Rack-off!

I caught part of an interview with author David Rakoff on The Daly Show and could not help but be charmed by his witty chemo-soaked pessimism. His new book of essays is about expecting the worst in order to avoid disappointment and, although I have always thought looking on the bright side was a good thing I can see Rakoff's point when he talks of misguided optimism. I'm keen to order a copy into our little village library here on the Isle of Wight (I'm doing live-in care work friends...yep, livin the life of a 90yo) not only so I can read it but so I can expose the villagers to Rakoff's razor-sharp New York humour.

Good as Marigold

These are some images from my time spent on an organic herb farm in Somerset. I left about two weeks ago and miss it so much already! Our neighbours got married in a Quaking house and we strung marigolds onto a friend's Landrover, the vehicle they were delivered to the reception in.

Head Hog

A little patch I made for my friend's birthday. Topical as rescued hedgehogs had just arrived at the herb farm I was working on in Somerset and we were SO excited. Unfortunately the little hedgepigs stayed in their houses during the day and it was too dark to see them at night! But we rejoiced in the knowledge that they would enjoy their new home safe from cars and badgers.

You Poor Take Courage, You Rich Take Care

A lil' somethin I whipped up for the Zed Blog:

A Brisbane drifter’s account of the Bristol Anarchist Bookfair

Did you know that the A and O of the anarchist symbol, seen graph’d on walls across the world, actually stands for ‘Anarchy is Order’, a slogan first penned by Frenchman Pierre-Joseph Proudhon in the 1800s? Or that early radicals in the West counties of the UK (Somerset, Devon and Dorset) formed a bike group called the National Clarion Cycling Club in 1895 with a view to ‘promote socialism by being social’? No? Well neither did I before attending the Bristol Anarchist Bookfair in Stokes Croft on the weekend, the third so far of this annual refreshingly well-organised event. The neighborhood of Stokes Croft is home to a varied and active group of residents and is renowned for its rich history of squatting and community organising, such as their ongoing struggle to oppose a massive Tesco (the UK version of Coles or Woolies) being built smack-bang in the middle of their ‘buy local’ oriented district. Hamilton House was the venue for the very well-attended book fair and three floors of stalls and meeting rooms meant that punters like me were kept busy browsing and chatting to local and traveling anarchists and organisers from diverse groups and distros such as Bristol ABC Prisoner Support, Labour Behind the Label, Bicycology, AK Press, Bristol & South West Hunt Sabs and of course the old wobblies, the IWW. I got in at about lunchtime and chowed down on luscious vegan polenta-lentil bake with salads for £3. Food was cooked and served by local coop the Kebele Social Centre. At one point I looked up from my lunch to see at least five people stuffing ridiculously oversized pieces of vegan chocolate cake into their mouths, the revolution will be delicious with folk like these in the kitchen. With my hunger for food sated it was time to gorge on the smorgasbord of books and zines available. Limited by funds and lack of backpack space I still got the latest copy of Morgenmuffel, a zine hand-drawn by Brighton feminist anarchist activist Isy who also co-authored vegan cookbook Another Dinner is Possible. I was just about to moan about the lack of anarchist fiction available when I came across Edward Douglas Fawcett’s Hartman the Anarchist, republished after more than 100 years out of print. Fawcett wrote his apocalyptic vision of Victorian-era anarchists raining bombs on the houses of parliament in London from a revolutionary airship in 1892 when he was 16 years old, now that is some teenage emo angst put to good use!

There were many workshops and talks on offer throughout the day and I took time out from bookish pursuits to attend a talk in the Radical History Zone on South-West anarchism in the olden-days by local historian Steve Hunt. I was most inspired and intrigued by the information Hunt presented about the middle-class women of Bristol in the 1830s and 40s who left their cushy Clifton residences to show solidarity for the workers in poorer areas, moving into working-class digs and advocating for better conditions and pay for Bristol’s struggling dockers, factory workers and homeworking seamstresses. And then there was the aforementioned National Clarion Cycling Club, determined to spread people power through the countryside. Armed with wheatpaste and socialist propaganda in their saddlebags they would set off on picnics with tea and crumpets packed, leaving no turnstyle, fencepost or farmgate unadorned with their boldly printed poster proclaiming loudly ‘Fellowship is life! Lack of fellowship is death!’. It seems that long before Critical Mass was a twinkle in anyone’s eye the Clarion Club were escaping their industrial towns and villages and assembling and biking for truth, freedom and, well, the sheer pleasure of it. Brisbane fixie kids take heed!

I scarce had time to consult my program to see what was next when the room was invaded by the very boisterous presence of Ray ‘Roughler’ Jones, a stalwart bad boy of the Welsh punk scene in Swansea. Jones paced up and down the room launching into titillating stories of his time in a rag-tag punk/striptease band with the infamous Ian Bone of Class War. His witty recollections and thick Welsh brogue kept all entertained even if we didn’t know what the bloody hell he was saying half the time. Jones was promoting his new book Drowning on Dry Land, a memoir of booze, drugs, prison, chatting up Marianne Faithful and his time editing Roughler magazine. I left the room mentally exhausted after the indomitable Jones explained he had to ‘fuck off’ and catch a train to Penzance to see a friend. The only thing left to do was to sample some local beers and ciders at the Canteen bar downstairs, a perfect tribute to Jones’ tales of intemperance and indulgence. For the rough and ready of the bookfair crowd there was a follow-up fundraiser/afterparty (the fair costs between £800 and £1000 to run and there is no entrance fee) at an old tailors’ shop down the road with entertainment by COP ON FIRE (Belgium)
D’ONDERHOND (Belgium) and THE DAGGER BROTHERS (Bristol). Although I am of the opinion one can have too much ska and dub-step in one night the bands played with spirit and defused the only fight that arose, commenting on the futility of left-wing activists warring against each other when there is so much else in the world to rise up against. Here here.

In all the bookfair was a fortifying experience for this Brisbane escapee. I marvel at how Bristol can support so many social centres, squats and co-ops and wish this were true also for my own hometown. The event made me rethink my own complacency in getting active in grassroots organising in Brisbane because it seemed to hard, I was too busy, or I couldn’t find a group that exactly represented my politics. After seeing so many self-reliant individuals working hard to confront capitalism through direct action, creativity and mutual-aid I am inspired to join the battle. Coz if it was easy, they wouldn’t call it “struggle” right?

Olivia Caputo

Bad blogger

A thousand apologies for my lack of blog presence, I will make it up with pics real soon, mostly for my sis who is probs the only person reading this!

In the meantime here is a hundred year-old loom I saw in a craft village in Donegal Ireland.

Finalmente!! Italia!!

Torre del Mangia, Siena

Ok so I am superissimo slack with blogging, I know kittens and mi dispiace molto. I have however been writing in my moleskine and present now the musings of my month in Siena>

Il primo giorno in la casa di Gianna, Coroncina, Siena, Italia.

Homemade bruschetta

My room in Gianna's house

Having your own room again after weeks of sleeping on couches makes you do strange things, like paint your nails half-naked with your ipod tucked into your underpants for want of a pocket or some speakers. Drawers become precious chests in which to hide your treasures. Putting a dress onto a hanger never felt so good.

Milo, one of Gianna's dogs, he luffs me

The streets of Siena

Nelle strade you can always find a vespa mirror in which to check your makeup, and in this land of the 'bella figura' no one thinks you vain for touching up your eyeliner in public or taking the shine off your nose.

The famous inlaid marble pavemento of the Duomo a Siena

They caged Minera under the Duomo (cathedral) in Siena, where her sacred temple used to be. The ornate floor depicting Elijah in his chariot of flames marks the grave of the goddess. By strange coincidence my new swimsuit is called Minerva-style ;) It's blue with rope print and couldn't be more ridiculously nautical. I remember her as I plunge into to mediterranean sea at Castelglione della Pescaia on the coast of Toscana.

The Contrada of Siena

The contrada are kind of like the school houses at Hogwarts, all have animal totems (owl, panther, tortoise, eagle etc) and a fierce sense of belonging. To continue the Hogwarts comparison the Palio could be likened to the quidditch finals, only much more dangerous. The Contrada are regions of the town as well as communities that people are raised in, almost like a family. They began as military regiments and developed into societies for workers in certain fields (goldsmiths, leatherworkers etc). Your contrada was previously chosen by where you were born but since the advent of maternity wards it has been determined by that of your parents. The girls take their mothers' contrada while the boys' take their fathers. So it happens that often there are families with mixed allegiances.

Cherries crosstitch Ipod cozy

Massive props to my sis for buying me my Ipod, keeping me sane on long delayed train journeys and on platforms in Italia!

Fuck I miss my bike post

Catching up on times past

Wild blackberries in Galway

Banoffie Pie in Athlone OMG!

Patrick and Spongebob, My uncle"s donkeys

Ballet flats in my old st Rathdown Rd in Dublin

Delicious rosti and goat cheese near the IFC in Dublin

Fa caldo!

Ciao i miei amici! I'm in Siena at my language school. Finalmente! I had two wonderful weeks in the UK and Ireland with friends and family. Big love to all those who let me sleep on their couches or spare beds! Ireland was beautiful to see in the summertime but now I'm in Italy I am remembering what summer really is. Siena is a beautiful city and I arrived here on the day of the Palio, the big traditional horse race in the middle of the city. The Civetta contrada (district) won and their patron animal is the owl, so I hope that's good luck for me. Lessons are tough and I have to study hard so I'll add more photos when I get time. The girl I am staying with is lovely and her mother Patrizia is known as 'everyone's mother', she is hilarious (speaks only Italiano so I think she is) and wants to wash my clothes and feed me all the time. I am missing home a bit but have been too busy to be sad! I've been eating and drinking with other students which is great. Highlight of Siena so far was seeing a girl in a silver satin long jumpsuit with hybrid boot-flipflops. Ahh fashion. Ci vediamo!

Transitory Swank

Yes my dears I have left the country! Flew out from the sunny Gold Coast airport on Tuesday with tears in my eyes and rain in my heart. I've never found it so hard to leave Brisbane before, this time I balled with every goodbye, softy that I am. The good news is I am all set for smiles and hellos from friends abroad I haven't seen in an age. See? I'll be just fine. The flight to KL was taken up mostly with total absorption in Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, thanks to Cam for giving it me before I left. I found the retelling quite hilarious but was hoping for a bit more battles-to-the-death before the end. Seated next to an English lad I got to hear about an Australia-NZ wide dodgy strawberry selling syndicate; I'm hoping for an Underbelly-style expose series on it soon. My hotel in KL was heaven sent straight from the sweet Lord. I ordered my first room service, got cosy in my robe and luxuriated with the knowledge that it would be a long time before I could afford a five star hotel room again. I know this view from the window looks like a doll's house but honestly it was a real place!Terima kasih to the lovely bellhops and waiters that served me delicious nasi lemak and starfruit juice at 6am when no one else was awake. The weather was super-tropical and I got treated to an electrical storm the morning of my leaving. The next flight from KL to London was not so dreamy. The extravagant purchase of a tiny bottle of Chardonnay left me with not enough ringgits to buy the inflight entertainment, grrr. Once again books saved my sanity and I got sucked into the classy LA gangsta world of Raymond Chandler's Farewell My Lovely, gifted by my sis. I do hope Moose Malloy finds his long lost Velma before the end of the book or there will be hell to pay. One more flight and I was safe in Dublin at my old friend Aminah's house where you know find me. I'm re-exploring this dirty auld town, visiting old haunts and enjoying the (mostly) good weather. I had forgotten about cottage flowers, hedges, murders of crows, egg mayonnaise and green green grass. Photos to come dear readers.

Best scamps a girl could wish for

These are my superfrendz and I love them. My last weekend in Aus was spent in the magical realm of Springbook at a wood cabin with these fine folk. We took in waterfalls, birds, lavish breakfasts, liquor and the local fudge. Extra props to G for the discovery of a new chai cocktail, what an innovator!