La Fille du Chat Noir

I suffer from a severe illness known as separation deficiency: I just cannot accept to be parted from all my stuff. All my beautiful clothes, bags, accessories, decorations and stationery items are in fact scattered across Europe, and there is only so much I can carry with me when I move from a country to another (England, Italy and France so far) and I anticipate the jolly moment when me and the boyfriend will own our house and I will be reunited with my all my precious.

 [A pretty accurate representation of myself when it comes to choosing which things I should bring with me and what is to be left behind]. 

I cannot possibly own 5 wardrobes and 3 shoe cupboards at the age of 21, and my love for fabulous stationery will eventually tear me apart. Thinking of my imminent move to France, I purchased a couple of lovely handbooks by paperblanks to write my university notes on, and I only just realised that each one of them weights half a kilo!! 

[Just a few of Paperblank’s lovely handbooks and diaries!]

What am I supposed to do with my WW2 tanks collection, my fine china Japanese tea set, my paintings and all my books?  Am I really supposed to fit all my primary needs inside a suitcase that should weight no more than 23kg? 

Dear Arline,

Fuck you.

Kind regards,

Sim.

39 days after my last post it seems like quite a lot has changed. Firstly, I am now officially a 21 year-old, which means I can finally go back to the US -I was never too keen on the idea that if you’re younger than 21 all you get is candy canes and unicorns-. Growing up and becoming an old grumpy woman aside, I took advantage of my lengthy stay in sunny Sicily to spend some time with my family at my countryside property where we’ve made pizza and Italian focaccia, rediscover my favourite restaurant -how could it be any different with a view like this- and getting pampered with mama Falanga at one of the local Spas. 

No, my Sicilian summer wasn’t just fancy dinners and walking around a Spa in a bathrobe: I also spent a considerable amount of time arranging my departure to the Alsatian city of Strasbourg and dealing with people back in the UK that just can’t do their job. 

Back to present, I am now under 20 days away from my departure and settling down with the love of my life  in France, and I’ve just booked a lovely mini-appartment in the historic centre where we will stay until we sign a contract for a house; all that is left to do is sort out the stuff I will be bringing. As I am only allowed one suitcase of 23kg, I will have to bring only a handful of clothes -which will probably be the hardest struggle- and severely cut down on my German tanks collection.

At the end of the day though, I miss that tool that answers to Jack far too much to care: whichever clothes I’ll bring, he’ll take them off in 2 minutes.

I do not have much liking for Dolce&Gabbana: I in fact make sure that whenever I purchase anything from the brand - usually jewellery, belts and small leather goods alike - the logo is barely noticeable. I must although admit that this Fall/Winter collection is brilliant. I like the Sicilian touch that has been given to this campaign and I am absolutely in love with the bag at the bottom right corner: if only stereotypes always looked that fabulous.

I have spent all evening looking at housing in France, and now feel as excited as someone who’s got a good reason to be excited. Endless searches over the internet resulted in finding a lovely 50² flat located in the heart of Strasbourg’s city centre and, more importantly, it has a balcony overlooking rue de la Mésange, where I will lose myself inside the Gucci, Cartier and Hermès boutiques -at the expense of the boyfriend- or have a quick espresso in one of the street’s cafés. My picture selection falls on rue de la Mésange at night, all nicely lit by red and blue neons and divided by the tramway - I missed having a tramway in my city, it reminds me of when I was living in Italy -, and I now command September to hurry up so I can do all the above mentioned things on a daily basis (plus spontaneously going to Germany for the day and find out wether Angela’s hands are actually sticked together). I will be missing UK’s massive sales, but I assume that is the price to pay for wearing a béret and mocking the new French President in the poshest cafés in town.

OT. All my respect for those one million people who gathered by the Thames to assist to the Jubilee’s celebrations despite the awful weather and incessant rain, it is great to know that people still care about traditions.

Just thought I’d share an old picture I randomly stumbled upon whilst checking iPhoto: the lovely kitty is a stray cat I found wandering around my house during one of my stays in Panarea, Sicily.

On this day: 23rd March 1919.

Benito Mussolini, an Italian World War I veteran and publisher of Socialist newspapers, breaks with the Italian Socialists and establishes the nationalist Fasci di Combattimento, named after the Italian peasant revolutionaries, or “Fighting Bands,” from the 19th century. Commonly known as the Fascist Party, Mussolini’s new right-wing organization advocated Italian nationalism, had black shirts for uniforms, and launched a program of terrorism and intimidation against its leftist opponents.