A faded kind of mellow

This love, this love is a strange love.
A faded kind of mellow.
This love.

This love.
I think I'm gonna fall again
And even when you held my hand
It didn't mean a thing.

This love.
Now rehearsed we stay, love
Doesn't know it is love, this love

This love.
It hasn't have to feel love.
It doesn't need to be love.
It doesn't mean a thing, this love.

Eloquence is.
Liz Frazer, Craig Armstrong.

This is why.
This is when.
This is because.

The Bag Lady in the 21st Century

In the 2008 Budget, a carrier bag legislation potentially imposing a tax on carrier plastic bags in 2009 should usage not fall was pledged.

Plastic bags have become the new enemy. They are the new fruits on trees, they take ages (if at all) to bio-degrade, they're unnecessary, they are everywhere. In Tesco, Sainsbury, Marks and Spencer and other supermarkets, the recyclable bag-for-life or green alternatives have started to become the fad and increasingly the norm.

Fashionable, reusable shopping carriers is the new big market, as Anya Hindmarch found out by scratching the surface, and like a pair of nice, white Birkies, I too would like to own a well-designed, hand-made shopping bag from Greenwich Market.

I'm starting to take on the belief that the only thing plastic really ought to just be my credit card, and am finding myself gravitating, almost moth-to-flame-like, to the fad of fashionable yogurt in glass bottles, eggs in cardboard cartons and clothes in cloth bags. From the technological innovation it was 20 years ago, plastic has become the sticky bane of modern society.

And quite frankly, why not? Your liquid shampoo in a posh glass bottle just seems nicer somehow, doesn't it?

These days, hippie is the new posh.

Interestingly, in this new fad that I'm starting to really think is an incredible smart idea faintly marketed, not only do you not have to be rich to be clever (tm), this particular hippie posh fad might actually have material benefits, unlike the fads that came and went before. You just have to know how to get the look.

Shop Local = Niche Grocers, not Designers.

Not only does this bring unimagined conveniences having everything you need literally next door, hippie posh dictates that you will be on a first name basis with your niche greengrocer, butcher and fishmonger, who will reserve the freshest, latest and greatest catch of the day for your royal highness's enjoyment.

The Ideal: Your buff and fit butcher bloke (if Italian, add extra points. If also doubling as a delicatessen importing ham from a relatively unknown area of Italy with a population of 25 who all make ham, add maximum points.) slices and dices your meats to your liking, and flashes brilliant, flirty smiles when you walk into the store in your sundress and sandals.

The Look: Name drop your butcher, all the previously unheard of places in Italy where produce is home-made by nonni and wait for friends to ooh and ahh.

Recyclable Bags = Designer meets Supermarket.

A finer excuse to carry an Anya Hindmarch to a supermarket I have not yet come across. This should be a no brainer. Of course you don't use cheap (free) Tesco branded plastic bags! That's so last century and unenvironmentally friendly. Your bag for life is not a plastic bag (tm), it's either a suitably sized Anya Hindmarch or, if you didn't make the queues, a hand-made, one of a kind shopper's from the likes of Greenwich Market.

The Ideal: An "I Am Not a Plastic Bag" by Anya Hindmarch. Cautiously disclose the fact that you had walked, not driven to your nearest Sainsbury's to stand 3 hours in line to get the look.

The Look: A close contender would be a hand-made one of a kind from as exotic a market as you can possibly can get. Double points if you're bagging a bag from Morocco, Istanbul or Tunisia. Maximum points if you had hand-made (personally) your bag using recycled scraps of kimono fabric purchased from a bric-a-brac shop in central Tokyo.

Walking the Walk = Showing off designer footwear.

Top marks for the very Singaporean art of wearing shorts and Crocs to Orchard Road. I lie, do the very opposite and look for casual, understated and comfortable. Because unlike the Gucci heels you used to wear, you do actually have to walk in these.

Yes I know, it's a slight inconvenience. But on the bright side, it is almost an impossibility to be reading, working or otherwise pretending to be distracted by something more important than being on the tube when you're walking, so you have got your fellow walking commuters absolute attention. You now have an excuse to perfect your street stride for more than 60 seconds.

The Ideal: Kate Moss in a recent cosmetic ad did this to ultimate perfection. As she sauntered confidently along the street to turning heads... if street lamps had eyes, they would turn too. Add points for coverage if you're listening to an upbeat tune on your iPhone/iPod, double points for stepping to the music.

The Look: Dress up for walking. Invest in swishy skirts and long legged trousers and take that stride on, baby! And yes, you now have a shameless way of assessing people by the shoes they wear.

Kissing A Fool

Strangely enough, I found the Michael Buble version more compelling than George Michael's. Not going to go into why.

You are far.
When I could have been your star, you listened to people, who scared you to death and from my heart.
Strange that you were strong enough to even make a start.
But you'll never find peace of mind, until you listen to your heart.

People... you can never change the way they feel.
Better let them do just what they will.
For they will, if you let them, steal your heart from me.
People... will always make a lover feel a fool.
But you knew I loved you.
We could have shown them all, we should have seen love through.

Fooled me with the tears in your eyes.
Covered me with kisses and lies.
So goodbye... but please don't take my heart.

You are far.
I'm never gonna be your star.
I'll pick up the pieces and mend my heart.
Strange that I was wrong enough to think you loved me too.
You must have been kissing a fool.

Curiously enough, for the first time, I thought of Yvaine and Stardust. It was an odd what-if. What if Tristan went back to wed Victoria? What if Yvaine had crossed the Wall? What if the two had fallen in love, but never picked up the courage to see love through, and Tristan shook the hair out of his eyes and left Stormhold?

A strange, cold thought.