little birds

and speaking of Anaïs, if you’re getting bored with words I would warmly encourage you to have a look at a new blog more delectable than a plate of Ladurée from the talented Rose Keen, editor of iN magazine:


Night Terrors (one for the cat)

Abed in the night-time I heard or thought I heard a strange noise. It was creaking, a moaning, like hinges or the rusty limbs of trees moving against each other. It might have come from anywhere; it came from outside the window, I thought.

Sometimes in bed I hear the jingling of a bell in the darkness beyond and then my heart freezes a little. I do not want to hear his paws scraping against the glass, making it shake.

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what’s in a name? (a good way to begin)

Start simple, then specific.

The term ‘blog’ is quite offensive. Not politically, only to the politics of my ears. Blog. We(b)log. Bog. Log. Bllleeeeuuughhh. Ogogog. It made sense, but did they have to make it so damn ugly? I did not want to be a part of something called Og but I’ve done it anyway because I’m a) not as determined as I believed b) a little weaker than I’d like to think and c) a-fraid. They say, these days you have to be a part of Blog in order to get a job.

The name I chose could be the name of an antiques dealer, though, I think, don’t you think, couldn’t it? Well, be honest. Gulls of Brighton. But actually I’m okay with that – there are worse analogies than antiques.

My own name is the weirdest of them all, naturally. It is divided into three parts. The first is light. Rachel. The second is lighter still. Louise. And the third is extremely heavy. Silverlight. Although technically in three, I tend naturally to divide it into two parts, the light against the heavy: Rachel Louise versus Silverlight.

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