Three Cool Cats

Yesterday I was visited by the most gigantic and flat-faced ginger cat that has ever existed. He was like Garfield but real and more awesome and nowhere near as unfunny as I hear the film is. This Mr. Garfield had me grinning all day. My cat in Sydney (she's being looked after by my housemate Char for all you RSPCA spies in the room) likes to headbutt my fist when I put it close to her. I understand this is common of cats. Garfield however, decided that he was too cool for that nonsense. He decided that licking is the new headbutting.

We're going to a friend's place for cheese and wine tomorrow evening. What's Gorgonzola and Camembert crossed together? Cambozola! Snap! (Courtesy of the cheese aficionado Elle Hall.) Yum yum meow.

Scarf and pleated skirt: Both bought the other day for £1.50 at a little Eastbourne second-hand store that overflowed with bric-a-brac.
Cropped top: A hand-me-down from my Mother.
Belt: 50 pence from another Eastbourne charity store.
Gold tights: American Apparel
Gloves: A left over from someone else's '80s themed party.

Camera

Thanks to today's adventures, the Eastbourne charity shop count has climbed to a massive 19. One of the two we visited today was a little store selling only bric-a-brac. We picked up a Brownie 127 camera for a couple of quid and ogled a polaroid camera.


Unfortunately, post purchase research found that the Box Brownie camera will have to function purely as an (very lovely) ornament as the film is no longer in production. Bah humbug.


Then head over heels I fell as I followed Bobby's gaze to a beautiful and fully functioning early 1900s Singer sewing machine. Alas, how I would go about getting it half way across the world in five months when I go back home, I have no idea. So, as it is, I'm in love and yes I'd rather no longer talk about it please.

Baby's Got a Brand New Secondhand Disguise

Thus far I have visited 17 charity shops in Eastbourne. One. Seven. Yes, this tiny town is crammed full with them. Essentially, it's my dream come true. Today we hopped down the street to find two previously undiscovered aged care charity shops and a little store overflowing with bric a brac. Two beautiful scarves, a perfect cream skirt and a typically awesome '80s belt later and back up the hill we climbed. On second thoughts, bounced might be a more appropriate word choice as I was just that happy. The warm weather proved to be the cherry on top, allowing me to ditch the coat and wear my brand spanking new little structured velvet jacket (which I bought on my second day this side of the world). A yummy delicious velvety cherry.

Glasses: Bobby's
Blouse and belt: Anglicare
Jacket: Marie Curie (charity store) in Eastbourne
Neck Tie: A waist tie from a hooded piece I have.
Trousers: Mum's hand-me-downs.

Brighton Rock

Today was a day spent wandering the streets of Brighton. We strolled up the pier and down the laneways for hours. And the weather, oh the weather! It was so warm in the sun that I was even able to remove my jacket without getting frostbite in my arms (right, might be exaggerating a little, but it has been very cold of late).

Hat: A going away gift from my Mother.
Dress: A few pounds from one of Eastbourne's many charity shops. I adjusted it yesterday without a sewing machine (a feat which took forever).
Blazer, saddle bag: Anglicare
Teddy bear belt: Coburg Trash & Treasure in Melbourne
Stockings: Some department store a long time ago.
Gold Tights underneath stockings: American Apparel.

My only complaint to the city of Brighton (because, clearly, they asked me to fill out a customer response form) was that the charity shops had been sapped drier than Arj Barker's humour by the surrounding vintage stores. The only thing I came close to buying from a charity store was a beautiful pair of dark brown barely heeled low cut granny shoes about half a size too small. I unwillingly said my goodbyes, my better half telling me that they weren't worth the hobbling. A kiss with a couple of (Banksy) policemen softened the blow, after which we browsed more vintage stores and I unwittingly photographed a 'no unauthorised photography' sign. I'm bad.


PS: Apparently Brighton thinks I should rename my blog Owl and the Lion.


UPDATE: Thanks to the lovely ladies at Painfully Hip, I'm featured on their website. Have a squizz over here.

For The Price of a Cup of Tea

Although I fought off my jet lag for just about long enough to sample a pint of warm beer in an olde English pub the other night (seriously old, it was built in 1180), my first real outing (ie; one where I wasn't falling asleep) was to a coffee shop within a fabric store.


I bought lace, drank tea and ate a scone with cream and jam. You know, when in Rome, and all that.

Warm Beer Cold Women

So I'm in England and, pretty much, there's only one word to describe this place: Cold. Which thoroughly concerns me as, according to the few English I have thus far encountered in the wild, this is warm.


I boarded the flight from Sydney to Abu Dhabi to find I was seated next to a sour-faced, middle-aged lady. However, apparently I have some kind of awesome stink on me because only minutes after sitting down, she squeezed past me to go to the toilet and never returned. While a normal person might find this insulting, I was fucking thrilled. I had the window AND the aisle seat. Like, a whole couch to myself with a view of the city lights to my right and ahead of me not one but two television screens. That's right, I could listen to Stewie say cool whip while simultaneously watching that little plane (representing yours truly) fly around the worldwide map. The second flight was much less exciting. No television and an aisle seat. The only consolation is that I was seated next to a pretty lady which, evidently, is a good thing when flying.

Conclusion: When flying, skip the deodorant.

I am staying with Bobby's parents in Eastbourne, on the 'sunshine' coast. Although Eastbourne is, according to Bobby, more or less a retirement town, I must say they are nice little retired people. "You look lovely" said a little old lady to me as she walked by us with her two chihuahuas. I just hope she meant that I was in good taste for a youngon, and not the kind of lovely Dame Edna Everage might consider lovely.

Ps: Their pokie machines are like a big box of hypnotising clutter. Don't judge me kid. That was not my first point of call in England. More like my second.

Up on the Roof

My lovely and very talented friend Daniel Boud popped up with his camera at last week's Vintage and Retro Fashion sale and, during a quiet moment on the Sunday afternoon, persuaded me, Bobby and Elle to dress up for an impromptu photo-shoot on the roof. Well, I say 'persuaded', but to be truthful very little arm-twisting was required to get us to play dress-ups.

We started off with a bit of wig action, which, as if by magic, turned Bobby into Garth.







Daniel got us jumping too, which gave me the chance to show off my complete and utter lack of agility. Fortunately, he is a good enough photographer to paper over the cracks of my inelegance.

Time To Go

Thanks to all you loverly people who came to see us at our last Vintage and Retro Fashion sale for six months. It was a wonderful weekend and there were plenty of bargains snapped up. The turnout was awesome, even my snoozy cat, Millie, came to hang out and sign the mailing list.


We'll be back to sell more good shit later in the year. For now though, I'm off to raid the charity shops in Europe.