Dancing in the Street

Now tell me that this video doesn't do it for you. It's probably how you think you look when you're on a dancefloor and then how you wish you'd looked when you replay it in your head the next day. (I'm talking from experience.) Videos like this make me adore the internet one hundred times over. Shishi Yamazaki, I salute you.

This is England

One of the cool things about my new job is that I get to spend a lot of time scouring the internet for information about upcoming exhibitions and arts festivals across the UK. Which is sort of an extension of what I do in my spare time anyway. It also means that I'm constantly left wanting to hop on a train to visit some great sounding exhibition in Dundee or Nottingham or Sunderland or Blackpool, and yes, sometimes even London. I hear about new artists and photographers and come across cute little videos or bigger, more serious articles with increasing speed and they all buzz around my head. New tabs grow and spread across my browser faster than an October cold and so in the end it's quite a good job that I have a blog to regurgitate it all into.

As a fan of Martin Parr's eponymous beach-scenes and the familiar black and white snapshots of Bill Owens's suburbia, Tony Ray-Jones's photographs appeal to that same interest in documenting the people of a country or a culture. That style of documenting; like the technicoloured Manhattan captured by Joel Meyerowitz, is now very, very familiar. But like Martin Parr, much of Ray-Jones's work captures something intrinsically British, or at least the sort of 'bygone Britishness' which can be so appealing as a slice of photographic nostalgia. Large ladies on beaches, old geezers in tweed flatcaps and waistcoats, queues at bus stops. People who don't look like the people on the street today; a less diverse crowd maybe, and then people who do; universal images of teenagers touching each others bums or bellies, and small children with skinny legs pushing toy prams.

Given the parallels between their work, it's not surprising that Tony Ray-Jones and Martin Parr have been paired together in an upcoming exhibition at the National Media Museum in the new year. (That's how I heard of Tony Ray-Jones in the first place; amidst all that cultural calendar hawking.) Bradford, I'm popping you on the list.

Beacons Festival or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Boutique

Last month I went to Beacons Festival and I have a couple of confessions to make. I (whisper it) "glamped". I glamped so hard that I even took a small carry-on style wheeley suitcase. In all honesty it was in lieu of a weekend bag which I do not own, because I am not a real adult yet. But still, I like, showered and stuff. And the thing is- it all felt really good. I woke up in the mornings and my hair wasn't sweatily slapped across my forehead. I didn't have to smell the crevices of my own body over the course of the weekend And I only felt about 5% like I was part of some fascist festival club. 

Beacons really showed us a great time and felt like such a hassle-free weekend after the amazing but tiring experience that Glastonbury is. Me and my friend Nanon hopped on the train to Skipton after work and what followed was a fantastic weekend of delicious food and drink, music, arts and crafts, some whiskey tasting and a lot of time spent hanging out in the film tent which was a womb-like haven of sofas and bean bags.  The line-up was really impressive, including short-film marathons, and screenings of The Spirit of '45, Sightseers, The Arbor and a packed-out Shane Meadows Q+A which followed Made of Stone.

Watching The Arbor was probably one of my highlights of the weekend. Based on the life of playwright Andrea Dunbar and her family it is a mish-mash of oral interviews from friends and family, reenactments by actors on the estate she lived in and archive footage of Dunbar during the time that she was receiving attention for her play Bob, Sue and Rita Too. The unusual form of the whole thing was immediately absorbing and I've been thinking a lot about the film since. A Q+A with director Clio Barnard followed afterwards in which she talked about the 'ethical nightmare' of documentary-making and the impossibility of accurately representing the truth of a place, a story, or the people involved. I've talked about this in previous posts, but it's the same thought process I have in relation to writing diaries or letters and which truths we include, what gets left out and how that impacts the bigger picture. I keep diaries for catharsis in the present but also so that I can enjoy reading over them again later in years to come and I often think about this difficulty in recording an 'ultimate truth'. So it was interesting hearing Clio Barnard's thoughts about this in relation to documentary, especially when the lives she was recording and representing were real ones. 

When we weren't in the film tent, we were grabbing chicken burgers and perfectly peppered fries from Mother Clucker, making new friends in the Whitelock's Ale Tent, watching Bonobo and John Talabot, screenprinting in the Urban Outfitters tent and generally cooing every hour or so about "how nice it was to be at a 'relaxed boutique festival'" like a couple of world-weary festival-goers. 

Beacons looking gorgeous in the sun, the creamiest Eton Mess flavoured ice-cream ever tasted from the Everyday is Like a Sundae van, Vondelpark, the Tipi village, deadpan and gormless (always), a beautiful, blushing bride. 

Another highlight of the weekend was the screening of Made of Stone, the Stone Roses documentary directed by Shane Meadows. If me and Nanon were absorbed by The Arbor then this trumped all as we fell into an entrancing rabbit-hole of bucket hats and endearingly-intense fan-dom. The couple of beers already in our bellies probably helped but the screening was fantastic with a gig-like atmosphere as the brimming tent bobbed their heads along to the songs, and danced on their bums, all crammed in on the floor like some Madchester carpet-time. The film was beautifully shot- in the Q+A afterwards Shane Meadows told us that he wanted it to be a visually pleasing piece that wasn't just another rock documentary, that because the band had asked a film director rather than a documentary maker he felt that was the right approach. 

Hearing Meadows admit that he loves kicking back and watching Tyra Banks to relax was an unexpected bonus. (What??) He was deadly serious. "There's no middle ground. I either want utter cheese like Tyra Banks or something really great." Also hearing his anecdotes about hanging out with the Stone Roses during the course of filming was fascinating. My personal favourite was his story of getting into a lift with the band and feeling like he had finally made it as the cool kid, only to have the weight restriction alarm go off as soon as he got in, and with defeat having to tell the others he'd just meet them downstairs instead. Ah, the never ending appeal of the self-deprecating anecdote. 

A Mother Clucker chicken burger for lunch, and burritos for dinner, the Into The Woods film tent, 'No Shoes, Please', buckets of Yorkshire Tea, the zine library courtesy of Village Bookstore, Leeds.

Nighttime in the 'Space Between' arts field, the Whitelock's Ale tent, pulled pork at El Kantina, the ideal tipi scenario (fyi, we stayed in a slightly more modest bell-tent..) 'New Pals'- embracing the drizzle with Rob and Dave. 

One of the things I really loved about Beacons, was that the festival felt like a celebration of the North; of the brilliant culture, food and drink, music and art that it has to offer. With the exception of a few, the food stalls were outposts from bars and cafes in Leeds, Wakefield, Morecambe, Manchester and Liverpool. The Into The Woods film tent was a collaboration between CineYorkshire, Sheffield Doc/Fest, and Leeds Film Festival and the zine libraries, fancy-dress boutiques and various art collectives had all travelled from nearby cities. As much as I love and enjoy London, celebrating non-London-centric art and culture is increasingly important to me and I think that's why Beacons ticked so many boxes for me, by showcasing this in the foothills of the Yorkshire dales.

Oh hey Shane Meadows, kitsch galore inside the Everyday is Like a Sundae van, ...more ale, our 'Camping Under the Stars' nest, Nanon screenprinting and showing off her bounty from the Urban Outfitters arts station. 

I'd also like to add a little postscript to Charlie at Urban Outfitters and the two Simons at iLikePress who sorted us out with tickets for the festival and allowed us to have such a bloody great time. We didn't need convincing that Beacons was going to be brilliant but we were 'sold' regardless.

Sharing Letters (and Margaret Howell)

A couple of days ago I woke up from a bizarrely vivid dream about interacting with Margaret Howell who was being uncharacteristically unpleasant and snooty. (On a side note, I seem to have an obscene amount of 'celebrity dreams'- I have canoed with John Malkovich, hung out in a kitchen with Damon Albarn, taken selfies with Nick Cave and- quite the best- George Clooney once gave himself a mangina and then sent the results to my best friend. Waking up is always a heavy disappointment) 

Waking up from my Margaret Howell edition wasn't too bad because when I checked my email I found that Mel from Two Breads, Please? had sent me a brilliant email of 'minutes' from the Margaret Howell and Penny Martin in Conversation V&A event that I missed a couple of months ago. A spooky coincidence but a very happy one as I'd jokily asked for some in-depth 'event minutes' a while ago and she actually delivered!

I wanted to share her email because I loved the tidbits she chose to share "she showed us some pencil sketches of fields. Her pencil strokes were light but quite precise." and "Margaret Howell was captain of her netball team!" I've also been thinking about the sharing of letters and email recently. This is mostly after signing up to Miranda July's 'We Think Alone' project which leaves a weekly email in your inbox full of other peoples exchanges covering one topic. Last weeks was 'Emails to Mothers', for example and there is something strangely comforting about reading exchanges which are at times moving and mundane and never intended to be shared. I've also been reading Brainpickings an awful lot of the past few months. It is one of my favourite websites and editor Maria Popova is often posting extracts from anthologies of letters; there is John Steinbeck's letter to his son on the subject of falling in love, Sartre's letters to Simone De Beauvoir, the handwritten marriage proposal from Charles to Ray Eames, and a stack of parental advice from great Americans to their children. I know a lot of people read published letters in the same way that they might read an autobiography; I have rarely read either but when I next get paid a lot of these will be on my book list. It also strikes me that blogging is a sort of form of letter sharing. In this way it is similar to writing a journal; when I'm writing my journal I always wonder 'who' I am writing to but at the same time I am fairly sure that it is a future version of myself, someone who is older and affection towards their own youthful naivety. So in this way my entries always have an underlying awareness of the fact that the words may seem sweet or funny or ridiculous in years to come. It adds another quite bizarre dimension to the simple process of writing in a diary. I suppose that is why I like reading letters or emails, because I actually find that they are less self-conscious.

Digressions aside, here is Mel's email. I may end up posting some of our subsequent communications as part of a 'bloggers in conversation series', we shall see.

Hey Stevie,

Sorry for not getting back to your comment! I've unintentionally been on a mini internet detox recently - no blogs or facebook (but instagram keeps me coming back like a sucker).

The talk was interesting and structured chronologically, talking about her life generally and what sounded like the very organic development of her brand. Of course, Margaret was really charming (FYI, she wore a great breton top, crisp cropped trousers and lace-up shoes). As requested, a quick(ish) round-up of my favourite bits:

• Margaret was captain of her high school netball team! There was a great photo of her with her team, gym skirts and polo shirts, in front of her modernist-style school building (apparently her school has been demolished now).
• She studied Fine Art at university and she showed us some pencil sketches of fields. Her pencil strokes were light but quite precise which seemed to echo her personality to me. She spoke about drawing and practising fine art like a proper craft, completely separate to what she does now, and said something like "you need to practise every day and think about it all the time in order to be any good". 
• There were great photos of Margaret's early studios/factories. I think she started making shirts in her flat before expanding. There was a Hockney poster from an old V&A exhibition on the wall in one of the studios, which she bought after visiting the exhibition herself!
• An early Margaret Howell ad featured her PA (or something similar?) wearing a trenchcoat tied with Margaret's old leather belt and wet hair (they'd showered her with cold water for the effect).
• We looked at a few different adverts and editorial from the Margaret Howell archive. It was interesting to hear that she didn't like the recent Dree Hemingway shots as much because they seemed "too posed". She was much more enthusiastic about shots where the clothes were worn "as they would be in real life".
• Margaret said that she tries on every piece of women's clothing that they design every season. There's something about that which felt very reassuring - if it's good enough for margaret, it's definitely good enough for me. It was a running theme throughout the talk that she designs clothes for herself. She spoke a lot about "practicality" and "quality" but without looking "too smart". Which in my head sort of translates into "things that look good with loads of pockets but not too many frilly bits".
• She's a patron of Open House which is the BEST because I love Open House.
• She swims regularly at a lido in Blackheath. My boyfriend told me it would be creepy to make the trip and try to accidentally on purpose bump into her.

Also, Penny Martin was a total babe. A good, intelligent interviewer. Keeping the conversation flowing and on-topic. I am so easily charmed by clever, modest, northern women.

I hope that was interesting rather than too long and boring! Let me know if you're ever down in London. It would be lovely to meet and I had the dreamiest peach and raspberry meringue slice at Ottolenghi's last week which I'm eager to scoff again.

Mel xx

Life Now

How to update the blog after a two month hiatus? A blank box is always sort of overwhelming but there are lots of fun things to talk about like 'GRADUATING' and 'REAL LIFE STARTING' although those topics can be tackled in a fairly easy way with these two photographs:

In other news I got a job! This is a very exciting development for me as I'm working at Creative Tourist which is a website that I've hawked from afar over the past 3 years and which helped me to locate the interesting 'non-studenty' stuff going on around Manchester while I was new to the city. In the mornings I get out of bed, make myself some porridge and then travel into work with 'I'm Every Woman' by Chaka Khan blasting in the background, just like Bridget Jones when she walks to work over Waterloo Bridge with her hair all tucked under her scarf. Just like that. 

I'm living with two of my best friends and a red cornsnake called Morpheus who we are looking after for a friend who has moved to America. We have little mice frozen in the bottom drawer of the freezer for him to eat every 10 days. 'Morpheus fed!' is marked on the calendar every few rows and watching him attack and consume a partially defrosted little mouse whole is fascinating and morbid in equal measures. Sort of like the footage you occasionally see from nature programmes of giant serpents lying very fat and still after tucking into a small piglet from a nearby village, but a lot of more bearable. I still haven't quite plucked up the courage to take him out of his tank (I'm more of warm-blooded pet person) but time will tell. 

In the evenings we have been working our way through the first season of Twin Peaks, drinking slightly too much wine and singing passionately along to the theme tune and shouting 'She's dead! Wrapped in plah-stic!' We all then hastily handwash our shirts to be worn the next day, hang them in the shower and head to bed. 

It's your festival and you can wear what you want

At the risk of being that arsehole who rubs the salt into the wounds of the unfortunate (or the arsehole who considers themselves fortunate over others..) I am going to Glastonbury Festival tomorrow. I mention this because when considering what I would wear I just wanted to find some source of inspiration that didn't require leafing through images of women in floral headbands and fringe tops. Any online retailer becomes cluttered this time of year with 'Festival Chic' features which are incredibly monotonous and actually not at all inspiring. All I wanted to find were some pictures of women looking awesome in a totally unique way. For me dressing for a festival isn't about being aspirational. Instead, here are a few things I consider. A big, obvious one is comfort. You have to veto from your packing any of those items that you regret wearing 'in real life'. A skirt that hitches up every time you walk? A jumper that brings out the worst in your sweat glands? An outfit that makes you feel like a third-wheel when you're completely alone. None of these things are allowed and that is final. Once you have figured out which of your clothes are the party-poopers then you can start deciding which great pieces to take. These are clothes that are like that friend you can always rely on for a good night. Even if everyone else bails the two of you can go out, drink fantastic cocktails and dance the night away as a pair. The clothes you want to take to a festival are the fabric equivalent of that friend. In essence, they make you feel like Carrie Bradshaw but better and more you. 

The other thing to consider is this; "if you can't wear it to Glastonbury, then you can't wear it anywhere." This of course applies to all festivals. Those were the words of wisdom my friend Gigi texted to me earlier. One of the most joyous pleasures a festival can bring is the chance to don a wig and wear that outfit that you wanted to wear to the pub last Friday but ended up chickening out of because it was 'too loud'. Gigi's mantra was justification for her persuading me to wear my beautifully vulgar snakeskin-on-snakeskin-on-snakeskin ensemble of hot pink items which all happen to match. Alas the skirt is too sweaty to dance in and therefore fails my 'festival comfort test' but it is indeed an outfit that feels too scary for 'real life' and therefore would otherwise translate really bloody well to a slightly muddy field. If I was to wear it out back in Manchester my friends would cock their heads, a look of confusion spreading across their faces. But wear snakeskin on snakeskin to Glastonbury and suddenly you're wearing your admission ticket to the Fun Party. Snakeskin on snakeskin at a festival says 'I came. And I came to dance.' It says 'We wanna be free. We wanna be free to do what we wanna do. We wanna get loaded. And we wanna have a good time. That's what we're gonna do. We're gonna have a good time."

And so for all of these reasons I will be wearing the ridiculous snakeskin boots that arrived from eBay just in time. There will also be anoraks. There will be the ever-faithful bumbag (hands-free is the only way to dance.) There will be the blue mechanic jumpsuit that will cause me problems in the portaloos but rewards in the longrun. There will be my comfy black stretchy pants with the tasselled hems which somehow simultaneously say 'comfort' and 'glamorous divorcee on Miami Beach' when I wear them with the matching tasselled top with the pineapple and palm pattern. These are all things I already own and that make me happy. No big festival shopping sprees (unless the £8 snakeskin boots count?) and definitely no dictating.  It's your festival and you can wear what you want to. 

Recent Adventuring

The weeks continue to race by and since I last posted I am now officially D-O-N-E with University. The other day I returned my last library books. I gave an actual lingering look over my shoulder as I exited through the revolving doors, as if I was in a film and waiting for the angsty soundtrack to kick-in. Or for the sub-title 'REAL LIFE... BEGINS' to appear across the screen. Neither of these things happened. Then I popped into the offices of my favourite professors to say goodbye and left having offered myself up as a cat-sitter to one and an open-day speaker to the other. At least I know I have my back covered if my employment prospects take a turn for the worst. 

Despite the slight bittersweetness of leaving the University of Manchester just as I was getting the hang of things (It honestly took me three years to learn how to write a really good essay) the past few weeks have been a ball. The sun came out fiercely and happily for a bit and finding an open body of water in which to swim within the city became of the upmost importance. We plumped for the lake in the Chorlton Water Park for the first outdoor swim of the year. We ignored the pondweed which flirted with our knees and the frogspawn and the swans and armed with determination (and a swimsuit which consistently flashed my tits everytime I did a breast stroke) I swam and swam. 

I've also managed a couple of trips. Last week me and Nanon went to Liverpool and wandered around the Tate and the Walker Art Gallery. At the Tate we mooched around the Chagall exhibition, though I think I actually got more enjoyment from the floor below which houses the 'Constellations' exhibition. There were Robert Morris's big mirrored cubes which created pleasing body contortions if you stood beside them. Helio Oiticica's Tropicalia 1966-7 was a playful installation that involved live parrots (caged, alas) and a pleasingly disorientating beach hut which offered a surprise following a blind entrance. One of my favourite parts was a chance to sit and chuckle whilst watching John Smith's The Girl Chewing Gum which is too good not to have a place here: 

An especially sunny day saw me, Charlie, Rose and Gigi cycling over to visit the Salford Lads Club. This was in a last-minute bid to 'do the things we said we would always do' before most of the gang leave Manchester. We spent a long time inside being showed around by Leslie who was fantastic and completely patient amidst the cooing and exclaiming of 'cooool!' everytime he showed us a new room. Of course the outside of the club is super-iconic thanks to the The Smiths and the video for 'Stop Me If You Think You'd Heard This One Before'. (And on the surface this was the initial vanity behind our visit) But once inside the boxing rings, gymnasiums, billiards tables (complete with the outlines of little willies drawn into the dust, natch) and wall-to-wall photographs of every club camping trip since the early 1900s were incredible. I sincerely recommend a trip to anyone who has an interest in the culture of instituions like the Scouts or Brownies (or hell, any Moonrise Kingdom fans would be down too) as this is the place that Baden Powell visited when considering the notion of setting up the Scouts. 

A faithfully fantastic Chic concert with the Mr Nile Rodgers, lots of time soaking up the sunshine in the park, a fruitful house hunt (I plan on remaining in Manchester for now... who knows how long, but for now at least) and some shifts at the Gallery cafe all passed the time until the inevitable move-out date came. Most of my friends will be leaving the city, and there are some that I'll really miss a lot but the past few weeks have been good for hanging out, whether all squeezed around the table and sharing homemade thai curry or sweatily dancing to Donna Summer at an incredible set by Horse Meat Disco at 2022NQ. Onto the next stage.. 

Outfit

Today I'm wearing a white sundress with a navy Benetton jumper, some red lipstick and my old suede riding boots. It has been a week since I handed in my dissertation and I've been spending my time like a teenager during the Summer holidays. I'm not even finished yet but the relief of no more essay writing has temporarily trumped all and I've been doing all of the things I've wanted to do over the last month, but free of the guilt. Last week I went to see Pedro Almodovar's 'I'm So Excited!' which was fantastic and camp and silly and perfect for a Friday night that was warm and had the smell of the day's sun still thick in the air. 

Last night I cooked a big lebanese meal with some of my close friends. Lots of Ottolenghi food-porn (slow-cooked lamb, roasted aubergines and butternut and couscous) and conversation all washed down with delicious vodka/vermouth/mint concoctions made by my friend Charlie. This morning I ate a cheese sandwich and read more of Jerusalem with my tongue hanging out of my mouth. It's all about eating and reading about more food simultaneously. 

On Friday I had a couple of job rejections which put me in a funk for a day but I'm feeling okay about them now and realising that rejections are an inevitability and will help me to build a thicker skin as well as generally helping me to get better at the things I love and want to do. In the words of Aaliyah.. 

In the Meantime

Please bear with me while I finish my dissertation and tie up some loose ends. This weekend I went to my friend Rose's 'Carnival of the Animals' themed party dressed as Bjork's Swan dress and ate lots and lots of fantastic homemade falafel. The next day we miraculously managed to get some Glastonbury tickets in the resale and then celebrated my best friend's birthday with a champagne breakfast in our pyjamas.

But now the slog continues and this blog will remain a little empty until my May Day deadline. In the meantime, why don't you listen to this fantastic song by Pete Dunaway from the 'Black Rio 2: Original Samba Soul 1968-1981' album? Reading wise I recommend 'Faster or Greener.' It's a new blog written by my friend Joanna. Often when I read a new blog I find that I can tell it's new and needs a bit of time for improvement. But Joanna's is fantastic and not at all like that. She's been a big blog reader for years (as well as being generally one of the most well-read people I know) so she knows how it's done and Faster or Greener is already packed with well-written and thoughtful posts. From beautiful photographs from around Montpelier (where she is currently living) to helpful documentary compilation lists. Anyway, I like it and I think you will too. We had a fantastic time couchsurfing across the United States a few years ago and for the sake of nostalgia and friendship I will post some photographs of our adventures here. It is also worth a shout out to Lily, my childhood best-friend who introduced us in the first place and Patrice who we shared fun, a comfortable room and Denny's breakfasts with at Coachella (and who took most of these photographs)

Hobbies of the Flimby New Balance Men

This morning I found myself on the 'Visit Flimby' website which is the love child of New Balance and the West Cumbria tourist board.  Flimby is a town on the border of the Lake District and home to the UK's New Balance factory, and indeed you can 'visit Flimby' and have a tour around the factory which is exactly why I found myself on the site in the first place on a rainy Thursday morning when a day trip elsewhere is an attractive prospect. The site is a great read with some beautiful photographs and videos (by North West photographer Percy Dean) documenting the community and some of the men who work in the factory.

I'm always interested in people who are dedicated to a particular hobby- I wrote about hobbies here last year- and these videos focus on the curiosities of the New Balance factory employees. Bill climbs the local peaks when he's not working, Wayne races pigeons, Mark plays in a band and Roy who is a leather cutter during the day, is a fan of Northern Soul and still has the recordings he used to make from the balcony of the Wigan Casino in 1973. You can watch the other videos here but naturally the irresistible pairing of New Balance and Northern Soul was too good an opportunity to miss for posting Roy's video: