I read a list of ‘Thirty Things to Do Before You’re Thirty’ the other day and was disappointed to find that I had only ‘done’ two of them and one of them was turning thirty. Still, the day I take advice about what I should be doing from a magazine is the day I descend into a violent rage so, you know, autonomy.
I can reduce the list of things I am currently doing to a list of three key points:
(1) Buying stuff for cheapsies from charity shops.
(2) Staring out of the window
(3) Wearing socks.
Not even sure that number (3) counts as a thing. Still, here’s some stuff. Keep up, we’ve got a lot to cover. I’ve been lazy for a month or two.
This frame cost thrupence or at least it would have done if thrupence was Victorian talk for three pounds and not a weird word meaning either ‘three pence’ or a coy word for a lady’s sex parts.
L@@K @ this pretty vintage dress I got for a fiver. You can’t really tell from this picture which I have instragrammed the heck out of in order to hide the creases and bloating in my face but it’s lovely. You can probably see my nipples if you look at this picture hard enough. Stop zooming in you disgusting pervert. Let’s move on.
This table isn’t doing itself any favours by being so tricky to photograph. Fucking thing. This is the top of it which as you can see, presuming you have functioning ears and a brain, is painted with birds. It is rad. You’ll just have to take my word for it although seeing as you’re talking to a girl who once sold out her friends for ten B&H you’ll realise how little weight my word carries. Where was I? Table, six quid for cash.
Embroided linen from a charity shop in Devon. You can’t see from this but it was left unfinished by whomever was working on it. It made me sad to think that an old lady may have died before she had the chance to finish it, so I fully intended to finish it for her. Never did. Sorry, ghostly old lady who I have invented.
Curtains, curtains. Lovely big fat beautiful sixties curtains. The sort of thing your nan would have had if she had been a bit of a goer in the sixties, like mine.
Picture frame, three poundlies. This is above my bed because I like to be reminded of dead Mexican feminist artists whenever I am in bed doing bedly things like sleeping, dreaming and being super-sexy like ALL THE TIME.
This old postcard was twenty five pees and was addressed to someone called Ada. ‘Mother is well’ it begins which could be a code or something for a drugs deal or nineteen fifties street talk. We’ll never know (we know)
I like the sound of cowbells and many is the morning I get up, plait my hair and walk around the house dinging this dong and insisting everyone calls me Heidi. I’m still single, if anyone is interested.
I’m done here. Let’s do this again soon.