On a blustery day recently, Jon, my dad and I went fossil hunting at Sully beach. Jon discovered (what looked like) a dinosaur’s claw, my dad found a fossil shell and I went and found a cliff with some daffodils to look out over.
Jon took far better photos with his far superior camera, but I captured the daffodil-jumper coordination. Jon pretends he doesn’t care, but I secretly know he always matches his jumpers to his surroundings.
Java x
My dressing table holds my entire family and the world all in one place. When feeling sad or confused, I will often rearrange the brooches that once belonged to my Welsh grandmother into different patterns, I will wind up the musical jewellery box that my mum gave me when I was 7 and watch the wonky ballerina twirl around on her broken feet, I will count the strings of fake pearls hanging from the globe and wonder why on earth do I own so many when I never even wear necklaces, I play my Ink Spots record because my parents used to dance with me and sing along to the ‘Java Jive’ when I was little, I find new homes for my tins and the salt pot in the shape of a woman’s head that always reminds me of what my mum used to look like when we lived in London, I count the bobby pins in the elephant tin and wonder where on earth they all disappear to, I plan future outfits around pieces of  jewellery and I promise myself that one day soon I will use the antique pocket watch that Jon gave me for my 28th birthday.
Java x
In the September of 2012, Jon and I drove the  Les Seilhols black cab from the South of France to the South of Spain. Among many things we enjoyed cramped back seat sleeping/sleepless nights in remote car-parks, a mechanic’s home made wild boar chorizo for supper beneath swooping eagles, plenty of ‘say when’ gin and tonics, a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere and a force feeding bar owner with an husband fixated on swindling us out of  the taxi.
More…let’s say, ‘elegant’ times, included a few a days in Seville for my 29th birthday (as soon as I wrote the word ‘elegant’ I had flashes of me stumbling back to the hotel at 4 in the morning, wearing denim hot pants and a basket I found in a tip, placed, yes ‘elegantly’, upon my head).
The highest point was possibly la Feria del Jueves… where I found an unimpressed 8 year old boy selling old magazines outside his family’s antique shop. I gathered together an armful of withered, yellow papers and was swiftly granted a nod and a throwaway “Dos Euro” from said sullen boy. I rapidly scarpered before he had a chance to decide that he probably liked his parents and should return to accurately pricing their valuable goods.
It was a moment of unbridled glee mixed with a faint touch of ‘I’m a good person and feeling slightly bad proves that I am’ guilt.
Sorry! (not really)
Java x
The above photo is from Hilary’s wedding to Lance in London on December 4th 1990. Hilary is a dazzling friend of my mother’s whom, as a child, I held in deep admiration for her astonishing variety of earrings. I remember it as such a fantastic day, highlighted by it being the perfect opportunity to wear my red satin party skirt and then spend a large portion of the wedding party sliding up and down the bath at Hilary’s house.
She emailed me this photo the other night and I simply needed to share it. Things to note:
1) Hilary’s golden mini skirt and boots. Way ahead of Kylie’s hotpants and undoubtedly the future of wedding attire. ~Brief edit: Hilary was wearing a rather fabulous Vivienne Westwood top. She’s like the golden ticket you want to cling onto forever, Â just in case wishes come true!~
2) How excited and happy everyone looks.
3) My mum’s floor length silk velvet Victorian coat. Shakespeare’s Sister eat your heart out.
4) My Mexican cape.
Someone get engaged and invite me to your wedding soon please. I haven’t worn a Mexican cape for far too long.
Java x
Last spring Jon visited a French flea market in Bedarieux while I sat at home and tried to write ‘The Novel’. Needless to say, the novel is not yet written, but I do have two very beautiful 1930’s catalogues found at the flea market that I thought I would share with you. My favourite parts are:
1) A delicate piece of paper with illustrated instructions on how to measure yourself (photo 6).
2) Imagining what the illustrated models are secretly thinking about each other’s outfits. Photo 8 is particularly good for this pass time.
It’s like grown up doll play disguised under a costume of ‘I just really love pre-WWII style and history, y’know?’.
Java x
One of the best things about the UK is the prominent availability of the common or garden crumpet. Crumpets are one of the finest carbohydrate packages to grace this earth. They are the wondrous cloud of wheat and water that will float your poached egg up to the high heavens.
Tragically (this is no exaggeration) I have recently accepted that wheat really, really, really doesn’t agree with me and that I might as well suck it up and get on with my wheat free life. Painfully dull yet annoyingly necessary for health reasons.
Hence, I felt it necessary to celebrate  my love affair with crumpets at breakfast this morning, even if I am unable to eat them. (Jon really does get a good deal out of these situations).
Jon ate buttered and Marmite coated crumpets with poached eggs, ground pepper and red chilli. I ate my poached egg on a bed of steamed fresh spinach and grilled, chopped up wheat free sausage. I can’t moan, my crumpet free option was absurdly delicious. Jon looked unsurprisingly happy with his plateful of crumpets (5 in total).
So, here’s to you crumpets! Let’s all raise a cup of tea to the joyous pairing of crumpets and poached eggs.
Java x
Am I taking photos of food, eating food, thinking about food, admiring Jon’s wrapping skills and checking my twitter/facebook feed instead of updating postage prices in the Tin Cup Vintage shop? Yes, yes I am.
Back to work… Sigh.
Java x
It’s been nearly a month since I last wrote… apologies. March was a month of many unexpected changes, resulting in Jon and I packing up our pieces and spending some time in and around Barcelona with friends before heading to the UK to spend some time with my dad in Wales.
So far this Spring, Jon and I have been doing a lot of the following: driving along endless rainy roads in our van, celebrating the glorious birthday of dearest life-long friends, taking morning walks to the nearby village to fetch food and a brief internet connection at the cafe on the square, spending time with a very pregnant friend and waving her and her partner off on their Easter holidays before the birth, running the Tin Cup shop from the back of the van, listening to the ringing of cow bells in the afternoon lull, setting up an online shop for our friend’s leather craft business (more on this soon!), re-discovering a deep love for Buddy Holly and endlessly discussing thoughts, adventures, and personal endeavours.
A few things we’re looking forward to doing this coming spring: eating fish and chips on the pebbly Welsh coast, digging up and planting seeds in my dad’s garden, walking in the Brecon Beacons, having crumpets with Marmite and a poached egg for breakfast on Sunday mornings, re-visiting favourite charity shops and discovering new car-boot sales, adding tons more new stock to the Tin Cup shop, seeing friends and celebrating more 30th birthdays, sitting at the table in my dad’s front room (the kind with furniture that’s covered in plastic for when special guests arrive) and spending time doing things I’ve been putting off for too long….
Above all, it is Spring: time to start messing about in boats. Anyone fancy taking a rowing boat around a park pond with me?
`Believe me, my young friend, there is NOTHING–absolute nothing–half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing,’ he went on dreamily: `messing–about–in–boats; messing—-‘
Rat in ‘The Wind in the Willows‘ by Kenneth Grahame
Java x
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