Sunday, 31 March 2013

Happy Playlisting!

Ola looks gorgeous in her dad's white-and-blue striped shirt and knitted grey skirt against the backdrop of floral ironing board, table cloths and curtains. A vintage Japanese shodana adds some oriental flavour to this simple look, and I feel I'm allowed to make this comment since writing about fashion is like dancing about architecture and since I am essentialy talking to myself. Sadly, there seems to be a weekly allowance of how much I can actually say about anything, and as far as I'm concerned, it's Sunday and I have used up my bundle for this week. So, erm, let me fill the blank space with some Jane Eyre, she didn't seem to have problems like that.


Reader, I married him.  A quiet wedding we had:  he and I, the
parson and clerk, were alone present.  When we got back from church,
I went into the kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking
the dinner and John cleaning the knives, and I said -
"Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning."  The
housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic
order of people, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a
remarkable piece of news without incurring the danger of having
one's ears pierced by some shrill ejaculation, and subsequently
stunned by a torrent of wordy wonderment.  Mary did look up, and she
did stare at me:  the ladle with which she was basting a pair of
chickens roasting at the fire, did for some three minutes hang
suspended in air; and for the same space of time John's knives also
had rest from the polishing process:  but Mary, bending again over
the roast, said only -
"Have you, Miss?  Well, for sure!"

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