LAST DAYS OF SUMMER...

THE ROSE GARDEN ~ *FOR A...

I promised to take some photos of roses for my Venetian friend, who was lamenting that Venice is so *scorchio in summer, that the roses get scorched before they have a chance. London's roses have been outstanding this year; since May they've been tumbling over walls everywhere or reaching for the sky. To get a good hit of every type of rose, the best place I know is the rose garden at Greenwich Park. (They also have hydrangeas, my other fave.) It's also a pretty wonderful place to go and reflect, ponder, sit on a bench inhaling the heady perfume and that type of thing.

However, this year we've had such *scorchio temperatures ourselves that the roses are almost over there. Apparently they should be just coming into bloom now, but were out at the beginning of June and now think it's nearly winter, which apparently is a very bad sign.  For the roses, for the world, I don't know - the gardener who told me this didn't specify.

{SCORCHIO! Never gets old.}

Some of my favourite moments of this summer so far: midsummer's night on the Thames after seeing Patti Smith perform at the Royal Festival Hall, with her son and daughter as back up band; the cat in Parisian bakery window shot never gets old; a drink after watching Hiroshima Mon Amour (without subtitles!) at Le Champo; an unexpected bonus of a cancelled Eurostar train = an aperitif at La Buvette; and lastly, always and forever, the lido ♡. 

HIGH SUMMER ROLLIN...

Hardcore evening gardening once the heat has subsided; finally taming a thorny, unruly beast of a plant into submission - it fought back, I won - sustaining scrapes, cuts and scratches all over. Bonus baby fox cub watching at dusk, dusk stretching into hours. The cuts and scratches on slowly tanned limbs are joined by bites and bruises, scuffed feet and elbows like those of a child: side effects of scampering around at the lido, where we go to swim every day as if it's our day job. They know us there now, know our spot, our habits. We know the swans, the duckling adopted by geese, the other regulars, the daytrippers, the boat man, and a host of other characters. One scalding day we're treated to the Rolling Stones sound checking for their concert that weekend - standing on the shore in wet swimsuits, with dumb luck grins, sun blazing, live Mick hurtling across the soft water: "...never stop, never stop, never stop. You, you, you, you make a grown man cryyyyy".

THE SET TABLE...

Last Thursday night I went to the launch of The Set Table: The Art of Small Gatherings at Anthropologie in Kings Road. The book is by Hannah Shuckburgh, (who is the features editor of Easy Living magazine) with photography by the very talented Charlotte Bland and illustrations by Lydia Starkey. It's about setting a beautiful table with what you love and have collected: mismatched linens and charity shop crockery, flowers from the garden, a few candles. It's the sort of artfully informal way you'd set a table now.

There was an atmosphere of excitement as we toasted the book, surrounded by armfuls of gorgeous flowers from the flower arranging workshop Hannah had hosted just prior to the launch.

Flipping through The Set Table I was struck by the photography of Charlotte Bland, who happens to be a very kind and exceptionally modest friend of mine. As I am not modest I will tell you that the book also happens to feature my hands, twice! Below are some exclusive original photos used in the book, which you can buy here and at lots of other good bookshops.

{All photos © Charlotte Bland}

PARISLONDONPARIS...

I've been in Paris almost a week now and I'm still not quite settled. Here in body - the rest is all over the place. I wasn't well when I arrived and needed to find a doctor, which I was only able to do eventually with the help of friends. (Thank you!) So that was a bit scary. I was always able to navigate anything in Paris before, even without speaking decent French. I suddenly felt very foreign.

Like some kind of euro homing pigeon I keep accidentally going into places that turn out to be Italian, like this sweet cafe/bookshop in rue Charlot, Marcovaldo. I actually said "thank you, grazie, uh, merci" when the girl brought my coffee over. Confusion.

I've got a whole load of restaurants bookmarked, but as is always the case - the places that you read about from afar getting raved about on food blogs, don't always turn out to be the best places to go when you get on the ground. The couple of times I've tried to eat at restaurants I had bookmarked that weren't recommended to me personally, I've had really bad experiences. CAFE DES MUSEES I'M LOOKING AT YOU. I'm hoping to keep the bad restaurant experiences neatly to just this week, so that I can then enjoy the rest of them thereafter.

But I HAVE had some very fun times already, and you'll hear about those soon.

Backtracking slightly, here's what's going on in London this February, for HiP Paris.

BREAKFAST AT...

If Claridge's is my Tiffany's then it makes sense that breakfast at Claridge's is something I'd like to become a weekly ritual. Both bars closed and quiet - very unnerving - roaring fires in the lobby and dining room giving everything a glow; a huge insulated coffee pot placed on our table, grapefruit ricotta pancakes ordered and then a lot of gossip and guffawing, plus unashamed constant Instagramming of the table by both parties. And I don't think they minded a bit.

FIRST WEEK...

(More instazzes - I've got two broken cameras being held hostage by an alleged repair place.) Now the party's over... yes indeed. Cosy cafe meet ups with friends help a lot; I really, really like those stairs; cosy epiphany dinner and galette des rois; marmite toast and tea; getting all those January cleaning/sorting/prepping things done. Like my tax return. Ugh. Not quite as glamourous as December.

THE NIGHT...

Instazzes from New Year's Eve. Starting off right with a drink and a snack at Claridges, where various dapper types were arriving for a Venetian masked ball. Love that powder room, make excuses to go there, want to live there. I wore my new prettypretty Mayle dress and C is holding G's swoony new Lanvin bag. Hi! Billybob instead of Ruin at Coya to ring in the new year. The large table of around thirteen year old Arab princes next to us not pictured, who didn't seem to know what to do except play with their phones. Especially when the Brazilian dancing girls turned up. Dancing to the Cuban band with a small princess (I don't know if she was an actual princess, but she should have been) who was having The. Most. Fun. Ever.

2012 FAVES: LONDON...

Food:
40 Maltby Street is my absolute fave of the year for the ambience, food and location under the arch. There isn't a time of day or evening it doesn't suit perfectly. As great to pop into on market day for a snack and a glass of wine as for dinner with a group of friends. I love it.

Runners up:
Ducksoup, although I don't end up going there much because if I'm in Soho I'm usually rushing through. As with 40 Maltby the natural wines, simple shared plates and relaxed vibe wins me over - that's just what I want to have, always.

Jose for those times when you really want croquetas and don't mind crowds/standing up/perching. The staff is always very welcoming and accommodating too.

I'd rather go to any of the above, where they serve high quality food and wines without fuss, than any number of swanky, overhyped trussed up places that you can certainly find enough of in London.

Detox lunch at Rose Bakery @Dover Street Market is a perennial fave. It just makes me feel better and less ill and you can go and look at Celine downstairs after - what's not to like. Cake is also detox if it's carrot, yes?

Honorable mentions: Rochelle Canteen, Terroirs, Fernandez & Wells, various places in SE London: The London Particular, The Gantry, Handmade Food.

Drink:
Claridge's - classic. Nowhere else comes close.
Bob Bob Ricard - Clear Vodianova Bloody Mary. Opulent and irreverent.

Off Broadway - beards, tattoos and cocktails.

Beauty:
Virgin coconut oil. I put a teaspoon of it in the bath and cook with it, though not at the same time.

Farmacia Santa Maria Novella Acqua di Maggio (special mention to the new-ish Farmacia SMN shop in Shoreditch for being lovely with friendly, approachable staff you can actually ask things like what is this for and how much is it?) Anyway Acqua di Maggio is a strange kind of liquid you splash on after a bath - I don't know if it does anything but it smells like Italy in spring.

Diptyque Baume Genereux - the hand cream the word unctuous was invented for.

Dermalogica Gentle Cream Exfoliant - the only exfoliator that doesn't mess up my skin. Also one of the many, many products bought this year on the recommendation of Lisa.

Do:
Swimming in the Serpentine (May-Sept) - why did we only discover doing this regularly at the end of August? I'm going to be there every day possible next year. Full of interesting people watching opportunities too.

Maltby Street/Spa Terminus Saturdays - the best for Saturday morning shopping with coffee and doughnut stops. Honorable mentions: Brockley Market and Brixton Village.

Roadtrips - need to do more of these next summer.

Office days at the Royal Festival Hall - let's go and do *research* - i.e. look at the spectacular view, drink tea, eat snacks, look at interwebs/magazines and call it work.

Wear:
I feel like I should have a whole list of shops I love in London but I don't really. Liberty? Aesop, APC and Acne but they're not exactly London specific. I like Couverture and The Garbstore, Merchant Archive and Aime's buying on the biannual occasions I haul myself over to Portobello. Opening Ceremony is (WHY is it in Covent Garden?) a good addition. I'm surprised myself that I can't get enthused about anywhere east except men's shop Present. Oh - Artwords for magazines. However, the internet means that you don't need a one-stop shop to curate stuff for you, and for me, there have been other things that made me sartorially happy this year. Such as:

Having a brilliant seamstress at my disposal. All my dreams can come true.

Margaret Howell sample sale + Maxmara outlet in Italy = I'm good for a few years of well made classics.

New obsession with beautiful lingerie and swimwear. Half of me is like oh great, yet another insanely expensive luxury sector for me to bankrupt myself on. The other half; the one that's keeping La Perla afloat is like, well why wouldn't one insist on only the most beautifully constructed silk and French lace next to one's skin? That half is winning.