THE PERFECT CUP OF COFFEE...

COMPLETELY SOBER CONVERSATION...

Me: I wanna go and see a band, let's go and see a band!

G: Yeah, me too I wanna see a band but a good one...

Me: Yeah, like maybe a...

G: Like a girl band, you know there's that one with that girl, can't remember their name, but they're good except I think she's ill or an alcoholic or something.

IF I BOUGHT EVERYTHING I LOVED, I'D BE LIVING IN A SHOE...

In my head there’s a fashion graveyard. Clothes, shoes, bags that I loved but for whatever reason did not come home with me. I would go and visit them on their hangers or shelves and the sales assistants would roll their eyes. Other, more elusive items would be searched for high and low and the fact they were sold out or unavailable, of course made me covet them all the more.

By the time I tracked down a pair of Marc Jacobs mouse shoes (circa 1998) in the New York store they had been featured in every magazine and their allure was tainted. My mission finally accomplished I walked away and on to the next obsession.

Today I walked into Koh Samui in Covent Garden and there were loads of Balenciaga Lariat and Chloe Paddington bags - all at half price. No waiting list? No snagging the last one just before someone else? Not interested. Over. Next!

'It' items that will only ever give you momentary or at least a season of satisfaction aside, there are other things - yes just pieces of fabric - that have stayed with me, that I've actually pined for a bit. Knowing that if I had purchased them they would be by now like old friends, still worn and loved.
So in the spirit of 'clearing a space so that new stuff can show up' I give you, in no particular order, but certainly spanning the last 12 or so years:

ALL THE THINGS I NEVER DID BUY:

A.P.C University of Nowhere sweatshirt, olive green beach towel, aviators, boy shirt, trench coat
Prada metallic green buckle shoes and the ones with the leather flowers
Ann Demeulemeester tuxedo shirt
Christine Bec leopard print fedora hat
A second pair of Marc Jacobs Mary Janes to replace the ones I trashed
Let’s face it, practically every Marc Jacobs shoe ever.
Cream leather Converse low tops
Black vintage pleated chiffon ‘50s cocktail dress from Beyond Retro
Jane Mayle silk and cashmere dress
Miu Miu burgundy sequinned Mary Janes with cone heel
Jil Sander electric blue draped wool dress
Marc Jacobs mouse shoes
Francesca Amitheatrof pendant ring
Christian Louboutin round toe high pumps
Big suede Marni shoulder bag
Alessandro dell’Acqua black dress with appliquéd flowers from Luisa Via Roma
Tiffany platinum diamond star pendant
YSL smoky sunglasses
Marni corduroy trousers and the other stuff they gave me to wear then made me give back!
Martine Sitbon grey suede round toe pumps with ankle ties
Martin Grant teal cashmere/wool princess coat
Martin Margiela deconstructed Birkin bag
Isabel Marant chain strap bag, ballet pumps with pompoms, Indian cotton dresses
'50s buttons from the haberdashery in the Marais
All the fab '80s couture frocks D tried to give me but I STUPIDLY declined
Gucci mohair wrap coat
The only Missoni scarf I ever saw that was absolutely perfect

I’m sure there are loads more I’ve forgotten. And of course my wardrobe is littered with things I absolutely COULD NOT LIVE WITHOUT which now languish under a layer of dust, having been worn once and cruelly discarded. Fashion is fickle. Yesterday’s Helmut Lang is today’s Lanvin is tomorrow’s ebay…

EERIE...

This morning I was rudely awakened by the telephone. Then I went back to bed where I had a dream that involved snogging one of the Osmond brothers. Which one I couldn't say. So the day already contained an element of weirdness.

I felt quite warm so donned my lovely new Rutzou shirt (bought in the Selfridges sale reduced to £22 from £90. A ridiculous bargain. Fashion always sneaks in to these posts even when I don't mean it to.)
But when I stepped outside it was freezing. Driving along I became aware that there was literally NO ONE around. No other cars, no people, dogs, no one. The sky was a beautiful, eerie pinkish grey. For a moment I really believed that some kind of glitch had occured in the time space continuum. A tear in time and I had slipped through somehow to have the world all to myself. I was happy to have the world to myself for a while, felt lucky even. I could have time travelled and although my watch said 1pm, was it? It seemed more like 5am. And where had I travelled to in my sleep (except my tongue travelling down Donny or whoever's throat) that had left me feeling this jetlagged? Tiny flakes of snow began appearing on my windscreen, then disappeared.

I arrived at my favourite cutest cafe and it was empty. The owners were there but I could have dreamt them. No customers. At lunchtime on a working day. The windows were so steamed up I couldn't see outside so sat, doodling in my notebook and drinking a - I'm pretty sure it was a real mochaccino. The Girl from Ipanema played on the stereo. I was waiting it seemed. After some time the sun came out and flooded the cafe with light, and gradually the place filled up. People ordering sandwiches, the phone ringing, chatter, toing and froing. The world was switched back on again.

Exclusive: MODEL HAS BRAIN...

It's that time of the month. No, not that time.
It's a time when perusing the shelves of any of my fave magazine dispensaries finds me unable to locate anything I haven't already bought or read, and leaves me desperate for a fashion frippery fantasy fix. Breathe, just a few more days to wait for the February issues. Hence, I bought Aussie Vogue. Guest edited by hot model of the moment Gemma Ward.
La Moss's guest editorship of Paris Vogue was more like a tribute to the fabulousness of Kate, in which her only real involvement seemed to have been posing for some snaps and a one sentence thank you to the Vogue staff. Then we had the expected collection of photographers favourite shots of her along with quotes from them about how wonderful, special, professional, etc etc she is. In short it was the fashion industry standing by our Kate and just a bit tetchily saying 'leave her the fuck alone, how many fucking icons do we have left nowadays anyway?'

So little Aussie Gemma comes skipping along to guest edit Vogue Australia, a slip of a girl, just shy of her 18th birthday. She writes an intelligent, coherent backstage diary of the s/s 06 Paris/Milan/NY shows, which brilliantly conveys the energy of each city and of the cerayzee world of fashayowney. She also interviews Marc Jacobs and then tells us her favourite places in New York, her favourite beauty products and gives an interview to Vogue about her meteoric rise to fame and fortune. And the 'top ten things that Gemma loves right now' include cocker spaniel puppies and a Venus flytrap plant. There are pics of her clowning throughout the magazine, unlike the Moss lookey likey they kept using in Vogue Paris to illustrate her style.

I know Kate likes to be all mysterious and 'like a silent movie star' thus making her iconic as we all project whatever we want onto her. (Now we've heard her squawking in the Virgin mobile ad that's all shot to shit anyway.)But as guest editor of French Vogue she could have given us just a snippet more of herself. I suppose she had quite a good excuse what with being devoured by the tabloid press and shipped off to rehab.

Gemma Ward comes across as intelligent, fresh, unaffected by her position, upbeat and with nothing to hide. As well as being incredibly young, beautiful, versatile and landing all the high profile campaigns and magazine covers. So why don't I hate her?

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