Posts from the MAUVE Category


I used the BBC recipe for the >> yorkshire pudding mix. <<

I added my own ingredients also, to make it sweet. 

I used tescos >> cooking chocolate << that I chopped up and a 
tescos >> tinned mixed berries. <<


Efficiency Tips: If you properly line the tray (I use a silicone one, because I don’t like the loud noises I associate with the metal ones) with an oil of your choice (My favourite cooking oils are almond oil and Israeli argan oil) your puddings won’t stick to it and if you don’t make a (wasteful) mess pouring the mixture into the moulds, the clean up will be fast.


This is how they turned out after 30-40 minutes in the oven.

I added a small amount of mixture to the mould (I had some left over which I used for ham and cheese yorkshire pudding bars – see the end of this post!) and then let it cook for about ten minutes. The mixture goes solid fast – at this point I added the berries and chopped chocolate, and more mixture on top.

I didn’t want the puddings to overflow, the way yorkshire puddings normally do – so I once I added the second layer of mixture (it’s not sticky, so the layers might not stick to one another, so take care to add syrup too) I lowered the temperature of the oven and allowed them to heat more gradually.


This is a sauce I made, using double cream, Chinese cooking rice wine (the alcohol evaporates, so if you don’t like alcohol, please don’t be concerned that it’ll get you drunk), Persian mango powder, cinnamon, caster sugar and I suspended a sieve above the pan which contained banana, lemon (with the peel), orange (which had been removed from the peel and the actual segment skin, containing the flesh). The taste has a hint of mulled wine but I think that is actually the mango powder, which I’ve never used to cook before and which I strongly recommend. I purchased it in a corner shop.


For the Black Aphrodite cake, I used the left over chocolate to create a sculpted effect, with a standard dining knife. I then used a very small paintbrush and some edible gold paint to line the wave like bits. I used some edible gold foil to create the flame effect, atop a strawberry that I had cut the top and bottom off. Sadly you can’t see it.





Above is my ham and cheese yorkshire pudding bar. I used edam and british pork, both from Tescos. It definitely required a little bit of salt but I enjoyed it anyway.

Painting the Daisies Purple

When I moved from Dubai to London, I had brought no belongings with me and I had said no goodbyes.

I stayed at a friend of my mother’s, a council flat in Acton. I must have been aged about six years old, perhaps five. I spent days playing with the little ceramic mice in her home or watching television – Friends videos and early morning cartoons were the only media that could hold my attention. I imagine that, and my brother, was what kept me laughing through terrible times. Kept me performing that life was okay.

One time I was playing with these mice while Lady Diana’s faux funeral (trust me) aired on television. The night before I’d had a painful episode trying to use the loo, and I’d heard my mother speaking to her friend about it in Spanish; thinking I couldn’t understand to some extent the jist of what she was saying. She joked that the admittedly huge shit I’d taken was elephant-y in size. She undermined perhaps for the sake of social sensibility that everytime I took a shit, it wasn’t just taking a shit – it was a source of fear, it was humiliating, I was overwhelmed with my own fear of humiliation and unimaginable physical pain also. On the plus side, I’m a grown up it’s sure as hell difficult to humiliate and it’s a sort of autoattack I inflict on others effortlessly. Sometimes without meaning to.

I didn’t want to watch the funeral. I was in pain. And I certainly hadn’t been taught that there were products that could alleviate the pain, nor had I learned to communicate that being in pain wasn’t a form of weakness. I’d always been laughed at for talking about using the loo, siblings aged +7 years older than you and “parents” who’re stuck in the worst phases of their childhoods are pure hell for toddlers because they expect the toddler to skip the familial getting-to-know-you phases that they went through with one another and that means that even if the toddler is the baby of the family and believed to be the favourite, LIFE AS THE YOUNGEST IS RARELY GENTLE.

So amongst my intentions with Miss Kittie – is that I’d like to make something that kids suffering with similar life problems might be able to enjoy. Something for my own child-self. My child self felt empty (figuratively), alone and probably had pretty serious depression. But she enjoyed laughing and she lived for cartoons. And later – games she could play with any success.

Amongst the cartoons I’d watched, was one starring dogs. I saw a sexy bee lady – in two different shows. One of which I can’t remember, one was a very dominatrix-y Queen Bee.
She was a character featured in the show Earth Worm Jim.

screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.06.29screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.06.50screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.07.10

Above, Princess Whats Her Name glares at her co-stars because she's 
trying to tell them about her life and Earth Worm Jim is only 
interested in a relationship and the other one is only thinking about

screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.08.31screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.08.45screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.08.58screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.09.24screen shot 2019-01-17 at 05.09.42“It’s the saddest story since Bambi” Earth Worm Jim cries

I took these stills from >> a video kindly uploaded << 
By @Richard Wagner of Episode XII, from the first series

You might think it controversial for cartoon characters to be ‘sexy’ or ‘sexualised’, I do not. I think if you do think that, that may either be because you are in a phase of personal growth that undermines your own childhood sexuality or because you have never forced yourself to acknowledge your own. That is not to say that I think children should engage in sexual activity – and believe me they do – they really do – I certainly did, and most people I’ve met have managed to somehow allude to there having been experimental moments or curiosities between them and their siblings or childhood friends. Marilyn Manson writes in his book about moments with friends of the same sex (gender) in which: if an adult had described them as an activity amongst consenting adults, would’ve been considered sordid and depraved by even the most sexually liberated. (Whatever the fucking hell that really means.)

I actually think that children would choose not to if they could comfortably dialogue


I think that as an artist, and a feminist one at that, it is fundamentally important to offer both a personal motivation and an academic perspective of every decision made in film making.

So this aunt’s flat – in Acton – I was able to appreciate the memories of her home and I relive the nicer ones regularly. And she had two books amongst her possessions that really stayed with me. One was a children’s activity book, and I had none of the items a person would’ve needed to do any of the activities. The other was the book Heidi. A battered purple copy with a fabric cover – the story of which is one of my favourites that has ever been written. Through that book I learned not to hate men. I ought to have learned to despise women but that would’ve probably halted my desire to become a feminist and also a templar and also the kind of person that finds the female body divine – the female personality… rarely so.


Miss Kittie’s introducing two entirely new characters to her cast: Monsieur Hugh le Poodle – he is inspired by one of the admissions staff (he would be so00o0o0o offended being described as that but it is revenge – he’s actually the person that decides whether students get in or not) of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts. So – the best performing Arts School in the World. I MEAN A LOT OF PEOPLE MIGHT BE OFFENDED (I’ve a picture in my mind of a bearded American gentleman that interviews thespians being rather infuriated at such an underserving statement -)


My favourite thespians and comediennes are alumni of both RADA and of Cambridge University. My favourite films, my favourite animations – my favourite Shakespeare – was performed by an all American cast and non of whom studied at RADA, except for Ed Norton. So maybe that’s a little short-winded an analysis.

My favourite non-animated comediennes are the entire cast of Black Adder, the entire cast of Frasier,  the cast of Friends (though in real life we’d probably all dislike one another – except I think Chandler and Phoebe and I would probably really connect and Ross and I would have arguments about paleontology – one of my first dreams was of being chased down a cobbled street by a tyrannosaurus rex. I’m adamant I’ll raise one one day and it’ll be chasing me down the street trying to snuggle me. Did you read about my thought journey with Komodo Dragons? I still haven’t learned how to teach animals that licking is not the most successful means of conveying love.)

I do not think about the actors as personalities of their own, I think of the characters they’re playing. I don’t care about their personal lives, and to do so would be stalkerish. Ralph and Joseph Fiennes are two of my favourite actors of all time. Would I want to hang out at their houses and watch the news with them? Hell the fucking no. I enjoy that they are artists at a distance and I think that their being exclusive and mysterious and also not tacky celebrities (I have no issue with tacky celebrities, I’d happily have been one of those when I was younger – for example I ENJOY the Kardashian family. I think that tacky celebrity has it’s uses. Would I have cast Kim Kardashian in Shakespeare in Love? Hell the fuck no. Would I have cast her as one of Elizabeth’s ladies in waiting? Hell the fuck no. But she’s Hollywood royalty all on her own.)

What I mean is tacky celebrity is not a life style that sits with the kind of people that study at RADA. If I wanted to act, I’d want to be in tacky super hero movies that were really well shot. I’d want all the electric-fans pointed at me as I stood above an actual mountain in one of those fitted thigh high slit gowns and making my hair billow majestically in the wind and the light to be low lit and for there to be blood stains on my face. Do you get my inner acting vibe?

I couldn’t do The Importance of being Earnest. (I totally could, but I wouldn’t.)

Unless they are actively performance artists or reality TV stars – when I think of british actors I do not think of actors, I think of thespians.

Actors are people that would want to be in Hello Magazine.

Thespians are the kinds of people who would spend about ten years psychoanalysing a role (even a “background character”) that they’d dreamt of playing when they were three years old and then maybe refuse the part, even if it meant losing money they NEEDED – because they really felt they weren’t ready for the role – because it meant that much to them to do the role justice.

There is NOTHING wrong with being either of those people, it’s just how you market yourself. I’m tacky. I like being tacky. I can do not-tacky but that apparently makes people want to murder me. Not kidding.


My intended audience is 1-3 year olds, but I’d like to think I can appeal to any audience. Most women think it’s normal to breast feed children between those ages, I personally disagree – but it is at your liberty to raise your children the way you’ve been taught to. I do not think you should be using breast feeding to ‘bond’ with your children either, especially if you use it as a moment to day dream or your partner uses it as a chance to sexualise you and sexual energy in turn flows between you and they and also your child.

I personally believe that that is why children create such a fuss when they have to stop breast feeding, because they’ve become addicted to that sexual energy. I used to hump stuff and weirdly enough I recall as a child hearing “they don’t know you’re doing it.” Not as a ‘voice’, but as I hear any of my own thoughts.  I learned later that it is possible it wasn’t always my own thoughts I was hearing, at all.

That is why I think it is so important to develop neural pathways that are unique to you, unique to personal interests you have developed yourself.

But the crux of my point is – your child should not be sexualising mammary glands. Certainly not at that age. Your child should be comfortable with nudity, nudity should not be associated with intimacy or even sex. Your child should be comfortable in the body they were given, should be comfortable with other people’s right to a body. It is idealistic, as most men and some women I’ve met are perverts – I do not judge perverts, it isn’t the worst flaw – as long as you aren’t spending all day thinking about sex in between four second intervals etc. I don’t think people who obsess about sex are ready to be parents. It is an unkind thing to say, but I believe that obsessing about sex is a form of slavery. I think that if you obsess about sex, you will raise children that obsess about sex.

There is nothing wrong with having sex, there is nothing wrong with sex work, there is nothing inherently wrong with the fact that we as beings have the capacity to be sexual and that some people’s identities have been built from our sexual inclinations. It’s not wrong, but it is sad – to me, that for example this photograph or the one above could be considered a sexual invitation. And there was a time when it would have been – about the 1930s.


Some men respond very well to degradation and humiliation, sexually – some men hire women to mistreat and abuse them because it takes that much of an extremity for them to achieve any kind of sexual arousal.
Again – not judging – but that is often as a result of serious childhood abuse.

I’m sure if I didn’t have an unhealthy guilt function and a capacity for empathy that surpasses most people’s comprehension – to a level of sorts that I truly resent, maybe I’d have been a dominatrix. It is a kind of healing work, and I think sex work is important for keeping men from acts of rape. Really simplified in a way no psychiatrist could get away with some men enjoy the prospect of: hit me the way mummy/daddy used to. Sometimes it is kids/men who got away with doing heinous things and who needed a guilt trip in order to heal.

It’s kind of loosely discussed as a topic in this film – read the book (it’s a small book) BEFORE you watch the film. MAYBE TWICE OR THRICE.

Brian Warner – the performance artist responsible for the iconic persona of “Marilyn Manson” acted in this film, and later found out that it was a work of fiction. He confronted JT Leroy and said “how could you make this up?”

My mother was taught to sexualise a male figure that punished people for doing naughty things. She in turn emasculated my “father” because he could never be that to her face. So he did a lot of weird shit behind her back, behind all of our backs – and came running back to her home when that didn’t work anymore and we all stopped being affected.

He gave more to my sister than he ever gave to me – EVER – and knew that in doing so he’d create a hella weird and damaging dynamic. She, like him, is very devious and quiet when she feels envy and likes to ‘get revenge’ behind a person’s back, promising to keep secrets and then later sharing them for the wrong reasons, calling up a doctor to tell lies (and sounding quite insane, upon reflection – I assure you), flirting with my doctors etc – and I CANNOT blame her for doing it. She is STUPID. The only man she’s ever idolised had to be my equally STUPID father and the two of them LOVE to have a little flirt.

I want Miss Kittie to teach children how to enjoy being alone, some children truly need it and I’ve never seen it done properly.

In, I think, about forty minutes I will fall asleep. My sleeping pattern is so so so kdljfsdfkgjsdfg. It’s fine – by the end of this weekend a load of things I’ve commissioned will become available to me. So exciting. To me. So… I live a lot in Dream Land (asleep or awake) … I’ve kind of walked around taking snaps of stuff. I really like documenting transitional phases, is fun


I have almond oil in my hair. I put it on my legs too because my skin gets dry – it takes awhile to work but it does work and it’s inexpensive. I love a good “beauty” hack. If you want flowey locks you should invest in some kind of natural oil. When I was living with Lisa she told me that I should buy toiletries – creams etc – from shops run by black people (she is black, she can call black people black) and I actually bought this oil from a shop run by a brown person. (Using colour to collectively describe a culture is probably beneath 2018-internet, but I watched a Wendy Williams video where she described “white” people as “pink” and I wasn’t offended. Also I only look “white” / “pink”.) Shut up – this is boring dialogue – this rant is so I-need-to-sleep-I’m-typing-for-the-sake-of-typing-when-I-wake-up-I-will-cringe-wince.


I got a cute duvet cover & pillow case. I’m waiting for a new sheet… This one has residue from some spray-painting stuff I’ve been doing. I don’t really have the best/safest work practices and I wiped a lot of pink spray paint out of my nose. But actually it’s kind of made me think that there should be super-light-tie-dye-ombre-faded-washes of bed clothing. V cinematic. To me.


My room divider is nice. Everyone should have a room divider.
blog9stuff.pngI got a wig of a haircut I had a long time ago. Ugh it reminds me of this girl I was at uni with who literally only ever looked good when she and I were friends. I told her I saw a girl in topshop with short hair and a cute messy-grungey fringe and a top knot bun. She got a bob and I called it “the edwardian monk bob” on twitter when we weren’t talking. She was gossiping about me with people I wouldn’t of given the time of day, one time legit ran crying to our pervert landlord next-door-neighbour about mess our other housemates had left, particularly in the kitchen (around this time I actually wasn’t really eating very much – because I was catatonic because I couldn’t trust anyone – people thought I was paranoid because I was smoking weed – first of all, weed acts as a magnifying glass that enhances your intuition) and second of all – if you grow up around people you can’t trust, you attract people into your life that you also cant trust. It’s a cyclical behaviour and a truth of “human” behaviour that any counsellor will confirm with you. One day I’ll be awarded a complimentary PhD for my services to both psychology & psychiatry. Really.)

When I was super ill – and by ill, I mean freaking out about stuff like my boyfriend cheating on me with most (if not all?) of my friends, being robbed of stuff (five grands worth of Saffron. Pity the guy who created that karma..), being discussed by people – confronting the people who discussed me and being called names, severe anorexia, being so broke that I had no heating, being ditched by everyone that I actually really cared about… Reliving unfortunate childhood memories I had tried to forget over and over. Casually ignoring I’d had about three miscarriages (one time, a hobbit girl stood in the doorway of my kitchen talking with great passion about her super-ultra-deep feelings for about five hundred different guys, while I quietly started heating up/shaking and out of nowhere just started bleeding onto that Ikea Ofelia blanket I had on our red “sofa” and said quietly “oh I’ve just had a miscarriage” – to which she responded “oh” and then continued talking about these boys, while I ran to my room and put a pad on – and then dabbed at the blood with the kitchen sponge . She didn’t ask if I was okay or anything because obviously this chat was incredibly important. Anyway – people call me self absorbed and I thank every fucking star on the Planet (I’m leaving ‘Planet’ there because I typed that automatically, but the intended words were ‘in’ and ‘the Universe‘) that I am because if I wasn’t, I would not have survived. Anyway all of this happened, then later I realised I’m a medium – I channeled Jung and Freud at the same time. Ha.

Not insane or even actually mentally ill – just absorbent of other people’s emotions about both themselves and me, absorbent of their insanity (of which insecurity..) and mental illnesses, like depression. A weird sponge.

That girl also had a lot of things to say about my depression, that is a discussion for a more honest time. I give it about eight months. Actually she’s in my graphic novel. I did a lovely little drawing of her. She may well be the only person I’ve illustrated myself and the likeness is uncanny.

If you look through the divider this is what you see. Fascinating right?

I bought this from Etude. Is nice. Everyone should have one.



The upstairs hallway is being done up. I probably said before.


These doors were installed years ago by one of my dads Arab friends? Contacts? Someone my dad knew. This door. When it comes to interiors my mother is .. uh. She pretends that she had nothing to do with this mess – it’s really, really funny.

A friend of my mother’s called Jessica, who we knew in Dubai (She used to escort distraught foreign women who had come over to the U.A.E to marry ((often abusive, actually)) Arab men – through airports – leaving behind their children.) used to joke that my family were the Simpsons.

I guess it’s true

I digress for a funfact – did you know that the internet started using ‘warm’ colours because of A photographer called Matthew Cooke brought that in. The influence of Aesthetics is so so subtle. He, Lithium Picnic, Kelly Lind and Cherry from SuicideGirls were my favourite photographers – aside from Araki, Arnulf Rainer and also that David Lynch shoe-fetish collection of Louboutins. Y’know Instagram filters? They happened because of people like Lara Jade and even Felice Fawn (Who at 14 had a – dressed – self portrait stolen and used for a pornography. If I were her I’d have loved it)


I get the concept of a “self hating” Jew. If anyone ever wonders – I don’t hate that I’m Arabic. If I did – I assure you I could offer you a huge list of reasons as to why it would be justified – but I actually quite like it. Apart from the like, body hair and stuff. Ive been conditioned to hate that. Like you’ve been conditioned to neg me for it.

Some Persian guy once pointed out something pretty cool about body hair – when someone is around you, the hair on your arms responds to it. He was a piece of shit though. But so was pretty much every guy I hung out with at University, even the white ones with the fanciest british accents. But y’know, men from every culture find some way of abusing women. Perhaps one day some brave woman will write a book about the abuses indigenous to various cultures. I heard Somalians are quite into female genital mutilation and beating women. British boys are into date-rape drugs and also beating women. Vikings are also into date-rape drugs. Indian guys like to harass women from cultures outside of their own, because within their own culture theres always some auntie that knows their mum. I’m more of an other-hating Jew really, I hate everyone

I’d probably really fit in in Israel actually

So uh, amongst the many thoughts/dreams/premonitions/etc that go through my skull when I’m staring – this is how I experience the entrance to my mother’s bathroom. My dad paid someone to do that. My mother let someone leave her house in that state. (The incompletely-painted floor happened years ago – when my mother started painting it… and then her leg snapped in two the day I had a pretty serious surgery.)

For the last two days I’ve been …kind of really exploring the character of Hannibal Lecter & also – only a very brief moment ago – when I was composing this entry – I guess the phrase “appreciating the senses” popped into my head.

I studied film, and my mother came from a performing arts background. She was a ballerina. My sister also came from a performing arts background. And I spent a few reluctant years of my life doing all that stuff too. So it’s really a part of me to get lost in the details of any kind of composition, even the process an actor goes through to “build” a character.

I initially wrote of myself: ‘as a visual aesthete’, and then I thought ‘as an aesthete’ and then I went back to ‘as a visual aesthete’ – I’m the kind of person who will focus on details such as texture, light and colour (they affect my mood – yours too: I’m sure; but as I’m so connected to my feelings – my sense of sight is kind of an overwhelming experience for me. It’s not just about my feelings – it’s a language. A constant language.)

Today I’m grateful for the ability to see. I do struggle – I need to wear glasses. I’ve been toying with the idea of wearing contact lenses, but I’m quite acclimated to not-being-able-to-see-very-far & it means I can really enjoy details. It also means I don’t have to make eye contact with everyone I come across when I go out.
I think when you make the most of your senses, they do develop.

Here’s a video I made yesterday. I can’t quite draw like Hannibal Lecter but life without ambition would be a little boring, wouldn’t it

BOOM FOR REAL. As I posted this on Instagram, there was an eruption of fireworks and a car alarm went off.

All hail the scribble God who inspired Scribble Scribble Zine.

Click Here for Event Info

If you’re local to London between now and 28th of Jan, go. Then go again.
If you’re not local to London hop on a boat and float over, or something.

Edited on 10th December to add:

Screen Shot 2017-12-10 at 10.33.37.png
If Basquiat had a twitter I would say in response – the facts might exist without you but you give them life.

+ high-res version

When I went to Fashion School, I learned that fashion is transient – where style endures. So in a sense; I prefer not to be fashionable at all. Perhaps thats why I dropped out.

That said, I have to confess: I’ve finally fallen victim to the Slider trend.
I’d like to introduce you to my very first pair. EVER.

I find them both subtle and garish, obnoxious yet understated. SO ME. I love them!

My intention was to exclusively wear them at home but I fell for them so, that they’ve had a few adventures about London with me this week. Most notably I swapped them for a pair of six inch heels at Swan Lake, when, during an interval I had a cigarette break that lasted a little-too-long and I had to rush back to my seat. Imagine me running through the lavish hallways of the Royal Opera House donning these silly things. A steward sweetly told me he had a pair of his own at home, in black of course. We both laughed. After the ballet, I reluctantly changed back into my heels for dinner.

While I’ve always been a slipper person, (I spent the first six months of Film school – which I did not drop out of – almost exclusively wearing a suuuuuper cheap pair of black sheepskin slip-ons everywhere throughout my campus) (I’m sure if I were to expend some effort I could recall various moments-of-significance in my life by mentally drawing up a slipper-timeline of sorts, and perhaps, I will do that some time) I have to admit that I’m a slider-convert. I don’t say this lightly: I’ve spent my life abhorring and resenting these shoes vehemently.



Now I’ve decided I’d like to start collecting them.