I'M INTO - HEATWAVE EDITION...

I'm really into these chambray twill (is there such a thing?) high waisted '70s shorts that belonged to my mother. I've been wearing them on and off since I was about 13 and with the recent freak hot weather here, I've been wearing them a lot - strictly in the garden or on the beach you understand, although they're pretty good to wear under short dresses around London. It's also not lost on me that I should get into them as much as possible until I... can't get into them anymore! A few more years and that back hem might have low hanging bum cheek cleavage below it - upon which moment I shall pass them on to some lithe legged fifteen year old and let them live on...

TIME TRAVELLING...

I'm still struggling to get out of the Mexico frame of mind, and I'd really rather be downing strawberry daiquiris and pelican watching - but since I got back I've been super busy. I really hate it when people say that, so you know I'd only make that excuse if it was really, really true.

Then last weekend was my dad's 70th birthday party for family down on the south coast. It was an epic event that went on for four days. I made vats of guacamole and salsa, arranged armfuls of flowers, wrangled with solar powered outdoor lighting and of course, decorated the house with old photos of my dad and like a good girl, made one of those collages out of embarrassing/amusing photos of him. While I was looking through photos I found some I'd never seen before and I love this one:

My dad and a donkey, name unknown. Circa 1959

Granny Dragon!!! More bowl cuts on me and two of my cousins. Guess who's wearing the red shoes?

This cracks me up even though it's blurry. Me and my cousin G not enjoying a funfair in Wales very much.

WINTERS PAST...

Some pictures taken between 2004 - 2009 around the hood. 2009 is incidentally when I got an iphone. I do miss having a decent little camera that I can pop in my pocket and take random pics with. Must sort that out. Looking through my iphoto it's clear that post 2009 my picture taking fell off the edge of a cliff. These pictures were all taken on my old Panasonic Lumix FX7 with the Leica lens. I loved that little camera - it was not much bigger than a credit card, and the screen took up most of the back. It took pretty decent pictures but it doesn't really work anymore. Can anyone recommend a replacement?

WHAT DO I DO WITH ALL THIS LOT THEN?...

I stopped being interested in taking photos after I invested in my huge Nikon DSLR, but way back near the beginnings of this blog taking photos every day was quite important to me, not that you'd ever know it now from my hasty iPhone snapping, Instagramming ways. Meeting Charlotte, Brian and Elle last week, who take such beautiful photos on film - and then meeting lovelies Anabela, Kate and Vic again at the weekend* - who were all wielding either a Canon A-1 or AE-1, reminded me that I'd been meaning to do a post about my dad's old AE-1 for ages.

I'd had a go with using it, but my pictures always turned out really dark (I've recently been let in on the secret of the magical "A" button so I don't have to rely on my randomly chosen settings anymore - thanks Vic!). Then the winder onner (technical term) got jammed and I had to get it fixed, which cost probably twice as much as a new/old AE-1 would. But this is the camera all my childhood photos were taken on, so I felt it was worth the cost. Then the winder onner thingy got jammed again and after about six months of pressing and wiggling things to try and un-jam it, I gave the camera to its original owner (my dad) to analyse the problem. He handed it back to me about one second later saying, "You've come to the end of the film." Oh yeaaahhhh...and I can just imagine the sniggers in the camera repair shop in Soho where I got it "fixed" before.

So yes, not exactly an analogue queen.

But I'm willing to give it a try - and look at the goldmine I've got to play with.

 Lenses and filters galore - but the real gold is the 1970s instruction manual, which is vying with my 1950s Italian phrasebook for most guffaw inducing document of its time.

 Above: because every budding amateur professional photographer aspires to the Sports Illustrated school of photography. And of course, it's the wife who thinks they should throw the instruction manual away, and the husband who sensibly reprimands her. And who has no idea how to hold a camera correctly? Actually, I have no more words for this.

"If a wall or tree is available."
Gold.

{*All thanks to this, which is still on until the 18th.)

SNUG...

This is the cover of the first issue of Italian Vogue I ever bought: August 1993. Which was 17 years ago. What!

I'd been wondering why I was so obsessed with finding the perfect oatmeal coloured Shetland pullover and a pair of sturdy dealer boots and then I remembered this cover. (Featuring Kristen Mcmenamy pre grey hair.) Isn't it weird that almost two decades later that image is still lodged in my mind, ready to be pulled out on a dark, freezing and pouring with rain mid August day. I was obviously quite taken with the accompanying editorial inside, since most of it is missing, ripped out haphazardly. I made a Polyvore set with these exact same boots (RM Williams) and pullover (Toast) almost exactly a year ago, on probably much the same sort of day, and I didn't end up buying either of them. This winter I intend to be snug.

{my scan}

WEDNESDAY...

 













*Is it Wednesday already? *I'm really looking forward to some seventies inspired soft tailoring for spring, but am too tired to illustrate this meaningfully now. *Can I get away with just posting these old pictures of Daria in Paris Vogue and call it a post?
{photo credit: Inez & Vinoodh}

STANDING ON A BEACH WITH A GUN IN MY HAND...

Precisely 20 years ago I was the 13 year old owner of: classic black 8 hole Dr Martens, Doc Martens shoes, many pairs of Chelsea boots: one black, two oxblood (bought from a riding school to ensure authenticity) a pair of cut down Chelsea shoes and my favourites - a black pair of Chelsea boots I got a cobbler to put 2 inch heels on, thus creating that first flush of teenage smugness at having something everyone at school wanted but couldn't buy and could only attain by blatantly copying my idea. Then there was the biker boot phase, the only ones of the above I still have, and still can't bring myself to wear (too many connotations) or part with. But all of those shoes: practical, authentic, timeless in some ways.

I don't mind the '90s revival at all, as I've mentioned here before. Good memories. But the late '80s - early '90s were my very early teens and a dark place that was. Not your usual half arsed teenage angst. So it may have taken two decades to look at my boot of choice back then as...just boots.

I said I'd never buy them again, but 20 years later I find myself buying a pair of Dr Martens. Don't misunderstand: I groaned when Daisy Lowe started fronting the ad campaign a couple of years ago and Aggy was wearing them with ballgowns. It was kind of like, oh that. Kids today huh? Not going there again. As this summer waned I felt unmoved by any fashion-y shoes and had my eye on a pair of RM Williams dealer boots that I thought might be practical, comfy and low key for winter. But then...

At what's left of Borough Market I'm distracted by a girl's feet - just for half a second. They're Doc Martens boots all right, but more subtle: slightly pointed with a flap of fringed leather at the front. An hour later I'm in the DM shop being told they were from spring summer 09 and are no longer available. And no longer a fashion choice in any way, which is perfect. Later that night in a haze I search the internet for stray leftover stock in my size but can only find them in white. I'm not going that far. Eventually I find a pair in black on an extremely dodgy looking site I've never heard of and take the plunge, giving out my credit card details to what may be an internet crime ring praying on unsuspecting sold out shoe addicts.

Now I can see the connections: 1. my sudden interest in Depeche Mode and watching 101 (which was 20 odd years ago) with them all wearing Doc shoes with white socks. Also, the Anton Corbijn promos from 1987 are really inspiring me. 2. My car CD player breaking, leading to me dragging out a box of cassette tapes from the depths. I haven't started listening to The Cure yet, but it's only a matter of time. As long as I don't get it into my head to complete the journey by indulging in any mind bending recreational pastimes, I don't think re-visiting this era in a purely sartorial sense is such a bad thing.

...Except that I actually feel moderately sick after opening the vault, as it were, and writing this. Don't worry, the Docs will be worn with my Baby I'm a Star dress - I'm not planning to disappear head first into the teenage abyss completely.

SUNDAY...

* This is another torn out page that I've kept for years and years. Tasha was always my fave model when I could be bothered with such things as keeping up with models names.

* Best Sunday morning guilty pleasure: Waking up and realising I could watch the first episode of season 2 of The Rachel Zoe Project. I've missed you Brad.

* Watching it in bed with Lola, a cup of tea and Monte Enebro cheese and honey on toast. (Lola wants customised Chanel couture now.)

* D.V. will be answering your questions on Tuesday.

* Um, how do I say this? Finally I'm a Twit. Twit me up Twitfans!

{photo of Tasha Tilberg by Bruce Weber from Vogue Italia 1996?}

FROM THE DEPTHS...

I have a load of torn out pages from nineties Italian Vogues that I couldn't bear to part with when I moved back to London from Italy (and couldn't exactly bring my magazine stash with me). I found them in a drawer today, and though I wonder why I went to such trouble to keep some of the images, others, like this one, still resonate with me more than ten years later. I might post some more of them now and then.

It would be lovely to look and feel like her today; instead I make copious cups of tea and forget to drink them, everything I wear is too hot or too cold ten minutes later and I would simply look ridiculous in a hat like that.


{photo - Steven Meisel, Vogue Italia 1990 something}