La petite caravane

Children's fashion seems to have given up on trying to target children, and has decided it's quicker and easier just to make slutty adult clothes in smaller sizes. Everywhere you go in the world (especially the Anglo Saxon one), children are neatly tucked and folded in their school uniforms during the week, but then look like miniature Usher's and Britney Spears' on the weekend. Even little Suri Cruise, who everyone fawns over, wears miniature high heels.

I've looked around for children's clothes on a few occasions to buy presents, only to despair at the selection of "Juicy Couture" mini flannel tracksuits with matching gold purses. What ever happened to being allowed to be just children?! It's not surprising that they're all pregnant by 11.

Anyway, last week I found a ray of hope.

My friend Thuy-Tien has recently started up her own children's clothing company (La Petite Caravane), making clothes for 0 - 5 year olds, and they're the sweetest things ever. I went to one of her trunk shows the other day, and thought the vintage-inspired collection was such a welcome change to children's fashion.

Here are some pics.

Oh so cute little dresses for whimsical afternoons in the park

No you can't have the car or the push bike

More sweetness

In addition to saving your child from early teenage motherhood and an addiction to computer games - yes, dressing your child in sweeter clothes must make them sweeter, surely? - Thuy-Tien also donates 10% of the price of each item to Room to Read.

Win win all round I'd say.

I love dog

People in Hong Kong are obsessed with fluffy dogs. It's really rather odd to see pom poms walking down the street in 30 degree weather, with 90% humidity. I honestly don't know how their owners can keep a straight face.

Today I spotted a few getting poofed up at the pet salon:

Trimming the frizz

Waiting our turn

Just another day in Dogotel (note the trademark) where they love dog

Bouncy bouncy music

Justin Bieber - for you NYT readers

T is pretty much THE man when it comes to music around here. He plays more guitars than I care to mention and is an avid reader Les Inrockutibles, which I encourage by renewing his subscription every Christmas. Anyone who comes to our house would say that there's generally a pretty eclectic mix of music playing at all times - from Elliot Smith to Guns n Roses to Serge Gansbourg (who I still haven't quite figured out how he ever got so popular).

I, on the other hand, don't listen to anything. I don't own an ipod and I welcome silence at the best of times. I find music to be distracting, and it will often give me a headache if I'm trying to do anything other than focus all my attention on it.

So yesterday as T and I were watching a Justin Bieber documentary (as one does), I started absent mindedly singing along to all songs. Admittedly, the lyrics aren't rocket science - anyone heard "U Smile"?. But still. Afterwards I went onto YouTube and sung along to Rihanna (Only girl in the world), Lady Gaga (Poker face) and Beyonce (Put a ring on it).

T just sat there with his mouth hanging open. How on earth did I know all these songs when a) I don't listen to music. Ever. b) I don't hear them at home either - T's frame of reference doesn't encompass trashy chart hits. Much like a New York Times reader doesn't know anything about Jersey Shore.

After discarting the double life theory, the answer is simple: E Hollywood True Story in hotel rooms and Cathay Pacific Pop Documentaries. Turns out I'm a pop chart groupie. Tsk.

Paris in the spring time

Gratuitous Art - Anish Kapoor at Grand Palais

T's one big achievement this week has been getting me to fall in love with Paris. Like all contrary people, I've never been a fan of Paris. I think New Yorkers put me off it, they always ooh and aah about it and gush about how romantic it is. Whatever.

Anyway, as I sit here in Hong Kong again, with my 3 extra kilos kindly donated by the French Gormande Face Stuffing Association and a sun tan from lying around in Place de Vosges and Luxembourg Gardens, I can safely say that I'm now Paris's biggest fan.

A year in Hong Kong has now made me appreciate those things about Paris that I'd always taken for granted:

- Politess - People saying "bonjour" when they get on the bus. Yes, believe it or not, Parisians all greet the bus driver. Hongkies...erm...not so much.

- La Bouffe - The food in Paris is good absolutely everywhere you go. From croissants to Nicoise salad, it's all delicious. In Hong Kong, although food is generally ok, I find the cheaper places a little too rough around the edges for my liking (chicken claw on dirty plate, anyone?).

-Beute - Without wanting to state the obvious, Parisian architecture, shop windows, people, food and exhibitions are brimming with jaw dropping aesthetic appeal. Note that I avoided the metro (no walking past weird men in leather jackets for me thank-you-very-much). Hong Kong is less about beauty and more about money and efficiency, with the most beautiful items probably being the Lamborghinis (love Lamborghini).

-L'amour - There's something about nobody having curtains, everyone getting undressed with them open, the handyman shaking your hand and giving you a twinkly smile and the neighbour saying a warm and cheery "bonjour" before grinning his way down the stairs, that's a little disconcerting. No wonder this place has a reputation... I suppose the Hong Kong handyman's gesture of taking off his shoes and padding around in his white socks also has its charm...

T breathed a sigh of relief when we landed and said "oh thank goodness you're not crying".

Picasso and Cirque Calder for dinner

The HK Art Fair is back, and the city is buzzing with fabulousness.

Here's a picture of the fantastic menu my friend put together for a dinner party to inaugurate the event. I thought the art-inspired menu (heavy on Picasso) was rather brilliant.

Elephant and Two Cats (Alexander Calder 1975), Exhibition de Ceramique Maison de la Pensee Francaise (Picasso 1958), Galeries Louise Leiris (Picasso 1960) and Toros en Vallauris (Picasso, 1960)

Back: Elephants and cats and bulls and things

The wrong side of the bed

On our way back from a rather heavy office lunch, we happened to have a particularly cheerful taxi driver. He joked and laughed while my colleagues nodded politely. As my Chinese in non-existent, I enjoyed this time to sneak in a bit of shut-eye. But just as I was hitting that food coma phase, the cab driver eyes me in the rearview mirror and shouts,

"Hey, you! Sorry we speak in Chinese. I love American movies. Haha" He grins cheerily.

"Oh?" I ask, trying to show that I'm more than happy not to enter this conversation, and would-be-quite-pleased-if-everyone-went-back-to-talking-Cantonese-so I can-have-a-snooze.

"Yes, I learn slang." He laughs and translates what he's just said to my colleagues - who all speak fluent English, and so need simultaneous translation as much as I need to be kept awake.

"Oh?" I ask again, sinking in my seat.

"Yes. Like....Shit Head!"

He then switches back to Cantonese and seems to be explaining what a wonderful term this is, as it's much more metaphorical than it is literal.

"And more!" And so he proceeds to list his proudly borrowed words from the movies, interrupting himself to explain all the nuances around each word. Here's the list:

Love handles - that's for boys, not for girls. Girls have a..

Muffin top - while boys also have a..

Spare tyre - which is the inner part of a tyre

Duffus - which means stupid

Monkey business

Eyes over stomach - which means you eat too much

Big wig

Moron

Back seat driver - haha. That's you!

Sleeping on the wrong side of the bed

Ace.

Vibrate and stretch

You know how it feels when you think you're onto something, and then you find out you're not? Well that's how I'm feeling now. I tried Pilates reformer and PowerPlate classes last week and both were wonderfully effortless. Both seemed to involve lounging around on a mat or vibrating pedestal, wearing socks instead of sports shoes and having a small massage afterwards.

Everyone talks about how fantastic these exercises are and how they are famed for turning hippos into giraffes. So I was thrilled to find how easy they were, and so pleased to have discovered an exercise which doesn't actually involve any..well..exercise.

Now I know why they call the first classes "introductory".

This week was a killer.

I went back to PowerPlate class today, imagining I would again be concentrating most of my efforts on lying on my back while my bum gets massaged. But instead I found myself being ordered to squat, jump and clap (yes, clap) and then land back on the vibrating plate. Not only did I feel like I was dying of exhaustion, I was also worried I might fall off the machine entirely - so, a lethal combination of pain and fear. This was followed by a rather humiliating move which involved me clinging onto the "plate" for dear life as I suspended my legs up to the side while balancing a ball between them. Not good.

Pilates has so far been going a bit better, as the movements are slower and I get to take breaks. Yes, on the PowerPlate, you don't get to break for the entire 30 minutes session. My one small victory against instant death this afternoon was discretely sitting on the large ball I was supposed to be squeezing between my knees (while standing on my tip toes and feeling the teeth-rattling vibrations through my head). Never has a stolen moment of reprieve felt so good.

So, tomorrow it's session three of Pilates. Fingers crossed that introductory period isn't over there too.