a week by the sea.

Photobucket

I love my busy London life for all the reasons everyone and anyone loves London but in the same breath it is those very same reasons, that it can get on top of you. I knew I was due a breather.


Not even an especially stunning coastline or beautiful beach, my week at home, by the sea, was perfect. I am more than sure that's got more to with my rose tinted glasses and buckets of nostalgia connected with the place as opposed to the actual place but seems fine.
Sat on the beach on a Friday morning, so smug, almost guilty, thinking about everyone at work. Time stood still:

Ice creams at dusk. Catch-ups with old pals, small town talk. Sifting through the pebbles and stones, picking out favourites, for keeps. Stolen moments with an Ex boy, driving on country roads up to the cliffs with playlists from the past. Having a little smile about the ‘Scene-y’ girls and boys getting it so wrong but trying so hard. Are we still talking about this? Same old petty disagreements with the mother bear.

Yep, a week at home, just enough before you start to remember why you upped and left in the first place. Sadly, the crisp, salty, seaside air can only mask so much.
Seems totally fine.

smells like teen spirit.

the james cleaver quintet.

listen to these boys be a little bit angry.


http://www.myspace.com/thejcq


then buy there EP, ten stages of a make up.




The JCQ, Photo Copyright Doc Foster 2009
.

is it just me or is...

boys wanting to chirps you over Facebook. not cool.

hitting it off with some one, you know the usual combo; talking, flirting and general bantering. and then for natural reasons your conversation comes to an end – say one of you is leaving perhaps. he whips out his phone and your thinking ‘hey, hey’, this boy is going to ask for my number, but as your thinking this and doing a little victory dance in your head. he says ‘can I take your surname?’ innocently, possibly naively you ask ‘umm, why?’

he answers, with the dreaded killer, of all things romanticised, innocent and lovely: ‘so I can add you on Facebook!?!’

by this point your thinking 'but you have your flipping phone out to save my surname, why not just flipping take my number?! for flips sake'

you then reply all cool and casual ‘I don’t have Facebook’
but to this he then replies even more casually ‘I’ll probably never see you again, then.’

BRILLIANT. has he really just wasted both your times to, for the want of a better phrase, pussy out like that at the last moment?

yes. yes, he has.

you're then all ready to forget this awkward little incident, to put it down to that age old fact of it not being meant to be. when it happens again, only 2 weeks later with a different boy. completely the same scequence of events down to the line ‘I’ll probably never see you again, then’. which I’m starting to think could possibly be the next 'it’s not you, it’s me' or something tragic like that.

why should you give someone access to your Facebook page, where's the mystery in that? 
mystery, the one perfect thing about meeting someone new.


your favourite films, music, interests, friends and pictures all available for him to peruse at his leisure: all there for him then to still decide perhaps to never contact you. because he said it himself already the night you met, he’ll probably never see you again, anyway.

SAVE YOUR MYSTERY IF NOTHING ELSE.

this all seems un fine.

a really long walk.

Inspired by my recent twilight trip to the Tate Modern, I wanted to recognise one of the works I saw, As long as I am walking… by Francis Alÿs. (Saturday's late night opening hours provide perfectly spontaneous civilised times, and a stark contrast to the usual ridiculousness). The exhibition, A Story of Deception is one of the strongest shows I’ve seen this year. It’s on until the 5th of September – GO AND SEE IT.

Although probably rife with context and deep meanings I just really enjoyed the kooky drawings, installations and short video works that weren’t just aesthetically lovely but tinged with humour. (But I would recommend checking this link out to read a proper
synopsis as not sure I’m really doing the show justice).

It is a very endearing exhibition and a bit of an underdog running alongside the more obvious, Exposed... photography exhibition, which has had more of a buzz about it, which I quite frankly thought was rather mundane.

So anyway in tribute, I went on a really long walk today and I didn't do any of the below. Seems fine.

Francis Alÿs, As long as I am walking, 1992











































Francis Alÿs, As long as I am walking, 1992

because everyday is a party.

you gotta have bedroom bunting.