“Listen…you know those days when you get the mean reds?” –Holly.
“The mean reds? You mean like the blues?” –Fred (Paul).
“No… the blues are because you’re getting fat or because it’s been raining too long. You’re just sad, that’s all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?” –Holly.
“Sure.” –Fred (Paul).
“When I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump into a cab and go to Tiffany’s. Calms me down right away.” –Holly.
- From Breakfast at Tiffany’s
An October Monday morning, Oxford. A morning I can only describe as colourless. A day for forward thinking and reminiscing. I woke at seven, rolled onto my left side and announced, to my bleary-eyed boyfriend- ‘It is time to rejoin the world!’. After a summer of denim short-wearing idleness, workfree, carefree, we roamed European countries, ever searching, seeking the next ‘fix’ for our greedy eyes, the next bed, the next hill-top to stop and eat fresh cheese (so much cheese) we have returned home for another British winter. When asked why I have not written sooner, I can only reply ‘I have been too happy.’ But now, with the onslaught of the working week, dark early mornings, too-short afternoons, the growing feebleness of daylight, I fear it is time to return to normality. Enough. So, here I am (in black, it seems only appropriate) before the keyboard once more, to my left a cup of (strong) coffee, to my right a timesheet and the phone with the screen that winks- 9.55AM NO CALLS NO SMS. Here I am, trading time.
Two or is it three? weeks back into life under the spires, everything in my life seems new- new job, new car, new apartment, new hat (bought on sale at This Shop Rocks on Brick Lane, white rabbit fur and suitably Anna Karenina-ish, appropriate to icy mornings trudging to new job, when new car is boxed in, grrr) and yet, I am haunted by a strange nostalgia for ‘the way things used to be’ – our old neighbourhood, now, lamentably, the other side of town, warm evenings at the coast in Breton stripes, phone calls to my parents, who I have lost to Africa – yes, she has gone with him, FINALLY… The nomads have moved on, once again… In a bid to banish self-pity and the odd escapee tear for the above, I whisked myself to London town this weekend and sought solace in the company of my sister and the headpieces of Karin Andreasson ( http://www.karinandreassonjewellery.com/ ) which I carried home reverently, wrapped in tissue paper, one a baby blue dyed goose feather and the other a 1950’s creation currently glinting on my dressing table. After recent perusal of Diamonds Are A Girls Best Friend, once again, I couldn’t resist, and Swarovski crystals are such a good substitute… don’t you agree?