Is there a better way to start the weekend than a new song from The Boss? I mean… c’mon… I have listened to it about five times already and you can bet your first Friday G&T that it’ll be on repeat for the rests of the day till all the lyrics are imprinted in my brain.
Join me…
April 22nd to April 28th is Fashion Revolution Week, did you know that?
Having just learnt it – it popped up in my Insta feed – I feel a tad guilty for having wasted the last 15 minutes browsing for clothes I don’t really need…
It is a movement started after the collapse of the Rana Plaza building in Bangladesh (24/4/2013) when 1138 people died and 2500 were injured. I remember it clearly, it was a horrific accident. This is what the Fashion Revolution movement stands for:
We believe that positive change can happen if we all think differently about fashion and demand better. We
want a cleaner, safer, fairer, more transparent and more accountable fashion
and textiles industry.We want fashion to become a force for good. We believe in an industry that values people, the environment, creativity and profit in equal measure.
Their MANIFEST IS HERE. Worth a read, if you have a few minutes.
And this page tells you how you can take action: send an email to a brand, post on Twitter or Instagram. I’ve just sent a couple of emails, it took less than 30 seconds. Let’s face it we all have too many clothes in our wardrobe and we all still like to go shopping. We are all bad in this respect, but by educating ourselves (and our children) we can get better and make a difference. Change can happen. I remember what a pain it was to take my own bag to the supermarket a couple of years ago… not I don’t even think about it. Or bringing my water bottle out with me… it’s automatic now, keys, handbag, refillable water and coffee cup… What I’m trying to say is … change always seems harder before we start, after a while… it becomes second nature.
So let’s buy less and buy better.
And things are – slowly – changing in the fashion industry too:
In 2018 there was significant global media coverage about transparency in the fashion industry and ways to consume more responsibly, with over 400 articles written in the UK and and over 2,000 across the world. With an estimated reach of 3500 million articles about Fashion Revolution in April. Significant articles included Vogue, Marie Claire, FashionUnited, The Telegraph, The Guardian, The Independent, Huffington Post,Refinery 29, The Debrief and many more.
Fashion Revolution was awarded the Best Green Fashion Film award at the Fashion Film Festival Milano for the 2018 campaign film directed by MJ Delaney and produced by Futerra.
I can honestly say that I have never read so much non fiction as I’ve done recently and it has opened a new world for me. A word of more books I want to read, which is quite depressing because … there just isn’t enough t.i.m.e., and a world of things I don’t know which is equally as demoralising because the more you know… the more you understand you don’t know.
It’s hopeless.
The Good immigrant is another one of those books that everyone should read. I grew up in a small town in Northern Italy, whiter than white. Now I live in a part of England which is also really white… it’s easier to think that racism is elsewhere, that white priviledge doesn’t affect me, that I don’t have any race bias in my thinking… that I’m open and free from prejudices… guess what? WRONG.
And you’d be wrong too, I bet ya.
This book is a collection of essays that will really open your eyes to what is really going on around us. It’s a big wake up call. The range of writers from different backgrounds and the different subject they tackle keep you hooked and are well written and real. Seriously I was totally taken in. And ashamed about my entitled indifference and ignorance. And heartbroken.
There’s a lot of work to be done people. Roll your sleeves up and let’s go.
Favourite quotes:
But tradition is an inescapable trait of our communities – those who cannot rely on land or home for their identity. Our parents, and their parents, and theirs before, have little more to leave us beyond their names, beyond their language. We have inherited the knowledge that community means to remain. When we cannot return to our homes – or are waiting for them to be taken from us again – we must get the hang of how to recreate it elsewhere. (Chimene Suleyman)
It’s easy to cling to a position of privilege when it acts as protection from the ever-present danger of being seen as outsiders, but playing to the myth of the ‘good immigrant’ does not lead to real equality, or even acceptance. Breaking out of the ‘model minority’ box and looking beyond that statues towards humanity and freedom is the long game. (Wei Ming Kam)
Prayer is Power, by Orin Begum, full time lawyer, part time poet. You can find her beautiful words at poetry_by_oorenie on Instagram.
The weather was glorious. Finally.
Spent a couple of hours on Saturday afternoon in a deserted College library… oh my god… terrifying… just weird… like the set of a scary movie. Had to get out of there. Fast.
Missed No 3 and Mr away on hockey tour in sunny Holland.
Easter Sunday meant lots of food and the traditional post pig-out walk…
I have been reunited with my friend chocolate after a very long lent. A deliciously decadent Nutella Cheese cake (recipe here, but without the distracting nuts) did the trick. No I didn’t eat it all.
And this morning I went on the slowest run of my life… oh good gracious… I’m so out of shape.
Also, all the laundry baskets are EMPTY. E.M.P.T.Y. I’m slaying it.
Yesterday I took a day out from College work and mum-duty to spend a day in London with my sister in law. We crammed a lot in and walked for miles and miles
and it was so much fun. The weather was glorious for the first time in weeks too.
First stop, the Serpentine Gallery in Hyde Park, somewhere I had never been and had always wanted to visit.
We saw a solo show of Emma Kunz, which was unknown to me, and a real pleasant surprise. (She was a healer and a ‘pioneer of spiritual art’. Worth a read of the link. Really interesting.
The Serpentine ‘Pavillion‘ designer for this year as been announced; it’s the Japanese architect Junia Ishigami and it promises to be amazing.
There was only one thing ‘on the menu’ at the V&A for me… The Dior Exhibition. A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. Could have spent ages in there reading who wore what and all the interesting facts… we were on a mission though… so we just soaked in the details and the romance and the skills and the imagination of the designers… and waltzed through, not in dainty stilettos but in chunky trainers. Oh well.
(It was super crowded though too. Literally you had to queue to stand in front of each dress).
(Also, I’m so glad corsets are not in fashion anymore, phew).
And this is from someone who’s sitting at her kitchen table wearing a sack like tunic with no discernible waist and giant pockets. And denim with no hem. And birkenstocks.
Sigh.
After a quick lunch we ‘tubed’ it to the Tate Britain where Vincent and Don and Mike were waiting.
There were many take-your-breath-away paintings… I’m not sure about the whole ‘London’ connection though, a bit tenuous if you ask me. We should have probably listened to the audio guide… maybe it’s worth going back for a more in depth session.
Don McCullin’s show did not pull any punches. So powerful. So so… raw.
And then Mike Nelson… I’m going to copy the blurb from the catalogue because I’m not good at explaining these things:
He has transformed the grand spaces of the Duveen Galleries into something between a sculpture court and an asset strippers’ warehouse. He has carefully selected objects from the post-war Britain that framed his childhood – including enormous knitting machines, woodwork stripped from a former army barracks, graffitied steel awnings and doors from an NHS hospital.
After that… we took a boat (a bus boat!) to the Tate Britain, where we shamefully ignored Bonnard (one for another day) and headed for the fun and crazy Franz West.
Crazy being the operative word here.
But fun.
Who wouldn’t like a giant ‘pink’ thing hanging from the ceiling, eh?
And THEN, after a delicious meal at ‘Tombo‘ we headed home…
I needed a day like this.
Imagine this: you can only speak 100 words a day. If you go over you get zapped, badly tasered by the fitbit lookalike on your wrist. If you’re woman of course. And girls are not taught to read or write anymore. You would be a tad furious, wouldn’t you?
Sounds like it should be a good one.
The good bit first: it’s well written, easy to read, the story flows nicely without crazy jumps…
and the blurb at the back sounds good, right?… but… and it’s big BUT… the 100 words thing is the most interesting part, the rest is very, very cliche’.
We have the ultra-religious, backward looking set with ultra strict patriarchal views (it’s a little Bible bashing too), witch hunts and public shaming, the super smart female lead, the obligatory love story (with a dashing Italian to add some exotic spice), the marriage that doesn’t work but everybody is mature and gets along, kids in danger, crazy science, the token racial diversity and lesbian side character, the underground rebels, the charismatic evil leaders… etc etc.
I kid you not.
It’s a little rushed. I think it could have been amazing, but we need some background… how can something so radical get implemented from one day to the next? I mean… c’mon, suspension of disbelief in one thing, this is a little stretched. I never really believed it. And the characters are very one dimensional too so you never get to like them much because you don’t get to know them.
Disappointing because it promised so much more… maybe I’m not the target audience? too critical? Would have I liked it more if I read it in my teens? maybe, probably actually, and it can spark some funny kitchen table conversations. Mainly your kids will think they might get less nagging if you can only speak 100 words a day! (And your husband, very diplomatically will not add much…)
In short… if you’re lying on a hammock somewhere, or on a beach and want some easy diversion… go for it…
I think it could be turned into an entertaining movie (with a Kodak ending obviously, but that’s ok, I’m all for happy ending), but a great book it isn’t. I gave it 2 stars on Goodreads. A bit harsh, but it’s not a 3. Maybe a 2 1/2.
I just NEED a good dystopian story!!! Help me. Also, please I’m not a book snob… I loved the Twilight saga and Hunger Games and the first of the scorch trials and many others… lately though… I’ve been struggling…
Happiness (by Raymond Carver)i
So early it’s still almost dark out.
I’m near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren’t saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other’s arm.
It’s early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn’t enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
It occurred to me a nights ago that this June will be 30 years since I finish secondary school. Incidentally it’s also 30 years since I left Italy but that’s a different story. (Or is it?)
Anyway, I got thinking about the people I had spent five hours daily with and set about to retrace as many as possible to organise a meet up. How easy was that??? The first email address (found by simple searching a name and a profession) was replied in less than 20 minutes. The ball was rolling. The first phone call turned the little ball in a huge avalanche and within 24 hours we have a huge Whatsapp group chat and 80% of the people found and onboard. Some of them stayed in contact with each other, others have disappeared. People have got married, some have divorced, not everybody has children, there are doctors and dentists and pharmacists, teachers, housewives, lawyers and who knows what else. Some live in England like me (and I didn’t know!!), some in Dubai… some have written books and some are poets… some are Classicists and researchers, others love horses and ride everyday… some are in politics… some in business…
Fascinating.
I can’t wait to spend an evening reminiscing and catching up.
This is most of us, probably I’d estimate this being from 86’/87’… not sure, could be later. I’m the one wearing the white sweater on the right of the photo. Eyes closed. Bad fringe, but it was the 80s after all.
I don’t have any real ties to that time and that place. I left a few months after the end of school and never really returned aside from a few visits, and I often wonder why. Why don’t I feel the tug of belonging. Why don’t I feel ‘lost and unmoored’ after all that’s the town I was born and grew up in … (well up to 19yrs). I don’t know. I like to ‘pop’ back. Nothing has changed. I can walk the centre of town with my eyes closed. Yes, the shops are different, it’s tidier, prettier, but it smells the same, the light is the same. It’s a strange feeling.
Which brings me to the next question… what makes you feel a sense of belonging to a place? What defines you? Is it… people? Is it the geography? The language? What give you a sense of identity? Is it the colour of your skin? Is it where you live? Where you were born? Is it your traditions? Your past? A mix of any of the above? I’m researching this subject for an assignment and it’s a fascinating subject, and I would really love your answers because frankly I find it extremely difficult to form a coherent reply for myself.
For Each Of You (by Audre Lorde)
Be who you are and will be
learn to cherish
that boisterous Black Angel that drives you
up one day and down another
protecting the ploace where your power rises
running like hot blood
from the same sourse
as you pain.
When you are hungry
learn to eat
whatever sustains you
until morning
but do not misled by details
simply because you live them.
Do not let you head deny
your hands
any memory of what passes through them
not your eyes
nor your heart
everything can be used
except what is wasteful
(you will need
to remember this when you are accused of destruction.)
Even when they are dangerous examine the heart of those machines you hate
before you discard them
and never mourn the lack of their power
lest you be condemened
to relieve them.
If you do not learn to hate
you will never be lonely
enough
to love easily
nor will you always be brave
although it does not grow any easier
Do not pretend to convenient beliefs
even when they are righteous
you will never be able to defend your city
while shouting.
Remember whatever pain you bring back
from your dreaming
but do not look for new gods
in the sea
nor in any part of a rainbow
Each time you love
love as deeply as if were
forever
only nothing is
eternal.
Speak proudly to your children
where ever you may find them
tell them
you are offspring of slaves
and your mother was
a princess
in darkness.
while you're ahead... 