Wednesday, February 28, 2007


Sometimes you've just got to put all the references in a Balenciaga bag, shake it vigorously and see what falls out.

I like it.

Doesn't it remind you a teensy bit of something beginning with M.J though?

more images: Chris Moore/Getty

p.s. If you didn't get to see the Balenciaga exhibition in Paris, the Online Book on their website has loads of fun stuff: Video footage used in the exhibition, from the 1960 show to a photo shoot with Charlotte Gainsbourg for her album.

Sunday, February 25, 2007


Said six piece band supported Babyshambles at The Dublin Castle recently and stole the show, had more supporters and got far better reviews.

iD and Wig magazine love them.

Record company execs are twitching with excitement, waving contracts.

Paris fashion week next week.

Lots of parties.

Band invited to perform at various fashion week parties.

Do you want to know what they sound like?

I believe them to be very good.

They're The Medicine Show. If you see them in Paris please say hello and buy them a beer.
You will feel pleasantly smug in a few months when everyone's raving about them.

(Yes, I have known the bass player since he was born. But that doesn't mean I'm biased.)

Friday, February 23, 2007


A couple of pages from what is generally known as my Paris Crapbook.


Can we just pretend I came back from Paris yesterday and not over a week ago? Thanks.

So, it seems so long ago now! All I really did was eat and buy stationery. And beauty products from the pharmacy obviously. Oh, and this A.P.C. cardigan. By the way, all the stuff you want from A.P.C. that's sold out online, that you breezily thought, "I'll just buy it in Paris," is also sold out in all the shops in Paris. So don't you go breathlessly trekking from rue Madame to rue Vieille du Temple in search of that elusive short sleeved tunic or dress 'cos you ain't getting it. Unless you pre order it online which I have now done. That was a public service announcement. I like my cardi though.

The eating out consisted only of Moroccan: Le 404 - food just as delicious as you'd expect, music deafening. Chez Omar - food so so, service bizarrely lascivious. At one point I thought I must have forgotten to put clothes on. But friendly nonetheless.
And American food featured heavily: Don't ask me why, I don't know. But I tell you what, Joe Allen is really cosy and Breakfast in America does fantastic pancakes with bacon and maple syrup. So not much smelly cheese. I think I ate a couple of croissants but the real treat came, as always, at the Red Kids market (Le Marche des Enfants Rouges) at the end of the street where I stay. Before anyone who lives in Paris comments to say anything like, "God that place is so popular now, it used to be much better when no one knew about it, it's so busy you can hardly move etc etc..." I will pre empt them with the following response. The Red Kids has got more popular but it's pleasantly bustling. Apart from the fact that it's about a tenth of the size of Borough market, the obvious London market to compare it to, it is actually possible at the Red Kids to get a seat, have a coffee and buy some produce as opposed to queueing up for 45 minutes in the rain to get a coffee and being wedged in a sea of people who are incrementally shuffling forward at a snails pace in order to be able to see what kind of produce the stall you're standing in front of sells, as at Borough.
So, as you may have worked out I kinda like the Red Kids market. I think it may be my favourite place in all Pareee. From my journal after I'd been there:

"At that moment I was in love with Paris again; with people who chatted to you at the crepe stand, with the boy on the Portuguese stand who remembered that I like the pasteis de nata but they'd sold out and when he saw me again said, "Oh, so you got a crepe in the end," before telling me to come before 11am to be sure they had the little custard tarts. I was in love with the coffee at L'Estaminet which instantly vaporized my hangover, with the little bunch of white fleurs d'ail and amazed that you could buy five potted hyacinths for five euros. I flicked through all the old photos at the photographie place and felt life was charmed."

The next day my journal entry begins: "This is fucking pants." I had been waiting for an onion soup to arrive at Le Flore for 35 minutes and when it eventually came, the cheese had congealed into a soggy brain like lump, rendering the soup inedible. But then the man sitting next to me helped me on with my coat so that almost cancelled out the bad soup.

That's the thing about Paris, you can't afford to be complacent.

Thursday, February 15, 2007


Happy (belated) Valentine's Day!

Chocolate from Jadis & Gourmande.
Patiences and red marzipan hearts from La Grande Epicerie.
Pomegranate seed heart thingy from Pain de Sucre.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

IS THAT?...IT IS!...

You know when you're having your daily Sartorialist fix and you see someone you know? And you kind of go "oh, there's so and so! Hi!" And then there's a teensy bit of envy that they've been snapped by him when they've probably never heard of him and you've been obsessively checking his site DAILY forever but anyway; nice shoes babe! It's only in the natural scheme of things that even if you went to New York and hung around Mercer Street looking chic for eight hours every day, you would never bump into Sart.


Remember that cool old lady I stalked in Paris last year?

{my photo ©}
Did you ever wonder what she might wear in the winter season?

I mean, honestly it's just too, too much! I love her. She may be my favourite person ever.
Go and look here right this instant!

Note that in the pic I took above her outfit is all fabric with a leopard print, but in the Sartorialist one her whole outfit is actual (faux it looks like) fur. So do you think she has an entire wardrobe of leopard with matching accessories in different weights for each season? Same shoes as well.

I'll be in Paris at the weekend and I fully intend to pound the streets of the 1st arrondissement until I spy her again. I will charm her somehow in broken French with the promise of hot chocolate and cake at Angelina. Actually when I saw her the first time she was drinking a beer so maybe I will lure her with the promise of booze. Then I will ask her if she lives in a leopardskin lined apartment a la Vreeland? Does her butler wear leopardskin? Kitchen appliances? Quite apart from any leopardskin related questions, and I don't think I have ever before written leopardskin as one word quite so many times in quick succession, I will ask her about her life. What stories she must have to tell.

Friday, February 02, 2007


As you know I don't shop anymore. Nope. Conscious consumerism all the way. I just order things. What? No, that's not the same thing at all. With lovely people sending lovely things as well, it could give one cause to listen out for the doorbell in anticipation, (actually it's a buzzer that goes "aaack" in a rather startling 1950s manner, the noise of which once killed a bird Lola caught and who(m?) I was nursing until the RSPB arrived. They arrived and rang the bell. Little bird died of fright.)

Where was I? Oh yes the postman. So nowadays instead of answering the intercom and hearing "Read yer gas meter love" or " We is here to speak about Jesus", I often hear "Delivery for you."

And such goodness arrives. In the past month or so I have received - some from me to me, some from lovely people to me:

Dogwood postcards from Jen.
The totally compelling Supermodel by David Breskin from Lauren.
A Dolly Pendant from Kyo Hashimoto.
Fuel for my not-so-secret-anymore Marthadom from C.
I am waiting on a scarf and a boring but cheap top from the Toast sale.
Also the November issue of Poplife magazine which never turned up.
And my delivery of flickr moo cards.

Oops, also plopping throught the letterbox were The Beautiful Fall from Amazon,
Au Revoir Simone's CD,
er, a magnetic stamp kit,
and a eurostar ticket.

I am blessed by the magic of the internet.