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Judging books by their covers

How is it that I never have money for phone bills and petrol but always manage to scrape my last few dollars together for new books? These pretty young things were just calling my name on the shelves of Angus and Robertsons, practically free with my staff discount. Practically ;-)

I'm sad to say I'm one of those silly, shallow people guilty of judging books by their covers. I can’t help it, I just love stories wrapped up in pretty jackets! I would rather spend the extra dollars on a luxuriously embossed cover and textured pages than buy the cheaper Penguin version printed on dull toilet paper (again, where do all these extra dollars magically appear from??). And if I see a book that I already own in a prettier version than the one I already have, it’s a pretty big temptation not to buy it again (which is where my collection of Alice in Wonderland books comes from).

I tried to resist buying A Life in Frocks. I really did.  I knew it wasn't the type of book that I like to read and would be one of those forgettable stories that you read and then when a friend asks you what it was like, you can’t remember a thing about it. But after catching my eye for the third time on my meandering around the biography section, I finally succumbed to the inevitable and bought the blasted book!

As suspected, I am about three-quarters of the way through the novel and still don’t really understand what the book is supposed to be about. There was however one section of the book which did strike a cord with me which was when the author wrote of how clothes have the ability to transport us and how certain pieces of clothing not only hold so many memories but say something so essential about the kind of person that we are.

Now, along with being a book hoarder (or bibliophile as a certain someone called me the other day ;-), I am also a major clothes horse! Until recently, my wardrobe was bursting at the seams with clothes that I can't, won't or shouldn't wear anymore and it was only after reading an article in Frankie about reducing our carbon footprints that I was persuaded to go green and donate my unwearable clothes to the less fortunate. As I sorted through my wardrobe, I couldn't pick up a single item of clothing without being reminded of a funny story that accompanied it, a memory of where I was the last time I wore it or the occasion that I bought it for.   Here are some of my most memorable items of clothing and the stories that go with them. I would love to hear some of yours! 

THE KILT

In the same way that the scribbled, stitched and stretched pair of jeans in ‘The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants’ tell a hundred tales of love, loss and travel, my wee Scottish kilt was with me from start to finish on one of the biggest adventures of my life. I bought it at a tartan shop on the Royal Mile when I arrived in Edinburgh in the summer of 2008 and I wore it for the first time to a Ceiledh, where I twirled for hours with sweaty dance partners and drank so much Irn-Bru that my tongue was stained orange. I wore it when I went to Belgium where I ate countless waffles and walked all around the entire town of Brugge with a sprained ankle. I wore it on my first date with Jakob, a Swedish hipster who worked at the Elephant House where I went to write and gave me free lattes and elephant-shaped shortbread biscuits. I wore it during the coldest winter of my life, with German leg-warmers and thick, woollen tights. I wore it with a red beret and a souvineur shirt that read ‘Resident of the Berlin Psychiatric Ward’ in the most culturally clashing outfit imagineable. Putting on my kilt is the equivilant of opening a suitcase full of travel journals and photographs. Every fibre of that tartan fabric screams to me of adventure and mischief and unquenchable wanderlust.


THE PLATFORM TRAINERS

As a twelve year old, I was desperately in love with the Spice Girls. It wasn’t enough that I knew all the songs and dance moves, owned all the memorabilia and had a shrine to them on my bedroom wall; I wanted to BE one of them. As much as it pains me to admit, the red hair that I now sport originates from a time when I was imitating Ginger Spice. So when I saw those gleaming white platform trainers just like the ones that Baby Spice wore in the window of Truworths, I just had to have them. I think up until then my mom had been picking and buying my clothes which made the trainers feel even more grown-up and slightly naughty when I bought them with my own pocket money. They gave me the much needed confidence (and the much needed height!) that I sorely lacked when my family moved from Johannesburg to a tiny seaside town in the Western Cape where I didn’t know a single soul. They came to a sorry end after only a few months of owning them when my spiteful little pooch decided to get her revenge for being left home alone for too long and gobbled them up, laces and all. Maybe she wasn't such a fan of girl power.

THE RED TRENCHCOAT

My red jacket was my signature piece of clothing until I lost it last spring on an unfortunate night out at Lulu’s. It was bought while I was doing my journalism studies at university and became affectionately known as the ‘Lois Lane’ jacket among my friends and writing pals. This coat made me feel like a writer and made me want to work in a busy, bustling newsroom writing thrilling expose’s and doing investigative reporting in black-rimmed spectacles and starched white blouses with the collars popped up. This coat was not made for any wilting wall flower because everywhere I went, I became known as ‘The Girl in the Red Coat’ especially if I wore my matching red beret and clear acrylic umbrella with the cheeky red trim. I think the coat was the equivalent of a tracking device for my friends because they looked even more distraught than me when they found out that my precious coat was no more and all wondered how they would ever find me in a crowd now.

THE PURPLE WIG

Could there be a more frivolous thing to buy than a purple wig? Probably the most pointless of my travel purchases, I bought this on holiday in Sydney at the Paddy markets and spend a very entertaining evening wearing it on our apartment balcony, yelling to people passing by, 'Deal or no deal!!' It did come in handy when I had a 1920's night to go to last year...but that's about it really.

Lots of love,

Miss Manship

xxx

You say good-bye and I say hello....

Hello, you!
It’s been a while, I know. I’m an appalling blogger, what can I say. Goodness and mercy have rained down on me in the past few months and I have neglected my writing duties. My apologies! Here is a brief update on what’s been going on during the past few months of my absence:

I went to America!
A lifelong dream of mine came to fruition a few months ago and I was lucky enough to touchdown in the United States of America! I can’t even begin to list all the things I experienced, all the wonderful people I met and all the sights I saw in my three week trip. Here are a few things that I will never forget:

Blueberry picking in Henderson

Jack's Creek church of Christ

Line dancing at the Wild Horse Saloon

Endless bandhero!

One night in Philly with the best roommate ever!

A day in Memphis

Falls Creek Falls

I went back to university
After struggling to get a job in my studied profession and suffering in retail, I decided to bite the bullet and do my graduate diploma of education. It is one intense year of studying but at the end of it, I will be able to teach, travel and terrorize little children. Well, maybe not the last one ;-) I am actually fairly happy to be back at university. I love being surrounded by an environment of learning and creating and besides, I quite missed the freaky folk at the Mount Lawley campus.

I’m surrounded by babies!
Not my own, of course. Spring really does seem to be the season of new life because everyone around me is having babies! We have just welcomed two adorable little babies into our extended family, born one day apart. Jacob Daniel Sanderson is my cousin Joanne’s beautiful baby boy (yes, named after the Twilight character) and is the first great-grandchild on my mom’s side of the family. The second baby is a lovely little girl born to my mom’s cousin named Emily. Baby booties and miniature dungarees were flown swiftly over to the UK and many tears were shed over the distance that feels so much greater in times like these. It’s hard being on the other side of the globe for special family occasions.
As well as these two human additions to our family, we have also been blessed with two animal babies as well. My sister’s guinea pig Rogue gave birth to the two most adorable little babies affectionately named The Giblets. They are absolutely gorgeous and I’m besotted with these two little menaces. It’s love, I tell you!

Bill

Sooky

I road-tripped down south
Now I am usually the first person to moan about Perth being the most boring place on earth. So I was pleasantly surprised when some girlfriends and I took a trip down south to Busselton/Margaret River and had ourselves a grand old time! Busselton is a charming little country town that is so swamped in vineyards that it wouldn’t surprise me if the rivers started running red from all the wine produced in this region. We spent the weekend trying out the local produce (cheese, fudge, chocolate…and maybe a wee tipple) and all came away a few kilos heavier in weight and a whole lot lighter in pocket!

Canal Rocks

Not chocoholics at all! ;-)

Winery in Margaret River

Darling, you are the only exception....

My new love!

Travel Tuesdays with a B-udiful Texan Traveller!

Normally, when I have a guest blogger writing on Travel Tuesdays I like to do a little introduction about the marvellous misadventurous traveller who has offered to share their tales on my blog. However, I think that Bryttany's profile is far more eloquent than anything than I could ever write about her or her lovely blog and so without further delay.... 

To Interlaken We Go ... With a Leap of Faith!

The summer after my junior year in college, I was 21...full of life and adventure! One of my best girl friends and I took a tour of Europe that summer; thus, covering 7 countries and some islands. Oh the stories we have to tell! It was a summer of living, eating different foods, drinking an abundance of vino, laughing, learning, and Bien Sur...some shopping! Anywho, once we had arrived in Switzerland ...next thing we know we were signing up for Canyoning and Skydiving out of a helicopter. Then came the "If you die Voucher, it's not our fault." The what?!?! Wait, who - when?!?! What on earth was I signing up for?
Okay, they ran the credit card and cheered us on...there was no turning back! Good Lord, I knew I couldn't call Mommy & Daddy now and tell them what I had just signed up for! So, the next day we went canyoning. This is a sport (if you call it that) in the canyons of Interlaken, Switzerland. The water is 36F, you are wearing two wetsuits, foot-booties, helmets, harnesses, etc. You are jumping off cliffs, repelling around canyons, and doing back flips down waterfalls. Okay, my adrenaline is going...maybe I can do the skydiving?!?!?

The third morning in Interlaken, was THE morning I was going to take the Eiger Jump (13,026 ft). I couldn't eat or drink due to the fear of yakin' it up as I jumped out of helicopter. Not only was I taking a leap of faith by skydiving, but this was my first trip in a helicopter! Let's just say after fast pitter-patter heart beats, sweaty palms, and chittering jaws, my skydiving instructor literally had to push me off the ledge of the heli as I was a frozen little lady! After 50 seconds of free fall, and then a joyous ride looking out onto the city of Interlaken...I was in heaven! It was worth all the nerves and crazy thoughts...it was the best ride of my life! I highly recommend anyone traveling to Europe, to visit Interlaken. The city is perfectly clean and beautiful, and the adventurous sports are out of this world!

Travel...because there is so much more in the world for one to see, hear, taste, and feel.

"b.free"
Love, Queen B
http://www.thebfreeblog.com/

To my sweet, sixteen-year old self

In December, I was hunting down some last minute Christmas presants in my local shopping center and found this gorgeous little gift book in Collins *please excuse tacky nail polish. It was christmassy red and I was attempting to be festive*.  It's called 'Dear Me' and is a collection of letters from famous British personalities to their former sixteen-year old selves.  The letters ranged from the humourous anecdotes of Jon Ronson and Peter Kay to the expected coming-out advice of Elton John to the pretentious name-dropping of Joan Collins.  The letters were absolutely priceless and I started thinking about my teenage years and what advice I would possibly give if I were able to time travel back to my sixteen-year old self.

I turned sixteen in the year of the millenium.  I celebrated my sweet sixteenth in a security enclosed complex in Johanessburg, South Africa (which before the war in Afganistan was named as the most dangerous city in the world) and ended the year in Perth, Western Australia (most isolated city in the world.  Seriously).  A huge year of extremes and I did not adjust well to the sleepy way of coastal living or to the culture shock I was not expecting to experience in a city that has more South Africans than any I've ever encountered.

At sixteen, I was shy, homesick, lonely and self-conscious.  I did not like who I was or the kind of life that I had but had no idea how to go about changing these things.  I wasted so many opportunites because of my shyness and struggled so hard to fit into the Australian lifestyle and culture.  So if I could magically turn the clock back and whisper a quiet word in the ear of my sixteen-year old self, I would say:

Battle it out for the next few years because your twenties will be beautiful.  You will try things you never imagined and learn things about yourself that will thrill, frighten and mystify you.  You will meet people who will inspire you and astound you and even a few who will truly disgust you but it will all add to the collection of mischievous misadventures you will be known for having.  Take hip-hop classes because you will regret not doing so in years to come.  Piano lessons also.  Cherish every single moment you spend with your brother and take every opportunity to strengthen your relationship with him.  You have no idea how precious this will be in years to come.  Don't waste time on fair-weather friends because they will only disappoint you and in time you will make amazing friends who will value you and love you the way that real friends should.  In fact, your circle of friends will be positively international! Respect yourself and show respect to those around you, even if they don't deserve it because in doing so, you will become a much better person for it.  Love God and your family above all else because you have no idea how much you are going to need them in the years to come. 

And if, in 2007 you are on your way home from Dubai and a blue-eyed man from Bolton offers to carry your overweight shoulder bag for you, run! Run, run away as fast as your sparkly ballet-slippered feet will carry you and don't look back!

Speaking of time travel, what a weird coincidence it is that Book #5 on my list is 'The Time Traveler's Wife' by Audrey Niffenegger.  This was another one of the books that I took with me to Bali and I'll admit that I came back to my hotel room a little earlier some nights just so I could have a little bit of extra reading time with this book.

The story is about a guy who develops a disorder which causes him to time-travel against his will at any given time to any place he has every visited.  The condition gets worse as he gets older and he struggles to maintain the facade of having a normal life while trying to force his body to stay in the present.

Now, I'm not a huge fan of time travel stories.  Back to the Future did nothing for me and I never choose 'time travel' when asked what my imaginary superpower I would be if I had the option (teleporting, if you must know).  So I was thrilled to find that the heart of this novel is an old-fashioned love story that had me sobbing quietly underneath my hotel bedsheets in the early hours of the morning.

I have a real love/hate relationship with books like this.  I devour them with such gusto and finish them in a few days but then am left feeling quite deflated and lost once I've turned the final page.  I adore great romance novels but I always feel so melancholy afterwards, wondering if such sincere love really does exist.

What do you think?

Lots of love!
xxx