pink crush

If you can understand what things* felt like last night… Focus on the crushed, dying dark pink section in the middle of that bouquet, not the beautiful vibrant colourful blooms surrounding it.

* me, myself, I, life, the universe, everything


The antidote: Listen to Bloom by Gypsy & The Cat. It’s on now as I type. Argh! if only I’d remembered to do that then.


I’m not a Chanel No. 5 fan at all. I guess I’m just not sophisticated enough to like it, but I do love No. 19 very much.

To my uneducated nose, No. 19 Poudre‘s drydown is much warmer, less green than the No. 19 original. I feel a bit more serious when I spritz on the Poudre. I’d go so far as to say that if I had to pick a personality for Poudre, I’d say a she’s a girl who doesn’t do picnics very often. (She likes orchids, though.)


I know, two ‘smell’ posts in a row. I can’t seem to get enough at the moment.


I make no apology for being a cliché… Lo! Another female flower fancier, and orchids, too – could she be more obvious?!

In my defence: a grandmother who was fairly obsessed by these wondrous creations of nature; watching her daily, dutifully, watering and tending to her collection.

I’m no gardener myself. But I love the orchids, too.

If nothing else, whenever I see these flowers I am transported back to my Malaysian childhood.


Rightly or wrongly, I always associate white blooms with Domestic Goddess… which is so what I’m not, however these beauties are what I currently have at home.

The weekend is upon us and once again, I am trying to fit in chores before I allow myself outdoors. Does anyone feel resentful of the full laundry basket? Do people scowl at the sight of unwashed dishes? I swear I would be quite happy to eat out every night if it meant I could do away with washing up. I dislike the fact that I spend time inspecting the bathroom sink and the counter for water stains, the detritus from the Hub’s daily beard trimming (obviously I leave no mess whatsoever – ha!), etc. And do NOT even mention the vacuum cleaner. That appliance makes me angry beyond all sense and reason. I hate vacuuming much much much more than toilet scrubbing. Now, that makes no sense at all, does it?

We live in a one-bed, one-bath apartment, tiny by suburban standards but sufficient for inner city living so I haven’t been able to justify engaging a house cleaner. Correction: I got vetoed by the Beard-Trimmer. So guess who gets stuck with the bulk of the cleaning.

That’s right. I am having a full-throated whinge.

Which brings me to the soundtrack for this post. Lanie Lane’s To The Horses. She mostly sings about man problems, but in my world, his name is Dyson.