Moomin Shop

'That's it, I'm leaving,' you say, finger poised to close your web browser in disgust,'Elf's gone flirting again'.

Relax, dear readers. Unstoppably attractive, handsome, sexy and aesthetically perfect as I am - why are you whispering, 'But hardly modest, you little bugger' ? - I must say that Moomintroll is not the latest of my romantic conquests.

No - I am in fact at the Moomin shop in Covent Garden, which does a roaring trade in smuggling little hippopotami (hippopotamuses? hippoppoppoooie.......never mind), out of Finland, packaging them up and selling them to Tourists Who Do Not Know.

Kind of.

In fact, up these stairs, as you may have guessed from the rather in-your-face arrow, is The Moomin Shop, which sells keyrings, mugs, books.......pretty much anything which may be adorned with a Moomin.

In my book, that's pretty much everything.

And here are Moomintroll and Snorkmaiden, cowering beneath a tree as they listen to tales of an elf sneaking around in the woods. Listening in, I get kind of frightened as well.

Apparently, it's around 6 inches high, with blonde hair and a green cloak.

That's bloomin' scary.

If you see it, please let me know so I can make my escape.

If you're planning to visit this shop, you probably need to sell your house, cat and grandmother. It's very expensive. If you don't want to be shocked when you turn up, look on the website first, which I have selflessly and tirelessly provided the link for here (it took an entire 15 seconds, you know).

I also searched the shop high and low for something that can be bought without selling Mr Tibbles, and alas - a small blue eraser, with Moomintroll moomin' on it (you get what I mean. No? Never mind) and the words 'The Moomin Shop, London' on it too. That's just in case you forget which shop would sell you something with a Moomin on it, and you go round the whole of London searching for it, only for someone to suggest, 'Ummm.....the Moomin shop?', and you go round the whole of London kicking yourself for not realising.

That's why the wording is there.

Anyway - the eraser is 60p, perfectly affordable (as in, it's pretty much how much you'd expect to pay for an eraser).


Now, what exactly can I erase?

See you soon,

Elf Dryadalis

The famous red telephone boxes

So I was talking to Elfina today about where I was planning to go.

'You've practically explored the whole of London,' Mrs Dryadalis sighed, 'just take the day off.'

Stalwart explorer that I am, I refused.

'How about the red districts?' I asked, innocent as Minty the Lamb.

It turns out that my remark, alas, did not come across as innocent.

'HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE', she exploded., 'HOW DARE YOU OFFEND ME, OUR RELATIONSHIP, AND THE NAME OF YOUR FOREFATHERS'.

'What do you mean?', I asked, 'They're everywhere in Soho.'

Elfina's response, I shudder to recall, cannot be published here, lest the Blog Powers That Be decide this blog is simply too shocking.

Anyway. I was out on my knitted bum.

So off I went in search of the red districts, this oft-photographed but seldom-used relic of a former age.

And to my vague horrified relief (trust me, if you've ever had a conversation with your spouse along the lines of what I had this morning, the idea of 'horrified relief' would make perfect sense), the red districts are actually called 'Telephone boxes'.

I'm six inches tall, alright. They're the size of districts to me.

Their unfortunate colour comes from the idea that red is easier to spot. Though quite how a pedestrian is supposed to walk down the street and promptly collide with an 8ft high metal-and-glass structure is anyone's guess.

Of course, there's the obvious question, 'In the age of mobile phones, why on earth have landlines cluttering the streets?'

Well, I might well reply, 'In the age of genetic engineering, why have human beings on earth who ask 'In the age of mobile phones, why on earth have landlines cluttering the streets?''.

The answer is, my friend, that the old-fashioned things not only look better, but might also come in handy.

For I promptly used one to phone Elfina, and explain, in the meekest terms possible, that I hadn't been cruising the red light district after all, and it was all a misunderstanding, and could I please come home.

She said yes.

Homeward bound now,

Elf Dryadalis

London Fashion Week

Uh huh. It's that time again.

CHRISTMAS.

Only joking.

It's actually London Fashion Week, when approximately every well-dressed person descends on Somerset House in (you guessed it) London, to strut down catwalks, pose calmly, photograph hysterically, raise eyebrows quizzically and use adverbs generously.

So naturally, stunning as I am in my green cloak (it's handknitted. During Fashion Week, I call it couture), I turn up too.

Here I am, perfecting my over-the-shoulder glance, just like all the models. The only difference is that they're six feet tall, and I'm six inches tall.

We're practically the same.

So here I display my leggy height, astride the entrance to the backstage areas.

Look, I'm there. That one. The left-hand corner? Whaddaya mean, you can't see me?

Goodness. Anyone would think that I'm short.

Today's the last day of London Fashion Week, but it's followed by London Fashion Weekend, to mark the end --- what's that I hear you whisper? "I'd worked that out for myself, funnily enough"? 

Oh right then. Smarty pants.

ANYWAY.

If you want to watch the shows, some of them are live-streamed. Meanwhile, it's nice to walk around and admire everyone's outfits.

I met Sukki Singapora, a burlesque performer from Singapore, with a great sense of style! I bet her hair never attempts to metamorphose into a new lifeform, unlike mine.......

I also saw Henry Holland walking around, but he was on his phone, so I didn't stop to say hi.

Time for a nap, I think.

See you soon,

Elf Dryadalis

Mid-Autumn (Mooncake) Festival

Please don't be afraid. But you may wish to clamber behind your sofa/door/conveniently situated and expendable person.

There are 105 days till Christmas.

That means 104 days till Christmas Eve (I see you sitting there in stunned admiration at my powers of subtraction. Oh no. You're just flipping between this tab and the BBC iPlayer. Never mind), when the whole of western mankind, and one giddy elf, go running round trying to buy presents for their kids, wife (wives? You cheeky), pets and half-forgotten relatives.

Such excitement.

In the meantime, what does one do? Of course, the answer, 'Buy the Christmas presents now, so you don't end up with some crumpled overpriced package to give to Elfina' springs to mind. But that's too mainstream.

So I go mooning.

'EXCUSE ME?' you scream, eyes torn away from BBC4's Crimes of Passion. 'Children read this blog - you are corrupting the minds of the young'.

It's okay. I just mean shopping for mooncakes. Although there is a picture of my moon somewhere. At some point, whoever hacked the iCloud accounts of all those celebrities will undoubtedly do it to me. Because I'm so famous. And everyone wants to see a knitted moon.

Anyway.

To London's Chinatown, where everyone's mooning (okay, okay, I'll stop it).

The Mid-Autumn Festival (also known as the Moon (sorry) Festival), is celebrated round about September each year. Since it goes according to the Lunar calendar (so it's on the 15th day of the 8th Lunar month), the dates change on the western calendar from year to year.

This means lots of food, lanterns hovering around like UFOs (too much elf-wine, hic) and noise from everyone flocking to have a good look at the stores. It's nowhere near as busy as Chinese New Year, when you literally can't move a metre in any direction, so it's a pretty relaxing day out. It's also good for bringing the elflings to, since you won't risk losing them amongst the crowds.

There are bakeries all along Chinatown, which often sell pastries on the savoury side - very different from what you'd get in an English bakery! For this festival, mooncakes are sold from tables set up outside bakeries and restaurants etc. They have a thin crust and a sweet filling, with an egg yolk in the middle. The tops are often printed with Chinese characters, meaning 'Whassup, dawg?'.

Only joking. I just made that up.

The tops actually often tell you the name of the bakery.

But if you want to inform the mooncake about your day, go ahead. I won't judge you. *shuffles uncomfortably towards nearest exit*

I must also add a teensy warning (at least, teensy compared to your waistline if you eat one of these) - each mooncake is around 1000 calories (for a little 10cm one). So if you buy a box, you'd better share it. Or just buy a box, eat it all, and live on sunlight and water until Christmas.

If you're looking for a souvenir which won't make people ask if you're planning to play Santa this year, go for the little trinkets sold up and down the street. They include lanterns, little charms for your phone, and statuettes. Less tasty, but longer-lasting.

And if you're really cheap, they'd make really unusual Christmas presents too.

See you soon,

Elf Dryadalis

Bluewater Shopping Centre

If you are short of cash, stuck at work or saving every penny for that brand new hamster cage you've always wanted, look away now.

This is Bluewater Shopping Centre in Kent, the largest indoor shopping centre in Europe! This is a great place for a day excursion if you're in London for a week or longer. It's quite easily accessible by public transport, but note that car parking spaces fill up very quickly indeed.

Judging from the first picture, it looks really weird that people are actually willing to do some shady manoeuvrings of the car parking sort just to look at a giant greenhouse. But trust me, the inside is worth getting up early for! Here I am, leaning back and basking in the anticipation of bargains to be had.

And here I am, leaning back again (it was an early start, okay) on the map. There are also paper copies available free, so you can have one of these as a souvenir if you've come to the shopping centre not intending to spend any money on shopping (see possible hamster cage dilemma above).

This diagram also works as a hipster-chic illustration of Pythagoras' theorem.

For those who have been dragged along on a shopping trip (dad/taxi-driver multitaskers, this one's for you), the architecture of Bluewater itself is well worth a look if you just can't stand another debate on whether this skirt would look better at the party than that one. The huge reliefs behind me represent different trades, and I have no clue who the winged guy is standing on a column, but I doubt it's incubating eggs.

If you're missing a football match to ferry your shopping enthusiasts here, come to the dome area. The dome looks just like the closing roof of a football stadium. Tune into sports commentary on your phone, look straight up and it's just like you're at Wembley. Sort of.

I'm not getting into that lift, if the advert is anything to go by. No, sir. Jon Snow and Ygritte should be north of the wall, not down in Kent.

Ah. A more friendly image. This horse is doing the traditional equestrian skirt-wearing dance, perfected in 1876 by the German innovator Dr Hans Schmidt. Not really. I just made that up.

If you were one of those who actually listened to my advice on pretending you were at a football match instead, the skull in the background is you after a shopping trip.

There are restaurants in Bluewater; so it is perfectly possible that keen shoppers could spend an entire day here.

You have been warned.

You must be dying to know, 'What did Elf Dryadalis, the Trendsetter whom I emulate as far as I can, buy?'. You weren't? Oh.

I'LL TELL YOU ANYWAY.

I got page markers from Paperchase at £3.00 to wallpaper my room with, a free leaflet from Boots advising me on different foundation shades (looking this good isn't easy, you know), and my favourite buy of the day, a new pet dragon from McDonald's. It even came with a food supply of chips and chicken nuggets, but when I tried to feed her, she wasn't interested. So I ate them all myself. Yum.

See you soon,

Elf Dryadalis