THE PERKS OF BEING TIDY

// NOTE TO SELF // Yes, being disorganized and messy and cluttered is one of the side effects of having the disorganized, messy, cluttered creative mind. But no, leaving dirty clothes in a pile in the middle of your room will not make you feel better. Neither will an eternally unmade bed. And that mountainous heap of sketchbooks and handouts and bank statements on your desk? That won't go away just by wishing. There's a shoe organizer in your wardrobe: please use it instead of littering your shoes here there and everywhere. And while we're on the topic of wardrobes - why don't you just close the doors, instead of having to stare at the nuclear bomb explosion that is your collection of clothes? You might also want to put your makeup away after doing your face: it might mean not having to dig around for your foundation and your mascara and your blusher and every single item of makeup you need every single morning. You could also start using your wastepaper bin - just saying. And open your blinds during the day so that the place looks less like Gollum's cave. Consider tidying as you go instead of hanging around for the monthly deep clean. Yes, I know I tell you this every single time you have to have a mammoth de-clutter. Yes, I know that you set goals and decide that this will be the last time it gets this bad, but maybe you could consider actually following through with that vow? Just an idea. No pressure. You'll thank me for it, though. 

Kitty xx

TAKE ME TO PARIS

 // top: Old Navy // Jeans: J Crew // sandals: New Look //

// sunglasses: Ray-Ban Wayfarers // watch: Fossil //

I'm not a t-shirt girl and I haven't been since I was 11 years old buying pink tees covered in cartoon chimps and featuring phrases such as 'just monkeying around'. As a general rule I'm not an overly casual dresser, but since I've already broken that rule this summer by bringing Birkenstocks into my wardrobe I thought I'd indulge my rebellious streak and buy myself a t-shirt.* Yet even I can't get too casual, and so when I saw a t-shirt featuring the word 'Paris' on the front I realised I'd found the perfect balance between casual and classy - doesn't Paris just class everything up?

Cue some slightly awkward outfit pics (will I ever get used to this whole posing thing?) outside in the hot August sunshine. I find closeups so much easier than full-body shots... am I the only one? You regular readers will notice that once again I'm wearing those tan sandals... they've been my ultimate Summer 2014 staple. 

In other news, I've launched myself into a new story idea and have been doing a fair bit of writing this week. I always struggle knowing how to explain what I'm writing to people - "story" just sounds amateurish, but to say I'm writing a book makes me feel squeamishly precocious. I usually just stick to "I'm writing stuff..." and hope that I don't sound too pathetic. 

Kitty xx

*Yes, this is pretty much the most rebellious I ever get. Oh, she bought a t-shirt! Quick, alert the riot police...

A RUBY RED SUMMER

Readers, meet my sister Ruby. Yes, this doe-eyed wisp of loveliness really does exist and, yes, I'm lucky enough to be related her. I begged and begged this girl to let me take a few pictures of her this afternoon, and finally (albeit begrudgingly) she let me drag her to an old mill by our house and get snap-happy. I quite frankly could not get over how divine she looks in these photos (can you believe I took these on my phone?!) and I've been ooh-ing and ahh-ing all the way home.

Earlier this summer, Ruby went on a volunteer charity trip to Haiti and returned with gold-streaked hair and a camera full of photos. She's spent the subsequent weeks swimming, walking, getting sunburnt and tickling her kitten Charlie's stripy belly. From her freckled nose to her painted toenails, Ruby lives and breathes summer and I hope in this smattering of photographs I've managed to capture it.

Bring a little more zest to your summer by ensuring that you're following Ruby's five must do's:

1 // Eat your weight in watermelon.

2 // Ride a bike fast enough to feel the wind through your hair.

3 // Have a BBQ at least once a week.

4 // Become half-mermaid and live in the pool as much as possible.

5 // Plant and nurture a vegetable patch.

Happy August!

Kitty (& Ruby) xx

MY WEEK IN NUMBERS

[please ignore my chipped nails]

FIVE // eggs in the ma-hoo-sive omelette I ate for dinner last night. Ru sweetly offered to make me one, but when she put this car-tire-sized beauty in front of me and I asked her how many eggs were in it she vaguely said "Oh, I lost track". It was only after I'd eaten most of this delicious but ginormous concoction and was lying on my stuffed tummy in a discomfort only over-eaters will understand that she confessed she'd cracked five eggs into that beast.*

TWO // times I've ignored the nagging thought that my room needed tidying. Maybe today I'll actually get around to it...

ONE // much-regretted dip in our cold swimming pool. The weather has cooled down a lot in the last two or so weeks and, alas, I've barely swam at all.

SIX // metallic straps on my new silver Birkenstocks. I never thought I'd need/want them, but then I started 'borrowing' Ru's on trips to the shops etc and my feet (usually crammed into flimsy ballet shoes or support-less sandals) thanked me big time. And since I'm now on my feet a lot at work and my Converse low-tops have been my new best friends, I thought that I'd cave in and buy me some of these bulky German shoes. I couldn't give up the glam completely, though - metallic silver adds a (hopefully) feminine twist.

ONE // sofa we heaved down into the basement earlier in the week for the set-up of the TV room.

FOUR // nights we have since spent in the aforementioned TV room.

THREE // books I've read this week that have all been set on the early 20th Century Amazon River. Two of these books are by a beloved author, Eva Ibbotson, and I had read them several times before so I knew that the plots centred around Manaus. The third, however, was chosen on a whim and so I was rather spooked that part of this book's story also revolved around someone going to the Amazon in 1910. Is this a sign? Is it my destiny to be an Amazonian explorer? Please no.

TWO // salon-sized bottles of posh Argan Oil shampoo purchased in the hope that my hair will miraculously start growing like Rapunzel's.**

ONE // compliment directed towards my floral PJ bottoms from a young guy going to door-to-door asking people to donate to UNHRC. He apparently owned a similar pair himself...

SIX // watermelon slices I've eaten while writing this post. Yay for summer fruits!

* Since I've published this post, Ruby's confessed to me that she actually put six eggs in there!
** It won't.

ART + HOME

News from this week: I was promoted (it may or may not have been a self promotion) to Interior Designer and Curator in the family home. The house has been a work of progress for a while now and  in recent weeks it has been the living room's turn for attention. I've been nurturing a vision for this room and persuaded my parents to let me unleash my creative prowess: hello there, mint paint (same as in my bedroom), salon hanging and art prints. I spent a morning framing and arranging and hanging and then stepped back to get a feel for the result. I love salon-style hanging as it reminds me of my beloved art galleries and museums, and I composed it all in a way that would allow us to add more frames later.

As for the prints themselves - the majority were created by moi. Most are the result of a print-making class I took at uni a year or so ago and I've been waiting for an opportunity to do something with them. I've also been playing around with watercolours in the last two weeks, and the Auden quote is a product of one of those sessions.

Throw in several old glass bottles, some antique gold-leaf lettering, and a pair of Emma Bridgewater Royal birth commemorative mugs (Prince George turns one this week) and I think we've got ourselves a rather fetching ensemble.

Kitty xx

P.S. The imbalance of text to image in this post is due to my current state of extreme tiredness - I went to see the Katy Perry Prismatic tour in Toronto on Friday night and I am still recovering. I'm compensating for my inability to string a decent sentence together by inserting a flurry of pretty pictures. You can thank me later.

WHY

WHY // am I doing this? 

This is the question I will no doubt be asking myself frequently in the weeks to come as I try to implement a gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free diet.

WHY // are you doing this?

This is the question you might internally be asking me now as the terrifying concept of trying to exist without gluten, dairy and sugar sinks in. 

WHY // am I blogging about it?

This is the question I am asking as I type, and that you might be asking as you read this post.

On Saturday evening I announced frustratedly to my mum that I felt bloated 70% of the time. This isn't the first time I've made this kind of angry statement: for as long as I can remember, I have struggled with IBS-like symptoms on a daily basis. There are certain foods that I won't eat if I'm with people, certain foods I won't eat if I want to feel pretty, certain foods I won't eat if I don't want to feel like a sickened, bloated zombie. Over the years, the list of these 'certain foods' has lengthened until I very rarely go a day without experiencing mild to moderate discomfort. I have watched enviously as my friends get up after a heavy pasta meal looking slim and comfortable while I heave myself off the chair, unable to suck in my now distended stomach. I have attended wedding receptions where I find myself looking at the bride tucking into dinner and knowing that I would not - could not - eat any of those things on my wedding day without swelling up like a balloon by 5pm. 

And yet I have chosen to remain in denial for the longest time. I didn't want to keep a food diary or go through the elimination diet, like some suggested, because then I would be faced with the unavoidable truth that my very favourite foods were awful for my body. I loved bread, chocolate, pasta, butter, cakes, and sauces too much to purge them from my diet. I still love all of these things (chocolate cake! hot cross buns! spaghetti carbonara!) but they don't love me. And this unrequited love, this tragic tale of love lost, has led me to do the unthinkable. My mum's simple response to my outraged complaining was this: "Well, you know what you need to do." And, indeed, I do know what I need to do: give up gluten, dairy and sugar for an undetermined period of time.

So here I am, on Day 2 of a reluctant but necessary journey. I don't want to come across as that person. I'm not going to be making anyone feel guilty, I'm not going to be food-shaming, and I am going to try very hard not to go on about my new eating regime. Believe me, I am shocked at the fact I am actually going through with this - anyone who knows me knows that I have done my fair share of scoffing at things like quinoa. 

I've already been experimenting a bit with Ru's new vegan recipe book - the Oh She Glows Cookbook by Angela Liddon - and made some gluten-free granola and a gorgeous dairy-free chocolate smoothie. Ru's been a fan of this kind of eating for a while now, and so I've already been depending on her knowledge when it comes to things like substitution. I've told myself that I will be positive about this, and that it is possible.

So why am I blogging about this? In a word: accountability. I want to prove to myself that I can do something as difficult as changing my diet, and posting about it is both a personal promise and a public pledge. 

I'll be gluten-free, dairy-free and sugar-free. But hopefully I'll also be bloating-free. I'll be pain-free. I might, essentially, just be free.

Kitty xx

TORONTO ISLANDS

In the last eight weeks or so, I've been fortunate enough to be able to explore four of the world's iconic cities with four of the loveliest women: Cambridge with my cousin, London with my best friend, Paris with my aunt, and this past Saturday I went into Toronto with my sister. Compared with places like New York and London, Toronto has always seemed rather small to me. I've been in and around the city a fair bit in the time I've lived here but I've always felt that I was missing something. Toronto was nice, yes, but not fabulous - and surely a country's main cultural hub should be fabulous in some way or another? And so my attitude to Toronto has always been, quite simply, meh.

This past weekend, however, I had an attitude adjustment. Saturday morning came around and my younger sister Ru and I had an age-old conversation beginning with the words "What shall we do today?",  a conversation that usually ends hours later at dinner time with the realisation that we've spent so long deferring a decision that the opportunity has gone. This time, remarkably, the conversation was a snappy one, leaving us plenty of time to actually do something. Ru mentioned that she'd always fancied having a look at the Toronto Islands. The city sits on the edge of Lake Ontario and there's a small cluster of land just off the shore, overlooked by the skyscrapers of downtown. I'd seen the islands from the top of the CN Tower (and was never intrigued by them) but Ru said that she'd heard they had a little amusement park bit in summer, and it might be interesting, and hey, what else are we going to do today anyway? So without further ado we hopped into the car and off we went, windows down and Sam Smith blaring from the speakers. 

The first amendment to my attitude came on the way into the city. We were a little overconfident with our sense of direction and promptly overshot our exit from the highway, meaning that we took the long way round going into Toronto and found ourselves driving through a part of the city I'd never seen. There were little restaurants and delicatessens and lots of leafy avenues with houses that I can only describe as Toronto-ish (google 'Toronto Houses' and you'll know what I mean). It was all rather lovely, and then when we parked on the corner of Queen and Simcoe I found myself happily in what I assume is the bohemian artsy part of the city. There was a certain vibe there, and I liked it.

45 minutes and a crowded walk to the lake shore later, Ru and I got on the ferry amongst a jostling gaggle of students, couples and young families carrying picnic baskets and even disposable BBQ trays. The holiday atmosphere intensified once we reached Ward's Island; this was obviously where city-dwellers come as a retreat, and why not? There are beaches, rivers, bridges, parks, bikes, quadricycles, row boats, dragon boats, canoes, fairground rides, food shacks - we even passed an outdoors wedding ceremony! We rented bikes and wound our way around the whole landmass. I kept thinking of those old illustrations you see from the 1890's, depicting ladies with wide-brimmed hats and parasols and gentlemen in straw hats and striped blazers as they row under bridges or picnic or ride the merry-go-round. I can just imagine the late 19th century Torontonians doing all of these things on the Islands: city bankers taking their young fiancés away from the brick and the heat of the city to have a day out by the water. I think that the Islands are to Toronto what Brighton is to London, or what Central Park is to New York.

I didn't just like this slice of Toronto, I loved it. It was amazing to be cycling down a forested path and to suddenly see the downtown Toronto skyline through a gap in the trees. You had that distinctly urban feeling that you were a part of something, yet you were so obviously removed from concrete and car fumes. The Toronto Islands are, in a word, fabulous.

Kitty xx