WE'RE SUPPORTING

Cairo-based Denis Dailleux has photographed everyone from Catherine Deneuve to anonymous subjects from the slums of Cairo, constructing a unique portrait of the capital of Egypt. Read more

WE'RE WEARING

When my uber-creative and slightly eccentric twin brother announced one day that chainmail would be making a return, it only confirmed that he’d missed out on the fashion genes. But after checking out the fingerless chainmail glove in Toby Jones’ new collection — My hands are tied — it now appears he had a legitimate vision. Working a look straight out of a Mad Max scene, Jones’ designs will have us accessorizing in true post-apocalyptic style, using everyday objects as adornment. But you don’t need to be cruising around town in a black Interceptor to appreciate them. Be your own character with chain swinging padlocks and multi-purpose shoelaces. It’s about time you got your hands into something different.

WE'RE READING

Our favourite fiction quarterly — the Australian produced Torpedo — is soon to release its second issue, which is jam packed with well-written, independent fiction. Read more

WE'RE THINKING

If ever there were an apt description of our time, it would be that we are the ‘mobile generation’, in every sense of the word. We are a people of movers, we are offered choice on so many levels. And, in this way, we are far removed — both in ideology and practice — from those generations before us, who were generally more static and certainly less transitory. Read more

How many times can we play the same song in different settings? Hmmm, I don’t know. But it is a hell of a song, from a hell of a band, as that uniquely English oddity, Jules Holland would no doubt concur.

WE'RE TRAVELLING TO

Located on an unassuming side street in central Madrid, El Mollete is a simple restaurant serving knock-out local dishes. Sliced potatoes cooked in olive oil are topped with salty, smoky, fried eggs broken just before serving to release their oozing, deep yellow yolks. Read more

WE'RE LISTENING TO

New York’s Infinity Window make some tripped-out, droning, psychedelic raagas that would be appropriate scoring films by Kenneth Anger or John Carpenter. Ominous and dark, the duo makes sounds like the rebirth of an ancient god.

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