An Cúple

Time to blow the cobwebs off of this...again.

Due to recent events, I have found myself drifting to a certain part of the internet. A part that only such events could bring you to. I'm not one to judge, there's no shame in it...if that's what you're into.

One word...ou deux?

Scrolling through the endless playlists, I smile at the thought of such a pair from the Emerald Isle. A rather clever move by the Kooples not to hit the cobblestones of Temple Bar, Cork's infamous Hillbilly's fountain or the other handful of watering holes / mating grounds across the country.

I van't help but cringe imagining some poor photographer sweating, having spent several hours editing, using every filter known to Photoshop, only to come up with something like this...

This young damsel wouldn't have come across her knight in shining brogues at the opening of an underground Belvedere - Dom Perignon  nightclub in Lisbon, wouldn't have run into him under the Eiffel Tower on her way home New Year's morning, wouldn't have been persistantly seduced by him having seen her hop out of a car outside Hotel Costes. She would have given him "the eyes" while sipping her vodka and raza, clutching the edge of the bar to fix her spanx, allowing her to suck it in for that last half an hour, fake eyelashes batting almost as subtly as the blisters on her soles burst from the heels she knew she shouldn't have worn. 

He, forcing the end of his pint into him, would try to figure out in his drunken "come-on-man-don't-be-sick-keep-it-together-only-half-an-hour-to-Burger King" stuper, whether said damsel was trying to get his attention or having some kind of seisure.

Stage two ; instead of keeping up the eye contact, leading him to some quiet part of the club, not saying a word, simply clinking champagne flutes before leaning in for a kiss that would change her life....she runs to the bathroom to the group of friends, half of whom are hiding there finishing the drink that had been stowed away in tights, clutches etc, the other half have been swallowed up by this particular night, heads in toilet bowls, mascara all the way down to their chins,=; these are the wise few that will no doubt have her knight falling after her (and not just due to the last shot of Jager)

She returns to the dancefloor, full of vodka inspired confidence, surrounded by whats left of the army that have managed it out of the bathroom and not retreated to the taxi rank. She locks her eyes on his, which is somewhat difficult due to the 'rabbit-in-the-headlights' drunken stare. Eventually the pair, post grinding, lock in a tender embrace, jammed up against a sticky nightclub wall (from all of the spilled sugary mixers surely).

Stay tuned for further adventures of the Cúple...

Prohibition

Sitting in my turquoise dungeon of an office filled with horrific fluorescent light was not my preferred way to spend  a hangover. Listening to the rain patter off of the footpath outside, enraged drivers blowing each other off of the road and explaining the parking disc system to foreigners at least twenty times. All while nursing what I'm pretty sure is a broken hip.

Trés exciting.

Who would want to be one of the dozens soaking up the sun in the US, jetting off to festivals in Europe or planning adventures down under when you've got Cork Citay on your doorstep?! 

Slight sarcasm 

In all seriousness though, the city has succeeded in pleasantly surprising me every now and again with little treats such as last night's event in the Half Moon Theatre; Prohibition did not fail to impress. After a few failed attempts to win tickets we still thought it would be worth it to fork out the €8, get our gladrags on and hit the town. Friends arrived from the Wesht in what seemed to be a perfect Cork summer evening, pink skies, knackers in wife beaters peacefully sipping Carlsberg, a cold bottle of white wine made this all the better.

I slipped into my best teddy, plastic pearls and heels that have no grip whatsoever, in fact I think they do the opposite and encourage one to floor themselves. The Boy working his combover and braces scrubbed up very well, as did everyone at the event, it was really really impressive. Wine induced over confidence lead to what I can only imagine was a hilarious dancing performance. Nick Hollywood's amazing set really added to the night, as did cocktails, dancers and...cocktails. Perhaps one glass of wine too many was had but between  this horrific excuse for a summer, living in a shoebox and work, such a night was needed.

On another note, the Boy had a rather interesting afternoon roaming around St Ann's abandoned mental asylum with Sad Soul Circus while filming bits and bobs for his new music video, have a listen

X

One Year On

and i'm so much older and wiser

Not really, I just have a disgraceful amount of time on my hands now.

I finally made the leap to the metropolis, 19 98th Street - I'm trusting those of you from Cork to use this information wisely and not egg the place, our bathroom door frame has recently taken quite a battering and I'm not sure poor Landlord and his hooked nose could take the stress.

My room is somewhat controlled chaos, almost made entirely of cardboard boxes, however just a hop off the broken bed, a skip past some un-ironed clothes and a lopsided mirror, squeeze between the various drawers and the jaws of the wardrobe, clamber out the window and the roof, a little moss covered paradise looks over Cork, from the rooftops of the tiny kingdoms of Noonan Road and Little Calcutta (Little Limerick to others) all the way to Timbuktu...

...or the Northside, take your pick

I am incredibly excited about my return to writing, it would be nice if you are too

X

Le Fin...Pour Le Moment

Despite still not having started my packing, I can now pretty much count down the hours to Nice. As I won't have any internet access in the appartment and I imagine all of my internet café time will be spent on very loud Skype sessions, this is Pauvre Petite Riche's last post for the summer.

Fear not, I plan to document all of Nice's fabulousness and have plenty to write about come July. I spent the evening racking my brain for a topic to wrap things up with and decided to go with my five favourite things about the year.

1. Becoming an Alcoholic

When I think back to last year...my liver gives me an affectionate squeeze "Remember when you weren't trying to kill me?"

Headspins after a mere glass of wine, being disgusted at the idea of doing shots, buying sparkling rosé (the recessionista's pink champagne) for nights out. There was no such thing as pre - drinking and I was always tucked up for 3am.

Not that I regret any of it. I can easily say I beyond enjoyed myself every single time we went out this year( I would love to be able to say every night we went out, but that would be lying).

Whether it ended in me covered head to toe in fluorescent pink dust and nail varnish, 'hiding in the bushes', being invited to shower with strange french men or almost taking a dip in the Hillbilly's fountain.

KU - LOVE FO' LIFE

2. Crawfordians and co.

The thought of not being in Scoil Mhuire baffled me. Not sitting in the same classes week after week, not spending lunch with the same girls. My first morning at Crawford was honestly, terrifying. Sitting in the lecture theatre, not recognising a single face. Also, being ridiculously shy did not help my situation.

As the year went on I met some of the most ridiculous, insane, socially unaware psychotics that would challenge some of the profiles in the world's top asylums, both in and out of Crawford. I can't help but adore them though.

One in particular. 

 .

3. Freedom

Not having the Leaving Cert this year meant time, glorious time. It also meant I was finally doing what I want to do, art. As much as I whine about studio it was fantastic having your favourite class all week long.

My parents decided to use my free time to travel as much as possible. No longer did I have to go through my journal to find what aurals I had, or which weekends I had to spend trying to understand biology. Staying in Cork makes them restless, something tht I have definetely picked up. Nice with les filles, Liverpool with Crawfordians, New Years and Dad's 50th in Ile de Ré, Florida and London, I even got to see the metropolis, experience the bright lights of...

...Lismore.

4. Recessionista

Finally being rid of that ghastly school skirt, i took full advantage of not going to a 'proper' college and found some brilliant pieces to wear during the year.

I bought my first vintage bits and bobs, my various cardigans, jumpers, scarves and jewellery, my 1920s ball dress and beloved loafers.

Despite looking like a lunatic anytime I go to UCC or people assuming that I will in fact become one of my grandparents soon enough, I have no desire to change.

5. Being an Idiot

It is safe to say that my passing through first year can be compared to someone being dragged through a ditch backwards. It was in no way elegant, clever and certainly not planned, but it was hilarious.

Beginning the year by being thoroughly over enthusiastic at the glow in the dark night, to becoming the phantom ride, to getting a tattoo in Liverpool, to Rag Week; drinking leftover Jameson for breakfast, getting friendly with the fella in the local offie, Alpen and soda bread fights, turning people's bodies into canvesses, tinfoil everywhere, Charlies pub at 7am and witnessing the vodka pint, to the Paddy's Day Incident, to trying to repierce my ears and failing and the constant races home from the Bróg, with or without clothes.

It has been just lovely.

Gros bisous chéris,

until July

X

Je Craque Pour Elle : Charlotte Kemp Muhl

Charlotte Kemp Muhl is the essence of cool.

I happened to find the girl sometime last year in Elle magazine and have followed her since. Her playful style is fascinating. 

Modelling since the age of thirteen, she graced the covers of Harper's and Queen magazine, becoming their youngest cover star so far.

I love how Charlotte incorporates a fancy dress element in how she dresses, never taking it too far, always looking classic but playful.

She has featured in campaigns for brands like Tommy Hilfiger,  Sisley, Donna Karan, D&G and Swarovski and has starred in music videos by Elefant and Carlos Santana. Along with this she studies acting in New York and Los Angeles, plays in a band,  The Ghost of A Saber Tooth Tiger, with her boyfriend Sean Lennon, son of Beatle John Lennon (no biggie). The pair have also formed their own record company, Chimera Music.

And did I mention chéris...

Shes divine

été : deux mille onze

My wishlist for summer 2011

1. A Job

In eight days time, Lorna and myself should at this stage be settling back in gorgeous Nice. To finish off last summer, a group of us decided to spend a long weekend there. As we didn't have any other plans and hadn't seen each other all year (thanks to Lorna abandoning me for the metropolis), we decided to head back. 

So far my funds should keep the supplies of wine and socca going for the five weeks, but I would love to get a job somewhere in the city, preferably a sleepy little café down one of Nice's many winding alleyways. I've always wanted to work in France and despite my french being somewhat worse for wear this year, I'm praying it will come back.

2. CKIN2U

I've never had any other scent beyond this one. Almost all of my clothes smell like it and I couldn't imagine wearing anything else. I strongly recommend it if you can't stand overpowering, sickly sweet perfumes. It's light, floral scent lasts for hours without causing teary eyes. My current bottle is just on the verge of running out so come May 30th I shall be scouring Dublin's duty free.

3. Vintage Russian Wedding Ring

No, no its not what you think. 

I found this a few weeks ago on pretaportobello.com and have been in love with it ever since. Hopefully after a few weeks in Nice my skin should return to looking somewhat less like that of a corpse and gold jewellery will be needed. pretaportobello.com has become a bit of an addiction recently, stunning pieces at really reasonable prices and massive variety.

4. Every song that Mr. Doherty has ever sung on my iPod

Hours spent beneath the glare of the midsummer Nice sun are worth it, but a girl can get rather bored of children screaming as the freezing cold waves hit their toes or constant cries of "Birra Birra Birra!"

Pete's lyrics floating around my brain will make the hours fly by. 

5. Topshop Blue Kaftan

Mindless browsing turned into a sudden craving for this piece. Its absolutely perfect for drifting from the beach back into town. The crochet edge really adds to it and its pale blue is sure to fit in with any trend for the next few months.

Pauvre Pierre

In the village of Hexham, tucked away in sleepy Northumberland, in the home of an Irish soldier and Russian nurse, landed a baby boy.

Peter.

Little did they know, but Peter would grow up to have the eyes of this big bad world follow his every move. His would be a rags to riches(and back to rags chic) story that would be told for generations.

Peter travelled through kingdoms far beyond his own as a boy, Ireland, Germany and Russia. He ended up in the glittering city of London, where he felt "destined to be".

There, our pauper filled graves at Willesden Cemetery. He would sit on the gravestones and read and write tales inspired by his travels and his love of the metropolis that was now his home.

 
 

                                                                                                                        

 

Peter lived a simple life, not having yet fallen slave to the demons that crept through the alleys of London. A fresh faced eager young boy, his first appearance on television portrays a very different character to that which we know today see interview here

 
Fate introduced Peter to a young man, Carl Barat. They moved in together and began a small band called 'The Libertines' in the late nineties. As the years went on, they were known throughout the land. The young pauper was finally able to see his name in lights. However, Peter was eventually grabbed by the demons of the city and bewitched by their potions. He left the band to seek out genies, witch doctors and more experts in Wat Thram Krabok, a far away and curious place. He returned soon after, but it was not long before the same thing happened, this would prove to be the beginning of the end for the band.

Collaborations with people such as the local poet, Wolfman, would send Peter soaring back into people's hearts with songs like For Lovers .

He also published his journals, named "The Books Of Albion", full of sketches and thoughts from the years gone by. These were followed by a collection of art, "Art of the Albion". Many of his pieces were filled with his blood, despite Peter's efforts, the collection was slammed. He was accused of glamorising his life of debauchery.

Poor Peter could do no right.

Until he met his princess.

Peter met Kate at her birthday party. Theirs was a whirlwind romance and they never left each others sides.  Kate would often join Peter on stage, one particular performance stood out.

On the 11th April 2007, Peter announced Kate as his fiancée, plans for a summer wedding were well under way.

Unfortunately it was not meant to be.

Peter and Kate ended that summer, just before their wedding.  

However, Peter still seemed somewhat happy. He had followed in Kate's footsteps and become the face of Roberto Cavalli's Fall 2007/2008 campaign, the fifties style photos portrayed a fresh faced, handsome Doherty, they were often compared to portraits of Brando.

Peter dove back into work and looking after his son Astile Louis Doherty.

                                                             

Unfortunately Peter was arrested time and time again until he was banished from London. The most recent arrest occurring only a few days ago, a sentence of six months for our pauper turned prince. This has left this blogger heartbroken, Peter's plans to visit Ireland next week being cancelled as a result of the sentence.