Hopes are fading fast of not finding me in my nineties wearing a top hat, worshipping a spoon and living buried amongst the sort of junk I’ve started picking up and furnishing my home with. I’ll be found, stiff with rigor mortis beneath a pile of cutesy Wedgewood plates I picked up for thirty pence and an assortment of rustic pottery bobbins which are so crudely hewn and mis-shapen they appear to have been created by wolves. Near sighted, dumb wolves.

Don’t believe me? More fool you then as I show you these pictures taken from my Nü Haüs.

Lookie-wookie-do at this tea tin (25pencicles) and this awesome stovetop espresso machine which I found in a warehouse sale and is the rich, hunky genuinely Italian uncle to my nice but dim Ikea one. It cost a mere poundlington.


See! Here! At this bunting I fucking well made. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LIVE ALONE. YOU MAKE BUNTING.


Also you plant flowers in ditzy vintage tea-cups like feminism never happened and you never do unlady-ish things like fart, burp or smell.


I lived by the sea for a bit and I found some shells and some stones what had holes in then I did a thing with them on a string with them then I hung it on my shed door where it looks nice can I have a cup of tea now nurse?


(note the Dali-esque upside down lock.)

My mantelpiece is fucking brilliant.


wpid-20130503_172902.jpgThis one is a mantelpiece close up.

Both these white bad-asses came from a junk box outside a charity shop for twenty five pence each. Are you sure you stretch to that? I asked myself sarcastically when I bought them. Shut-up brain, I replied to myself and then I hurt my own feelings 😦


Bowls. The sum total of these three bowls is under a pound and I keep things in them. THEY ARE HANDY, ALRIGHT? BOWLS.


Ah Jesus, this plate. I love this plate like I love my own daughter. More, possibly. It was thirty pence and is worth about thirty pounds. I love cracked glaze, I love the trim, the birds, the mandela in the centre. Stop looking at it, you’ve looked enough. Avert your eyes, heathen.


I made these cushions from some old tablecloth fabric which cost me £2.50. In doing so I have created two cushions which are guaranteed to never, ever blend into any room as long as rooms exist, even if that room is in YOUR MIND.


This chamber pot is the shizzlington isn’t it? Two pounds, which I haggled down from three. I haggled it like a boss.


My wood burner. Birches be hatin’ on me. Don’t be like that, oak-ay? I’ve been pine-ing for one for ages. I’m sorry.


My awesome bookcase. Look at that big ol’ hunk of wood at the bottom. Found it on a beach. And yes, that is a framed photo of MYSELF in the top right corner.