02 October 2012

small things



I miss those summer holidays, somewhere on the south-east-coast-to-nowhere (for me, a hamlet called Currarong about 3 hours south of Sydney) where time comes to a virtual standstill of sun, small moments and sea water. The sticky night air, on a balcony, with thoughts/songs/voices, laying on wooden slats, crickets, grass itch from earlier......mozzies........aeroguard. Bed then morning coffee, stretch, kookaburra, parrots, bathers, seeing the sun through the underside of a wave. The ocean changing colour with weather and time of day until you are in it, a mood ring, blue for in love, the negative ions in saltwater charging you up like a liquid battery. When summers were so slow you could look at small things like the ends of your hair or mosquito larva in a puddle, the slow arc of the sun, silhouettes. And you forget to appraise yourself, freckles, beach hair, same shorts because you have only time for truly small things and grand things... and grand dreams. 

summer. Vintage good. Vintage bad.


Vintage good. 

On the topic of bikinis and all things summer, this little number from Le Meow is adorable.

And here are some freaking hilarious home interiors I found while searching for my dream home in Castlemaine.

Vintage bad. 

AGENT ORANGE. Yes to Elvis, hanging there like a communist leader. No to the orange being the only element tying this room together. Yes to the wallpaper photo - again, a mainstay in Eastern bloc apartments. And definitely no to the bedspread and Franco Cozzo faux Baroque stuff, including the pompous little legs on the bedside table.

MAGIC CARPET RIDE. Won't take you places that aren't in your own head already.