you, stop multiplying

a couple of favourites.

have you seen any good films lately?

/via one day, one movie

in Tours

Anni threw on her Zara trapeze coat and hurried out into the street. A sleepy mist veiled the morning, the quiet only broken by a bicycle over the cobble stones. With cold fingers she lit a Gauloise and walked the few blocks to her favourite bakery. The warm aroma of freshly baked bread greeted her inside; wholemeal, walnut and sourdough loaves nestled behind the counter. Baguette in hand, Anni returned down the tranquil street and up the four flights of stairs to her apartment. She scraped around the kitchen cupboards, finding a half empty jar of Bonne Maman strawberry jam and some leftover orange juice. She put the kettle on, one teaspoon of Russian Caravan in the plunger. It was just another morning, just another breakfast in Tours.

/1

crosswords and long blacks

a saturday of newspaper puzzles, coffee at Small Block, the swings in the little park on Ballow Steet, tofu at the Vegie Bar, charcoal sketches, and listening to the Lucksmiths for the first time in too long.

what are you doing this weekend?

self portrait by Ysa Pérez /#1

all over there in your jack jones

Pastels on Portobello Rd, floral tights in Notting Hill, sparkle cupcakes at Covent Garden, stolen bedsheets for Halloween, and a street near St Pauls.

This was our autumn in London.

On another note, we changed our header! It is now the maisies in '95, overlooking Byron Bay. Also, if you want to swap links just let us know in a comment and we will put you on our page.

/maisie #1

yallah

Last year the maisies spent 3 weeks in Morocco, on camels, eating pomegranates, drinking mint tea, taking the chicken bus, hiking, visiting mosques, and wearing many headscarves. Probably the most incredible place I have ever visited. We got lost in the souks, hearing "ça va, gazelle" as we passed stalls piled in a kaleidoscope of lanterns and leather satchels, were engulfed by barbeque smoke at every roadside café, and survived suffocating trains and tiny taxis. Our Berber improved extensively (from zero to five words) as we picked fresh figs from the palmeries and were scrubbed in a hammam by a vigorous old lady. Couscous and tagine took over our lives, as did broken hotel showers and the roll of pink toilet paper that was carried everywhere. And at the end of the day, on the terrace of a riad, we could hear the call for prayer drift through the warm night air. I miss seeing a minaret on every corner, old men wearing slippers in the street, drinking mint tea from morning till night, passing mosaic fountains and crumbling kasbahs, being asked "what is your tribe?" and just living and breathing and feeling my bones.

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