Before and after

Just reading up on the Red Army Faction post movie and I came across this incredible article. As well as suggesting that the 'organised suicide' of the three imprisoned members of the group in Stammheim the top security jail where they were being held and tried was infact state authorised murder the author Richard Huffman discusses the following discovery.

'Late in 2002 it was discovered that Dr. Bernhard Bogerts, a psychiatrist from at the University of Madgeburg, had been keeping Ulrike Meinhof’s brain in a jar in the corner of his office. Bogerts had been studying the brain off and on for five years trying to determine why a young, well-off, successful mother of two would throw away all vestiges of her happy life and sink into a morass of violence.' The Gun Speaks The Baader-Meinhof at the Dawn of Terror

A good idea poorly executed

Baader –Mienhof Complex :This movie was so good I can’t remember if it was subtitled or not. Very interesting story about the group of activists in 1970’s Germany who spearheaded a revolutionary movement against all manner of political injustice. As with many revolutions it did go tits up pretty early on . Incredible food for thought though – I think we should all protest a little bit more. Click here to see the trailer. I have always been interested in women who get caught up in this kind of thing, Patti Hurst, the Manson women and so on – there is a moment in the movie where Ulrike Mienhof crosses the line and joins the RAF (not that RAF) and although part of me just wanted her to walk away I could really see why she chose to take her chances.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t

When I didn’t have a job I was really worried about money, I had too much time on my hands and no real sense of purpose. Now I have a job I am anxious, short tempered and resentful. I am on week 7 of a 10 week contract – it’s the first time in my life since I was 5 that I have actually looked forward to Christmas!

Christmas cake

Like wedding cake only cheaper! Actually I didn’t have a wedding cake at my Last Vegas wedding, strange because I love cake more than I loved him. However, I have made up for that sorry Bruce Springsteen inspired tragedy in three ways, divorce, staying single and buying my own wedding cake one slice at a time from Fortnum’s. Christmas cake – proper Christmas cake, not those dodgy chocolate logs with little plastic Robbins on them is exactly the same thing as wedding cake and I love it. As a child I always adored it although I could never be bothered with the actual cake I just liked the marzipan and royal icing. Now I am mature I eat the whole thing. Its fantastic and so many calories in just one slice you don’t have to go to the trouble of eating again all day.

Insanity

The triumph of hope over experience

Dark Cherry Mocha

Yuk

Sunday morning, brings the dawn in

My Chihuahua and I spend our Sunday mornings taking our favourite stroll around Mayfair. We walk down Jermyn Street and enter the plague pit latterly known as Green Park via a secret passage in front of the Stamford Hotel. We march all the way up to Hyde Park corner then follow the path to the Piccadilly entrance carefully averting our eyes away from the vulgar paintings displayed there. We cross Piccadilly and enter Shepherds Market via Down Street with its old disused underground station. Passing through the market we go east to Berkeley Square stopping at Starbucks on the way. Sitting on a bench in the square we feed pigeons, taking special care to give extra to any particularly scruffy or sick looking birds (we love an underdog) and share a muffin. The dog doesn’t drink skinny latte but occasionally has an espresso cup of tap for hydration. Later we cross Berkeley Square and enter Mount Street, there we divert into the Farm Street gardens and re-emerge on Mount Street pretty much opposite Marc Jacobs. We look in the window at Marc, then Balenciaga, then Louboutin. I read the menu at Scott’s every week to see if they have improved their vegetarian options at all. Every week I shriek YUK at the Stargazzy Pie (little fish heads set in pastry staring upwards – fuck that!) We march back over the north end of Berkeley Square to Bruton Place which even on a Sunday when Margiela is closed still smells of the patchouli perfume they pump onto the street. We end up on the corner of Bond Street by Hermes who today were fixing enormous silver trees to the facade of the shop. Most of Bond Street was filled with commercial decorators attaching Christmas decorations to the front of the expensive stores in the drizzle this morning. By next Sunday it will look beautiful.