I and Bella won’t be writing for Hip Hip Hackney anymore. Neither of the writers of this blog live in Hackney now, so that obsession with disproving all the Hackney hate that I felt when I started this blog, just isn’t there anymore. Even if Alexandra hadn’t stopped writing and she and I hadn’t had our massive falling-out, there still would have been the awkwardness of 66,6% of the contributors not actually living in the place the blog was supposed to represent. It’s a shame, because I’ve had a lot of fun with this blog and it’s an important record of my life. But it’s how it is.
I’ll be doing all my fashion-and-lifestyle blogging at Diamantfabriken from now on, and my art blog will forever be here. If Bella gets another blog she’ll notify you in the comments to this entry.
I mitten av juli hälsade jag på Bella medan hon och hennes familj var på deras landställe i Marstrand. Marstrand är en pytteliten stad – by är ett mer passande ord – belägen på en pytteliten ö utanför Göteborg. Det är kusligt idylliskt. Alla hus är pastellfärgade och alla människor utom två är vita. Tittar ni noga kan ni se en av dessa icke-vita människor på fotona. Marstrand är sponsrat av Ralph Lauren, och om du bor på Marstrand utan att äga minst ett randigt seglarplagg, kan Marstrands polis närsomhelst komma och skjuta dig i huvudet.
Bilderna är i helt ologisk cp-ordning, eftersom det är såna vi är här på Hip Hip Hackney – ologiska sepen. Apropå cp blev vi inbjudna till en födelsedagsfest för en kille med cp-skada när vi var i Marstrand. Han var rolig eftersom han pratade cp-style men ändå hade värsta feta stockholmsdialekten, komplett med iiiij-i:n och “fan vad nice!”. Bellas kamera dog dock mitt i festen så det finns inte mycket dokumentation av händelsen. (Min ena kamera hade jag precis sönder, och den andra glömde jag laddaren till i London, hahaha.)
Snart kommer jag även ladda upp finfina filmer som jag och Bella spelade in medan vi var där.
Hip Hip Hackney has been down for a few days, and also Miriam and I have been on holiday. Yes, We bloggers/students do have holidays too! So we really do apologise. We’ve been quite upset by HHH being down, but now we’re back up again and overjoyed!
This is very strange. I somehow thought he was immortal or something. Or at least that he’d grow to be 250 years old, like Elizabeth Taylor, and become one of those eccentric living legends…I can totally see him eventually BECOMING Liz Taylor – they were already vaguely alike, no?
And the way he died is also totally unexpected – a heart attack, what the fuck!? THAT’S WHAT FAT PEOPLE GET. Hands up everyone who thought he was bound to commit suicide.
I want to throw a Michael Jackson memorial this weekend now.
I’m in Sweden now! Everything is so beautiful! I am retardedly excited!
I arrived two days ago. In the car on the way over to my parents’ summerplace I kept saying things like “OH MY GOD! LOOK AT THAT SWEDISH COW! IT MUST BE SO HAPPY!”, and nearly wept with movement from staring at a couple of trees for too long. The air is so crisp and clean, each breath I take feels practically orgasmic. It’s like London is Kansas and Sweden is Oz.
Today I kept forgetting that it was my birthday. I’m 22 now. Same age as James Frey when he checked into rehab for being ”a Criminal, a Drug Addict, and an Alcoholic” [sic]. I’m reading Frey’s memoir A Million Little Pieces right now. On the flight from London, I sat next to a very drunk woman who informed me that she was reading the same book. We had a nice conversation about how hardcore addicts tend to be amazing people while sober; because they’ve hit rock bottom they just don’t care anymore, and are usually refreshingly honest and candid.
As we were landing, the drunk woman’s boyfriend – who sat next to her, in the aisle seat – said that I was his new favorite person. The drunk woman had gotten drunk because she was horribly afraid of flying, and talking to me had apparently further relaxed her. Just talking to him never did the trick, and she’d end up so anxious she would dig her nails so deep into his lower arm he’d actually bleed.
These are the last pictures my camera took two months ago (while I was still living in the Hackney flat), before it fell off the chair opposite of me and broke. I’d set the timer to take three pictures. Note how despite my worried expression upon seeing the camera on the floor, I’m still chewing Mentos.
Another dream about helicopters. I dreamt I ordered one from a catalog. It was delivered to my door in a cardboard box, ready to assemble, like a piece of furniture. I flew it to school. But once I got there, it fell apart. “Never order a helicopter from a catalog again”, I thought to myself.
För cirka 100 år sen (läs: i det där sexnumret av Bon) sa Martin Kellerman att det sexigaste som fanns var tjejer som inte kunde dansa. Efter att ha sett den extremt okoordinerade Jonas Brother-medlemmen totalt orytmiskt röra sig till Beyoncés låt tror jag att jag fattar vad han menar. Jag har aldrig tyckt Joe varit det minsta het förrän jag såg denna video, hahaha.
