The lovely Belette has memed me a lovely, shiny meme, with shiny pleasing things - I just couldn't resist the chance of thinking about, and writing down, lots of soothing, nice stuff. Think of it as therapy in these times of crisis ( certains diront that it's hardly Dostoyevsky here even on a normal day. Passons, passons). It has confectionery. And shops. I think I was supposed to give a single answer for each category but I failed due to my overwhelming need to qualify everything I say in a craven lawyerly fashion.
Clothes shop: Has to be Liberty. We've been here before, I know. But Liberty is simply the repository of all that is lovely in a shop. I hesitated for Comptoir des Cotonniers but I know I should try and wean myself off the lady crack that is nice plain black clothes. It would be better for me to try some more scary Japanese things made of paper with extra sleeves and a dropped crotch around the ankles, and maybe a tail too. I would fit in better round here anyway.
Furniture shop: You've seen odd bits of my house right? Pretty squalid. If I were living another life, it would be somewhere like SCP, or Vitra. But guess what? It isn't. However, to compensate, I do have a nice chair and a nice lamp:
This lamp = the only bit of class in my house (oh, and get this, mine is a sort of soft gold colour on the outside. Mmmm). When people visit I direct them up to go and lie on my bed and stare at the lamp while I shovel old bits of playdoh and tortoise poo and 'craft' under the rug.
Sweet: Oh, so many! Must I only choose one? Must I, must I? You know I spend the best part of most days nibbling the outside off chocolate bars. It's because I come from York, where chocolate is our ONLY industry and when you're born, they roll you in a giant vat of molten Yorkie. Argh, I select Celebrations, even though it's a cop out, and Pierre Marcolini chocolate covered clementines if I'm feeling classy, like.
City: Sorry Brussels, it has to be London.Drink: Yes please. Tea. Don't care what kind. Failing that, gin.
Music: Vampire Weekend. Even though Alexis Petridis in the Guardian Weekend nearly spoiled them for me by comparing them with to bunch of Oxbridge tossers.
TV series: Flight of the Conchords
Film: Leningrad Cowboys go America
Workout: Ha! Ha ha ha. Walking to work on my ridiculous wobbly shoes. Wobbling, but I stopped going when we all had the man flu and I've totally fallen off the wobbly wagon.
Pastries: Mini pain au raisins. Every morning. That's bad, right? And! This.
This is 'flan'. I know it doesn't look terribly appetising, but it's delicious. Just sweet custardy deliciousness in every bite. If you eat it - and I do, it's my ultimate comfort food - your thighs look exactly like it does. Fact. Flan was the only thing that kept me from madness in Paris. I used to wander the streets looking for better and better flan. Need flan? I'll tell you where to go.
Coffee: Extra dry cappucino from Patisserie Valerie in Spitalfields market, where the lovely flirtatious baristas pile on the foam until you have a giant foaming mountain of foam. Froth! Foam! God. Where is my froth. Belgium doesn't do foam. They try and distract me with teeny biscuits and slagroom, but I'd rather have decent froth. I would do dirty, dirty things for a really good dry cappucino in this city. Just tell me where to go.
I nominate Just me, because she always says she only blogs about sad stuff, and I defy you to write something sad about your favourite pastry, Justme. And I nominate Peevish, Pearl, Kitschen Pink, Daisy, Katyboo and, and this is cheating but I don't care, Red Shoes. Red Shoes! Answer in the comments box! I need to know. Also, everyone else who fancies it, you're tagged too.