i'm so sleepy...

Day Six...the end of
Driving through Camden, the streets are packed with the pierced, the punks and the curious. A giant bubble floats over and pops on the side of my car. I am going the wrong way in traffic, but all i can do now, is look for signs and keep on going. My map reading skills have left me, as i stare blankly at the maze of streets in my A-Z. It just looks like spaghetti and i can't find the beginning or the end.

Parking my car now, on the busy side street in Willesden, a lanky white teenager, dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt on a brisk March evening, exits through his front door.
"See you later, Mum" as he looks back.
At the end of the road, he stalls, conspicuously, then proceeds to buy drugs from a slow moving silver Renault and continue on his way.

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For those of you who don't know-i make a mean cupcake.
When i'm 60 and i'm done with all this makeup malarkey, i want to open up a cupcake shop, on the corner of a beautiful tree lined street...

building, growing

latest images...

Cheryl C is having the Best week ever

I know its been a while since i last wrote, but i want to tell you about the amazing things that are being drawn into my life. First of all, can i just say, that the Law of Attraction is no joke.
I am almost on day 5 of what will be 7 days straight of 8 different shoots-all of them paid. In 16 days, i move into the most perfect space, back in London, affordable, spacious, just perfect for me at this moment in my life, i can't begin to tell you how excited i am to watch my life burst into technicolor, especially as i think back to how the gray felt. I am overwhelmed by the abundance coming through, its like a channel was cleared.

Today on the tube, a couple, effervescent with their new found love, fold into each other, his business-suited arms around her, a cradle, she, within. They kiss, loud smacking kisses every few seconds or so; in the spaces between, she knaws at her cuticles whilst he gazes at her. At first, it is sweet, her hair still damp from washing, his heart exposed and vulnerable. But then, the smacking changes to smooching, and then all-out necking and he is clutching her hand which is pressed to her bosom, thankful, i guess, that his manpurse is over his lap. I watch, open-mouthed, they are so oblivious to the full seats around them, to the folks reading their books with higher than usual eyebrows and averted eyes, lost in this 9.30am heat they are feeling for one another. She leaves him at Oxford Circus, and only then, does the carriage come into focus for him, and he sits, bewildered and lost looking, young, in his not quite matching socks, and waits for his heart to broken.