Is anyone reading the blog? And lost hats.

I just wondered who was looking at this, the profile views have gone up to to 37 and I know that's nothing but I'm sure it's not just me?

I was just thinking about all the hats I've ever lost. Sad times. I expect most were on trains. Remember that red beanie, it was amazing. Like £6.99 and amazing. That's what I want I think, a pull-on hat. Not 'is my hat fashion-tilted enough' or whatever but just pull it on, done, I'm wearing a hat. With this awful weather though it kind of put paid to any sort of fashion bent on bike, just keep dry eh. I didn't come off too bad, a wet crown and thighs which needed a waterproof circle skirt. I really enjoyed the concept sportswear, amazing, where is the Sartorialist when you need him. It was amazing. This Stella McCartney for Adidas pink marshmallow with a Shimano headband and chelsea boots. Toasty. An oldish woman who gets lattes for the price of americanos asked me where my blouse came from today, I felt shameful to say it was French Connection@TK Maxx. Postmodern.

I've not written for two weeks. I had a visitor, went home, had another visitor, and then began the 22 day work marathon. Day five and I'm surprisingly sane ish. Tried to decide on the way home whether 2 degrees sleet for 5 miles was worse than or equal to invigilating an exhibition where I get asked, "what is this, I'm looking for something to BUY". It was possibly the worst ride I have ever made. I was ready to slip off at any point. It would be good to stand on London Bridge in the snow. When it snows. Does minus one mean definite snow?

I should note that I was brave enough to speak up in French today (I am shit but want to get better and can), but not at the film last night. My question was completely valid if not a bit unformulated, why do these things always come post event, like the most amazing line in an argument when they've already shot you down. It was a celebrity feast though, and, oh I don't know I should've probably just asked, 'so I LOVED the hats, just tell me about the hats', and Robbie Coltrane would've said I didn't wear a hat and Rachel Weisz would've said 'but the cape!' and then we could've talked about capes. But I didn't ask my question so we'll never know. And some CINEMA FREAK instead asked Rian Johnson why he thanks Tom Cruise in the credits. I really should give my intelligence more credit sometimes.

It's fourth week at work, and I've started to fit in more. My coffee tasting skills are lacking, but how many of them can make quiche from absolute scratch. We each have our own skills and that is why some of us are world traveling coffee tasters and some of us, well, make pastry and burnt chocolate icing. I think a lot of people blag a lot of things in this world and that is OK. I can be who I want to be there, and if I choose to be sad like Coffee Union that'd be a stupid waste of everyone's time. So I'm going to pretend that I'm having an ok time and then it kind of is true. Customer based jobs are very hard work. Shouting at work is hard. Standing all day is hard. Not having another plan is double hard. Keep up spirits, even though the cold makes them heavy and stiff. Keep changing, and just get stronger, you can. Find beauty in people, they are uplifting, especially the like minded ones. I have to go to bed now before it gets too cold to sleep.

Celebrities at Work

I'm tired. I just wanted to think about celebrities. Henry Holland and Alexa Chung came into the shop today and it was weird. Who are they to rile me up? Everyone acts like the Queen is in, like 'do you KNOW who's over there', and you do a louder impression of yourself. You want them to notice you, and bestow you some luck and greatness - Bestow Miss Langdell By Way of Working Here I Announce You Duly Noticed And Important...

I didn't look at him until I saw them leave the shop arm in arm. Celebrity boys are kind of boring, they look normal. Celebrity girls are something to aspire to. They glow with the lightness of free Chanel and national aspiration. Henry looked crap, like a parody of himself, but isn't that just what they are, 'let's go to London and DO London', 'alright, but I might change my name, Laura is a bit SHIT', 'ok, and you know what, I bet you I'll bring tartan BACK, even Lauren Lavern will say so'.

It's easy to knock fun at things you don't know from a distance, out of paltry jealousy. When I was sounding off about Laura I-don't-know-the-difference-between-nails-and-screws Sillars, Angus asked me "you don't like her then?", and I answered 'I don't know her' with true sadness, really. Like look how bored I am, I'm making fun out of some perfectly fine Boring, and it just makes me look like an arsehole. Laziness. Easy to scold these celebrities out of jealousy. All we want is (whoever we choose) to throw their power over us and extend their shroud of brilliance and be transformed.

I just wondered whether the definition of celebrity is someone we know several things about over a certain period of time, and yet they don't even know our name. Our name is our existence. Hi I'm Ceri, yes I know. We all fucking know and you KNOW we know. And even when we're taking the piss out of your clothes, we kind of want a piece of you. Russell Brand said something good on the tv the other night in some interview, which was we can worship these 'idols' (celebrities or local heros), but we aren't really worth 2p until we pick out our insides and find out who we are. I'm doing that. So I wondered today about whether celebrities are really just ambitious people who lived the truths out. They happen. They are not scary, they are reminders that we should try harder to make success.

Eating ginger nuts listening to Grasmere gingerbread article

I can't stop when I buy biscuits. I can't. I have the craving, and the mix of sugar and salt just bounce off each other, and once you put ginger in there, it can't stop. I'm kind of celebrating not growing a baby. I think most women spend a few weeks in the year thinking 'I hope I'm not growing a baby'. The ones that aren't on the pill anyway. I don't think men would know how heavy that thought is. There's no good reason why you would be growing a baby, but then, aren't they just miracles and don't miracles just happen sometimes. It'd be shit though wouldn't it. Anyway, so now I'm celebrating my empty cavern with ginger nuts. Great stuff.

I've not written for a while. I was busy in the real world, talking out loud rather than onto the keys. I thought today about making the blog art biased. Very trendy that'd be wouldn't it. But I couldn't do it posthumously, as that'd be like reviewing. So maybe I'll start now.

On the way to Matt's Gallery I went to the Paul & Joe sample sale, on the way to that I went to an exhibition at the Squid & Tabernacle in Spitalfields. I rode past and somehow clocked 'Amikan Toren' at speed and turned back, as he is one of my faves. He did this thing at Antony Reynolds (his gallery) where he got one of those old school chairs with the little side table, and piled up loads of the side tables on top of each other so the chair was almost toppling over and the 'table' nearly touched the ceiling. And also those cut out paintings, I think he was the first one to be that really. Anyway I didn't think much of the stuff today, found symbols on boxes, framed up. A few too many. There was a nice sculpture with a box and an umbrella and a pair of brogues sitting in some wood cut for them. It was kind of strangely put in the middle of the room like some sort of vehicle, so it looked like a plane. The umbrella on its side like a propeller. It was nice, but it didn't really fit with all the flat stuff. That being some black and white drawings, really heavy graphite, which looked like diagrams of agate. But they did that thing where you imagine yourself in it, in the situation with the work, as though you are its designer, and, oh no, you're a STUDENT. Eek. She'll prob do really well but I didn't think much of the drawings. They reminded me of Sam's paintings but in a 'I'd rather look at them' way.

That analogy is bizarre; I seem to get work more when I somehow imagine myself in it, it it's aura. Imagining I am it's creator, or it needs me, or a human. It has something to give to a human, or it suggests its creator, I don't know what I mean. Almost like anthropomorphising it, but as though it's a dog and it needs its man. There's some sense in this. I will have to think more about those Camilla Low sculptures. It was funny in French today, my 'artistes prefere' were Tim Walker and Camilla Low. Not really Dali are they, not really acceptable.

Anyway I'm past tired. And I don't feel at all guilty about the biscuits, they were lovely.