my hand against the boiling metal. I didn't even tell her about the burn because I knew it was my own fault.

I've thought about that memory over the years because the need to discover life on my own terms, to explore, to prove things for myself and see how they work, is still a defining characteristic of my personality. It's not the quickest - or easiest - mode of learning, but the journey is never dull and whatever you do learn, you learn well.

Despite the occasional explosive consequence, my curiosity for life remains unabated. As Joseph Chilton Pearce said, "To live a truly creative life, we must first lose our fear of being wrong." And our fear of failing. Decisions based upon fear are rarely beneficial. Fear tends to stifle curiosity and creative risk taking, causing our worlds to become smaller and shrinking ourselves in the process.

If there's anything a lifetime of trial and error has shown me, the trick is learning to risk your own heart, without risking the hearts of others. Being irresponsible with your own life is one thing, but when it involves other people, be wise my friends. And in all other matters, walk wild.

{With many thanks to Mark Thorburn over at Curiosity Killz for his ingenious illustrations of cats living dangerously, and Sentense.Me for their typographic rendering of Einstein.}

The Bold And The Beautiful

2010-11-21T23:39:00.008+13:00

My grandmother - who appears to inhabit an alternate reality where Danielle Steele TV movies constitute quality entertainment - LOVES this show. In fact, she is wont to converse on the various bitchy shenanigans of the characters as if they're real people. This series breakdown in six minutes is all you need to know. Watch out for Omar, King Of Morocco - he has superhero powers.

Beer O'Clock

2010-11-19T18:30:00.005+13:00

It's been another big week. A combination of tiredness, and frustration with the more absurd attributes of British bureaucracy, nearly resulted in a fully fledged tantrum outside Shaftesbury Post Office this afternoon.

Instead I consoled myself with a pint of Badger's ale (am rapidly approaching the conclusion that the only thing I will miss when we leave, is the beer) and a tearful rage against Tony Blair. I met a Kiwi, who spoke the language of home, and for no reason at all, felt the welcome sensation of resting in the sunlight, sprawled out upon a pebbly shore.

Warm stones against a wet body, massaging every muscle, kissing skin. The restful rhythm of lapping water. Salty eyelashes, damp hair, wide smile. The land and I, at peace in each other's company. Right then and there, everything was suddenly better. I don't know how it happened but I have a feeling that picture will sustain me for the rest of the trip. (That and the beer, obviously.)

There's A Soldier In All Of Us

2010-11-16T22:30:00.009+13:00

Being married to a gamer, I've played my fair share of Splinter Cell (and it's safe to say that my strategy of choosing the biggest weapon and going ape-shit, doesn't win me points for stealth). This beautifully executed commercial for Call Of Duty Black Ops totally gave me the grins.

You Look Like Shit

2010-11-15T22:56:00.006+13:00

Maybe it's because I'm seriously overtired, but I just caught this homage to One Of The Most Overused Lines In Cinema on The Huffington Post, and nearly fell off the bed laughing. Splicing this together took some serious dedication to time wasting. Respect.

My Hero - Foo Fighters

2010-11-14T19:24:00.001+13:00

I may be in deepest, darkest Dorset, but I've had the Foo's 'My Hero' playing the internal jukebox all day. Brilliant song. Enjoy.

The Wombles Of Wimbledon Common

2010-11-10T06:16:00.012+13:00

We've been staying a stone's throw from Wimbledon, and on our way home last night I started warbling The Wombles theme tune. When Will wondered what the hell I was on about, I tried to explain them to someone who's never had the pleasure: similar stop-motion to Postman Pat, except with fur, and kinda like hobbits crossed with hedgehogs, who pick up crap and make interesting things out of it. For enlightenment's sake here they are, in all their wombling glory. Now maybe I'll be able to get the theme tune out of my head...

Danespeak

2010-11-07T00:37:00.008+13:00

Bashing around London with the Scandinavians, we get to talking about languages. Penille informs me my Danish sucks, Maiju says I'm freakishly good at Finnish pronunciation, and Veikko shows us this video. Whereupon we all break into laughter - it really is this crazy.

Danish Days

2010-10-23T10:16:00.000+13:00

Dulcet waves appeasing

Heart that yearns for rest

Sighs and sorrows ceasing

Breath of wind releasing

Mind so long oppressed

- taken from Barcarole by Heiberg (1971 - 1860)

Dance Magic Dance

2010-10-22T06:05:00.002+13:00

Constant travel and an intense schedule have left little time - or space - for my everyday go-to endorphin rush: dancing. So tonight, I'm living the dream vicariously through David Bowie's lanky moves as the seductively scary Jareth, in 1986's Labyrinth. {Poli will appreciate the hilarity, Margot will appreciate those skin-tight pants.}

Cardon Copy

2010-10-21T08:00:00.021+13:00

Last week we stayed in one place for almost SEVEN DAYS. Truly a phenomenon on this trip. So I had time to skim the newspapers, and discovered Cardon Copy between the pages. Typography is amongst my favourite artforms. Well-designed typefaces have the power to capture my delight to the same degree that cheap and nasty fonts make me want to throw things. And after designing one or two typefaces of my own (many years ago now), I have a profound respect for those who dedicate their work life to it. It requires infinite patience and a serious attention to detail.

So I hit up the punky little website and came across this mission statement:"CARDON COPY TAKES THE VERNACULAR OF SELF-DISTRIBUTED FLIERS AND TEAR-OFFS WE HAVE ALL SEEN IN OUR NEIGHBORHOODS. IT INVOLVES HIJACKING THESE UNCONSIDERED FLIERS AND REDESIGNING THEM, OVER POWERING THEIR MESSAGE WITH A NEW VISUAL LANGUAGE. I THEN REPLACE THE ORIGINAL WITH THE REDESIGN IN ITS AUTHENTIC ENVIRONMENT."

Riiiiight. So if you pare back the jargon it simply says, "I rip ugly fliers off the street, redesign them and put them back." Fair enough. It's a quirky way to spend your time, and adding unexpected typography to the urban gallery of life is always nice. Thing is, I find other people's random notes just as fascinating as a good piece of design. Because it's THEIRS - their own unconscious expression, a little window into their private world.

On one level, it's touching on the age old question, 'What is Art?' There will always be those who want to set parameters on it, to make a list of qualities that creativity 'has to have' in order to be considered 'meaningful' or 'beautiful'. And there will always be those who piss the purists off by challenging convention and exploring what creativity looks like outside those boundaries. After all, who's to say what 'beauty' is? And who's to say one person's hand drawn flyer is any less 'considered' than the work of someone who has been trained in the art of visual communication?

Of course, I have my own blurry edges - the fact that there are those who call themselves 'designers' when they've never been trained (or had to work their assess off in the competitive environment of design school) will probably continue to irk me, just as it would irk a composer to hear bum notes and accidental discord passed off as his own trade. But when it comes to human expression (which is far less exacting than design), I'm all for the individual taste. Cardon Copy may call these fliers 'bad design' and so see the need for an upgrade, but the truth is, they weren't 'designed' - in the true sense of the word - in the first place. So you can't really call them 'bad'.

And on another level, when you turn off that cold-blooded, 'hot-or-not' aestheticism, each note becomes less a piece of 2-dimensional design and more a work of human drama. I like to imagine the stories: The single mum with two jobs, drawing up flyers on the kitchen table. The energetic professional who talks a mile a minute, in need of a flatmate now. The Eleanor Rigby character, bereft without her feline companion. There is a guileless art to that untutored communication.

My own taste runs towards finding the weatherbeaten appearance of these notes just as attractive (if not more, in some cases) as their carefully executed counterparts. Because they show the full force of LIFE, in all of its chaotic, humble, honesty. So Cardon Copy's work will always be best viewed next to the original - because then we get to see two very different answers to the same question. And the opposing visuals make for a far more interesting creative dialogue than either does on its own.

There And Back To See How Far It Is

2010-09-30T15:41:00.011+13:00

It's that time of year again my speckled hens - the hurdygurdy spins a jig and the magic land at the top of the Faraway Tree has changed, so I'm off on a whirlwind trip of near epic proportions: nine countries in eight weeks. It's a working trip and the itinerary is PACKED like a latin bikini, but hell, it sure beats bleeding from the eyeballs in an office.

Things I'm looking forward to? Unfamiliar supermarkets, Canadian countryside, exploring my Danish roots, Finnish saunas, Irish pubs, marmite on toast and reconnecting with my favourites in the UK. Not to mention all the unexpected adventures and interesting people along the way. The upshot of this is, posts may be few and far between until December. Until then, I raise a glass in your honour, Ether Friends. x

From 'The Wind And The Moon'

2010-09-22T09:05:00.005+12:00

Slowly she grew - till she filled the night,

And shone

On her throne

In the sky alone,

A matchless, wonderful silvery light,

Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.

- George MacDonald, for my pikkusisko Sanna.

Chet Baker

2010-09-21T22:44:00.007+12:00

I freakin' LOVE Chet. Hard living, smooth voice, soulful songs.

Gaga Ooh La La

2010-09-13T20:54:00.008+12:00

My favourite thing today. I've been sharing workspace with some friendly caterers for the past few weeks: Noel and Janet, a retired farming couple who keep boredom at bay with culinary creativity. So I'm marching through the kitchen on my way to Somewhere, when Noel announces, 'HERE SHE IS! IT'S LADY GAGA!' He throws an impudent grin, I break into boisterous laughter (gleeful surprise at being smacked with a pop culture reference by an aging man-of-the-land), while Janet slaps him and giggles, 'NOEL!', pretending to be shocked. Well, if I will wear my meat dress to work, things like this are bound to happen.

The [Optimus] Prime Of Life

2010-09-12T09:32:00.031+12:00

Time for a bit of a lifestyle change...{Image courtesty of Tim Doyle}

GlitterSmash

2010-09-07T21:39:00.021+12:00

Who can argue the beautiful madness of blurred mascara and bedhair? Charge your glasses for Marina and her starlit ode to dark days. Champagne makes everything shimmer (even if only for a night).

The Importance Of Being Emma

2010-09-05T20:26:00.005+12:00

Two of my most recent reasons to be a little bit in love with Emma Thompson: Here she is at the unveiling of her star on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame - excitable hair, sporting a pig and sipping beer. YES. (It doesn't take much to enamour me.) Also, I caught her trashtalking Audrey Hepburn the other week - be still my beating heart.

She came to my attention back in 1995, when I was an impressionable teenager and she was a clever young woman dressed in red, accepting an Academy Award for her work on Sense And Sensibility. Since then, quite by accident I realise, I've seen almost every film she's done and enjoyed them all. (Even that random Junior movie where Arnold Schwarzenegger gets knocked up. Ah, the 90's.)

So why the cheerleading? Because I think she's a bloody good role model for...well, for anyone, really. This is a woman who uses her celebrity powers for good, names her greatest achievement as giving birth and a few years back, adopted a teenage Rwandan refugee. She doesn't appear to take herself too seriously, is kind to her co-stars (even the little ones - the kids talk her up big time on the Nanny McPhee set), has a wicked sense of humour and an earthy lust for life.

To top it off, she has an almost effortless knack for communicating authentic emotion through her chosen medium - girl is seriously talented - and I kinda love the fact she's been with the same bloke for 15 years. (Longevity within a creative partnership is not for the faint hearted.) Plus, a coupla weeks ago she just about charmed the pants off Jon Stewart. See? Who doesn't have a secret crush on her?

Three cheers for the woman who performed one of the most hilarious crying scenes in the history of period drama (my sister and I have a quiet giggle every time). Somebody buy her another beer.

Be Here Now - Ray LaMontagne

2010-09-04T01:51:00.001+12:00

The Darkest Hour Is Just Before Dawn

2010-09-02T23:37:00.000+12:00

Installation piece by Owen Mundy.

Who Are We?

2010-08-24T23:05:00.037+12:00

I generally don't deal with the big issues on this blog. For all the wars and famine, corruption and politics, suffering and hate, I like to think of this as a little place of good things, a refuge of calm. But the sorrows of the world are never far away. And reading the paper this evening, it was the ongoing horror of everyday life in the Congo that spilled my tears.

The thought that little boys who were born into the world like any other - fresh, innocent, ready to love and be loved - could grow up into such depraved, violent men...there are no words. It's not just their actions that are horrifyingly tragic, but the fact that children - who are by nature full of promise, teeming with light and life - could be so damaged by their years on earth, that this kind of violence is normalised, even celebrated as they mature into adults.

When I hear stories like this, it reminds me of Elrond recounting the lineage of Orcs in The Lord Of The Rings. Originally Elves, the fairest and most beautiful of all the Middle-Earth races, they were caught and tortured until they became twisted, toxic versions of themselves, unrecognisable as the creatures they once were. Their original beauty destroyed, they became Orcs - a marauding race, bred for killing.

Suffering, brutality and hate, when they are endemic in the culture - either at home or within the community - can deform our human personalities in a similar way. None of us are born racists or murderers. Each of us have the same capacity for love or hatred. We learn judgement, violence and fear from the environment around us as we grow. Brokenness begets brokenness.

So when atrocities are committed, I see this as our collective responsibility. It's too easy to pin the blame on someone or something else - a different culture, different government, different parents, different gods - when one person's story belongs to ALL of us. When one of us is cut we all bleed; our individual experiences necessarily shape our collective expression of humanity.

Everyday we make choices - about how we live our lives, the values that are important to us, how we treat each other. Everyday we choose to harm or help, with our words and actions. Mothers can choose to abandon their children, fathers can choose to hurt them. And as much as those choices are our own free will - for which we must bear personal responsibility - those choices are also influenced by the society we're creating around us as a human race.

For all of our global chutzpah, our positioning and power plays, we are paradoxically fragile creatures. Capable of great harm and great good. And it tends to come down to choice. But I wonder, when you've been brought up in a culture of hatred, hardship and abuse, how easy is it for that kid to find a different path? Especially if no one has ever shown you a different way of life is possible. That love is possible. How do we become more than our past?

Regardless of our personal history we all kinda know, on some deep level, that damaging another human being is wrong; taking life, destroying beauty (though I suspect the more you choose to do it, the less remorse you feel). But if violence and pain are all you've ever known, if unlove and fear are all you've ever experienced, how do you escape that kind of future?

Some of my friends - beautiful men and women - have endured terrifying childhoods, and they're still standing. Still hoping for good, the possibility of change. Against all odds, they've survived and consistently moved towards wholeness. Today they are some of the most ballsy, amazing, compassionate people I know. Without exception all of them have chosen to leave behind the crippled identity of victimhood, work through their pain, and eventually hit forgiveness. Unravelling an identity from years of trauma is a messy business, and it doesn't magically happen overnight.

But the only other option is to live a shattered, half-life. Either you go on to perpetuate the same pain you yourself have received, or else you become a high functioning shell, with all of those damaged parts of you walled off somewhere within. The problem with that is, it usually involves addictive coping mechanisms to hold it all together. Or dangerously bottled emotions that are liable to explode.

A simple truth, but not an easy one: to evolve generational cycles of hurt, abuse and brokenness in a family line or community into something greater than the sum of its destruction, it takes just one person to stand up and say "ENOUGH. This ends with ME. This is NOT gonna be MY life." With that stance something shifts within that person, and so within the world. A line is drawn in the sand and one weary heart steps over into the wild frontier of hope. Which is always a powerful act of defiance. There, we find the beginnings of a different future.

If we want to see change, then aside from offering aid, one of our responsibilities is to offer hope. And often, all it takes to kindle that flame within a young life is for even one person to believe in them. One person who says, 'you are capable of great things', 'you have a good heart', 'you are beautiful', 'I CARE'. One person who speaks life and shows kindness. One who listens, gives you time, reveals that you are loved and valuable. That you are more than your lack. And that the world holds more possibilities for you than it does disappointments.

Not all of us have these people in our lives. If that is the case, then it takes a certain inner resolve and resourcefulness to bloom in the desert. But one thing is certain - we can be these people. If we choose. And that makes a difference.

{With thanks to Foreign Policy Blog, News Record, The Situationist, Community Book Connection, World Culture Pictorial, Martin Osner, Chris Cherry and the SMH photo galleries.}

Scott Pilgrim vs The World

2010-08-21T01:06:00.013+12:00

I've been excited about this movie for MONTHS. And it didn't disappoint...SHEBANG MAGIC AMAZINGNESS!!! (Although it comes a close second to Kick-Ass.)

Fight choreography packed with dance and martial arts moves, cute dialogue, city snowscapes, stacks of retro gaming references, clever animations, a dazzling soundtrack and snappy editing techniques.

Not to mention adversaries that shatter into clouds of sparkly coins when vanquished (I may have exhaled a wonder-struck "oooh shiiiiiiny" or two). There's even a moral to the tale (um, 'don't be a tool'). Needless to say, I spent the entire film grinning like a chesire cat. Worth a geez.

"Has Anybody Seen My Trousers?"

2010-08-18T21:35:00.009+12:00

Flicking through a Sydney Morning Herald photo gallery of the Paris Plages, this pic was instant mirth. Dude, if you're wearing your everyday office footwear and speedos, you're essentially wandering the streets in your undies. Have you not seen the ad? PUT IT AWAY.

Films-I-Wanna-See Friday

2010-08-13T18:38:00.015+12:00

Work, work and more work. But I took time out to watch some trailers and dream of space for late night movies. First up, Fish Tank. I'm a total sucker for human drama, and gritty realism is like my meat and potatoes. I'll be digesting this one for a coupla days.

Too late for the big screen version of A Single Man. And it was most definitely a big screen experience. Whenever designers/artists direct films, they are BEAUTIFULLY shot (hello Steve McQueen) - there's an intuitive sense of framing, a certain photographic feel and a lyrical flow, slighty more abstract than conventional storytelling. Tom Ford's dreamy colourisation looks good enough to eat.

Finally, Precious. I'm a huge fan of both Mo'Nique and Gabby Sidibe, and they dove deep within themselves to portray these intense, but very real, characters. A willingness to be so emotionally vulnerable, so available on screen is powerful, life changing stuff. Stunning.

Fish Tales

2010-08-08T20:40:00.013+12:00

The week was long, the night was late and the life-force, low. A working weekend loomed but my spirits were buoyed by the sight of these pretty pics. I've always had a thing for fishing villages: the sound of seagulls, the crash of waves and the smell of salt. Farming of any kind is a tough job, no less from the sea. Hats off to the men and women who make a living from it (and can I come over for tea?).

The dude with the beard and the bolshie stance looks suspiciously like my Uncle Griff, who lives down that way. He is gruff, good natured, and makes disarmingly potent dandelion wine.

Rock fishing up on the island, we caught gulping sea creatures with shimmering skins. If only they didn't smell so damn fishy, I would've kept those shining scales to stick on the wall and reflect light.

Tired boats listing to and fro upon the water, sea mists, pebbled shores, barnacles and bells. Sleepy Sunday mornings should be full of these.

Will has a sneaking suspicion that Britain is like Hobbiton - a charmingly flawed notion, but one only reinforced by shots like this. He'll discover the drab parts for himself later this year, but there are indeed outposts of beauty and bonhomie. This would be one of them.

At day's end, the boats are stowed for the night, the fishermen full and hearty, the local brew is flowing and it might not be wrong to expect Bilbo Baggins would be quite at home. Enough to brighten any weary heart. {With thanks to Cadgwith, The Guardian and Matt Cardy.}

The Hills Are Alive

2010-08-02T10:19:00.008+12:00

Existential angst, wondrously rendered by Antony Gormley and his Horizon Field. Photography by David Levene, via The Guardian.

The Mad Men School Of Seduction

2010-08-01T07:34:00.012+12:00

Sleazy chauvinists with a sense of entitlement never fail to amuse me - even more so when they're masquerading as a retro glamour frat-pack. But I'm terrible at television commitment, so have only caught about three episodes of the savagely well heeled Mad Men. A glimpse of Don Draper's icy charm, Joan Holloway's irresistible femininity and this montage of hilariously dodgy pick up lines, make up for it entirely.

Unhappy Hipsters

2010-07-31T06:15:00.013+12:00

Once upon a time earlier this year, I came across Unhappy Hipsters - and its discovery was a cheery find. Overexposure to the sculpted, sleek-lined (and often, ridiculously pretentious) realms of high-end architecture, interiors and design will do this to you...

"It was hard work, artfully arranging each ironic, overpriced accessory. At times, she doubted her dedication to the cause; that's where the artisanal Tequila came into play."

"There are some things that can't be learned from a book."

"There are certain sacrifices one has to make when choosing a designer environ. The ability to comfortably recline, tops the list."

"The angular house had disrupted the space-time continuum. He could feel his features starting to blur."

"With her parents away at Burning Man, little Antoinette was left alone, seething with hollow rage."

"Believe it or not, it was one of their most successful parties."

"The black hole had sucked everything out of the playroom. Save his sister or the colouring books? He made a split second decision..."

"Growing up Minimalist meant she was easily amused."

"It cost him a lot of money to look this predictable."

"Minimalism: Just another word for sensory deprivation."

"Rather than come to blows with his sister over the missing Lego tree, he sat beneath his prayer flags and let the feelings wash over him."

"Not on the grass, sweetie. Never. On. The. Grass. See how much fun Daddy is having?"

{All photos and captions courtesy of Unhappy Hipsters, via Dwell.}

Dreamscapes

2010-07-25T07:29:00.029+12:00

Curiosity piqued by a tantalising teaser trailer, I ran off with some Best Beloveds to see Inception. A rollercoaster mind-trip of epic proportions, my friends. LOVE. Dreams are a subject I never tire of. The creative energy of our subconscious selves is endlessly fascinating.

My cool-headed, cerebral friend Jed says dreams are a kind of mental indigestion; your overloaded mind processing all the things it didn't get round to assimilating during daylight hours. (Whereas I lean more towards Jungian theory.) But he has no answer for why I sometimes dream events before they happen, or places I've never seen, before I go there. Dreams began to interest me about three years ago and every morning since, I've kept a written record of my own.

They are colourful, multifaceted, visions of wonder. Sometimes they do appear to be nothing more than rehashed imagery from the day's events, as Jed says. But more often than not, they're loaded with themes, storylines and intriguing symbolism, just waiting to be unravelled. Unfortunately, like those who play music beautifully by ear but don't like notation, I enjoy the dreams in their own right more than I enjoy figuring them out (also known as laziness).

Sorting through old notebooks last week, I happened upon a folder containing dream interpretation guidelines. As I flicked through, I thought, 'Damn, these really would've come in handy last year'. And because a little bit of self awareness goes a long way, I thought I'd share the main points. Decoding the surreal ramblings of your subconscious mind can be quite illuminating...

Most dreams are symbolic, so view them the same way you would view a political cartoon or an abstract art piece. Approx 90 - 95% of your dreams will be about you; your inner self, your current situation, your relationships. To determine if the dream is personal, impersonal or interpersonal ask what your role was in the dream. Were you active, observing only, or active initially and then observing only (or the other way around)?

Generally (though certainly not always) if you were observing only, it was an Impersonal Dream, for and about others. If you were active and then observing, it was an Interpersonal Dream, affecting you but primarily for and about others. If you were active throughout, then it was a Personal Dream, for and about yourself only. The symbols come from the dreamer's life, so ask yourself, 'What does this symbol mean to me? What could this image / object / person / event represent?'

The dream generally speaks of the concerns your heart is currently facing. Consider the issues you were thinking about the day before you had the dream. Or the things that have been on your mind lately. Within the dream, look for metaphors, similies and metonymies of language. Recurrent dreams or themes often indicate a message of some importance. Isolate the feeling of the dream first. How did you feel upon awakening? Fearful? Confused? Angry? Loved? Excited? What was the overall emotion evoked within the dream? In what aspect of your life are you also feeling this emotion?

Next, look at the action of the dream. For example, if the symbol in your dream is that your car is going backwards, ask, 'in what way do I feel that I am not moving forward in some area of my life?' If you appear naked, where in your life do you feel vulnerable or exposed? If you're falling, in what way do you feel you're losing ground, or out of control at this time?' Or if soaring, where do you feel you are rising above your problems or abilities? Death in dreams can often be a positive symbol of resurrection. Ask what part of you or your life feels like it is being put to rest at this time. And where are you experiencing new life?

Animals often represent emotions. Ask, 'What emotion might this animal be symbolising to me?' This will depend on your geographical home, your personal experiences and your own culture. The people in your dreams often represent characteristics within you. You can determine what facet of yourself they are representing by simply asking, 'what is the dominant personality trait of this person, as I know or experience him/her?' The answer will tell you what aspect of yourself you are dreaming about.

So there you go: Quick-Sticks Dream Interpretation 101, take it or leave it. As I said before, I'm kinda lazy about decoding my night-time visions, but the rediscovery of these notes instantly shed clear light upon a series of vivid dreams that were profoundly misunderstood - and mishandled - last year. Sigh. We live and learn. {Text by Mark Virkler and Steve Bydley.}

Ruth Flowers

2010-07-15T08:35:00.022+12:00

Continuing the theme of AWESOME, here are a few piccys of Ruth Flowers, aka DJ Mamy Rock. Legend has it, she turned up at her grandson's late night dance party, dug the energetic vibe, and decided she wanted a piece of it.

So she took herself off to France, learnt mixing from one of the best, and currently has gigs booked all over Europe. How's that for a wicked Grandma? Now, there are parts of aging that genuinely do suck. Like your body/mind ceasing to work properly (so look after yourselves now, chidlers). But it sure doesn't have to be boring.

Some say that your early years are the best days of your life. I disagree. I like my life far more now than I ever did as a teen or young adult. And it's only gonna keep expanding. There are always new things to learn, new places to go, new people to meet and new things to experience. Like hitting up turntables when you're 70.

In her own words, she recalls young people admiring her after she performed at the Cannes film festival: "They said, 'you're awesome, we want to be like you.' I always say, 'you don't want to be like me. You want to be you'." Good message, Mamy. Keep up the phat beats. {With thanks to Rakhee Radia and Sophie Hardach at Reuters.}

Anna Piaggi

2010-07-14T23:38:00.021+12:00

Meet THE ORIGINAL Lady Gaga, my friends. Deb sent me a link to Oignonsetail the other day, whereupon I discovered the gleeful magnificence of Italian fashion writer and style icon, Anna Piaggi. Also known as "The Ultimate High End Bag Lady".

See that Olivetti typewriter? The typographic scrawl on the wall? The glass of Moët while she works? This could be ME in 30 years time (hell, this could be me last Friday). Screw clinging to my fleeting youth like some sort of tragic security blanket. This is how I'd rather be.

Aging happens. Your bum is gonna sag. The wrinkles will creep. But if you think beauty only lies with youth, you are sorely mistaken. Vivacity, creativity, and bold, individual expression are qualities that don't decay with the passing of time. They can even be enhanced by it.

And Anna Piaggi has them in spades. Who would you rather talk to at a dinner party? Or at a bus-stop? Someone who looks like a 60 year old Barbie doll, or someone who looks like they're on their way to the best fancy dress party of their LIFE?

She's fierce and unafraid. I LOVE that. And I have a feeling, the kind of men & women she (or you and I, for that matter) would want to be with, would love that too. Self confidence is sexy. Not the kind that comes from how you look, but the kind that lights you up from within.

That kind of confidence bestows light on those around you, instead of taking it. When you like yourself and feel comfortable in your own skin, it empowers others to do - and be - the same. And that is true beauty. Love love love. Grazie Regina Anna!

Kolja

2010-07-12T08:06:00.018+12:00

Working late into the night, I had a sudden desire to watch Kolja. It was the first foreign film I ever paid to go see, and tells the story of Czech cellist and charming womaniser, Louka (who, from memory, gives saucy music lessons), and five-year old Kolja, the Russian boy left in Louka's care when his young mother skips town. An unlikely father/son bond develops and both characters discover parts of themselves they didn't know existed. A beautiful tale of trust and the heart's expansion.

Kindness

2010-07-11T10:08:00.005+12:00

Perfectionism is overrated. (Grace makes sense.)

When Death Comes

2010-07-04T11:07:00.000+12:00

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

- Mary Oliver

Window Shopping

2010-07-03T00:18:00.010+12:00

Working on a Saturday? Yus. But to sweeten the deal, I cherry picked some visual inspiration for a new design job. Today's flavour? Folk-Rock-Whimsy-With-An-Indie-Twist. Kicked off by the bedazzling Bruteheart.

:: Benoît Pioulard / Précis

:: Bob Hund / Folkmusik För Folk Som Inte Kan Bete Sig Som Folk

:: Led Zeppelin / IV

:: Fleet Foxes / Fleet Foxes

:: A Hawk And A Hacksaw / Delivrance

:: Vivian Girls / Everything Goes Wrong

:: Pearl Jam / Bootlegs (a selection)

:: M. Ward / Hold Time

:: Grizzly Bear / Veckatimest

:: Santigold / Santogold

:: The Fresh & Onlys / Debut

:: The Accidental / There Were Wolves

:: Yo La Tengo / Popular Songs

:: Björk / Vespertine

:: Wolfgang Voigt / GAS Series - Pop

:: Grass Widow / S/T

:: Archers Of Loaf / White Trash Heroes

:: Hans Appelqvist / Bremort. Happy Saturday. (Now to arms men! To arms! To my Wacom tablet! And CAFFEINE!)

Funk Soul Brother

2010-06-29T00:07:00.020+12:00

My favourite thing today. A new work contact is passing through town, so he pops by for an introductory conversation. When he goes to leave, he takes our hands once more in goodbye. Will gets the standard manly shake but I get slapped with an energetic soul-brutha grasp, as if we're long lost drinking buddies. Cue raucous laughter at the unexpected quirk. (Plus, I am TOTALLY in the hood.) Made my day.

Tāngata whenua

2010-06-27T03:54:00.062+12:00

As Westerners, we define ourselves in many ways. By the kinds of clothes we wear or how we do our hair, the cars we drive, houses we live in, careers we choose or objects we surround ourselves with. Some of us draw identity from our taste in music, literature or film. Others through political affiliation, religious beliefs, sporting achievements, education or sexuality. The image we present to each other on the street is essentially defined by our purchases, how we look and what we do. And we form judgements based on those values.

Indigenous cultures have a more intuitive way of defining themselves - through their relationship to land, and each other. In Māori tradition, the land is regarded as a mother to the people. 'Whenua' means both land and placenta, making the 'tāngata whenua' or 'people of the land', the children of the womb, foetal beings linked to their life source.

Māori creation mythology recounts the first female form as being sculpted from red earth gathered from Papatūānuku (earth mother). Her name was Hine-ahu-one (earth formed woman). She in turn, gave birth to the first human child, Hine-titama (dawn maiden), whose placenta and umbilical cord were ritually buried in the earth, forever linking Māori genealogy (whakapapa) to the land.

In traditional Māori greetings, they introduce themselves by their iwi (tribe), hapu (sub tribe), maunga (mountain) and awa (river), drawing their identity from the relationship of their whakapapa with particular landscape features. This is how they 'know' each other - not through musical or literary tastes, education or career, but by a sense of place upon the earth.

Indigenous cultures tend to see the physical and spiritual, or what is seen and unseen, as two separate worlds present in one reality. That's an intuitive understanding of paradox. Intuitive wisdom - the ability to just 'know' something, is generally discounted in our rational culture because it is by its very nature, nebulous, unquantifiable. You can't empirically prove it. But discounting the existence of something just because you have never seen or experienced it, seems to me a limited form of knowledge (sensible logic aside - we all know dogs can't krump). I like to think our universe is a little larger and more complex than that.

I also think we're far more intuitive than we realise. It's part of the nonverbal communication that makes up a significant amount of our daily interactions. We use it without realising - in how we can take an instant dislike to someone we don't even know, or that weird feeling of kinship with someone you've only just met. How you know someone is angry with you even if they say they're not. And if I asked you to close your eyes and think of one place on earth where you felt most you - most grounded, connected, most at home - in all probability, you would be able to name it. The Māori call this, 'tūrangawaewae': your place to stand. It is your foundation and empowerment, your own space in the world, a threshold of favour.

Maybe your tūrangawaewae relates to the country of your blood relatives (whānau) or your family's historical journey. The district you were born in, or the towns and communities that formed the framework of your early life. Maybe it's a wider sense of sharing the same rhythm as a particular nation, even if you weren't born there. Some place you'll never feel lost in. Maybe it's amongst your urban tribe, friends with the same interests and worldview. Or perhaps you have yet to find where you most belong (you'll know it when you get there).

For me that place is New Zealand, more so even than my native Scotland. When we were backpacking here on our honeymoon, something about the land and its people reached deep into my core. The strong connection was unexpected and instinctual. I felt freed, like I had room to breathe, to run, to climb and shout and explore, and become the best and brightest version of myself. Will felt the same. So when the time was right, we quit our jobs in Sydney and moved.

More than we know, all of us are tāngata whenua, people of the land - connected to the earth upon which we stand, the people groups, languages, oral traditions and cultural expressions - in a powerful and mysterious way. Though which land, and where on earth we find our liberation and lifeblood, is a matter of personal discovery. It's wildly different and often inexplicable for each of us.

That's why exploration and curiosity are such important qualities. Because without asking questions, without pushing doors or trying new things and facing our fears, we remain small, less than ourselves. The heart's truest desire always involves risk. And there is always the possibility of failure, disappointment, pain. But to live with anything less is never to find yourself.

There is a glory waiting for each of us, our own place to stand and belong, wherever the journey leads. Go forth and inhabit it, my loves. Becoming your truest self is the unfolding adventure of a lifetime.

E kore au e ngaro, he kākano i ruia ki tenei whenua. {With thanks to Tai Kerekere, Te Ara and Te Papa.}

25th April 1974

2010-06-26T00:01:00.000+12:00

This is the dawn I was waiting for
The first day whole and pure
When we emerged from night and silence
Alive into the substance of time

- Sophia de Mello Breyner

Black And White And Read All Over

2010-06-22T19:05:00.011+12:00

A couple of newspaper pics that gave me the grins this past week. David Cameron and French President, Nicolas Sarkozy, meet to discuss important things like World Cup results and the global economy. Britain's latest Prime Minister also copped an eyeful of the junk in Carla Bruni's trunk. Smooth work, Dave.

And then there was 'Druid King Arthur Pendragon conducting a soltice sunset service' over at Stonehenge. I like to imagine when he's not raising aloft his mystical oak staff, his name is John Smith, local publican, ornithologist and proud owner of Kenny Rogers' Greatest Hits.

Just Because...

2010-06-20T23:08:00.001+12:00

...I love hippy love.

Scott Pilgrim vs The World

2010-06-18T21:21:00.019+12:00

Have I totally fallen in love with this trailer? Hell YES. Such a tight cinematic smashup, it makes the movie look like shebang magic amazingness. Brilliant two-minute storytelling. LOVE.

Snowmantics

2010-06-10T06:15:00.027+12:00

(For those of you enjoying southern hemispheric ice, Happy Winter!)

Your One Wild And Precious Life

2010-06-07T11:16:00.006+12:00

...I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

- Taken from 'The Summer Day' by Mary Oliver

A Leek's Tale

2010-06-03T00:16:00.018+12:00

The winter rains have arrived, along with the first falls of snow on the hills. Everything is beautifully damp after long months of fine weather. The night air is like wet ice, but we're cosied up inside. And I'm quietly finishing off some work after dinner, when Will suddenly marches out of the bedroom wildly brandishing a leek.

Will: 'Eri, what is this doing on my side of the bed?'

Me: *looking up, absently* 'Ohh, that. Yeah, it's so I remember to eat it.' (I've been planning to cook with the leek for three days, but keep forgetting to rummage around for it in the back of the refrigerator.)

Will: 'And so obviously you put it in our bedroom?'

(I start grinning. Up until now, this had seemed perfectly logical.)

Will: 'It's A LEEK. I'm putting it back in the fridge.'

Me: *jumping up* 'Nooooo! Then I'll forget it again!'

By now Will is backed up against the wall holding it high above my reach as I try to manhandle it off him.

Will: 'Our whole room smells leeky!'

Me: *coquettishly* 'Leeks smell nice.'

Will: *laughing* 'Would YOU like it if I put a pig's leg on YOUR side of the bed?'

Me: 'Augh! Pig's legs are only nice when they're still attached to a happy little pig. Leeks are lovely ALL THE TIME.'

We're both laughing so hard, argument is futile. I take a flying leap at the vegetable and win - then smack Will with it and run away. (And for your information, I did end up cooking with it. See? RESULT.)

High Five Escalator

2010-05-31T16:30:00.010+12:00

On another image search across the web, I chanced upon this cute collection from the cheery folks at Improv Everywhere. Follow the link and you'll end up with a whole post of people smiling - on their way to work no less. Best read to the tune of Flowers In The Window by Travis (heartwarming loveliness). Merry Monday my beauties. x

Old-School Angst

2010-05-21T08:55:00.011+12:00

This week saw the 90's get some serious airplay in our work-space. For Will that meant the highschool sounds of Metallica, Green Day and Guns n' Roses. As for me, I favoured maudlin grunge rock, in the form of Radiohead and Soundgarden.

If I had to pick two songs that epitomised my teenage years, these would be the ones. I was a cranky wee thing who wore lipstick with names like 'Frostbite' and 'Asphyxiation', and cut my own hair with blunt scissors. These days I look back with a smile at my younger self and think, 'Ah my darling, one day you will find yourself and discover life isn't all bad...'

Quantum Physics

2010-05-17T09:53:00.004+12:00

Monday morning goodness from the lovely Andre Jordan. Go check out his site :: A Beautiful Revolution. (I promise it will make you smile.)

I Am

2010-05-16T13:50:00.023+12:00

I am //A book with a damaged cover, but what is // Written between the lines could save a country // From a disaster

- Rashied Wewers, inmate at Victor Verster Prison and oldest participant of their creative writing class. Illustration by Jordin Isik, for the NY Times.

Google Me This, Batman

2010-05-11T21:06:00.024+12:00

The end of a long day. On a whim, I hit the mental snooze button for a few rounds of Celebrity Bitchslap with Google's predictive search function. The rules are simple. You type in a name with the verb 'is' after it, then see what random statements Predictive Search brings up.

Immature? Irreverent? Yup. But this is the voice of The People, people. All 300 million daily Googlers. And it's HILARIOUS. They had me giggling into my keyboard this eve. Who types in 'George Bush is a lizard'?! How is that the most googled?

Steve Jobs IS my new bicycle. Guess we could call it the iRide. OR that could be wildly inappropriate. (Sorry Steve. You'll have to take those spokey dokeys elsewhere.)

Let's see what the punters have been feeding the omnipresent powers of Google about the British political candidates. And...the verdict is, Cameron is an arse. But apparently a hot arse, so obviously he got the female/gay/non-sexual crush vote.

Poor old Gordon is not a hot arse. But he is many other things. Many, many things. Your shepherd for instance. Aww, bless. Who needs a crook when you look like one? And for a man who's holding all the cards, Nick Clegg scored a boringly large NOWT on the predictive radar. (Hasn't offended enough people yet.)

Onto Australian politics. It appears that Prime Minister Kevin Rudd is a serial killer, dead (the victim of his own crime?), a liar (so...maybe not dead?) AND a clandestine geopolitical weapon. WHO KNEW?

For the final round, a wild card - the Twilight series. Looks like I'm not the only one tired of emo vampires mooning about in the rain. Enough said - The People Have Spoken.

Anne & Aidan

2010-05-05T16:15:00.026+12:00

When I was young, my parents were friends with a bohemian couple who would come to visit from time to time. And we in turn, would visit them. They lived up on Ardnamurchan, and drove a little red car that was always overflowing with bits and pieces they picked up on their occasional forays into mainland life. Whenever they arrived, they brought with them a thrilling sense of the unconventional that completely captivated me. (Their pet pig, Daphne, ran around our kitchen. It was gentle, creative chaos.)

Anne had a ready smile. Calm, temperate, but full of life, with hair that caught the light. She used to spend summers with my dad when they were kids. Growing up, she became a nurse and fell in love with a young man called Aidan. He was a musician, carpenter and instrument maker, with clear, sad eyes and wild hair that had overgrown into a shaggy beard. He moved with the kind of frission that betrayed a restless intellect, an energy born of curiosity.

They favoured the simple life, moving from their native England up to the Western isles of Scotland, to settle in Strontian, on the Ardnamurchan Peninsula. We visited in the holidays, discovering the long white beaches and tall dunes of Sanna Sands. It was there I learned to love the smoky vinyl scent of tents and the taste of UHT milk. I heard women speaking Gaelic in the street and saw my first red centipede, marching purposefully across an empty bathtub.

At that time Strontian was the kind of village where everyone knew everyone and no one bothered to lock their doors (this impressed me as a kind of paradise). We rode our bikes wherever we liked, along empty roads. Their house smelled of resin, sap and sawdust, and their bathroom was beautiful in its sparse, whitewashed stone. Green leaves outside the window blurred and dripped in the rain. The staircase was built from raw wood, never quite finished. Aidan spent his days designing and building, handcrafting furniture and instruments for sale.

I drank rosehip tea and toasted bread in one of those old fashioned toasters, where you flip the sides down and turn the bread as it warms. I learned to play the psaltery, and in the evenings, Aidan played guitar.

Their house was perched upon a lush hillside, so the back garden was steep. Sturdy wooden steps led down to a vegetable patch, and on further, to the loch below. Once, I slipped while climbing and fell bodily into a large patch of nettles beneath (my sister laughed and laughed). I had to go lie down in the bath.

Beautiful sylph that she was, Anne left this world before their baby boy, Barnaby, could string words into sentences. We planted a tree for her in the back garden. And I was there, walking Barney along a quiet road next to the house when he looked up and asked for his mama. My first bitter taste of loss.

These days, Barney is all grown up and away to Uni himself. I haven't seen him since he was a wee thing in red dungarees. But Aidan still lives up there amongst the isles, carving and turning, sanding and polishing, making magic from blocks of wood. If you're up that way, you'll find him and his workshop on the westerly road out of town.

People pass in and out of our lives all the time, some leaving reminders they once walked this way. Anne and Aidan were not an everyday fixture in my childhood. But they were two of the happy few that blaze into our hearts and leave a trail of light in their wake. And their light has not dimmed with time.

In them I found free spirits, who lived their ideals and followed their hearts. People who chose a different path and weren't afraid to be themselves. They lit a kindred flame within my own heart, and opened up a whole new world of possibilities.

So to them I owe my thanks, for simply being themselves. They didn't teach, didn't preach, but changed my life just by being in their presence. And I guess that's the kind of person I want to be. One who loves fearlessly, takes creative risks and approaches this strange life with the kind of curiosity that can't help but forge new horizons. Sláinte.

{With thanks to the many sites who donated photographs for this story.}

Phat Beats and Shiny Paper

Who Are We Who We Are

Given To Fly - Pearl Jam

Wellywood Or Wellywon't?

Wayne's World - Foxy Lady

A Few Of My Favourite Things - Rope

Best Of You - Foo Fighters

Rain At Night

須藤元気 のフル / World Order - Machine Civilization

LMFAO

Show Me How You Burlesque

Punch Brothers - Song For A Young Queen

Eternity

The Mountain

In Two

Queen Zaha Mary of Sudan

Support The Poppy Project

Morning Face

Dreams

My Fair Colbert - An American In London

Groove Is In The Heart - Deee Lite

Hope

In The Unfortunate Event Of My Untimely Passing

Antarctica By Way Of The Atlantic

Elizabeth Taylor 1932 - 2011

Foo + Glee = Never Gonna Happen

Without You - Silverchair

Swimming In The Rain

Paris And The Missing Birthday Cake

Times Like These - Foo Fighters

Cold Mornings

Dear Daily Show (THANK YOU)

A Valentines Selection (Things I Have Loved)

BRING BACK THE DAILY SHOW

Race Relations

A Change Is As Good As A Holiday?

Drink Coffee

Fix You - Contemporary Dance

Norwegian Wood

In Praise of Inclement Weather

Midget Gems

Of Wigs And Wild Coincidence

Kiss Me Quick

Come Fly With Me

Excerpt From 'A Child's Christmas In Wales'

Merry Grinchmas

Weather With You

Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale

Tron: Legacy / Daft Punk

Cee-Lo Green - It's Ok

Peter Parkour / Spiderman

Curiosity Killed The Cat

The Bold And The Beautiful

Beer O'Clock

There's A Soldier In All Of Us

You Look Like Shit

My Hero - Foo Fighters

The Wombles Of Wimbledon Common

Danespeak

Danish Days

Dance Magic Dance

Cardon Copy

There And Back To See How Far It Is

From 'The Wind And The Moon'

Chet Baker

Gaga Ooh La La

The [Optimus] Prime Of Life

GlitterSmash

The Importance Of Being Emma

Be Here Now - Ray LaMontagne

The Darkest Hour Is Just Before Dawn

Who Are We?

Scott Pilgrim vs The World

"Has Anybody Seen My Trousers?"

Films-I-Wanna-See Friday

Fish Tales

The Hills Are Alive

The Mad Men School Of Seduction

Unhappy Hipsters

Dreamscapes

須藤元気のフル / World Order - Machine Civilization