At Home with Jorge Elias in São Paulo Homes: architecturaldigest.com

At Home with Jorge Elias in São Paulo Homes: architecturaldigest.com

J'adore. Anything that combines animal and floral prints instantly gets my vote, of course, but it's the overall feel of this room, and much of the house, that is so warming. I love the crowded, homely feel, the thought that went into the personalised choice of artwork, the comfort of the sofas. One can imagine long winter afternoons, and sunny spring days spent in this room as the staff brings in petit fours and tea.

That's what a home essentially is, isn't it: A setting for who you believe you are.

A propos Jaipur and Salman Rushdie

Wow, what a nasty couple of days for civil liberties in India and the rights of writers to, you know, bloody well write. When people talk about religious sentiments being hurt over what someone said in print, surely the only logical question to ask is: So why read it? Please carry on, with our blessings, to Church, the mosque, the temple, the totem pole for all the rest of us care.

If publishers only handled books that did not offend, the only paper we would be handling would be the toilet roll as we mused in the loo. And considering the Jaipur Literary Farce, it would have to be on the story of Pontius Pilate calling for a bowl of water so that he would have no responsibility for crucifying people.....no doubt read out to us at some underground meeting by rebels because, of course, the Bible would have been banned.

Oh dear. Now let me get back to reading Lady Chatterley's Lover.

More pearls that called my name

Up a little staircase on Commercial Street, you will find a lovely little jewellery store called BIA with the most creative bits and bobs in rings, lockets, ear-rings, chains and bracelets. Much of it is in an Indian motif, but there are some fusion pieces that are hard to resist. (The fact that the owner was playing Ray Charles when I walked in told me immediately I was in the right place at the right time, something I cannot say very often.)

The semi-precious pearl and ruby nugget here took my breath away and I intend to pair it with my boyfriend jeans and black shirt, never mind that it was made for churidars. Nothing like mixing and matching to come up with your own look, it's what fashion is all about. I mean, where do you think pairing a Chanel jacket with pearls and blue jeans came from. Oh, stop. If there's one thing that makes me groan it's the lack of fabulous boutiques in this sad little town I have never been able to call my own.

Oh, these foreign tongues

What in the name of all that's holy is a programme where the characters speak in a foreign tongue doing on the English channel Star World? Is nothing sacred? So ok, the language is Hindi but still – I don't speak it which is why – this is a no-brainer – I watch English channels, get it? get it? And the programme is Survivor India which is as noxious as Minute to Win It (India version), Masterchef India, Indian (gawdhelpus) Idol and so on. I mean, the day McDonald's entered these shores serving only chicken (!!!), I knew the world as I knew it had changed forever. Where's the beef? Where's the meaning of life, more like. Just watch the strange beings on Survivor India and you will soon be asking the same question.  

I've seen these hands before!

This is outrageous. Captivated by something I read which spoke of 'the greatest crime story ever written', I scrambled for Flipkart so I could immediately order The Hands of Mr Ottermole. Turned out to be a 23-page, Rs 438 limited edition imprint which was wonderfully written, yes, but really, if the words 'right under (policemen's) noses' gave the game away, it's a good thing this was written in the 30s – there would be no other excuse for it!

And horror of horrors, Georgette Heyer wrote a terrific whodunit, A Blunt Instrument, which has the same idea at its core. I refuse to believe she stole it, there's no law that says two writers can't have the same spark of genius. I also possess evey single book Ms Heyer ever wrote so obviously she can do no wrong in my eyes. But nevertheless, it was all most disappointing.

Of saints and addicts

Wow, new year and much-improved Blogger. There is a God.

Just finished reading Narcopolis. So clever, some passages unforgettable, like the similarity between saints and addicts, or the very funny Introduction to Aggressive Reincarnation, or the learning from lines like grief being "a deep distraction, like absent-mindedness without the insouciance". And this amidst the hugely disturbing imagery and characters one watches like an impending car crash.
Not a bad impact for a first book of fiction.

Bedside reading, December

Best bit from Decline and Fall so far: "I don't believe that people would ever fall in love or want to be married if they hadn't been told about it. It's like abroad: no one would want to go there if they hadn't been told it existed."

....goodnight, sweet prince

There has only been one other public figure who moved me with their passing and that was Princess Diana. Hitch would have laughed me out of the room, putting them together. How could I have hoped to explain myself - he would have had the last, sword-swinging word. The iconic piece he wrote below, his last, (what an amazing self-obit), leaves the rest of us with nothing more to say. No man that I have heard about in my time died so courageously, so, as was his wont, intellectually. What is happening that the lights of this world are being so ruthlessly snuffed? How do we go on in the darkening way?

http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2012/01/hitchens-201201

Chris Hitchens still has his voice

http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2011/06/christopher-hitchens-unspoken-truths-201106?mbid=ob_ppc_22

Only a writer can make his emperor of maladies mere grist for the literary mill. Hitchens has proven he has no need for a trumped-up God, and his courage in the face of life's ultimate betrayal, his eloquent courage, is enough to see me through my day.

Words are so mighty, just read the poetry he quotes here:

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
—T. S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”

They told me, Heraclitus; they told me you were dead.
They brought me bitter news to hear, and bitter tears to shed.
I wept when I remembered how often you and I

Had tired the sun with talking, and sent him down the sky.

Or even his own:

"One can become quite used to the specter of the eternal Footman, like some lethal old bore lurking in the hallway at the end of the evening, hoping for the chance to have a word."

This is why everything from Stacia Kane to JP Donleavy keeps me snug in bed in the still of night, happy as only good writing can make me. Knowing that the world matters less than the world of the mind is something else I thank Hitch for reinforcing.

Forgive the maudlin tone but sweet prince, I hope we never have to bid you good night.

Bath&Body really works

I mean, come on, raspberry and vanilla? I could eat that!

Best of Britney

....the bottle and fragrance for Curious. Light and fresh and mood-building.

Where's the X Factor, USA?

So Stacy Francis learned that screaming is not enough even if you have a big voice, but I think her so-called mentor had much to do with her slip-up. To me, the biggest embarrassment has been Melanie Amaro. What was with that other person who possessed her recently to the extent that she was speaking in tongues? Yes, yes, it's all about her origins blahdeblah but was I the only one who thought she had slipped round the bend? And if there's one thing calculated to lose my vote, it's people who thank God ad nauseam for their wonderful lives. Forget the ones leading miserable lives; I wonder who They are supposed to thank. Amaro can sing but she's a damn bore. She ain't got no X Factor.

Meanwhile, my man Josh K has taken a leading role, I'm happy to report. Drew is his biggest competitor. And I like Astro, his ego at least is on par with his talent.

However, I must draw the line at Simon Cowell saying Lakoda Rayne, the least talented but best-looking group in the whole competition, was fabulous. Does he need a hearing aid? Sometimes he speaks like a politician, giving lip-service to public sentiment. Even when the public is an ass.

PS. Isn't Steve Jones hawt?!