greatest hits Tweet

Most of Chris's generally enigmatic and consistently spontaneous bursts into speech at night happen right at the point I'm falling asleep, so capturing them is nearly impossible. Sometimes I recall them magically a day or two after due to some unknown anchor, and that's how some end up here. Probably not even the best, not if you count the less wordy samples below that make an all time top three, regardless of how hard it is to place them in space in time.

Upon me entering the room, Chris goes angrily: Fuck!

Chris turns around in his sleep and taps my shoulder: Pardon?!

Chris chewing something invisible and smacking his lips with satisfaction: I have a spoon!

Then, of course, he falls back to deep sleep as if nothing happened, and I'm left to wonder what all meant, and what went unsaid.

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every day now Tweet

I pick one grapevine leaf when I pop on the terrace in the morning and inspect the babies. This vine joined our collection late this summer, but grew like mad, had to be clipped, and produces this mad foliage that warms my heart and reminds me it's autumn. One of our greatest personal goals is to enjoy the seasons, which starts with being able to notice them. The search of seasonal observation has improved greatly since we occupied the terrace four months ago.



I pick the leaves for my foliage collection, which mostly resides in my old university marketing bible. It was a bitter exam, where after a string of straight 10s, some with thrilled comments from the teacher and envious glares from colleagues, I mastered a 6. I had to take it again in the autumn, mainly for my pride, I guess. Needless to say the book has hardly been touched since. It makes perfect sense that over ten years later it's nothing but a press for autumn leaves.

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details matter: belts Tweet

I have been wearing a lot of grey and black since getting overly busy at work, and on the one hand it does make my life easier, allowing my mind to chew on greater questions than outfits. On the other hand, I desperately love colors and patterns, just as much as I hate the dark, uninspired office clothes that make up London's streets five days a week, and so I need to do something clever, just to feel better. I do play with layers and cuts where possible, but there's nothing quite like the right accessories. Here, two belts: top one in leopard pattern picked at Dorothy Perkins for some irrelevant amount, and bottom one in leather patchwork (silver, brown, gold, orange, cyan and I forget what else) found at a pop-up market on the South Bank years ago. The rose is a hairpin, actually, meant to bring the belts closer together, color-wise, and then in tune with my red shoes. Not bad for a Tuesday full of meetings, and not one extra second spent wondering what to wear.



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it was worth waiting Tweet

He turned around in his sleep, and said: I spoke to Michael about the bloody door sign!

Good, I said, but surely that could wait until we had our drink with Michael? He's really the nicest landlord and we agreed already that the door sign is a different (and too early!) discussion.

He breathed smoothly, for a change, and went, blue sky serendipitous and in a chilled tone: Hello, it's sleeping time for me. Would you like a hug?

This morning there was much amusement around the small, if not insignificant administrative type of job that holds him prisoner in that brilliant, delicate state of falling asleep. And it wasn't even about the door sign I thought of—main entrance, all that jazz. It was about the toilet door sign! So I'll take a permanent dark marker to it one of these days and save all three of us some trouble, and some sleep.

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angela's garden Tweet

I've seen Angela's garden three times in the last three years, luckily, so I cannot wait very long upon arrival before investigating it with my camera. And then I get to ask a lot of questions, and learn why you need three blueberry plants (differently timed crops), what those tinsy pink-white flowers are (aster, aha! the best aster yet), and how the maple has grown to three meters in five years, from a single branch. But don't let me keep you from investigating yourself :)



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christmas can come... Tweet

...though I'm not waiting that long to wear any of these items ;) Picked again, as one does, in charity shops, with the exception of the hairpins, which come from Dorothy Perkins but frankly, any high street brand offers something like them right now. The golden skirt is East, the red velvet top—Kew, and the green velvet dress—Mango. I had the necklace already, but beyond that, I haven't spent more than twenty pounds (hairpins included) and I feel all ready for the season. It won't stop here, knowing me, but more often than not I fell into the double-trap of December: no time to shop for more than gifts for others (enough pain there) and the nagging thought that everything will be sold off cheaply in January, much closer to its real worth, which doubles my buying power (but makes shopping mandatory when least needed). And while neither fact can be discounted, I've realised that I'd rather do the shopping well ahead, and enjoy my new buys in the right months, as the festive atmosphere gears up. Don't I feel clever!



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farmers' market in surrey Tweet

Boglin and Angela have hopefully been amused at the amount of time Chris and I spent at the farmers' market in Surrey, and then the amount of stuff we bought. I did, uncharacteristically, resisted buying this mahonia. It's a great plant, if only for blooming so beautifully (and fragrantly? wow!) at this mainly flowerless time of year, and has periodically captured the attention of my camera. But then it's got spikes, and the rest of the year it just sits there, simply green, and worse of all, every other garden here features one.

Chris, on the other hand, circled the pumpkins again and again and again, to finally pick up a monster one that's my job to carve—look for the muddy one below. You got it! And thanks to Boglin and Angela lending us a bag, there's no escaping the orange monster now—OK, I love pumpkin lanterns, I just don't feel a thing for doing the work, or Halloween itself. So the trip home has been no less epic than we've gotten used to. Even though the lobster didn't join us. If the price tag wasn't prohibitive enough, knowing that crabs taste better it's something no cook or chef has managed to take away from me.









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did I mention the surrey sunrise? Tweet

I told you the sun woke me up last Sunday, and I needn't tell you that such a thing has happened very rarely in my life. I went to the window to figure out what was going on, and noticed some goats munching on grass. Frosted grass. In the early light, and a touch of mist. That was serene.



But then I tried to capture the larger scene, and the crazy sky, and you can see just how good a job I did from how Photoshop managed to patch all these photos together. Note to self: do not attempt to take photos when you just got up, have not slept enough, and are a bit blinded by the sun. This said, you still get a better idea of the idyllic setting from this composite image.



And as I often do, if you're still with me, I saved the best for last: the picture of what blinded me so successfully, a very gorgeous surrey sunrise that seemed to exist just for goats, birds, and I. Believe me, rarely before did it feel so good to go back to sleep, knowing that I had been there for the glorious start of the day. In English weather, it doesn't normally get any better.



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bits and bobs from our trip last weekend Tweet

When we left London, the sky looked mad. This photo shows a bit of the madness and a lot of my amateur skills in capturing it.



This failed composite image is aimed at capturing the new, aggressive ads that The Economist puts out. I like them, and I hope they do the job.



On the way there we ate like kings: croissants baked before leaving, brie, beer and a smoked ham hock come salad with the aid of wholegrain mustard, mayonnaise, and leaving it in the fridge for at least a week to soften while flavors mixed.



The first mysterious sign was spotted in a train station. Does it signify 1/2 of the platform, of the train, or something entirely different? The sign to the right was in a field in Witley, by a public path. Totally confusing as to where and what it points towards. It immediately made me think about BBC 2's program The Genius of Design, where the fifth and last installment, Objects of Desire had a look at the brilliant people that revolutionized sign design with the advent of M1, debatably the first motorway (highway) in the UK. My, would their clever touch be needed in the countryside!



On Sunday we had lunch at a pub (didn't note name, I know that's bad of me) where we bravely sat outside and basked in the sun, while patrons alighted indoors or in the shaded beer garden and gobbled down their roast. We had pints and sandwiches, and when the latter finally arrived, I ate perhaps the best BLT ever. So good that taking a shot of it did not occur for the life of me.



Returning from the second, and very prolific dive for sloes, I spotted hot air balloons going up above the forest, and got terribly excited at the thought, again.



And when I wasn't busy shooting dubious panoramas, this is what the sunset really looked like. Ordinary. Extra ordinary.



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the first cyclamen this season Tweet

Cyclamens were among the most interesting flowers I received for my birthday, probably due to being potted, lasting longer, and looking so delicate on the windowsill. There's nothing wrong with chrysanthemums and carnations (still refusing to call them pinks, like the English do), and it was during those grim winters of my early years that I learned about their variations and started loving them, but let's face it: being born at the start of winter in a culture that offers flowers for birthdays does not help in communist regimes, where flower variety is not exactly the cold season focus—think beans, potatoes, pickles, scraps of meat, grey market coffee, very creative cakes and making it to school/ work in one piece again, as the thick layer of ice was not cleared off pavements and sidewalks for months. I seem to remember that freesias existed magically in January sometimes, around my sister's birthday in the midst of winter, but maybe that was later years?



The only problem with cyclamens, which puzzled me even more as they were potted, is that they never lasted to the year after, in spite of all the green fingers in my family. So the plant and its butterfly flowers remained in my mind twice as delicate than it really is. Enter London, where everyone displays them in winter, next to ivy and red geraniums. It gave me courage, so I bought a couple of plants years ago, and... they died back. For good. But do I ever learn? I love cyclamen to bits and last year bought one plant again, to fill a gap in a pot until spring (assuming it was gonna die again to never come back) and see whether chance has more to do with its survival than care. And here we are, in bloom for its second year with us. Miracles do happen :)



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novemberish Tweet

One benefit of waking up early is catching some form of sunrise, and through my kitchen window I get to marvel at its different shades as I brew the coffee or unload the dishwasher—glam setting, I tell you! On our own terrace, the sun shows around 11am and is gone around 2pm, while the study upstairs still catches its rays at 4pm. That makes the terrace a bit hard to enjoy this time of year, particularly if one is at the office and eating at home cannot happen as often as I'd like it. It also makes the study a cozy, peaceful, well lit if hot room, which brings all sorts of conservatory conversion thoughts into my restless mind.



Beyond the sun, it's so cold and yet so crisp outside that I don't know how I feel about this weather anymore. I've been waiting for a week for the last (male) courgette flower to bloom, so that I can collect it for a goat cheese tart I had in mind for a while now. It's not going to happen, the bloom, as this morning I found the whole plant more or less collapsed, which can only be a clear indication of the frost last night. There are other shy blooms about, as well, like the clematis, which has a habit to do a small come back in the fall, and its two flowers this year are only just open, and have been like that for at least a week. I know what the calendar says, and I enjoy the sun immensely when I can be outside at the right time of day, but this is no October.

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curiouser and curiouser Tweet

When we reached the area supposed to hold our sloes, I was mesmerized by the giant ferns and flowers that felt a lot more like a jungle than an English forest. But then again, what do I know about English anything? Walking among this enchanted clearing in the woods made me feel like Alice in Wonderland, especially when I could hardly raise my head above the vegetation.



I have no idea what this flowers are (do you? will you enlighten me?), but it's striking how much they resemble orchids. To a jungle mindset, at least.



The ferns were oftentimes taller than me, which didn't help spotting the bramble (blackberry) arches hidden behind them. I probably inhaled a lot of fern spores, too, but that feels like a lot less trouble in the short run.



The second time we visited, I went exploring, hoping to see some exciting mushrooms. These were fine, but nothing spectacular, and likely not edible either.



But I saw a stream of water and found much bramble goodness to feed the entire party.



It was only when hunting the sunset that I stumbled upon a mushroom that looked somewhat familiar—did someone sell us something similar at some point this summer? I'll let the mighty powers of Flickr identify it, as after looking through two of our six (!) mushroom books I quickly determined it wasn't prize worthy. And neither deadly poisonous.



Update, October 24th 2010: My mother was the first to try identify the mushroom on Flickr, and while her answer is fun, I think it's far from reality. Then Dinu wrote to me about the flowers above, and what do you know, they are indeed far from natives: Himalayan/ Indian Balsam or Impatiens glandulifera comes, as the name suggests, from the Himalayas, and can be an invasive weed. The more interesting aspects are that they go by the colloquial name of kiss-me-on-the-mountain in the UK, and that flowers, green seed pods, and young shoots are edible.

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tweet, retweet, or comment to win 50 pounds shoes voucher and shiny sweet nothings Tweet

You can use this voucher until October 30th to shave 50 pounds off your order at upperstreet.com, a heaven for custom shoes and the sexiest giveaway at the Jasper Garvida spring summer 2011 show, which featured upperstreet shoes, as seen in my 100 photos. I know I've been sitting on this gorgeous voucher for a tad too long since announcing the giveaway, but better later than never: for ten days you can still get a good deal closer to ordering that glamorous, unique, coveted pair that'll make all other women sigh with admiration at Christmas parties, as they shift uncomfortably from one foot to another in their boring office heels.



And to make things cheezier, I'm topping that up with three sets of shiny sweet nothings to give away, the first of which may even reach the lucky winner in time for Halloween ;) These brooches and hairpins have been in use, but so rarely that it's time they find new homes of more loving wear and care. The rules are as simple as they come: tweet, retweet, or comment this post until midnight on Sunday, October 24th, and then I'll use the random integer (!) generator to select the winners, announced next Monday. And since I'm aware of having readers in most countries of the world, it goes without saying that I'll post the goodies anywhere. Then again, if you win and find yourself in Central London soon after, you'll be able to pick up your parcel in person.







Why not drop a comment/ tweet to tell me what you think of this idea altogether? I'm extremely tempted, right now, to do it again and again, as I seem to have an abundance of fashion and home accessories that are in great need of a better life. But I wonder: is anyone after them?

Update, November 7th 2010: This went BRILLIANTLY. Zero comments, zero tweets, zero retweets. I clearly know SHIT ALL about my readers. So I'll have to stop and RETHINK the whole thing. Meanwhile, the shoes voucher expired, and the sweet nothings have been added to our outbox—the box in which items without a place or use go to live until time comes for a final sorting that generally leads to charity shops, community exchanges, and the likes. Perhaps eBay?

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daily nonsense: blogs a million Tweet

Lately I noticed a large number of random (spam?) blogs using some of my photos, properly credited and all that, but nothing to write home about. Which probably is EXACTLY why I'm writing about it. Look, ma, Creative Commons for the win!



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here come the sloes Tweet

On Saturday we did our best to collect some sloes on the rolling hills of Surrey among giant ferns, tall delicate flowers, and blackberry branches (affectionately referred to as bramble) that had conquered the trees. Angela and Boglin brought a couple of brollies from home that helped a bit in pulling the high branches, and a lot in defending ourselves against the jungle-style vegetation. We banked 1.3 kg, I believe, and them probably more, as they didn't stop to take photos, smoke, and whatnot. We picked until we could hardly see a wink of light in the sky, nevermind the valley, and then rushed home on the typical English countryside road that has plenty of turns and not only no sidewalk, but raised banks, so that one cannot jump out of the way of the cars. But I'm still here to tell the story, am I not?



On Sunday I let them wrangle the same trees, rather disappointed with my small pocket of eligible sloes, and followed the path deeper into the forest, curious about mushrooms and birds and the likes. Of course I didn't tell them I'd be off. Of course there was no network coverage. Of course I didn't think about any of those. As I wandered, I picked a generous handful of ripe blackberries (not bad when most were already dead) and consoled myself with the thought that I wasn't entirely slacking, but still foraging. For dessert. And then, what do you know, I happened about much more generous and handy sloe shrubs, just by the path, and called everyone along victoriously. There were really tall nettles about, and surprise ditches, but nothing major happened. Chris and I kept picking until Angela and Boglin dragged us home. There was a train to catch. And they had to drive us to the station, poor souls!

This is how the three of them looked crossing one of the many random turnip and rapeseed fields, their bags heavy with sloes—about 2 kg more for us, so we're sorted for sloe gin, and who knows, maybe even sloe sherry. In a way I hoped the day would never end. But that's me, I always love what I'm momentarily doing too much to move to the next thing—says Chris.



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in search of sloes in surrey Tweet

We were in Witley, Surrey this weekend, and thereabouts, in search for the sloes that have eluded us for two years now. Without them, there's no sloe gin, which we love dearly—and so do our families and guests. We could buy it ready made, of course, but there's so much more fun and satisfaction in making your own, not to mention opportunity to learn and perfect. So we received with much excitement the news that Boglin and Angela had located a good foraging spot. And while it wasn't a good weekend to be away from home and office, both of which need more than our extended waking hours, the latter statement suggests no weekend would have been right.

We picked some sloes at sunset, and after, on Saturday evening, and headed back to the area on Sunday afternoon, having had a spot of sun and a couple of pints (and the best BLT in my life) at a very proper countryside pub. So proper, in fact, that I can think of no equivalent in London. Of course I snapped all manner of photos as I work my way up shooting with SLR cameras—and yet I probably still know too small of grain of what Chris's Nikon D70 can do, which might explain lighting issues in some of the images below. Still, I love panoramas, so do click on them to see them really large/ as part of a slideshow.

The sunrise woke me up on Sunday morning. It's not like me, but there you go, exceptions to confirm the rule. I tried snapping a few photos, but it might show that I was sleepy. I think the whole morning atmosphere may need more space here than a panorama among others, so stay tuned. Oh, yes, I then went straight back to bed.



This was taken on our way to the enchanted sloe valley, in a spot that had caught my eye at sunset the previous day.



Here we were heading back to their house across some strange weedy fields planted at random with turnip and rapeseed, and I looked back.



When we reached our destination we kept going—my fault, with my obsession for cheezy sunsets. Boglin had said there was a good spot, and I didn't realize it was a serious fifteen minutes trek away while the sun was fading quickly.



And after I jumped a fence that looked rather private, snapped the shots above, and jumped back, Boglin patiently showed me that the spot was still a few meters away, and I gave it another go. Enjoy, and I'll write more tomorrow :)



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vimeo hath a festival. ted tremper won my heart Tweet

Plenty of beautiful stories, captures, and concepts have been crowned in the Vimeo Festival + Awards, but Ted Tremper's break-ups series stands out for me. The subject is unusual and so is the manner in which it is treated. More importantly, while I was touched, amazed, and entertained by other narratives, techniques, and ideas, this is the only one that has left me wanting more. The only one that is immersive. And that's the mark of great video, in however few minutes it is achieved. I give you three episodes, and when you've made up your mind about them, there are more on beakups.us—where you'll find my favorite episode so far. Enjoy!

"Break-ups: The Series" Vimeo Submission "Best Original Series" from Ted Tremper on Vimeo.

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for he's a jolly good fellow Tweet

On the coffee table, there are plenty of gifts displayed, and cards, all of which should be opened alongside champagne at the start of a day of more or less planned celebratory debauchery that is to include even more champagne. The weather could've been somewhat nicer, but it's not freezing yet, and the rain may be considerate enough to spare his parade. Happy birthday, baby! I'll better check on those croissants and get into my sexy outfit.



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suie paparude: with love from romania, tasty free electro Tweet

In a way, I grew up with Suie Paparude (no, I WON'T attempt to translate that), but it was only five years ago that one of their songs, Pentru inimi, got hold of me for seasons in the row. And I still haven't cured from these beats, harmonies, and the really clever chorus I WILL attempt to translate: Because the sound reaches from speakers to your blood/ Because your heart dies when the sound goes flat.



So when their 8th album, E suflet in aparat, was launched less than a month ago and offered for free on their awesome website (go get it already, it only costs your name + email address), I didn't wait long to grab it. And I haven't been disappointed: it's a brilliant journey through genres, round, fun and crazy enough that at least half the 18 tracks have stuck in my head. You can hear most of the songs on their YouTube channel, but, just in case, I picked Soundcheck and Ego for an instant taste.



Then today I had the pleasure to abuse the office speakers and expose five proper English guys to it. Reactions got better and better as the album progressed: Is this Portuguese? Sounds like French pop. Laughing. Whistling along. Drumming on the keyboard/ desk—yay me! Finally! Of course most of my colleagues don't listen to this kind of music, have never been exposed to the unusual dance/ lounge clubs of Bucharest and are unlikely to note the playful nature of the album, what with a language barrier and no context about the band! So they did great, overall! Which can only mean I'll be able to play it again soon :)



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from park to windowsill Tweet

Buttercups, fireweed (I think), and some tiny colorful leaves are weeds collected in Regent's Park last weekend. I have no idea whether some of them would root in the water, but I am eyeing those buttercups for their seed heads. It might seem like nothing, but it's a big step for me to consider any kind of weed in on my terrace. English gardeners seem to have always concerned themselves with some level of weedery, and of late, gone totally bonkers about it, to the point where I see seeds being sold that would utterly puzzle my grandmas, as such plants (chicory, for one) grew on the fields and hills about their houses and were regarded with quite a bit of contempt.



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the elephant and the donkey Tweet

I am becoming a vintage addict, beyond clothes, and a Wooden Donkey addict, too. The latter is a brilliant shop for serious collectors, and then I come along, no idea whom all these clever designers/ makers were, and start drooling over unbearable cuteness and, sometimes, clever functionality. A bit of both arrived in today's parcel, and the orange elephant money box is definitely the highlight. Chris embraced it immediately, and couldn't stop touching it, smiling and laughing (we also dropped the first coins in). It's large, tactile, joyful to heavens and back.



But wait to see the donkey! If it weren't a piece of metal attached to a wooden base and other sweet nothings, I would definitely sleep with it. In fact, I'd be carrying it with me everywhere. As it stands, I can only look at it, and occasionally pet it. While Emma of Wooden Donkey guessed the object to be a desk organizer, and others offered egg cup, I didn't think too long about the room in which it would be best exposed (lounge!) and quickly filled it with toothpicks. I know, functional, but then 1) we failed buying clever toothpick boxes in Vietnam twice (they were either wrong or 50x the price thanks to our plump white faces) and 2) toothpicks on the table look so small family restaurant in the countryside! Enter donkey, which now gets exercise and attention joining the dinner table more often than not. And we're expecting guests, thus comments :)



All deliveries from Wooden Donkey so far had some kind of surprise and gift next to the lovely cards Emma picks and writes. Then all items are so beautifully wrapped in orange paper kept together by a single sticker (Wooden Donkey logo, no less), so getting to the goodies through the bubble wrap always feel like Christmas morning. I couldn't recommend this shop more. But I will, as I'll keep posting about the items I snatched.

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in search of sun and fall foliage Tweet

In search of sun (and a good 10/10/10 shot) we headed to the Regent's Park this afternoon. It wasn't the plan. Quite on the contrary. We had fun yesterday, about town, so that we could work today. The weather turned out so good and wild, however, that we had to accommodate a sun basking session. On the way to our favorite picnic spot, I spotted autumn.



I then had a wander about to capture more of the season. Some of these flowers are with us right now, and the first two wild pears found in an unlikely spot later led to a whole lot more. Foraging!



On our way out I paid a visit to one of my favorite trees of all times. What it is I don't know, unless it's known as pure joy of fall, which wouldn't surprise me in the least. That foliage just makes me want to climb up there and swing in the mild wind within it.



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old london crumble Tweet

There are so many remains of a much older London spread about the city, for the those with eyes to see. Two of these I spotted myself today, during a wonder from ours to Marylebone and beyond, yet the embossed maker's mark on the garage door would've escaped me had it not been for Chris. While I was busying myself with a photo of I don't-know-what, he stopped in front of the sign and said: There used to be so many more of these around. It made me think that coming to London, moving to London, strolling about London must have been so much more exciting a century ago, when the majority of houses, pubs, places, gardens, businesses and streets were individual enough to thrill the starry eyed newcomer and be imprinted in her memory, letters home, novels, poems and songs. Now all we get, at best, is a passing glimpse into the past, a fragment of yesterday outside its context. I believe a lot of the overwhelming not-born-in-London contingent of today has been trying to live in a partly hidden, partly fictitious London and only gets excited about yet another chain pub, Starbucks, or cheap lunch in an effort to match reality to the dream. What do you write home about?







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details matter: brooches Tweet

This knitted top has a lot to say for itself, and yet it can pass for a fairly normal item unless something draws attention to it. And while my general aversion of bras can do the job on some chilly occasions (when, honestly, most bras don't help either), best to be sure: welcome brooches, in this case matching the colors in order to allow placement and texture to stand out, rather. I found the orange leather rose in a shop in the Old Center of Bucharest, quite a few years ago, and the 80s looking pink rose was picked by Chris in a crafts fair a couple of years ago—quite cleverly, in fact, under my nose and yet without me sensing a thing. And yes, this is how I left to the office this morning, all brooched up and rosed about. Puts a smile on one's face, don't you think?



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