The things I would do for rhubarb …


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I just watched Sophie Dahl’s cookery programme on iPlayer in which she made Eton Mess - meringue, toasted almonds, cream and, customarily, strawberries - but with rhubarb, which is one of my favourite things to eat. I once made a raspberry and rhubarb cheesecake which was disgustingly good and this looked even better! (See the picture above for the full splendour of both the pudding and Miss Dahl herself). I’m going to have to have to make this at some point, now that I’ve got the hang of meringue, but I will probably have to be physically restrained from eating the lot in one sitting. Yum!

"Oh, of course," said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. "I forgot we’ll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library."


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I can honestly say there are few things in this world I love more than Harry Potter. Perhaps the only way it can be improved upon is by mixing Harry Potter and time spent with Naomi and Sophie. Well I’m thoroughly delighted to say that there will be much of said mixture over the next week, since the three of us are having a Harry Potter marathon - watching one of the films each evening for the next week. It will be the perfect antidote to a long day of revision for my collections when I get back to Oxford and reading for the Texts and Contexts paper next term. I haven’t seen Sophie for months now and, though I saw Nomee briefly last week, it’s been a long time since we had any quality time together. There’s something about Harry Potter which seems pretty integral to our relationship actually, beyond the obvious connection of there being three of them and three of us. We grew up with the books and, for all their faults, enjoyed picking the films apart once they had been released, so there’s definitely a sense that it’s our thing. I think back over the hours and hours we spent discussing what might happen before the final book was published with real fondness. Of course, Tolkien is heroic, Dahl highly amusing, Blyton quaint and evocative, but I believe that J. K. Rowling manages to be all three - truly a writer of our generation with a unique and complex story. And as lame as lots of our peers will think us for loving these books and films as we do, they’re now so much a part of us and the characters like familiar old friends that I don’t think any of us cares. So now I look to eight o’ clock when we three can settle down with our blankets and biscuits and remind ourselves of what we were like when we were eleven. Welcome home girls. 

υπνος ατελευτος


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The work of Clément Louis.


She borrowed some of her mother’s gold.

"There is a rusty light on the pines tonight …"


"Each September reminds me of the things I love the most. The way that summer, now ending, seems to pour forth a swan song of its most golden and most glorious light. I’m quite convinced it saves this for September, so that its last flickering flame may linger on in all our minds through winter, keeping hearts warm and souls yearning for when it will next gild green oaks and burn amber onto red-brick buildings. And yet summer’s last rays cannot penetrate this heart, for it has a warmth of its own and revels not in July’s choking fug but the white-bright expanse of winter with cold so pure our breath seems to taint it." 

“And yonder, wild and blue
the wild blue yonder looms
‘til we are wracked with rheum
by roads, by songs entombed.”
Gin in a teacup. I’d like to say I haven’t been there … but I’d be lying. 

Gin in a teacup. I’d like to say I haven’t been there … but I’d be lying.