Lemon, tart?

Today I: had a lazy morning; planned a route to Physical Happiness via rose water and home-made make-up; made enchiladas for lunch (NB: plastic containers and grills are incompatible); had a heavenly 15 minutes of Shimshai/facemask loveliness; topped the day off with an 80-minute catch up with MJ and the second quarter of the wondrousness that was The Lemon Tart.


Tomorrow: Formula 1, fabric design and period-drama catch-ups.

Today’s gift to you: The recipe for my Oaty Honey face scrub

Get this:

1/3 cup of oats, 1/4 cup of honey, 1/2 cup of water, 2 thin slices of cucumber

A quiet place to lie down

Soothing music

Do this:

Grind the oats into a powder, add the powder to the water and heat until thick and gloopy.

Decant into a heatproof bowl, allowing mixture to cool considerably, then add honey and stir through until evenly mixed.

When the mixture is still slightly warm (but definitely NOT hot – scalded skin is not cool), scoop small amounts into one hand and use the fingertips of your other hand to pat it onto your face, avoiding the sensitive area around your eyes.

Now, wash your hands, make your way to your quiet place, press play on your MP3 or laptop and lie back, placing the cooling slices of cucumber over your eyes.

Sigh contentedly – repeat a few times over the course of the next 15 minutes, to indicate to anyone within earshot that you have achieved a state of bliss.

Wash off after 15 minutes is up, moving your hands in circular motions to make the most of the exfoliating properties of the scrub.

Pat dry.

Admire fresh and glowing look in mirror – repeat throughout day.

Walk around feeling slightly smug, especially when in the proximity of chemical-filled creams and potions.

Be aware of this:

  • You’ll need to tie all your hair back, especially your fringe, unless you want a head-full of porridge.
  • It will go everywhere – this is part of the childlike, self-indulgent joy of this process – so put a towel down and prepare to do a little clean-up afterwards. It’s worth it for the happy skin that awaits you afterwards, believe me.
  • Being jolted out of your zen-like state by an alarm clock or phonecall will ruin everything. Turn it all off and find a couple of songs that add up to approximately 15 mins worth of playtime. Try Gayatri Mantra and Hare Hare Mahadeva by Tina Malia and Shimshai, downloadable here: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/tinamalia2
  • Finishing off this event by long-distance Skype chatting with one of your dearest friends will gain you an extra 100 Woop! points.

Try it out and tell me all about it, especially which songs you chose and who you called to get your extra Woop! points……


So, there I was….

….explaining how in art and in writing I try only to express myself and not what I think I want someone else to see or hear. ‘Never write to be read,’ I said. ‘It kills all chance of honest expression’. These words, spoken a mere 48 hours before I found myself here, composing my first heading and wondering which background to pick, which question to ask, which who to invite and entrust, and what it would all entail.

An interesting choice, then, a blog, mostly for others’ benefit, as they appear to be. How can anything written in this box truly be anything other than for-another? And, more importantly, why bother? Hasn’t everyone said it all and said it again and found that the more they say the more they have to say and haven’t they eventually lost track of why they were saying it anyway?

What made me start….poetry, probably – it doesn’t feel safe on a book about faces. And photography, too. At least here it’s a little more….here. A little less…local – you know what I mean – we’ve all seen the shots of the late-nights and the holiday snaps and the dogs and the cats and the weddings and the babies, of everyone we’ve never even met before but they were in a picture with our best friend’s housemate’s boyfriend and we’re not sure how but we were browsing something else some hours ago and we meant to stop but we somehow forgot. So….here we are. Here I am.

And there we go.

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