Year: 2013

WORDS: Good Taste

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. … It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions.”  (Ira Glass) Read this here recently and it made my heart ache so, for it’s exactly how I feel. Exactly what I must remember when I yearn to be as adept a writer as those I admire. So we continue.

And to all a goodnight.

When we were younger, my sister and I would climb into bed in our shared room and gossip in the dark. Nearing Christmastime, presents inevitably became the topic of conversation. We always felt sorry for our parents. Mourned for them! Here we were with our huge sackfuls of presents, and there they were with only a few measly gifts each! How dreadful! How terribly unjust! Oh how gleeful we were not to be grown-ups. As the years passed, my sister and I slowly stopped having those conversations. Looking back on them today I realise how the true excitement lies in giving, not receiving – and how happy our small, rosy faces full of anticipation must have made our mother and father. It makes me look forward to being a parent one day.  So this year we enjoyed giving presents. Enjoyed making up for all those years of inequality, by presenting our mother with a stocking all of her own. And I felt SO happy to have been born into a family that enjoys an annual round of …

One Friday before Christmas

One Friday just before Christmas I schlepped my fancy camera to work. The air was clear and the sunshine bright as I stepped out of the building at lunchtime, the weight of the camera heavy around my neck. Turns out Primrose Hill in the Friday sunshine is really the prettiest.  It was the most perfect hour; the shadowy spines of the winter trees casting ghostly silhouettes against the pale blue sky. A black cat was befriended and a Jamaican man playing ‘Every little thing’s gonna be alright’ under the canal bridge made me smile (and even dance a little! I know…me!) And, as a tabby cat wound its way around my ankles, I realised something quite essential. For when I say I loathe London, I tell myself a small but significant untruth. Yes, I loathe the bright lights and the crush on the Strand. I loathe the tourist trap that is the South Bank and the ribbon of buses fighting their way across Waterloo Bridge. I loathe Oxford Street, Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square. But this …

Weekly Thanksgivings 10

This week was so much fun. Finding myself surrounded by such funny, well-meaning and varied people bestowed a simple contentment and knowing that eight days off are in my future is a thought so delicious I get weak-kneed just thinking upon it! I’m feeling thankful. ‘Tis the season. Thankful for a Christmas-themed Sunday brunch with my dearest school-friend at our favourite neighbourhood cafe. Upon sitting, Priya – elegant as ever, attired in forest green lace – rifled through her handbag and emerged for air with a pile of Christmas crackers and a book-themed present. Thankful to know such a fun, seize-the-day kinda girl. Thankful for my sweet boss who gave me the most thoughtful gift on Monday, just because. Thankful for the post boy at work who twirls around the office singing carols and dispensing mail-related joy with the biggest grin on his face. Thankful for the opportunity to finally see the Portrait in Vienna exhibition at the National Gallery on a rainy London afternoon. I had forgotten how much the place fills up my …