The fictional character, the Count of Monte Cristo totally fits the hot-storical criteria. He is smart, vengeful, adventurous, calculating, and above all hot. For those of you looking for a great read over the festive season (once you have read Red Rocks, Zen Under Fire, Great Kiwi Firsts, The Girl Below and Sea Fever) I thoroughly recommend The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas. This thriller is set...
In a lonely place the pressure of sunlight falling made active the world over Bookshelf poetry. I can’t claim it as my own idea, it’s Oh Jaewoo’s a Korean artist currently exhibiting at City Gallery Wellington. He investigates how art is valued and consumed within contemporary culture and how, by the restrictions and or freedoms inherent within us, we curate the world around us. A couple of days ago...
“Let’s take it from the golden butt chain,” Prue instructs over the intercom. I give her the thumbs up, clear my throat and begin reading. “A golden butt chain is parading mere meters away from me.” I carefully modulate my vowels and ensure the plosive sounds don’t pop. I am living my dream, reimagining the wonders of an Aruban carnival while recording Sea Fever for National Radio. Suspended...
I suspect he can’t. And frankly nor can I. I’m talking about the decision by the Anglican Synod to ban women from becoming bishops. Religious hypocrisy and blinked pick ‘n’ mix reading of the scriptures aside, this decision does something even more insidious than simply say ‘no‘ to ‘lady bishops’, it signals that the Anglican Church and its institutional sexism is outside, above, and over the Law. Last...
Help! I have been drowning in metadata! I’ve been lost in a digital land! I’ve been bamboozled by intergens and API’s! I’ve been at the National Digital Forum! For two days I’ve thought about content, the death of strategies, the importance of communities, the secrets of meaningful engagement and been awed by ancient Chinese caves. At first I was hash tagging this and retweeting that, but as I sat...
I have been angsting for months about chick lit. My novel is all about sex, death and dynasties. In my good moments I channel Jackie Collins, square my shoulder pads and write my 666 words night, but in my darker moments when the gloss rubs off my pastel pink high-shine lipstick and I am left cracked lipped and illuminated only by a computer screen, I feel embarrassed. Who owns up to...
Wanna join me on Dec 9 at 10am to run/ walk/ jalk/ wun the Rimutaka Incline? 36 is a good age- to STAY. I’ve tired it once, it worked for me. The first time I celebrated being 36 I ran across the Rimutaka Incline. It was in preparation for the Big Adventure. This time, I just wanna have fun. If you’d like to join me for a birthday jog...
‘What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom and sweep down the decks?’ Tilda Swinton whispered in my ear. What indeed? I thought as I walked up our (goat) path to the road, leaving behind my sea- captain and cabin boy. For the next 13 minutes I listened to her beautifully modulated voice read the first chapter of the magnificent,...
George Gordon Noel aka Lord Byron. Okay, so if you discount the sister shagging and pushy Mum, Lord Bryon was one of the hottest of the hot-storical crew. He wrote Don Juan (among many other things) swam The Bosphorus, knew how to sail, was adventurous and like any good hero, sported a mustache and died tragically young. Hot.
On a grey weekend in Palmy my sister and I hit the Sunday market. We consider this a special treat. Here, you are able to purchase a very nice Chinese jade green pre-loved dressing gown for $6, some sweet mandarins and also select from a smorgasbord of fried goods. Below are some snaps. I really feel they capture the young heart, easy living nature of this city.
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