Mechanical complexites of the Cornetti Scented Engine.

Good morning squires.

So whilst some form of ill seasoned attempt at Florentine cuisine sizzles in the strove behind me, I thought it be rather apt, to pull out of life's hypothetical hard shoulder and back onto the 16 abreast social-network highway.

And whilst no soul saving, road side assistance came to my rescue; a month of  'me time' and a handful of Worthers Originals, is seemigly enough to doctor your inner grinding, gear box, back to its usual smooth-like-chocolate self. 

But the damn truth is, I never 'actually' dialed the darn Automo-soul Association at all. ("Cue orchestral Tut-Tut"). In facto, silly old me, drove approximately 16,000 miles, in a soft top poached of its top, supporting an exhaust that's playing homage to the Great Fire of Rome. Such transportaitonal attributes generally don't transcend into a Conde Nast speacial on Ultimate Road Trips. In fact the billowing black trail of destruction you leave in your trail, is more likely to see your sorry ass face on page 43 of the Daily Star, now starring in a Wicker-Man prequel; as your offend-ies and new born enemies, clad of their ceremonial robes, prance around a roaring inferno of you.

You follow me?..

In layman's terms, I suck.

But in less breaky down self-esteem car news, I was rather lucky to spend some of this Settembre zooming around the heavenly Tuscan countryside in this little Fiat number...

 

Yes, given my global latitude and oscillating state of mind, it would of been a wee witless, not to take advantage of the weeks office wearbouts and extend my stay on the beautiful boot shaped peninsula.

4 Days, 2 Lovebirds, 1 Vineyard, 24 Scoops of Gelato, some guy called David and 1 Leaning tower...has proven its self to be a highly recommended, chemical blend of feel good components. And thus; a slightly more socially exceptable alternative, to its bargain bucket competitor, Happy Gas.

f

From one European haven to another... Heres some of the delectably exotic work, of  German photographer Simon Bolz; taken on location in blissful Ibiza, earlier this summer.

WithLove Raphaella McNamara x

I'll take a bag of "Get-up-and-Go" to go.

Hello Blog and Co. Apologies for being the worst person EVER, but the narrator in me has been some what stumped for words and verve, in recent existence.

Stress-levels have been off the Richter. 3rd party pirates have stolen every last ounce of my zeal. And my pals Ying and Yang haven't shown their Shamu shaped faces in weeks.

Other than that though, Im feeling just about hunky.

Construction is well under way at home-sweet-home. Turning this sorrowful skeletal shell, into a rustic, ski-cabin forward slash NewYork Loft...on crack.

oh yeah!

I will be posting my 'Scrap yard to Chic' progress and laughable takes on DIY 'know how', in the coming weeks.

Including Volumes such as...  

"How to paint an 11ft high ceiling, without a ladder, for the equivalently tight as cramp". 

Stay tuned, for that...

Now for some sandy-assed, summer time imagery, by my wonderfully talented, good friend, Ashley Cameron.

c

Reporting from camp Oklahoma - Nothern Quarter, 

(given the current Broadband stripped status)... 

WithLove Miss Raphaella McNamara.

French fancies.

Im sleepy, its late and I can hardly hear myself think, as I beat my fingers, into this good for nothing e-machine, to sounds of Battlefield. Yes Battlefield. The yee-old, online gaming hell hole, that’s arguably ministered the biggest paralysing hiccup in evolution, since the Black-Death. OK, so the physical death toll may be a few head counts lesser, but the XY chromosome virginity statistics, surely tips the scales of all earthly-critter evolvement, since human record.

...But then again your talking to a Libra. What the feck do I know about equilibrium?

s

And a little colourisation for good measure...

Imagery copyright of the fantastical hasselblad clad, Jean-Marc Aznar, on a recent French Riviera escapade.

WithLove and stuff, Raphaella McNamara x