The cards are on the wall

Since becoming a homeowner (ok, flatowner) in October 2010, the D-boy and I are now better acquainted with the likes of Laura Ashley, Dwell and various 'Home' offshoots of well-known high-street chains than we'd probably like to be.

Our latest project was the creation of a 'feature wall', inspired in part by the previously blogged-about Cherry Menlove and her floral endeavour. Eight Marks and Spencer frames, one quirky deer head and £25 worth of Paperchase and WHSmith greeting cards later - and the wall was ready to be assembled.

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.

Somewhat lacking in imagination

Despite my grand plans to become a blogger extraordinaire (and more redesigns of this page than Facebook), it is clearly evident Like This, Want That has fallen onto hard times. Brimming with enthusiasm and verve in early January I may have been, but just one month in and I’m instead brimming with inertia. Even my pledged dedication to Twitter has gone by the way side – perhaps because the only things I ever really see in my news feed is sparkling, ‘intelligent’ conversation between Lauren Laverne, India Knight and Caitlin Moran – guaranteed to make me feel positively inane in comparison.

Still, there is one bastion of social networking I have a spark of interest left in: Instagram. To the uninitiated (and non-iPhone users), this clever little app turns your photos into works of art (kinda), thanks to a multitude of filters, shading options and customisation tools. The only unfortunate side effect of creating these beautiful pictures is that they all get posted to a ‘wall’, and become available for any of Instagram’s millions of users to view – should they happen to be interested in my obsessive snapping of cake. Users can then follow you –and, of course, it’s only polite to follow them back. So once again I’m caught up in a race to acquire more ‘followers’, ‘friends’ or ‘fans’ – and it’s hard, bloody work, requiring me to ‘like’ stranger’s pictures, reply to comments about my own, and post artfully shot images of quirky or beautiful situations. So basically no pissed-up pics of a night out on the lash, goddamn it.

Some of my more ‘artful’ attempts are below.

 Yours truly

My final word on the matter relates directly to the subject of this blog. What on earth is it about? And if I don’t know that yet, I fear for its future. At least this post has gone someway to shake me out of my lethargy. Which can only be a good thing. 

Let's just hope my next posting has a little more direction...

Cake. That is all.

Today was the final of the Great Harrods Bake Off, judged by celebrity chef Paul Hollywood (yes, him off the telly). Here are some of the amazing entries (and thank god I'm eating sugar again):

Not so much a 'like this, want that' – more just an excuse for pictures of cake.

Good enough to seat

One of the best things about growing up at home was the chocolate cupboard. Crammed with digestive-filled tupperware and old sweet tins overflowing with multi-packs, this magical spot was perfect for delving into after a 'hard' day at school. Pulling up a chair to access the highest shelves, our faces would drop if the only spoils were Penguins, but light up if we hit the treat jackpot: Tunnock's Caramel Wafers. These paper-covered, chunky bars of chocolate goodness would disappear almost instantly as the Rayner Gannets descended, prompting my dad to repeatedly declare: "I'm not buying Caramel Wafers again, you lot just eat them!" (As opposed to the Blue Ribbons and Penguins which would hang around for days until desperation kicked in).

But why the nostalgia? Well, this fond trip down memory lane was prompted by my daily Emerald Street email, which alerted me to the artistic talents of Nikki McWilliams. Her lovingly hand-stitched, quirky designs are inspired by pop culture and iconic British biscuits, and the pièce de résistance? The Caramel Wafer cushions, of course. 

Dad, if you buy me a couple of these I promise they'll last longer than 30 seconds.

Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination

From Shakespeare to Salinger, the literary world abounds with witty, wise and wonderful quotes, either drawn from the pages of a much-loved novel, or declared by an outspoken author. Often bandied about during dinner, or taking pride of place on an art student's wall, a good quote can become the header of a fashion piece ("All that glisters is not gold" for a feature on sequined jumpsuits, anyone?); influence a multitude of emo bands ("We're all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars"); or even be read aloud to a betrothed couple on their wedding day ("Those that truly love, have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two").

Rather predictably, my favourite literary quote comes courtesy of the shy and self-effacing Oscar Wilde, whose seemingly endless supply of sayings could fill my blog posts for the next few years. But the one that always stays with me is thus:

"Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination."
And as I peruse my empty bank account while gazing lovingly at my collection of Marc and Mulberry bags this statement feels more appropriate than ever. But with one week until pay day, and only £40 left to spend, was that £50 Estee Lauder Idealist serum worth it? (answer: still undecided); do those collagen-boosting Chantecaille lipsticks really work? (answer: YES!); did my sister appreciate that Vivienne Westwood purse I NOW REALLY WANT FOR MYSELF? (answer: not enough) and was that White Company dressing gown for the D-boy preferable to him stealing mine all the time? (answer: he seems to like it, so I guess so). Then there's the three-course dinners for friends around ours, after-work meet ups in various London bars, gym membership for the Power Plates, and monthly(ish) trips back to the motherland to take into account. Oh yes, and the small matter of a desire for perfectly straight teeth. And winter sun. Ah well, at least I have imagination.   

The sound of Azealia Banks

When I started this blog the last thing I wanted was for it to be twee, in that sickly sweet (yet still frankly gorgeous) Cherry Menlove kinda way. For anyone yet to discover the musings of this improbably named domestic goddess, I suggest you check her out. Yes, you will sigh enviously over her perfect life, and develop a hankering for a floral wall, but it's all just a little too removed from reality for me. However, looking at this page in its current state (complete with images of pink macaroons, quirky chandeliers and vintage bunting),and I feel I may already have popped my saccharine cherry - so to speak. So a big round of applause goes to Azealia Banks, for being the antithesis of cupcakes and Cath Kidston.

Yes, you may want to wash her mouth out with some handmade, lavender-scented soap, but I love her beats, her attitude and her old-school Mickey Mouse jumper. Zane Lowe really should take over Radio 1's breakfast show more often; the only artist Chris Moyles has ever introduced me to is Olly Murs. 'Nuff said.
 

I heart this

I may have a love/hate relationship with the Daily Mail online and its grotesque snapshot of middle Britain, but I've just discovered another website that has, quite literally, stolen my heart. Instead of pictures of celebrities who have *gasp* gained a few pounds, I can peruse vintage prints, interior design inspirations and aspirational fashion pieces. And then steal them and add them to this page:

All images from weheartit.com. And thanks to Ruthie B for the tip.

I've also been using Picasa to create lovely collages of my hearted images, one of which is now the wallpaper on D-boy's laptop. I'm sure he won't mind.

Good enough to frame. Happy Friday.