When I was a kid, risotto was one of the most time-consuming dishes I could think of. I have many memories of watching rice boil in the pan for what felt like hours, pestering my mother with an incessant stream of “mum, is it ready yet?”; the universal key to annoying a weary parent, triggering the universal repertory of icy stares and brisk orders to get the hell out of the kitchen. Minutes…
After several months of anticipation and virtually 35 years away from the stage, Kate Bush performs at London’s Eventim Apollo this evening. If you didn’t manage to get tickets, we are here to fill you in with as much information as possible
“She’s already played Hounds of Love and Running Up That Hill”.
Salt. Wound. Enough said.
Then I remembered that Kate Bush’s first tour since 1979 starts tonight, and I don’t have tickets. By which I mean “no tickets for none of 22 dates”, and yes, it’s really a twenty-two you read there.
Don’t make me read your mind,
you should know me better than that.
Fleur finally found a place where my kids can’t reach her. Smart kitty.
Every time I offer my home-baked goods to friends and family, I get insanely worked up about their appearance. Over the years, reassuring people that my treats taste much better than their scruffy look may suggest has become second nature; “Don’t worry”, I often say, “it’s the sweet ugliness of homemade”. A joke that downplays a hard truth: just like Mother Nature (or, more likely, family…
"If you can’t see the love in my eyes, come a little closer."
Photos via Cat Act
And I know that you’re a sucker for anything acoustic.
but when I say let’s keep in touch,
I really mean I wish that you’d grow up.
This is the first song for your mixtape
and it’s short just like your temper
but somewhat golden like the afternoons
we used to spend before you got too cool.
(Nights like this, I wish I could write about the music I grew up to without sounding cheesy. Ah, well. Another life, another time.)
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