Shape Shifters.

Lighting guruism and photographic wizardry: Terry King

Flickerty/flexing: RaphaellaWithLove

At Home With-the-Love's.

Good-Morning Internet.

I should probably be in bed around about now. But for some typically, baffling, Raphaella reason; one crazy old cog, in that miniscule old mind of mine, thought it be a totally spiffing idea, to start tie-dying hot pants, in a not-so subtle pigmentation of Bahama Blue, at approximately 23.45 on a lonesome Summers Saturday-night, this June.

I read the 'Dylon for dummies' mini manual, with painstaking precision to detail, and in not one line, does it mention, performing such a procedure in a padded cell. My kitchen now rather resembles that of a Smurf's breeding ground, and the said shorts, have developed into a sad looking shade of  Navel Submarine. Thus... I fully intend to take some serious funky-town, legal action. :)

Now, whilst slurping Cola's in the afternoon rain, with my good friend Jay Mawson yesterday, I kinda came to the realisation, that the McNamara ship, aint so water tight. I’m running around 12years behind on the blogging front, I know that for sure. But how did the devil did I manage to keep these little homely number, under the covers since March! 

Like seriously though, where exactly did that fecking time go?!

 

 

Photography: Jay Mawson

Model: Raphaella

Well its almost 2:30am and theres some serious Peppermint tea to be downed and overpriced potions to be slapped on my face. 

Night yall.

WithLove and yawns... Raphaella McNamara x

 

Raphaella on Ice.

Good morning Orange Wednesday's. What do you have in store for me today? Oh that’s right! Naf all. Just more, greased up trunk busting, super something’s. Dodging fire balls and relentlessly getting into bother in NewYork city sewage systems.... For feck sake, Paramount! If you insist on yet another good-vs-evil karate-chop-action scene, please consider finding a new boxing ring back drop. And enough of the robbed 'Starlight-Express' rigging. I wanna see blood!

Well not necessarily blood.. But a little less gimp mask and a little more angst in the 'has-been' Hollywood actors face; may just generate the most marginal of emotional stimulation, on all audience members over the age of 8. Then again this is Manchester after all.... Let’s narrow that down to any one over the age of 8 that doesnt think that 'Steinbeck' is a brand of Dutch Larger.

And thats why, we Cinema at The Art House. OK, so it's a little pretentious at times; you may need a Masters in Estonian language to follow most of its midweek showings, AND it doesn’t quite have Odeon's, curvy Cuban cutie, serving up hearty scoops of Cherry Garcia. BUT at least I dont reappear from the auditorium, rocking popcorn dandruff.

Anywho... Having sieved (in approximately 0.4seconds) through this evenings, dull ass listings. I have concluded that 'IceMan' is the appropriate way forward. Not that im entirely convinced, by its seemly Comic-strip Hero title. But the fact, that it stars my eternal, heart-throb Ray Liotta; even post, his widely denied, botched facial surgery and the fact he's been rocking, the same villain-ish character in screenplays for over 2 Decades. That said... I did rather dig, his extra repulsive side, in 2013's 'Place Beyond the Pines's.

...(Jeepers, that was a rather groovy film wasnt it? I should really write a bloggy review on that.) 

Anyhow, here's this evening's, unfotunately titled 'IceMan' trailer.. .

I hold all judgement till 11pm.

 Now here's something a little different from the fabulous 
Norbert Holy.

WithLove Raphaella McNamara x

Like the drink, only not spelled the same.

So... Raphaella Dearest, what's the fecking story?

Well you may or may not have heard, that things have been a smidgen Mc-Shitty over at camp Raph? Yes that’s right; castle 'Withlove' was well and truly under attack on the thirty first day, of the Emerald gem month. Goodbye Macintosh, memories and all things under the modelling vs. relationship umbrella since 2010.

I’d  really love to say, that im ready to peel back the emotional aid. But the sobering truth is, I can't seem to look past the fact, my front door looks like it’s had run-in with a JCB.

Do I feel violated? Damn straight I do. 

I actually feel a little wrongfully prosecuted, by the whole ordeal. It's as if, im awaiting some God awful, Alabama torture-tank sentencing. Whilst the real McCoy offender, sits upon his cesspit, stenching of my partner’s favoured cologne, masturbating over a slide-show shrine, named me.

Well...It’s kinda like death-row, minus the forthcoming, immanent 'death' part. (Well for now that is.)

But, I’m if I’m to whip out the 'Texas-chainsaw' bread-knife, on Mr. exasperating Locksmith again, I could quite soon be cuddling up to John Coffey. (*Moral of the story:  Choose your method of knocking carefully...if your aiming to similulate Krakatoa, you WILL get a kitchen knife to the anus.)

My lady lumps however, do appear to have 10 rounds with the Corporal Punishment practitioners already. After my overly ambitious bod, fell from what seemed like a happy-to-hang-from type tree (no pun intended) on a most-excellent recent Yerbury workshop.

Oh and then there’s this yee old (self diagnosed, I must admit) diabetes rash that has been accessorising my right Tibia, for a rather significant 6weeks now. I wasn’t en-facto aware that I was Diabetic, I guess I should probably triple jump my way into the GP's office, on the double.... but I think I’ll go for a picnic instead. I mean Jaysus, who wouldn’t  wanna go for an outdoorsy  whirl, with a backpack full of finger-food, when you’ve got a push ironing as freaking cool as this?

Well you know, it’s not (how do you say it?) 'literally' mine. I kinda did some serious purse plunging in aid of the handsome, other half’s 22nd birthday bash. But I’m pretty sure I can hitch a ride upon his meaty shoulders, for the mere 8mile migration to the park. Teehee!

Anyhow back to the story...  I guess the 'sophisticated' thing to say around about now, is that im just thankful, that neither I, nor cute boyfriend, where present at the time of the attack (well 'burglary' technically, but that doesn’t sound quite so blockbuster). 

OK, so the horrid news was impeccably timed in its pursuit of my attention; approximately 4.4minutes before I boarded my 24hr flight back from the other-worldly British Virgin Islands. (Yes the flipping Virgin Islands!). Which made for a rather tearful/stomach churning, slog of a journey home, to say the very least. The fact that my seat was dismissive in my heartfelt plea of its recline, for much of the flights entirety. In addition to the, sods-law botched monitor, I was regretfully granted; that resembled something like, a cross between, the Teletext holidays & Poltergeist....really wasn’t of much help, on the emotional wellbeing front and all.

And as for you... Mr. Servant in sky!... Next time ill just take the pretzels, thanks. You can leave your luscious servings of patronization and ageist, ego-distichal tendencies in the overhead lockers.

AHHHH.... American Airlines, the armpit of Aerospace since 1934.

OK, well Im developing a hernia, just thinking about those trans-Atlantic hooligans and the home-sweet-home looters. So here's some of the Va-Va-voom, born in June, beauties, created last week in the beautiful South of France.

Copyright: The Magnificent RBB2.

Stay tuned next week, for more Caribbean Island lowdown-ness and all that other pretty European jazz.

WithLove and Hugs Raphaella x