Ain't No Mountain High Enough

I spent the earlier half of this week rummaging through countless charity shops, separating the rad from the ugly, in and around Katoomba (a small town in the beautiful Blue Mountains). The trip was primarily to collect some much needed stock for our next Vintage & Retro Fashion Sale but it also acted as a badly disguised break from Sydney. The evenings were spent in the communal areas of our hostel drinking delicious clean skins, eating, reading an enormous amount and gloating - I managed to whittle my clothing necessities down to about five items. Admittedly however, this achievement was slightly discredited by my knowledge of all the buying of clothes we'd be doing.

Whilst, at the time, hunting for good quality vintage in the town felt an equivelantly overwhelming task to finding needles in a haystack, in hindsight, we actually did absurdly well from the trip. I suppose this is exemplified in the fact that on the final day, we felt it necessary to purchase of a large second hand suitcase to appease the awkwardness and difficulty of carrying so much home. We more or less took Katoomba by its ankles and shook out its pockets for all it was worth. The majority of our finds are by now well hidden within all the rest of our new stock but I did keep a few things for myself, the most expensive (ie most awesome) of which I snapped some photos of just for you (but mainly for me - I'm hyperventilating at the sight of them *in photo form* as I write this).

I wholly accidentally scored a new (!) pair of boots from Rivers which I'm super duper very excited about - particularly by the fact that they're not leather. Also, my feet aren't quite as big as they look here. They're quite big. But not that big. Well, not from where I stand, anyway.

We bought this at the last minute, after having mulled over the prospect of spending so much money on something that might possibly probably break on the way back to the City. But it didn't! And it's amazing!

We're already planning our next trip.

Fairytale of New York

Why, don't you look lovely today? Is that vintage? You got it from one of my vintage sales, didn't you? Yes yes, I know how these things work. How was your holiday? I'm avoiding the C word (no, the other one, you dirty scumbag) as *I* don't discriminate. Also because I kind of hate the C word and the fat man and all his imagined buddys (I'm looking at you, God) and it's much nicer to just think of it as a celebration where everybody takes a little time off, eats and drinks 'till they spew and laughs at the dude with obvious bad luck in straw drawing sweating his arse off in an atrocious, hired red and white suit. Though that said, I kind of made a tree. Out of material. But it was done totally begrudgingly. Well, a little begrudgingly. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed/are enjoying your holiday. I hope it is/was peaceful and I'm really sorry about Aunt Alice interrogating you about your sex life. She means no harm, she's just a bit of a perve. I hope that the fish cooked through properly 'cause no one likes undercooked fish. Except the Japanese. And some owls. Speaking of owls, Bobby got Wiggi the Owl an easel. He hasn't stopped tweeting about it. Not tweeting about it silly. He can't use computers, obviously.

Wishing that the New Year brings you many a merry time and all. Sending my love (in a totally non-pervy way. Are you listening Aunt Alice?)

P.S. We're only just beginning to run out of all the food we made on the 25th. By run out, I mean we only have maybe three lunches and ten deserts left. I think we may have over cooked.

SPAM

I received an email yesterday from a girl called Cynthia who exclaimed that my fashion articles for 2threads touch her in her spirit. Creepy? Yes. Am I making this up? No. In all honesty, it was, in all probability (ok, definitely), spam and I'm pretty sure she's actually a robot but I still took some joy in the wording of her (its?) email. She ended with this quote: "Remeber the distance or colour does not matter but love and concern matters alot in life." Which I'm pretty sure means that she's calling me a racist for thinking her a spammer. Which I'm totally not... I'm just a... robotist?

Last week in owllywood*:

I reviewed the film An Education, a surprisingly brilliant movie about a 16 year old schoolgirl's relationship with a playboy twice her age. Trust me, it's much better than the average coming-of-age/love story/shit that's come out this year.This is also my first and very possibly last ever film review.

Because I love you (and because I'm kind of awful at keeping secrets), here's my guide to shopping for vintage dresses on eBay - including my top ten most affordable eBay stores.

If you haven’t noticed the cool kids wearing them on the streets recently, you've surely been living in a barn (geddit? Like Lagerfeld!) Whether you juxtapose them with frilly dresses or do it Madonna style, adorn your hands with fingerless leather gloves this Spring.

*I totally stole this from my friend Olly, who, I only noticed last night, has a photograph of the Hollywood sign on his door. Only, rather than Hollywood, it reads 'ollywood'. Amazing. It's unfortunate it doesn't work as well with 'owl'.

Cuddle Up

Wesley the Owl made me late for work yesterday. When Bobby popped the magazine with the feature on my bed, five minutes before we were supposed to leave to catch the bus, he really should have known better.


The feature was long (well, long enough for me to have missed my bus), and I'd rather keep this short so I'll just point you here, to the article itself. To summarise though, Wesley's pretty much the coolest owl in the whole world ever. The little guy followed his adoptive - human - mother around everywhere, constantly chattering. Then, one evening, he stretched his wings out, laid on her chest, and fell asleep cuddling her. This became their regular thing, could you believe? He died at 19 years old, bloody ancient for a barn owl. I know I want to have just about every animal that has ever existed (if I had my way, I'd live in a zoo), but I'd like a baby owl, please. Stone and ceramic just ain't cutting gonna cut it anymore.

It's Oh So Quiet

I'm keeping my lips sewn shut Frankenstein-style until tomorrow, when my article will be published. Drop then by to read all about the chaotic weekend that was Brighton Fashion Weekend. In the meantime, here are some pictures and a song for you (sung to the tune of Bad Boys).

Bird flu, bird flu,
What you gonna do?
What you gonna do
When you go tweet twoo?

I think I might have an addiction to owls. Seriously, heroin schmeroin. Wandering around the charity shops in town yesterday, I found these kids to add to my collection. The pretty white one's head comes off. I'm considering filling him up with little owls but I don't really support cannibalism (I totally just wrote carnivalism which is like a cross between cannibalism, carnivore and carnival. Can you imagine such a thing?) Maybe I'll fill him up with heroin instead.


P.S. I just Googled 'lips sewn shut' and I really don't recommend it. Unless you don't intend to sleep tonight, so that you can be the first to read my article. In that case, Google away.

Whistle Past The Graveyard

Pere Lachaise is a beautiful, morbid and particularly Gothic cemetery in Paris. It's home to Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison and Edith Piaf, to mention a few. It's nicknamed the 'City of the Dead' due to it's sheer vastness. There are even streets and districts. It was stunning.


However, that said, don't feel like you have to venture all the way to Paris to take it in Pere Lachaises beauty. Whilst on their website, finding a link for this post, I saw that you can go on a VIRTUAL TOUR. Like Star Trek except less spaceships and more zombies (to any film producers listening: Yes, I would be willing to write and direct such a film).

This was the breathtaking crematorium. Each tiny square you can see on the wall to the left under the arches, is someone's ashes. That wall continued behind the crematorium and up the right side, almost every square filled.

Scarf: Bought for €1 from Free'P'Star in Paris. Unfortunately, I lost it somewhere in between packing my bags and arriving back in England. I was pretty devastated. To lift my spirits, Bobby got us tickets to see Kimya Dawson in Brighton on Tuesday which definitely has me feeling at least 76% better.
Dress, belt and broach (worn as a necklace): From various charity stores in Eastbourne, England.
Holy stockings over plain black stockings: D.I.Y.

I found these two friends for a couple of euros in Paris, just around the corner from Free'P'Star in a little Asian shop. The one of the left has been named Toowit and the guy on the right, Toowoo. They're sitting atop a comic book written by the multi-talented Jeffrey Lewis, another Paris acquisition (the comic, not Lewis) from when we went to see Lewis and his band play at La Maronquinerie. Bobby's review of the show is much better than mine could ever be so I'll point you over here. But basically, the first support was almost too weird to mention, the second (Casiotone For The Painfully Alone) very Bright Eyes and very enjoyable, and the main, Jeffrey Lewis, brilliant.

Jumble Jumble

Lewes in East Sussex has more antique and bric-a-brac stores than it knows what to do with. And yet there must be enough demand that they're able to charge what they do; while a couple of them were reasonably priced, most were outrageous. Hence, bar a bow tie I found in a charity store, it was all look and no touch. And a fair bit of picture taking.


This little family however, were the ultimate find. Tooooot!


On another, entirely seperate note, I don't know whether it's 'cause I'm missing Australia and therefore am unwittingly attracted to all things lumberjack, or whether this frickin' cold weather is finally getting to me, but I'm craving a pair of denim overalls. Hard. All I want to do is skip through blooming poppy fields in denim overalls, a white lace top and with a super sized white bow atop my head. And these? I'm pretty sure these materialised from my deepest, darkest dreams. Okay, maybe less darkness and more flowers and white fluffy clouds, but you get the idea. Check out the rest of the website. There are some equally worthy pieces of heaven, including this deliciously '80s dress. Best part is, it's all wholesale clothing at wholesale prices. Much better value than Lewes antique stores, that's for sure.

(Drawing) Rings Around The World

I woke up really early this morning. Like, 9:15am (I know, right?). I decided that the best course of action would be to lie in bed for at least a good half-an-hour in order to convince myself that I was, in fact, still sleeping. It was during this comatose state, as I counted kangaroos, that I made the decision that Sydney was definitely missing my arse (because well, I was grumpy and it just had to be, right?) Yes, Sydney today was no doubtedly sorrowful, grey and generally horrible, all in mourning for Miss Owl and the Grapes. Don't ask me why exactly, but it made me feel about half-an-hour's worth of sleep better.

My dear friend Elle Hall obviously cross-continentally read my mind this morning, as this afternoon I was on the receiving end of a surprise message directing me to her blog, Pipsqueak Numbskull, where I found, with a squeal, that she had done a wonderful portrait of this blog, with a dedication and all. Clickity click on the picture to enlarge.

P.S. I'm pretty sure I hate Karma, as it's now raining down in England.

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.

Picking up after you

Excluding a pee and a poop here and there, the man and I spent an entire day last week in the living room. Indeed, we didn't leave the house at all. No, we weren't sick. And we hadn't been grounded by the old man across the road. In fact, we did it by choice - hoping to be productive.


Amongst a few other bits and bobs, including a hand-sewed bow tie, this little owl was a product of the above mentioned day. He was born out of an old pick (or plectrum if you're that kind of reader). Hopefully, this week will find us at the bead store, buying chain and loops and completing the little hoot as a necklace. By Saturday I should have three or four to sell at the Vintage and Retro Pop-up store. Of course, that is if the old man doesn't ground us again.

The owls go

Baking and overcast days go hand in hand like love-struck schoolkids.

Is there any better way to spend a gloomy day? The not-quite-halloween-themed-cookies didn't turn out quite as well as I had hoped (and the recipe had to be slightly adjusted) but the once-full cookie tin seems to be suitably diminishing.


Ingredients:

200 g brown sugar (the recipe calls for white sugar but I so prefer brown, if you use white you may need less flour)
170 g butter
1 egg
5 ml vanilla extract
380 g plain flour
9 g baking powder
3 g salt
25 g unsweetened cocoa powder
170 g semisweet chocolate chips
100 g cashew halves

Directions:

1. Cream butter and sugar until fluffy. Beat in egg and vanilla. Add baking powder and salt. Beat well. Add flour and mix until blended. Depending on consistency of the dough, more flour may be needed. Remove 3/4 of dough. Roll or pat dough out to form two 10 x 4 inch rectangles. Add cocoa (amount depending on personal colour preference) to remaining 1/4 of dough. Mix until blended. Shape chocolate dough into two 10 inch long rolls. Place on rectangle and roll plain dough to cover chocolate dough completely, not including ends. Wrap in plastic wrap and chill at least 2 hours.
2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (180 degrees C).
3. Cut dough into 1 centimetre slices with a sharp knife. Place two slices side by side on a cookie sheet to resemble an owl's face. Blend them together just a tad to make sure they stay together when baked. Pinch upper "corners" to resemble ears. Put chocolate chips in each dark circle for eyes and two cashew halves in the centre for the beak.
4. Bake for 8 to 12 minutes in the preheated oven, or until lightly browned

The original recipe can be found here. As each owl has it's own personality, I also recommend naming them (which might also discourage you to eat them, which is good, because they last forever).

Very simply, it was a hoot (pun fully intended).