CHALK

It will make your heart beat stronger than anticipation, sex, argu-ing, dancing, standing on top of a mountain, caffeine, a girl, los-ing your keys, a hand written envelope in the post, the gym, music, running, a boy, the thought of death, remembering being afraid, an angel, an awaited phone call, jealousy, missing your train, fear, slap-ping him, running up a dark stairwell, a newborn baby, sunrise at a festival, Angie’s brownies, poetry, words of love, a church, the touch of someone you love, the inside of an apple, reaching your desitna-tion, closing your eyes and running, laughter, green fields, making love with someone who gives your life meaning, falling in a dream, drunken brawls, the arrivals gate at an airport, children’s honesty, the sound of rain, an open fire, words of love, a safe hug, cheating, Barcelona, a fresh tube of paint, a white dog, Australian sunshine, knitting, a pregnant woman, jumping into a river, the Metro, a cat fight, Clair de Lune, waving at someone from a train, virginity, and losing it, skyscapes, a mother’s love, waking up to snow, a fox at night that no one else can see, the best kiss ever, Kate Middleton’s wedding dress, a one night stand, sisters, your whole family, clean waves, a woman’s back, David Atinburgh, brown eyes, a red telephone box, a red door, sunlight on butter, an old orchard, stained glass win-dows, spirituality and debating it’s existance, her smile, happiness, the start of the weekend, too much Coca Cola, God, the puffer jacket from Zara, the first day of school, his abs, a career in acting, choco-late, the perfect body, ecstasy, company, a friend for life, respect, a good degree, apple products, a happy marriage, an asymmetrical hairdo, a Mercedes, trust, being likened to Brad Pitt, shop lifting, faith, that house, the perfect trainers, an aquarium, red lipstick, a Spanish girlfriend, your book being published, having no dignity; it will make your heart beat stronger than love itself, it’s CHALK.

And so it came about that every second person in England owned a Stripy Item. But why, I ask? What is so enticing about these heart-beat-inducing stripes (categorically horizontal, never vertical by the way - Obelix the Gaul donned vertical blue and white stripes, which did nothing for his rotund figure, conversely Parisian style icons wear vertical stripes, and so will I). Stripes turn a banal outfit into something so exciting, so radical, so ex-traordinary. Even, dare I say it, worthy of London? I too love the Striped Item. I have always loved them, even before this deluge of Striped Items reached the shores of England from the continent, inspiring my undergraduate research project in doing so. They are nifty, they are practical, sexy, easy, stylish and chic. My God, they really do tick every box!I own four, four navy and white tops, all very unique and different in their own specific way. First came an over sized, long sleeved Striped Item. This belonged to my eternally stylish mother, and from an early age I eyed it up; waiting for the day to come that I would fit into this most desirable outfit. She wore it it with leggings and a horrifically fluffy cardigan in the 80s, breastfeeding my sister under it in the 90s. Re-alising the true potential of it in the 00s, she teamed it with biker boots and devilishly tight jodhpurs. Mummy knows best. So now, I wear this Striped Top with great pride and reverence, regardless of it’s ghastly green stain on one arm from when I wore it throughout a painting of a portrait with a bottle green background. Why, you might ask did you wear it while you were painting? Because I looked fucking cool. Other than it’s obvi-ous perpetual style, this striped top earns it’s place at the forefront of my wardrobe for it’s sentimental value. Second on the list is a white tshirt with navy (horizontal) pinstripes. It has four tiny, pearly buttons on each shoulder, which I adore and am very aware of, although fear that no one else will ever see. From time to time this Striped Top catches my eye and I get it out of my wardrobe, try it on with various items… enjoy it to it’s full striped potential. It looks particularly good with jeans I conclude. But also does wonders tucked into a saucy high wasted skirt. But in all honestly I regret to say that I do not get a lot of wear out of this particular item. This is not might I add, anything to do with the aesthetics, but because of it’s excessively good quality. It is 100% cotton and, I have ascertained, subsequently too warm to wear in summer, but (due to it’s short sleeves) too cold for winter. Conundrum. Striped Top number three actually lives in the ‘don’t really wear, but love too much to throw away’ section of the wardrobe. A cycling trip with three girlfriends in the south of France, became a stripy pilgrimage when I discovered this third item in a French market. And in a cloud of sexy French words, golden brown Parisian men, bicycles, and Vogues, I felt an ardent need to add this Striped Top to the collection. Although, I add, this Striped Top is quite unique. It is woollen, and unlike all the others is actually navy, with white stripes. It also has a panel

of solid navy at the neck, which I am told is ‘traditional’, but in my eyes gives it a slightly childish look, remi-niscent of small boys in sailor suits in the nurseries of

past centuries.I tried it on in the corner of this dingy little

French market, knowing full well that I had several other Striped Tops waiting

faithfully for me in England, like the wives of soldiers waiting

for their husbands to re-turn from the beaches

of Normandy. Or perhaps the wives of sailors, sailors wearing blue and white striped tops.

I concluded that I aught not to buy another. But then the shop assistant, a tiny old lady poured a collection of completely incomprehensible French words onto me, which I quickly assumed were an

anthology of sincere compliments. This, combined with the fact that the moment I put the Striped Top back on

the shelf my friend snatched it up, meant that I had to buy it immediately. On my return from France, a certain unmentionable high street shop caught my attention. I had not until this time noticed the full potential of it due to its dubious reputation amongst my peers, but suddenly it began to consume my every buy; nowhere compared! One day on a seemingly innocent charity shop trawl with a particu-larly impatient boyfriend of the time, a striped garment caught my eye. Low and behold, it was not only striped, but it was from this Brave New World that the unmentionable shop had become. Here was an audacious move; it was not a Striped Top, but a Striped Dress. Unphased I purchased, for a beautifully reduced price. Similarly unmentionable ex boyfriend fervently encouraged me, which spurred me on all the more, to acquire yet another unnecessary Striped Item (I now see his ploy in getting me to leave the shop, and my own naivety in the face of stripe induced flattery becomes apparent, from said boyfriend to wily French market women). Another day, another trip, another Striped Item. Barcelona. A backpacking trip took me there. Backpacking; everyone knows that in the confines of a practical backpack there is simply no room for attractive clothing. Trudg-ing through mountain villages, sleeping on dusty buses, staying in remote hostels where the only people you see are fellow moth eaten travellers, and a thousand year old market holders; appealing clothes are just not a necessity when travelling. So where, you might ask, would a striped item fit into this tale, where clothing is valued not by it’s allocation of chic stripes but by its ability to scrunch into a the confined space of a backpack? Patience. To my shame, my mistake in this regard became apparent as soon as I woke up in Barcelona. Coming in on a night train, we pulled up on the station to be met by a barrage of exhausting heat - accompanied by a swarm of the most beautiful and well dressed women in the world. Shit. A necessary trip to above mentioned, yet unmentionable, shop found me Striped Item number five. A tent like navy and white striped top; a thin knit, interestingly teamed with extremely tight, three quarter length sleeves. Without the impetus of competing with stylish Spanish sirens, I have not found a lot of use for number five out of Barcelona. Next time I go to Barcelona, with a sensual tan and the perfect sandals, this Striped Item will make an appearance, I assure you. The most recent striped item (currently most favoured) is a loose vest top, made of a thin, almost gauze material, open gaping sleeves, which I like to think give a particularly casual, yet extremely stylish look. I could team this with pretentious hole filled jeans and Polish fruit picker trainers, or painfully high heels and a dodgy short skirt. As far as I can tell, it has no bounds. But (huge resounding ‘but’) this item I regret to say, does not actually belong to me. Af-ter a particularly stylish friend of mine wore it to a particularly stylish party that I threw (one of many), I cunningly asked to borrow it... Four months ago. I dread the day when she asks that I return it; I shall skulk, tail between legs

to return it and then prepare to mourn. What are appropri-ate mourning clothes for the loss of a loved striped item? I am in-clined to think more striped items are the only answer.

So, onwards it is then; follow the blue-and-w h i t e - h o r i zo n t a l -striped brick road.