the view from here

Looking Back | London

 

Before leaving London we lived in the East End, Wapping to be exact. Cobbled streets and wrought iron fences, this cosy little village is a well kept secret minute away from the towering monsters of Canary Wharf, London Bridge and Liverpool Street.

Our apartment overlooked the Thames, and we could see Tower Bridge from our window. It was really something special. The Overground or Tube was our transport of choice, with bikes for getting around the local area (cycling in London means putting your life in the hands of crazed lunatics).

Moving Forward | Copenhagen

 

Two accommodation moves later and we're finally in an apartment of our own in Copenhagen. Cosy, and well lit, I think this is as good as it gets. We cycle absolutely everywhere now, even in the rain (which is constant). The skyline is a lot lower, a lot more yellow-washed walls and brown roofs. I think it is perfect.

Drivin' Drivin' Drivin'

I have something oh so very, very exciting to share; after two failed attempts, I have passed my driving test! I celebrated by driving, a lot. IN FACT I'M DRIVING RIGHT NOW. Ok, that's a lie, but I have been driving all over the place. I drove on my very own for the first time last night. Driving in the dark is kind of scary, but I like to jump in head first, so I just went for it. This morning it was -1 and frosty, but I also just went for it. I am going to make my friends spend some time this weekend teaching me how to park skilfully, and then my arsenal of driving skills will be complete.

At long long, long last I have accomplished what I set out for Ireland to achieve, so at the end of this month (the 31st exactly, in fact), I am heading back to Copenhagen. It just so happens that the very next day Leo and I are moving into a brand new shiny apartment. I'm so excited, I just can't even tell you.Ticking things off the list feels so good. Being able to drive anywhere on your own is one of the most liberating things I've ever experienced. I can't wait to rent a car and go to the countryside some day (I cycle everywhere, no need to own a car, but it's a priceless skill to have).

Now, to make the most of the next two weeks by driving as much as is humanely possible. I hope to go far and wide in this silly little car of my mom's.

*toot toot*

When Your Cat Dies

My cat, Napoleon, was a part of my life for about 12 wonderful years. He slept on my pillow, stole my food right off the plate when I turned away, listened to my teenage angst and bellyaching without ever complaining. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that we had a mutual understanding, we were cool. If you're not a cat person, you might scoff at the idea that someone can love their cat, see them as a member of the family. You might wonder why a person would take the time to get to know a cat. To learn their personality, tolerate their moods and clean up after them when they make a mess, which, as you will learn, becomes unbelievably frequent the older they get.

The answer is because you love their mix of haughty persistence and cool indifference. You love how your lap is never more desirable to them than when they are completely soaking wet. And how they are basically sarcastic little humans covered with fur that get can into the most incredible mischief, and will show you that creatures you never knew live in your environs, such as bats and voles, taste best when consumed on the rug in the hall, or, shock horror, on your bed. They push your patience to the absolute limit, and they certainly aren't beyond peeing in the shower if the mood takes them.

Having a cat in your home gives you a unique joy. You can't jog on the beach like you can with a dog, and they certainly won't alert you to any intruders, but they bring their own distinctive blend of love and gratitude. This gratitude is especially evident when you give them tuna or liver, or when you scratch the special spot on their back that somehow causes them to start licking their leg. They have the best warm fur smell, and watching them having nightmares, moaning softly, it's hard to believe that they're just animals. Indeed, in that moment of furry perfection, they're so much more than 'just animals'.

Napoleon was very old, and completely deaf by the end. He would meow in long, gutteral moans, day and night. To calm him down you'd have to go right over to him and look him in the eye, or pick him up. He was obsessively determined in his pursuit of snacks, and got sick absolutely everywhere. He left our lives not with blood and organ failure and tears, the usual expectation when our pets get very old and start fading. He just walked out of the house, on the night of the 21st, and we never saw him again. Animals have that instinct to go die alone I suppose, and while I appreciate the sentiment, I'd love to have said my goodbyes, and give him a final home in the kitty graveyard at the side of my house with Tiger and Felix and Panther and Pushkin.  But, as always, he got his own way.

Thanks anyway for everything Napoleon. You were beyond sound.

Napoleon in his twilight years. The last picture I took of him, looking every inch the old man.

Belated Christmas Post #3 | A Plethora of Holiday Images

 

Christmas Trees | Cookies | Self-Decorated T-Shirts | Paper Chains | Fireplaces

 

Belated Christmas Post #2 | A Million Gingerbreads Shall Be Baked

I don't know a man alive that doesn't love gingerbread men. Well, I know one,  I have a friend who would rather not eat gingerbread, but I'm convinced she's never given it a solid shot and should welcome the spicy crunchy goodness into her heart.

Not only Christmas, but the entire winter period, is incomplete for me without having endless, fresh batches of gingerbread people in circulation. They're so easy to make, absolutely delicious, and I'll always favour something I've baked myself over a shop-bought item.

I follow this BBC recipe, it's incredibly simple and the biscuits turn out great every time.

          Ingredients

350g/12oz plain flour, plus extra for rolling out

1 tsp bicarbonate of soda

2 tsp ground ginger

1 tsp ground cinnamon

125g/4½oz butter

175g/6oz light soft brown sugar

1 free-range egg

4 tbsp golden syrup

Preparation method

1. Sift together the flour, bicarbonate of soda, ginger and cinnamon and pour into the bowl of a food processor. Add the butter and blend until the mix looks like breadcrumbs. Stir in the sugar.
   
2. Lightly beat the egg and golden syrup together, add to the food processor and pulse until the mixture clumps together. Tip the dough out, knead briefly until smooth, wrap in clingfim and leave to chill in the fridge for 15 minutes.
   
3. Preheat the oven to 180C/350F/Gas 4. Line two baking trays with greaseproof paper.
   
4. Roll the dough out to a 0.5cm/¼in thickness on a lightly floured surface. Using cutters, cut out the gingerbread men shapes and place on the baking tray, leaving a gap between them.
   
5. Bake for 12-15 minutes, or until lightly golden-brown. Leave on the tray for 10 minutes and then move to a wire rack to finish cooling. 
   
   *I used x2 the measurements to make a double batch. At times, I have also used molasses instead of golden syrup as I think it's a more nutrient-rich alternative, but it does make the biscuits a darker colour, so be warned. In addition, I chop up a root of ginger into tiny pieces and mix it in, because ginger is really good for you and I love it. 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   

 Best eaten fresh from the oven when they're still ever so slightly soft in places but mostly crunchy. De-vine, as Candy Crush would say.

Help Me Plan My Life

I am an outrageously organised person. Without actually being in any way concerned about the extent to which I feel compelled to plan and organise my life. I feel very comfortable with scheduling every aspect of my existence, and so it is only right that I should have a diary that allows me to plan with a high degree of accuracy.

I don't trust my telephone or a computer to handle my affairs, only pen (Staedtler, a superior ball point or mechanical pencil is my impliment of choice) and well designed paper will do.

In my hay-day I used glittery cupcake-d planners from Paperchase, generic free diaries from healthcare centres or dentists, and one delightful little paperback planner from a street market in NYC that didn't make it the whole way through 2010.

For two years on the trot I've been using a black, hardbacked Moleskine diary. It is so sleek, so deliciously designed, the fonts are so streamlined, the address book and note jotting space so appropriate, that I've felt absolutely no need to deviate from the norm.

However, I feel a niggling at the back of my mind that perhaps there is a better diary out there, that I just haven't found it yet. Maybe it's pages are sleeker, its alloted jotting area larger, maybe its corners do not fray as Moleskines are wont to.

Don't get me wrong, I love my Moleskine, I feel like a Parisian lovelorn artiste writing in it, but maybe there is another way. If anyone could point me in the direction of another, similarly priced piece of organisational beauty, that ships to Ireland or Denmark, I would be eternally greatful.

Kind regards,
Amy xo

It's Almost Christmas!

My internet access has been outrageously limited of late, I really only access the internet from my phone, so there haven't been any substantial blog updates, apologies!

I have so many post ideas lined up, but they'll have to wait until the new year. I'm basking in the last few days of the Christmas build-up here. Everyone is in great spirits, after the shocking year Ireland has had (cough, austerity, cough), things are definitely looking up. There was even a flurry of snow yesterday. Never say never :)

I'm looking forward to a day of Cadburys Selection Boxes, watching Love Actually on RTÉ, and cooking Christmas dinner for my reduced-numbers family.

For now, I'll leave you with a selection of my all time favourite Christmas songs; I Wish it Could Be Christmas Every Day, Fairytale of New York (an excellent cover my everyone's favourite Irish pop-ska band), and Last Christmas. George Michael, you have my heard forever.

Nollaig Mhaith!! xoxo

 

 

No Leaders, No Heroes

Sick Sick Sick No No No

Every time I feel myself getting a cold I have this ritual which involved eating oranges* and drinking coffee, because I've decided caffeine fights colds. My aunt has got me started on these homeopathic salts you place under your tongue, and just for good measure I'm taking a paracetamol too. And so much water. I refuse to be reduced to a snivelling wreck, getting my germs on hand rails in buses. To be fair, though, beginning to eat meat again was the best thing I ever did for my immune system, and for that decision I am eternally grateful. To myself.

Cold, get outta heeeea.

This is the first meme I've ever posted anywhere! I hate me now!

*I have a confession, I don't entirely enjoy eating oranges. Too sour, too hard to get the meat-fruit from the fleshy layer.

My Birthday

It was my birthday on Sunday, December 1st. I had a fantastic weekend, I was surrounded by loved ones, food and cake, all of my favourite things. Let's recap my favourite moments, shall we:

• Leo came to Ireland for my birthday on Friday night. It was so nice spending time together, only 29 days to go until we are permanently reunited! We've decided from now on to give a present rather than receiving on your birthday, so I gave Leo a big by Richard Sennett, an eminent sociologist.

• I did a trial shift in a fancy-pants restaurant on Friday and then got a call offering me the job on Saturday. It's lunch time only, Christmas only, and luckily I'm an excellent waitress so it'll be easy peasy. I can't wait to make some $$$$$.

• I got to experience the utter horror that is the Nitelink bus. For just €5 you can listen to horrible drunk and high men at the back of the bus relive their teenage years and roam the top deck begging strangers for skins.

• I got to eat in some of my favourite places in Dublin; a bento in Ukiyo on Saturday, dinner in Yamamori on Saturday, the biggest portion of chips you have ever seen (and I mean EVER) from Leo Burdock's on Saturday night. I had brunch with my family on Sunday, and basically ate an entire loaf of bread while catching up with my aunt and uncle on Saturday morning. 

• On Sunday, after a trip out to the airport (Dublin airport is magical at Christmas time, it's common knowledge) I went to Yamamori for a birthday dinner with three of my friends. The food was delish and the banter was great, I even enjoyed a virgin mojito, but by far the icing on the cake (pun) was when all the lights in the restaurant were dimmed and every single person clapped and sang Happy Birthday to me. I was fairly mortified, but it made me feel so special and loved. Yay, friendship!

I'm so excited to be 25, I can now rent cars in Europe, get cheaper car insurance should I need it, and am officially a quarter of a century old. Life is great, and I feel so lucky.

 

The sheer novelty of chopsticks



 





I met Santy chilling in Dublin Airport

Trip to the Wicklow Mountains

Today I took a rare trip to county Wicklow with my lovely friend Stephen with the intention of getting some melt and pour soap mix, and have a wee gander in the Wicklow mountains. I found this great shop called Bomar online, and it turns out Stephen's family home is mere meters from it. Luckily he drove, because it's literally about a 2 hour bus journey from Dublin to there, and I spend enough time on buses as it is.

We took a brief gander in the shop, and I came away with a sodium lauryl-free soap base (1kg) and ginger oil for €10. I'm ok with that. The shop had everything, aromatherapy oils, essential oils, base oils, soap mixes, moulds, and every kind of bottle and container imaginable. I can't wait to make some Christmassy soaps.

After our trip to the store we headed up and up for a drive in the hills. I have only briefly been to Wicklow before and, while I've been to Glendelough, I've never been in the mountains proper.  It was a gloomy day, but this just enhanced the bleakness of the landscape.

The Wicklow mountains are a predominantly granite landscape, with sparse foliage due to the high winds experienced. Winding roads reveal new treats at every corner, as acres of pine trees are replaced by corrie lakes, waterfalls or sparse foliage and heath for miles. We got out at one point and hung out with some sheep, but they didn't want to talk to us, so we proceeded.


The rest of the afternoon was spent driving, and catching up with my aunt and cousin, who I haven't seen in a few months. I ate mandarins and white chocolates and drank tea, and it was really nice. The funny thing is, last night was the first time I've had less than 8 hours sleep in months, and right now I'm absolutely exhausted. Time to go home to bed, I think. I'm going to give some creative writing a go first, though. I was at a zine launch last night, and they're looking for submission for the next edition. I never write anything decent, it would be good to challenge myself for once :)

I'll finish up with a few pictures of the Wicklow mountains to give you an idea. Stephen did take some pictures, but I don't have them, so the Wikipedia stock photos will have to do:

Lugnaquilla, Wicklow's highest mountain

Feral goat

Tonelagee mountain in the Glendasan valley, Wicklow Mountains

Deer on the slopes of Camaderry Mountain

The Waiting Place

I like to relate my life to a few key concepts; Twin Peaks episodes, Friends episodes, Oh the Places You'll Go (it isn't popular in Ireland, I only found out about it about two years ago) or The Office (the UK version). Now is one of those Dr. Seuss moments.

I'm at a stage, for a few weeks now, where I'm in The Waiting Place. In case you are not blessed enough to know the story, here is the most saddest part:

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles cross weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...
...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that, as a 24 year old, I tear up every time I read this part of the story. It's the most terribly lonely few paragraphs ever written for a children's book.

The idea of just waiting terrifies me. I want to be active, doing things, achieving, and adding value.

I've booked a flight back to Copenhagen (New Years Eve!!) and I'm in the process of getting a job for the month of December that will fill a good deal of my time, but the last few days have been full of disillusionment. Sometimes things just take so much longer than they're supposed to.

Because I didn't pass my driving test on a technicality (hey, everyone fails the first time, right? I've only been having lessons for 2 months) I have to wait until mid-December to re-take, and Leo leaves Copenhagen for Christmas around the same time, so I'm just sitting it out patiently.

I'm looking forward to the holiday season, making gingerbread, decorating my gingerbread house, making Christmas jumpers and seeing old friends. But I'm also dying to get on with the next stage of the game. I'm all but finished up with my internship now, and I need time-filling fun, pronto.

I've been jogging, swimming, reading a lot, baking and hanging out with my friends, but I'm stuck in this inbetween time, and I'm ready to fly away at last.

I want to feel light and breezy, like this guy.

A Couple Things

Churros with Friends

IKEA Purchases

Joy the Baker Recipe Apple Crumble

A Bull in a Field

A Humungous Leaf

One Hilarious Phone Cover

Finally Finished My Room With These Funky Floral Curtains

Sadly, oh so very sadly, I got a brand new phone, and while it's processor is fast and all that, the camera is beyond terrible. Hence all the grainy pictures. I'm so very sorry.

Book Review | The Body Economic

Book Review | The Body Economic, Why Austerity Kills

The Body Economic, the collaborative effort of David Stuckler and Sanjay Basu, is a cautionary message from the world of epidemiology and public policy. The authors use statistics (lots of statistics oh so many statistics perhaps too many statistics) to convince the reader that austerity measures cripple and shrink economies, and cause damage that takes years, and many lives, to reverse. Countries are left agency-less, forcing citizens to shoulder the financial burden for banks and governments who have abused their powers.

Its message is simple; the human toll of austerity measures in recession can be, and is proving to be, enormous. If public health is mismanaged by governments, the spread of preventable diseases, rising mental illness and suicide rates and the general ill-health of nations snowballs. Furthermore, scrimping on public services relating to healthcare, housing and employment services leaves entire generations out of work and disenfranchised.

Stylistically, the book follows the typical formula of popular economics/sociological texts. It mingles statistics and graphs with personal stories and simple explanations and definitions to form a picture that is easily digestible, reasonable, and difficult to refute. It's a simple formula, and while I usually find myself getting statistic/information burn out towards the final chapters, it's a winning combination and I love these kinds of books. They provide a lot of information in a short amount of time, and give the reader a basic introduction to a topic in a simple, effective way.

It is of course important to note that the text is heavily biased. The authors make claims about the peer reviewed nature of their work, placing it on a moral high ground in direct opposition to that which it refutes. We must, of course remember that as many austerity advocating texts are also peer reviewed, this in and of itself does not make one argument more valid than the other. However, the reason I think this book is such a valuable read is because it is taking a side of the argument we so rarely hear. Everyone is being told why they must make cutbacks in their own lives, pay for the mistakes of powers much higher than themselves, suffer for their sins, so to speak. And it just so happens that I am entirely in agreeance with the authors.

This text reminds us of the high cost of austerity, and promotes an idea that is not mainstream, although it is my belief that it should be. It does not offer objectivity, rather an impassioned argument which it tries to backup with statistics. Almost all arguments are biased, based on value judgements and context, and this is an important point to remember. Whether you agree with the sentiment or not, it is an important book to read, preferably with an open mind. 

Too often is it the argument at the direct other end of the spectrum, one of liberal individualism, clogging up our newspapers and televisions, and I welcome this refreshing and well-researched book for its arguments and propositions.

4/5

Poem: Epithalamium

Nick Laird (2011)

You're beeswax and I'm bird shit.
I'm mostly harmless. You're irrational.
If I'm iniquity then you're theft.
One of us is supercalifragilistic.

If I'm the most insane disgusting filth
you're hardly curiosa.
You're bubble wrap to my fingertips.
You're winter sleep and I'm the bee dance.

And I am menthol and you are eggshell.
When you're atrocious I am Spellcheck.
You're the yen. I'm the Nepalese pound.
If I'm homesteading you're radical chic.

I'm carpet shock and you're the rail.
I'm Memory Foam Day on Price-Drop TV
and you're the Lord of Misrule who shrieks
when I surface in goggles through duckweed,

and I am Trafalgar, and you're Waterloo,
and frequently it seems to me that I am you,
and you are me. If I'm the rising incantation
you're the charm, or I am, or you are.


(epithalamium

ˌɛpɪθəˈleɪmɪəm/

noun

noun: epithalamium; plural noun: epithalamia; plural noun: epithalamiums

1. a song or poem celebrating a marriage.)

    

Book Reviews

I read a lot in my free time. Actually, allow me to meander for a moment as a thought crosses my mind. Isn't the concept of 'free time' a funny one? As if the time not designated for work, sleep, eating or otherwise labouring in this mortal toil should be 'free'. This demarcation of time based around labour, obligatory and voluntary, structured and limitingly unstructured has never felt wholly satisfactory to me.

I discovered for myself as a child that time can be split in more ways than that, and the choice almost always rests with yourself. For example, you thinking cleaning is work? Well, actually, cleaning is very calming, it's great exercise and, hey at the end of it you get to enjoy a room that is orderly and hygienic. What's not to enjoy about that? Mass? Mass takes an incredibly long time and you have to sit still listening to one man talk a lot about concepts like 'communion with Christ'. but hey, what a great opportunity to practice looking interested and reflective. These skills will serve you well in the future, especially if you end up in a meeting you have little interest in.

Likewise, many consider reading to be a form of labour, especially those who don't do it very often. But as soon as you learn to love reading, challenging yourself with new books, with unknown vocabularies and concepts outside your own world, you come to see that the world of ideas is limitless, spelling well is actually a doddle and an asset, and your imagination is an expansive and sometimes frightening thing. 

All of my fondest memories of travelling, being on planes, long car rides, sitting in foreign train stations, and coffee shops and the endless, endless bus journeys that are a prerequisite of living in the absolute middle of nowhere, including a book in hand, or in backpack, or on table. Books are as part of my life as my lip freckle and penchant for lists. I've spent more time reading books than I probably have cooking, or cycling, or swimming, and I love cooking and cycling and swimming an enormous amount.

I always make time for books, so it seems only right that I should include my love of books more on my blog. I've decided that after each book I read I'm going to write a short overview and opinion, and I suppose give it a mark out of 5 because that seems to be the done thing. I sometimes find myself coming back to a book a year or so later and wondering what on earth I found so great about it because, although I have a hazy glow of a feeling about it, specifics of the plot escape me. I hope these reviews will help to prompt my memory. I look forward to writing them, I hope you look forward to reading them.

This is actually an image from my old university, Trinity College, but I've never been in this part of it. What do you think that says about me, eh?

Melt and Pour Soap: Lavender Soap

I love making my own soap, but as I haven't had a space of my own with my own, very private kitchen for my own messes and weird potions, I haven't been able to make it the real real from scratch way.

So I've been using melt and pour sets to make my own soaps. It really couldn't be simpler. Leo's apartment kitchen has NO supplies whatsoever (I don't know how people cope) so I just did this in the microwave.

1. Find a container you will pour your soap into. I used an IKEA lunch box, the ones everyone in the world owns, intending to then cut the soap into small pieces.

2. Cut your melt and pour mix into manageable cubed pieces. Make approximately enough so that it will fit into the container when melted.

3. Get essential oils, colours, anything you wish to add to the soap, and leave them ready.

4. It is great to have a spray bottle containing alcohol at hand. I used an old hair conditioner bottle with rubbing alcohol. This can be sprayed into the container before pouring the mixture in so it pops out easier, and sprayed on the mixture as it settles to remove air bubbles that look ugly.

5. Put the soap block into a glass or some kind of sturdy bowl and put in the microwave to melt. Keep a strict watch over it and take out as soon as it is 99% melted. I then stirred vigorously so the remainder would melt.

6. Add a few drops of essential oils. I'm not going to be too specific because everyone has different skin, different preferences and different tastes. I added about 4 drops of tea tree oil and 6 drops of lavender. I was also lucky enough to find a market stall selling a bag of lavender, so I chopped the lavender up into tiny pieces and poured about half a tbsp in to the mix, stirring well.

7. I poured the mixture into the lunch box, sprayed away any air bubbles, and left it to set. When there was a gel-like layer formed on the top I sprinkled a little bit of lavender on that and patted it down gently so it stuck.

8. Once it was semi-solid I put it in the fridge. A few hours later I took it up, pushed it out of the container, sliced it into smaller pieces, and put it into grease proof paper so it wouldn't sweat.

And there you have it. A simple, cheap recipe to make something great that can be used on your face, hands, in the shower, and even as shampoo if you don't have a lot of hair (I, sadly, have an awful lot of hair, so it's not really lathery enough). For what amounts to a few cents a piece, you can have bars of soap to give as presents or for your own use. It's so much fun to experiment with different scents and colours, last year we discovered turmeric makes an excellent dye for an orange scented soap, and it lasts really well. Have fun!