retro – and so she thinks

The Girl By The Sea

admin — Mon, 27 May 2013 12:06:18 +0000

It was a day when the grey oblongs stack up and in to the silvery sky. Sniffs of clouds liked the nose with rain, and the sea crashed like a breaking stainless steel knife being twisted between finger and thumb.
Against the gum metal grey shopfront leaned a vision. It was only later I believed her to be a vision. At the time I was as scared as I was intrigued by the girl. Beneath to heavy eyebrows her kohl lined eyes were like night skies, so thick and heavy that no stars could be seen. I imagine that she was looking straight past me. Her lips were stung red, like her wind beaten cheeks, and wisps if hair that looked as though they had been artistically arranged were now breaking free. In a more bohemian setting they may have been described as infused with the spirit of the age. In reality they were just battered and beaten, like the rest of the world.

She seemed to be wearing my grandmother’s coat, or at least one remarkably like it. My eyes followed the buttons down to the hem, flapping in the seabreeze, folding upwards like the corner of a present tantalizingly uncurled. Her left knee was bruised, and I immediately wanted to administer care to her war wound. I noticed the bag hanging insouciantly off her right shoulder matched my scarf. I remember thinking how heavy the bag must have been. She leaned with such compensating pressure to the left that it can’t have been good for her. But then I realised that that was what my father would say, and I corrected myself. She was cool.
She moved.
I started.
She held out her arm, proffering a steaming greasy crumple of newspaper to me.
‘Chip?’ she asked.
‘Loser’ she said. I turned. Even when I recognised the air of joviality in her voice, potential criticism uttered by my love still wounded to the soul.
‘My dad used to play that record all the time.’
What record?
The one you’re humming.
‘I’m not humming’ I started in protest, all too aware that she was probably right.
‘I say used to – it’s not even cool enough for him now.’
They focused on the chips. ‘Do you wanna chip, like?’ I asked from the corner of my cap. She twiddled a few strands of hair around her fingers, buying some precious seconds with which to think of something cool in response.
‘Me?’ was what she came up with.
‘Well yeah, but only if you like’ I muttered, still not revealing my true affections in his refusal to make eye contact.
‘Ta.’
She dived in and grabbed the biggest steaming chip in the pile. I watched her as she put the salty food to her lips.
‘Er, it’s got vinegar on.’
I was aghast. Visions of a lonely future spun around his mind. ‘I’ll find you one without’ I said, far too quickly to be cool, and fumbled on the bottom of the chip tray.
‘You could just kiss me.’
‘What?’
Something to do isn’t it.
Fuck. The girl with the glint in her eye, who smelled of wind and rain, who fluttered my stomach and made my head whirl. She wants me to kiss her. The first time. All I could hear was the hum of the shop generator that had now finished its loop, and the blinds clattering against the window. Focus. She just demanded exactly what I’d been wanting for months. And now I couldn’t. She looked expectantly, and stepped towards him. Her eyelashed licked her lids.
‘Mum’s expecting me home’ I said. We have guests.
I turned and ran. Looking back I shouted ‘Come if you want.’
She bit her lip, so hard that a tear came out. At least that’s what she told herself.

A novel tea

admin — Mon, 19 Nov 2012 21:43:48 +0000

It is 4pm. I get cranky if I don’t have a cup of tea by this time in the afternoon. My boyfriend knows this and so he drags me to the nearest shop to indulge me in my favourite brew. We are very lucky as the nearest shop turns out to be The Fourteas, a 1940s themed tea shop. Despite being just 25 (literally just; we are away in Shakespeareland to celebrate my birthday) I am hit with waves of nostalgia, more than likely fabricated memories and feelings that I have built up with the aid of tales from my grandparents and grainy television footage and photos of the war.
The lady in her headscarf comes over to take our order. A list of more than twenty teas is a little dizzying for me, and her and her husband help us out. Basically I want something that will go well with that scrumptious looking carrot cake over there. The frosting glistens and calls to me, and the smell of nutmeg wafts temptation.
She brings a big slice, two forks, and a pot of tea. Period crockery that I last saw on the Antiques Roadshow is laid on the table. I don’t really know what to do with tea when it’s not in a bag. We manage. It tastes good. I read wartime recipe books and study the ration cards around the room. I peer out the daintily clad windows, grateful that I am in here out of choice and will not have to leave to escape an air raid. I see the smiles of people in newspaper cuttings, enjoying VE day celebrations. I listen to a scratchy Vera Lynn on the wireless. And I remember what a treat afternoon tea is, when you make it matter.
You can read the original article on the wonderful Jammatology.

Champagne Face

admin — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 09:57:40 +0000

Winter is so tough. Night sets in before day properly breaks. The skin on the cheeks resembles a pumice stone. Wind bites at your skin while we bite at comforting pies. The only thing gloomier than the rainy afternoons are the grey weighty bags under the eyes. Sunshine and a cocktail are the only things that would make it all better. Clearly having the same thought process are the product designers at Betty Hula, who have launched their new range of beautifully scented moisturisers in a sensuous Champagne & Spice or rich Rum & Blackcurrant. Made only with pure ingredients, starting with shea butter as the base, to hydrate and pamper skin. Fifties pin up glamour is all the rage at the moment, and with good reason, as if anything makes you walk with shoulders back and a wiggle it is the magic that comes with a full skirt, tied front shirt and headscarf, and the retro inspired packaging injects a dollop of that glamour onto your dressing table. The ease with which the moisturisers glide on had me concerned that they would not be able to last the day, but despite rain and wind, they hold out well, hydrating throughout the day. Combine this with the glorious fragrance of a Hawaiian beach, and I managed to make it round to 6pm before being in need of a real rum. Bonus.
Currently £14.99 for 120ml at www.bettyhula.co.uk