FEW OF MANY...

 

I took so many photos in Italy. I'll slowly be adding more to my flickr here. I wish I had been able to record the smells too. In the garden of the Villa Bardini up above Florence (Costa San Giorgio 2 - near Forte Belvedere) it was a mixture of lemon, roses, herbs, wisteria and all the plants combined. I wish I could have bottled that scent. I suppose that's why it's called Florence, duh.

EEK...JUST A QUICKIE...

I know, I know, I said I'd post loads from Italy but the time went so quickly I didn't get much of a chance. Now I'm home with loads of pictures on my memory card and lots of things to tell you but my internet connection at home is buggered. I'll be back once I get that sorted and have tidied up a bit (Lola also thoughtfully re-upholstered our entire flat with her fur while I was away. It was sweet of her but could cause problems for our asthmatic friends.)

Talking of maison Lola, there's a house tour of my flat over on Apartment Therapy. I was not at all convinced it was house tour worthy - and it feels a little like I'm inviting everyone round to examine my underwear drawer. Luckily for you I didn't take a photo of that, but the rest are here.

*p.s. Even more photos than anyone could possibly care about seeing of my flat here.

VINTAGE SHOPPING IN FLORENCE...

I wanted to check out some vintage stores here because when I lived here over a decade ago the concept really didn't exist. Okay, there were a couple of places you could buy pre-worn stone washed Levi's for the same price as new ones - and you could go to the Cascine market and buy a bag of old ladies' polyester housecoats for about a pound but that was about it.

A while ago I started to hear that there was great vintage shopping to be found in Florence. Even that English vintage shop owners were coming here to buy up mint condition stock and sell it at a huge mark up back in London. So of course I had to investigate. It's true that there are a lot of vintage shops here now and that the condition of the clothes is incredible. But as for buying cheap and laughing all the way back to London? I think not.

My first stop was Elio Ferraro - invariably described as "expensive, but the best" and I'd have to agree with that description.

Touted as more of a one of a kind gallery, they had delicate chiffon dresses from the 1930s that looked like they'd never been worn, clutch bags with lucite handles, the linings of which were as perfect as the outside. There was a big pile of vintage Gucci luggage that I didn't dare to go near, having already clocked the prices of everything else. Think an average of 300 euros for a shirt - not exactly the place to strike a bargain; but a beautiful shop with friendly staff who obviously love their vintage calling.

I went on to Pitti Vintage, in a little street called Sdrucciolo dei Pitti - Sdrucciolo apparently means slippery slope and I could see how that could work if you spent too long browsing in the shop.

I really liked this one. They had a few of the requisite labels: Hermes, Valentino etc; but it was really the unlabelled pieces that were a great representation of their eras in terms of cut, fabric and colour that did it for me. Oh, and the cute dog...

There was also a large men's section which is quite rare. Still, I balked at the prices. I think also I'm used to thinking of Italy as being really cheap and since the euro was introduced it's really not. It seems to have been a case of doubling the prices and adding a bit more for good luck when they had the changeover from lire.

Near to Pitti Vintage at via dei Serragli 26/r is Ceri Vintage, which was much cheaper but not notable for much except bolts of vintage fabric for 10 euros a meter and some buttons and trimmings.

They also had a dog but I didn't take a picture of it. It seemed pretty popular though (the shop, not the dog) so maybe I wasn't in enough of a rummaging mood, but the clothes I saw looked more "old" than "vintage".

More to come, much more. I ran my camera battery out yesterday - mostly taking photos of old Fiat 500s and those little tuc tuc trucks. It's lovely to be here and strange too, but also in a good way. I am a different person to who I was when I lived here; no doubt about that. You just don't get to notice that very often. Last night: fireworks over the river outside the Palazzo Corsini felt like they were for us. Florence is still magical. I'm so happy to be here and catch up with friends. But I must say ciao for now (harhar) and get out and about again. Venice tomorrow.

CI VEDIAMO IN ITALIA...

(That is me, but alas, it wasn't my Fiat Cinquecento. Maybe I could fit one in my suitcase?)

This is one of those new fangled scheduled posts, so right about now I should be eating an overpriced sandwich on an orange plane. But all I can think about is being able to sit at a restaurant terrace, eating a plate of thinly sliced tomatoes with a few leaves of basil scattered on and a bit of olive oil.

p.s. I'm going to try and post as much as possible while I'm in Italy...

ABOUT THE BEACH I'M NOT GOING TO...

I've had a spray tan. It's not like me to do such a thing but I'm going to Italy tomorrow. When I heard that for some of the time we would be at the seaside I panicked and booked the tan. If I was going to be the only out of shape, slightly flabby, not wearing a matching Roberto Cavalli bikini, chiffon kaftan and bejewelled gold high heeled mules English person on the beach then I at least wasn't going to add pale to the list of misdemeanors. Going to the seaside in England is a cinch. No one gives a shit what you look like, everyone displays their beer bellies without a care in the world and after drinking too much booze with lunch you fall asleep in the sun - turning your pallid skin the colour of lobsters before the day is out. The beach I'm talking about in Italy is where people arrive in Lamborghinis and there's an Armani shop right by the beach, where in England there'd be a chip shop or somewhere selling fake Crocs and fishing nets. I haven't been to Forte dei Marmi for about ten years, so the last time I went was before the influx of Russian oligarchs.

If before it was like something out of a Fellini film, now it seems it's like something out of a Fellini re-make with costumes by Cavalli. Anyway, the last time I went to my friend's house there it was Easter weekend. It was wonderfully hot but when we got to the beach there were people, I swear to god, wearing fur coats and enormous sunglasses, or full on black Prada or Gucci suits with high heels (this was the nineties!) sitting in deckchairs sunning themselves. To say I stuck out like a sore thumb with my shorts and sunburn would be something of an understatement.

It is really beautiful there though. The beach is huge and you have the mountains behind you - even the beach huts and parasols are chic. With the tan as a disguise I'd really got into the idea of going. I don't think we're going there now though, so my standing naked for half an hour in front of the woman who spray tans Kate Moss, striking a variety of ridiculous poses and finding my body image issues pulled into sharp focus was perhaps slightly unnecessary.

MYSTERIES OF TRAVEL...

A while ago someone left me a voicemail message saying, "Oh, you're probably in Paris or jet setting somewhere having a really fabulous time, I'm so jealous." I was, in fact, unable to answer the phone because I was buying cat litter. In Deptford.

A lot of people have asked through this blog recently how I manage to travel so much. I seem to have this reputation but I actually haven't been anywhere since Christmas. For me, five months without a trip is a really long time and I'm so hopping up and down excited that I'm going to Italy on Wednesday - and you're coming with me, internet connection willing.

I come from a big family of travellers, by which I don't mean they traverse the world in brightly painted caravans or put a hex on you if you don't buy a posie of heather from them. I just mean that most of them are at any point either about to get on a plane, are on a plane, are visiting some far flung destination, are living in some far flung destination or have just been on a trip somewhere. My travelling, mostly within Europe, is relatively minor compared to theirs.

These five months staying put in London have been good actually. As I was here, I was more able to commit to stuff, but there's no denying my life felt at least 73% more glamorous and exciting when I was popping off to Paris every other month. The only reason I was able to do that for two years was because I looked after the poorly geriatric Parisian cat (sadly no longer with us) of some friends in exchange for staying at their place. I never thought of all my times in Paris as me "going on holiday;" I was just living in a different place. Getting the train from London to Paris is cheaper than getting the train from London to most places in England if you book in advance - and once you're in Paris, the cost of living is cheaper too. But yeah, mooching about in Paris vs mooching about in London = no contest.

I really, really love to travel and I make it a priority. I didn't mind going without a working washing machine for six months as it meant I could spend the money I'd have spent on a new one on travel instead. I'd rather go away somewhere than have a new computer even though my laptop may die any day now. Lots of my friends and family live in other countries - I want to see them and they seem to like seeing me so sometimes that involves getting on a plane. And me getting on a plane means a cheapo midweek flight, usually leaving home at a ridiculously unsociable hour. You know I (ahem) like the finer things in life, but I assure you it's glamour on a shoestring all the way. I wouldn't want anyone to think that I'm gadding about on private jets and staying in five star hotels or anything.

JE VEUX...

*Some espadrilles. Not wedgey or stripey or with lace up your ankle bits or cut outs or doodads or anything. Just plain espadrilles. But what colour???

*A new Panama hat. I had a really good one I bought at the seaside but I left it in the boot of my car over the winter and it went mouldy. And before that I had a really cool beaten up one that eventually disintegrated.

*Some colourful vintage skirt slips (maybe with quite obnoxious 1970s prints on) to wear under summer dresses that blow around/up in the wind. Either that or bigger pants.

*A new deckchair sling.

*A paddling pool.

*A cure for hayfever.

IF THE SHOE FITS...

*updated below*

Hello Internet, sorry I have been neglecting you this week. It's just all this summery sunshine malarkey is so novel. Will you forgive me? No?

What about if I gave you some shoes?

I thought I saw an eyebrow raise just a glimmer then. Now, Internet you are a
UK shoe size 4
European size 37
US size 5 and a half
aren't you? Excellent.

I wish I could skip about in these cute Peter Jensen rubber soled pumps but they're too small for me. So if anyone wants them, I'd be more than happy for you to skip about in them instead. They say 38 on them but they aren't. I know this because I have little narrow dainty feet and take a size 37 or 37 and a half at most. While I can put these shoes on my feet, I can get roughly ten minutes of wear out of them before I can't walk anymore and have to take them off again. I don't want to be responsible for anyone else's pain so only enter if you're a straight up size (eur)37, (US)5.5, (UK)4. I've only worn them a couple of times and they're so perfect for spring...and it does seem that amazingly it is spring. SPRING GIVEAWAY...YAAAAAYYYYY.

Oh and that smudgy bit on one of them isn't dirt or foot mould or anything. It's where I took the shoe off in the park in Paris and put it back on again so you're even getting a little bit of the Jardin du Luxembourg thrown in. How generous am I. Also they do have laces, I just prefer them without so I'll put those in as well.

I'm not going to do a competition or anything like that - that would be a bit discriminatory against other shoe sizes, non? So just tell me in the comments if you're a size 37 and you want them to skip around in, then Lola will pick a name out of a hat soon-ish. And remember to leave an email address with your comment so I can contact you.

All I ask is that if you get them, you take a photo of yourself wearing them (it can be just of your feet if you like) and email it to me or post it on your blog (if you have one) and let me know.

Happy spring!

*EDIT* Oh fuckit. My moleskine says a euro 37/UK 4 is a US 5.5 but other conversion charts I've looked at disagree. They all seem to differ so if possible go by your UK or European size as I know those are correct...

WEEKEND WANDERINGS, WISTERIA ET LES SACS JOLI...

Pretty spring days and two bags. I'm trying to pre-empt the day when my massive Anna Corinna tote falls apart (and I cry) by having a back up. The stripy one is from Gap and the clutch is an Ally Capellino one that I'd seen in a local shop. Remember my beloved clutch bag that the dry cleaners destroyed about five million years ago? This, finally, is its replacement - and it was half price because of a teeny, weeny mark on it.

I'm making it sound like I had such a neat and tidy perfect little weekend. But there was also way.too.much.of.this:

Always say never again. Those glasses are all mine. Even a small amount of white or rose wine really, really doesn't agree with me. I know this and yet...Oh and the joys of day time drinking where your hangover kicks in at 7pm. Blaerrgh.

RAINBOWS END...

this, this, this and indeed this.

Me? I know nothing.

GIRL OF HYERES...

The enigmatic Louise at Hyères.
As photographed by:

The Sartorialist

Cafe Mode

Punky B

I suddenly have an inexplicable desire to pack a suitcase with Liberty print dresses and go to the South of France.

SHAKE YOUR HAIR GIRL...

Flashbacks of a Fool was a strange film and this isn't a review of it. Starring Daniel Craig and shot on a large budget, it wasn't bad exactly, but the script had more holes in it than a colander. I exited the cinema feeling there was just something a bit wrong about the whole thing. It all fell into place when I discovered afterwards that the film is the first to be written and directed by Daniel Craig's best friend - a commercials director. Aaahh. It's a shame really, as without Daniel Craig's considerable clout as star and producer, the script may have had a few years to percolate, the director might have got more experience on a low budget flick and a better film could have been made. However. There's one scene in the film which is unforgettable (and it doesn't include Daniel Craig sprawled nude on a rabbit skin bedspread). Anyone who has seen the film will know what I'm talking about:

It's 1972. A teenage girl and boy are standing in a white shagpile carpeted room, dressed in satin and blue eyeshadow, lip synching to Roxy Music. For this scene alone I would re-watch the rest of the film. The song is If There Is Something. You can listen to it here but it's really the end part you have to wait for (at -1.27) where it goes; "shake your hair girl with your ponytail" and so on. This could be the track of the summer with a bit of remix treatment. Someone needs to call in Mark Ronson stat. I'm completely serious. I think I might try to call Mark Ronson. I'm sure Bryan Ferry would be up for it. And while we're here, let's remind ourselves why Bryan Ferry is still the coolest bloke in the entire universe...

(images: Film still of Felicity Jones from The Telegraph.
Bryan Ferry: Getty, Another Time, Another Place cover, Nathaniel Goldberg.)

GUARDIAN PIECE

**UPDATED BELOW**

The Guardian kindly asked me to reveal one of my secret London haunts, as part of its blog by blog guide to London. Never one to pass up a chance to big up south east London, I of course chose the incredible Rivoli Ballroom. (And trust me, wandering around a deserted Rivoli Ballroom - haunt would be the right word.)

Read it here.

I've got so much more to say about the Rivoli, but right now, left over Phad Thai and episode 12 of Gossip Girl on youtube beckons...

...Some time later:
So, there were a few things that got cut from the little piece in the Guardian and more besides that I didn't have space for. The Rivoli is honestly the most amazing place. It is constantly used as a location for major films, music videos and photo shoots - basically if you've seen any of the above featuring a ballroom, that's The Rivoli you're looking at. I first found out about it when I was there assisting on a photo shoot ooh, about nine years ago now. It was before I lived in the area and everyone was like, where the hell are we? I wandered around into the bars off the main ballroom and got chatting to Bill, who has been running the place with his wife Jeannie for 30 years. Wandering around there on your own is a little like that scene in The Shining where Jack Nicholson sees all the ghosts of people dancing in the ballroom. All I know is every time I go near that main bar all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I feel so cold my nose starts running. I always remembered that day and now that I live not far away, each time I drive past and see location vans outside I always have a quick look in case I catch a glimpse of Kate Moss or Kylie or Brad Pitt or Arctic Monkeys or (insert name of celebrity here). Although I of course found out about the intimate White Stripes gig the day after it happened. I blogged my disappointment here.

The other thing that got cut was that The Rivoli is currently up for sale. Last December they were offered 10 million quid for the place by property developers who would have, yes, flattened it and built a hideous new development of flats on the site. English Heritage swooped in within about 30 seconds and listed The Rivoli, meaning that no one can make major changes, or even minor ones without permission. At the time I thought thank God, good old English Heritage. I still think it would be a huge shame to lose the ballroom, as it's constantly in use not just as a location, but for ballroom dancing, functions and parties. But having spent a fair bit of time chatting to Bill and Jeannie, who are quite lovely and let me snoop around there and ask questions they've probably been asked a million times the other day, I can totally see the other side. They are both nearing 70, their health is failing and they now have a ballroom that will be very difficult to sell. They asked English Heritage for help to maintain the building a few years ago and EH didn't give them a penny. Bill and Jeannie have used the profits from running it to keep it in pristine condition with all the original features intact and cared for. So I kind of feel sorry for them. They are proper old school characters who've seen it all. I'd love someone to make a documentary about them and the Rivoli. I'm surprised someone hasn't already (have they??). I have actually never been there to dance, but I'm certainly going to now. We have plans involving swishy dresses and bouffant hair. We'll probably go to this. I wouldn't miss the chance for anything.

{pic by me}

I WAS DOING JUST FINE WITHOUT PARIS UNTIL...

Pia's photos

Elisabeth's handsome asparagus vendor

These photos that someone linked to recently. (Can't seem to retrace my steps to find out who it was.)

Little tuggy things pull at my heart. Why not dangle a freshly baked croissant under my nose, then stamp it into the (wet, cold) ground. Hunh? IMEANWHYNOTJUSTDOTHAT?

Oh, but it's the old grass is greener syndrome to some extent. I kept seeing Sessùn mentioned on blogs all over the place. "Why can't I be in Paris so I can go and look at all their lovely stuff?" I whined.

Then, looking on their website I saw the Sessùn shop is in rue de Charonne. I realised I've been in the shop about ten times and have ended up not buying anything. So - the power of wanting what's out of reach. And the power of the internet since their site is gorgeous.

NOT A SHORT FILM REVIEW...

I was really excited about Shine A Light. Marty Scorsese is my hero and I've always wanted to see The Stones live. What follows is an extract of a whispered conversation conducted about one hour into the film before we walked out.

Me: I'm really sorry, I thought it was a proper documentary, with interviews and behind the scenes stuff.
Usual Suspect: And instead it's a bunch of wrinkly rockers singing a load of songs I've never heard before.

If you've seen the trailer, you've basically seen the sum total of reportage - the rest is as Usual Suspect says. I guess they can play whatever songs (no one cares about) they want to, since they're The Rolling Stones.

The film did have a profound effect on us both though. It made us seriously contemplate the ravages of age more than ever before. Weirdly, only Keith (pictured at right in 1962) seems to get away with it; looking extremely comfortable and happy adorned with his signature gypsy/pirate/ garb and kohl rimmed eyes. He's gone past wrinkly into some other untouchable iconic sphere. No wonder Louis Vuitton signed him up.

(image source)

INDISPENSABLE...

When a friend sends you an email, part of which says, and I quote: "We are still waiting for your several times announced visit to Florence," you know you need to get on a cheapo easyjet flight asap. It'd be terribly rude not to, after all.

I found this Italian phrase book, which I think belonged to my grandmother. There's no date on it but it is very certainly from the days of the British Empire, when the sun never set on British soil etc etc. Oh yes, we just blundered around bossing Johnny Foreigner about and maybe giving him a good clip round the ear if he was impertinent.

While this little book has given me hysterical giggles, it also made me feel incredibly uncomfortable about how British people used to treat the rest of the world. Every phrase is an imperious command. Really there's not a per favore or per piacere to be found. I can't imagine my sweet little Granny ever ordering anyone around like that. And the complaining! Often I'm aware of how the world still views the British, but my experience doesn't tally. It all makes sense now.

So here, I give you a few choice phrases from How to Get All You Want When Travelling in Italy.

I will tie the umbrellas together.
(Desidero unire insieme questi ombrelli.)
Why? Is that really something so crucial it merits inclusion in a tiny phrasebook?

Ask the sleeping-car attendant to come to me here.
(Dica all'impiegato dei vagoni-letto di venir qui.)

Send the page-boy to me.
(Mi mandi il ragazzo.)
Sounds a bit dodgy to me.

And now, the draughts section. These are only a few examples of the terror of draughts in a warm Mediterranean country:

There is too great a draught.
(C'e troppa corrente.)

Do you feel the draught?
(Sente la corrente?)

I do not mind a slight draught.
(Una leggera corrente non mi da noia.)

There is a terrible draught.
(C'e una forte corrente.)

Porter! Take my luggage to the custom-house.
(Facchino! Porti i miei baggagli alla dogana.)
Not a per favore in sight.

We shall certainly complain to the British Consul.
(Noi reclameremo certamente al console britannico.)
You don't say.

In the "Hiring a Taxi" section, the xenophobic fear of Italian taxi drivers becomes a tad hysterical:

Your meter appears to be out of order.
(Il suo tassametro sembra che non funzioni bene.)

I shall not pay this amount.
(Non paghero questo ammontare.)

We shall not pay more.
(Non pagheremo di piu.)

We are giving you a great deal too much.
(Noi le diamo gia molto di piu.)

Let us call a policeman.
(Chiamiamo un agente.)

I haven't even started on the "in a restaurant" section. All the things that could possibly be wrong with food, table placement or staff are thoroughly covered. My Italian is too rusty to pick up the subtleties in language that make the phrases sound wrong in modern English. The book uses "desidero" for I want, which I don't think I've ever used. Apart from that I wouldn't notice any difference. I guess I always think of Italian being a more formal language, whereas the way English people speak now is so casual it's like a constant apology. I might take the book to Italy and see if it stops me getting so ripped off by taxi drivers.

CONTINUED...

I know The British are supposed to be the new Japanese and everything; but one of my freelance gigs pays me in US dollars and they just sit there, sadly wilting. Changing them into pounds would be akin to turning them into a pumpkin at midnight. So, since I'm a little short on sterling, I've been thinking I could buy some clothes online from the US, thus putting some dollars to good use - hence the previous blouse post. But being in a position of having actual dollars rather than smugly surfing the exchange rate, I'm finding clothes by emerging US designers (as opposed to mega brands) very expensive. Like Lanvin prices for a designer only me, you and three other people have heard of. If I compare it to shopping in Paris where I've bought Isabel Marant dresses for 150 euros, tops for 80, and a Vanessa Bruno dress from the Athe range for 130 euros it doesn't seem like such a good deal anymore. And those designers are firmly established. But then again, I really love these Rachel Comey summery sandals. They're $265 (£132.50) and you can bet if they were sold anywhere in London they'd be priced at precisely £265, which is more expensive than the similar Marni sandals I recently rejected for being too expensive.

Is all this making you mentally calculate exchange rates from pounds to euros to dollars exhausting you as much as it is me? Go and have a cup of tea and I'll be back later today with a very fun post I've been wanting to share all week...

IF...

If it would just stop raining and imitate some semblance of spring for longer than three minutes before raining/snowing/hailing/all three simultaneously again, I would buy this blouse. I would then wear it every spring day until it fell apart.

(Isn't $264 quite a lot for a blouse though? Even with the exchange rate making it £132 it's straining the upper limit of my blouse budget. It is such a pretty blouse though, and you know how I feel about checks.)

I enjoy typing "blouse" so, don't you?

ESCAPE TO THE KITTENS!...

Ew. After reading this post I decided to do a more thorough check than usual on people who'd made me a contact on Flickr and my photos that had been faved. I mean, I knew, obviously, there's a reason why the photo of my friend and I about to go to a masquerade party has been viewed more times than all the others. I blocked the people who faved it who belonged to groups like "erotic sexy masks" or whatever. I always thought the foot "letishists" were fairly harmless until I was targeted by the red ballet flat letishist. Uck. Just read Holly's post - it's far more eloquent.

The weird thing is that my photos are quite boring - just, here's a pretty flower. I never, well very rarely put up photos of friends or of myself. But the freaks still get through. I used to belong to a group called "what are you wearing today" and they had to change the name because it kept getting infiltrated by people wearing gimp suits. I always think that I use Flickr because I don't print my photos out anymore, but if I have to censor everything I put up there, why am I using it? Going through people who'd made me a contact, blocking people who made me uncomfortable I ended up with only two male contacts left. And I'm pretty sure they're both gay.

But anyway the thing I came in here to tell you is about one guy who had faved something that made me suspicious and had made me a contact. I hadn't reciprocated and when I went to check his photos out I got a Flickr message saying are you sure you want to look at these photos. I said yes, thinking oh god what am I going to see. The first three or four pages of his photostream were really boring photos of buildings. Boring, yet innocuous. I thought there must be a reason - and then from about the fourth page on: eurrghhh oh god, totally sick, abort! abort! I looked up for something to click on to get away and there's a message from Flickr that actually says, "changed your mind about viewing so and so's photos? Take me to the kittens!" I clicked on it and it took me to all the photos of little fluffy kittens (bet there's a pervy kitten "letish" group somewhere anyway). Isn't that amazing? Am I the only person who didn't know about the kitten escape route? It's really exactly what you need to cleanse your palate after seeing something like that. Anyway I hope you never need to use it but really, I don't use Flickr enough to be policing all the freaks on it constantly so I'm not sure what I'll do now.

If you put public photos on Flickr and have never thought about this you'll probably be needing some kittens...

*for Sean Connery letish explanation read Holly's post

J'ADORING! [EDITION MAISON]...

The Fosse bathroom light was a birthday present. J'adore...

I've always lusted after the Love pillowcases from Lush Designs. I've mentioned their stuff a couple of times on Gridskipper and their studio is around the corner; so I bought a pair, just to (ahem) support local business. The lovely Lush ladies are going to open a shop in Greenwich market - you know, before the whole thing is re-developed and turned into hideous flats. Why do people visit Greenwich in their droves? Oh yeah, the market...

*p.s. I Gridskipped where to buy cool magazines in central London. Read it here.

{photos by me}

NINE LIVES...

I haven't been around here much the past week. Well, the truth is that at some point I fell into a deep, dark hole that was tricky to get out of. Funny, when you are in that hole, your only options really are to cry for help, or to pull yourself out somehow.

You think I am speaking metaphorically, but no, I actually fell into an actual hole. More specifically the top step leading down from my terrace collapsed under me. (Afterwards I discovered that a rusty nail had been the only thing holding it up for the past six years.) There I was, doing a bit of terrace gardening, carrying a terracotta pot down to empty out. I put my foot on the step and the next thing I knew I was eight feet below, under the steps in the bit where there's spider webs and creepy crawlies and dead things. The pot was broken at the bottom of the steps. It's funny what your reactions are at moments like those. I quietly said "shit" to myself and noted the absence of searing pain that would indicate anything was broken. No one appeared except for my cat and next door's cat, who both looked very concerned. Oh, but then the bawling came and that was a little embarrassing. So I somehow clambered up the inside of the steps and dragged myself inside to bawl like a child in private. It was just the shock.

And that's the amazing thing. Apart from some pretty hardcore bruises and scrapes I am relatively unscathed. I am totally fine - didn't so much as get a cobweb on me. The heavy fabric of my trusty sailor trousers didn't even rip and protected me from too much bleeding. When I look at the hole with the big rusty nail sticking out and the broken step, it doesn't look big enough for me to fit through. I think of what could have happened. Cracked open chin, skull, broken leg or foot or nose or both arms. Lung, artery punctured by rusty nail.

I am the kind of person who avoids sport in case I injure myself, but now that seems a little ridiculous. I feel so lucky and a little more fearless. Weird, I know but true. It was all very Alice in Wonderland but really more like falling into a small well. A well with steps, luckily.

*I think I might need a new category for accidents, illness, broken bones etc. Honestly I am not that accident prone, I just like showing people my bruises, recounting how extremely brave I was etc...

{pic by me - nothing to do with anything except it's still a bit early for peonies here. I'm craving them.}

ONE MORE FOR THE IMAGINARY WISHLIST...

I wasn't really into the shopping in Dubai. No doubt if you're living there, after a while having Waitrose, M&S and every British High Street shop out there is nice. But the prices are only slightly lower so I never really understood why you'd go to Dubai to spend your time in shopping malls that are just like being in England, except for the sound effect of the call to prayer over the loudspeakers. But that's got nothing to do with this Royal Copenhagen Blue Fluted butter dish. I needed a butter dish and saw this one in Dubai. I picked it up, I saw the price, I put it back down. The End.

That's not what I'm adding to the list though.

It's the blue fluted mega pattern dinnerware, with the traditional blue fluted pattern enlarged and fragmented. It's not exactly new, but my coveting it is. J'adore it. You can see the entire range here. If you gave me some of the plates we could have an imaginary dinner party.

What's on your imaginary wishlist? (Something way over budget, out of reach or extravagant that you wouldn't/couldn't actually buy yourself)

LAST WEEK'S NEWS...

Oh, Carla. Carla, Carla, Carla. This blog is not really the kind where we discuss State visits and I wasn't going to. Only, we are all still in a state of post Carla bliss over here. Smitten. Our Prime Minister, Prince Philip and Prince Charles came over all uncharacteristically gallant and kissy at the sight of such beauty. I'm pretty sure they are still swooning into their pillows whispering her name. Serious commentators used up acres of column inch discussing the merits of The Jackie O Hat (deliberate, slightly eerie, but had the desired effect), the faultless choice of Dior (French, but British), her grace, her beauty, her ease and adeptness at following protocol. All they could find fault with was teeny Sarkozy's stacked heels and the paper thin flatness of Carla's. But even that was sweet and tactful. We don't actually care that - as a French person said to me, "She has slept with everyone! She is, she is...how would you feel if Gordon Brown married Kate Moss?" My answer was that Carla is bohemian and that a Kate and Gordon union is highly unlikely. But at least it would make things interesting. Last week I happened to be within air kissing distance of Carla. I didn't see her but the entire area was buzzing that she was there. Six months ago if I'd passed her in the street I'd have gone, "Oh, there's Carla Bruni," and gone about my business. Sarkozy, on the other hand, said he wants to make the riverside architecture of Paris more like London. More dynamic. He is either insane, very dangerous or he was trying to be kind - in the way you might compliment someone's hair when you both know it's lank, greasy and they have really bad dandruff.

TRES CUTE...

There's now a proper website for the Lou Doillon for Lee Cooper jeans collection I was going on about before. It's done like Lou's inspiration notebook with her handwritten text explaining why/how she did it, photos taped in etc. Fun to have a click around...

I still haven't been to see any of the clothes in reality. I've got a funny feeling they only look good on Lou. As for the rest of us I'm not so sure...that includes the model in the lookbook (I'm turning into the lookbook model police).

{photo: Inez van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin}

I THINK YOU'RE GOING TO LIKE THIS...

I wrote this piece for Gridskipper about film locations in London. Don't worry, it's not all Bridget Jones and Four Weddings/Notting Hill - though those bastards do seem determined to redraw the entire capital to fit their sanitised, ethnically cleansed, sappy vision of how London should be. Hey, people seem to love it. HATE THOSE FILMS. (The most insulting thing anyone has ever (innocently) said to me was that the character of Bridget Jones reminded her of me.)

There are so many things I wish I had known before; like the location of Holly Golightly's apartment in Breakfast at Tiffany's (East 71st street.) Of course I've stood outside the NYC Tiffany's window holding a pretzel and a coffee, wearing a black Givenchy evening gown at 5am. Kind of. Without the coffee or the pretzel or the dress or the 5am.

Read the London piece here. Just don't EVER go to Thamesmead.

TWELVE STEPS...

1. Have hair trimmed to lessen cavewoman/Medusa effect
2. Reluctantly dye hair (au naturelle being invaded by white sprouters = depressing)
3. Have a facial - (eh, grr, maybe, still undecided - do they even make a difference?)
4. Have a pedicure at The Cowshed
5. Stop eating wheat for a month
6. Go somewhere to find sunshine/warmth asap (Italy)
7. Buy loads of flowers: ranunculus/tulips/peonies when they're ready
8. Go and sit under the magnolia trees in the park when they're in bloom
9. Attempt to wear other than wide legged cords or baggy sailor trousers every day
10.Bribe people to bring back French pharmacy booty from Paris
11.Have a mooch around the weekend market for old books and clocks
12.Try to believe that using make up to achieve the fresh, natural look isn't cheating.

UGH...

Am sick. Back soon...

I BUYED YOU A EASTER EGG...

...but I eated it.
Here's some blossom instead (from an Easter when the skies weren't alternating between snow and jumbo hailstones).

*photos from my flickr nature set