WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT LOLA...

It is a fine and delicate line when one has a blog named after a cat. If it becomes too feline oriented, people start introducing you by saying, "She's got this cat blog," or family members say things like, "I'm sorry you're not having any success except with your cat blog interviews," and you become despairing. You slow down on a fine feature like Bloggers + Cats, then Karl Lagerfeld followed by Kim Kardashian get kittens and the entire world's media becomes cat obsessed and starts interviewing them.

If there is not enough feline content you are sent emails addressed to "Dear Lola," - this happens anyway, and she can't answer them unfortunately because she can't type. But still, what I'm saying is it's hard to get the balance right - Depeche Mode were right all along.

 In case anyone still thinks I'm Lola, here is what actual Lola's been up to the last couple of months.

    

10 YEARS WITH LOLA...

Today marks a decade since I brought Lola home from the cat rescue. She wasn't a kitten when I got her; she'd already had a litter of kittens, which is how she'd ended up on death row. We're not sure of her actual birthday, so this is her official birthday. In ten years she's gone from being a batshit crazy insane psychopath to a less batshit crazy insane very sweet, utterly contrary, endlessly amusing, incessantly demanding, scrupulously self-cleaning, badass sidekick and snuggling companion. And she's still full of surprises: it took me ten years to realise how much she loves wearing hats (see sombrero).

Happy Birthday Loly!

POST...

Lovely Tiffany sent us a beautiful surprise package of petites choses from Paris so that we didn't miss Paris so much. Isn't that the most amazingly nice thing ever! It was such a fantastical mystery - first the package came wrapped in cat wrapping, carefully opened to reveal the little packages inside - also beautifully wrapped - then a funny and sweet note explaining about how the macaron didn't make it into the package! We loved it, especially the macaron confession. Lola assumes that everything that arrives at this house is a present for her, so I told her this pink shell was a beret for cats.

Merci Tiffany! xx

CAT CURIOSITY...

Since the very beginnings of this blog, I've been conscious of (but perhaps not successful at) not coming across like a totally crazy cat freak. This blog may be Lola in name, but there is very little of her in these pages. It would be a very different blog if I filled it with stories of Lola and Georgie, Lola and Beans, Lola and Omar and Sophie, Lola and the squirrels; or her thoughts on the current sociopolitical climate. It was while I was watching the news with Lola beside me, increasingly falling into despair at the state of the world, that a thought occurred to me. My first thought was how I find felines preferable to humans in most cases. This blog actually used to have a tagline expressing that very sentiment back in the olden days. My second thought was that perhaps my self imposed restraint with cat related blog content was no longer necessary. And what is the spirit animal of the internet anyway? Exactly. In fact, couldn't a bit of lighthearted cat blogging be just what we all need right now to lighten the load. I think so.

It just so happens that many awesomely incredible bloggers are also crazy cat ladies the owners of some awesomely adorable felines. Yes, I used the word awesomely - twice. This is a lighthearted cat freakery post - I will talk about A.P.C. some other time. So, my lovelies, if you've always wanted to know more about those elusive felines you've seen lurking on windowsills behind your favourite bloggers, or whose paws/tails you've caught glimpses of on flickr, now is your chance. It's also possible that we've all meme'd each other out to the point where none of us can come up with seven new things that people don't already know about us. But no one ever asked Lola what her favourite colour is did they? (Fuchsia btw.) Cat interviews are clearly the next logical step and I am taking that step. The first interview will be up tomorrow - here's a preview:

Can you guess who it is yet?

DARK SIDE OF THE MOON...

I'm here to tell you that the Toujours Toi Dark Side of the Moon necklace is on sale today and it's 50% off, but just for today!

Oh, I had ideas, I had great plans to shoot this necklace but...

I had to fire my model for insubordination and move onto using inanimate objects as a model. (A lampshade. No claws.)

{The other photos I took of Lola attacking with the necklace were too disturbing to post.}

12 DAYS OF LOLA...

On the first day of Lola my true love sent to me
A Poire Williams liqueur filled chocolate pear,

On the second day of Lola my true love sent to me
A pair of Lee Hale rose thorn earrings,
On the third day of Lola my true love sent to me
A Russian hat, an ice scraper and one of those Ipod plug in things for the car,

On the fourth day of Lola my true love sent to me
More than four hours of sleep,

On the fifth day of Lola my true love sent to me
Five pouches of Dreamies cat treats andehfasuf,lm' - wait, hang on my keyboard's been hijacked,

On the sixth day of Lola my true love sent to me
The Ann Demeulemeester boots I want half price in the sale and lalala, five other things,

On the seventh day of Lola my true love sent to me
A New Year's Eve that doesn't suck in any way,

On the eighth day of Lola my true love sent to me
Eight Bloody Marys for my hangover,

On the ninth day of Lola my true love sent to me
Nine handsome suitors,

On the tenth day of Lola my true love sent to me
This Macha ten strand ring,

On the eleventh day of Lola my true love sent to me
Eleven places to travel in 2010,

On the twelfth day of Lola my true love sent to me
Twelve reasons why this was a badly thought out and poorly executed idea and I really can't think of anything else, except to say thank you dear readers - for reading, for commenting and for coasting along with us in our corner of the Internet.

Merry Christmas x x

DEMOCRACY...

How unfair of me to have named a blog mostly about clothes, after a cat who can't even wear them. Granted, her natural markings blow any Alexander McQueen digital print out of the water, but still. As much as Lola would love to dress up, the options for cat attire have, until now been limited to gimmickry. Not really her style. Until now...

At first, I misread the article and thought it said you could contact United Bamboo to buy a cat outfit. Unfortunately it's only to buy a calendar featuring cats in outfits. Probably better for my poor, already claw lacerated arms not to give it a try. (And don't tell me to try and pull a sample - Lola is, ahem, not sample size.)

{via Refinery 29}

STONED...

Playing nurse to Lola, who alternately face plants in her food, stares at the wall for hours or lies purring with her little head cupped in my hand. She doesn't seem to be aware of the huge bald patch below her collar. Heavy sedation prior to manhandling, an anaesthetic, 3 x-rays, numerous blood tests - and this very expensive (but excellent value!) animal is home with a course of painkillers and a report of no broken bones.

QUIET...

Sorry it's quiet here. Lola has injured herself quite badly trying to jump up from the garden, while the steps that I fell through were finally being replaced. Bizarrely it was the top step that I fell through and the very same top step that she jumped through, which hurt her spine and hind legs. I had to call out the emergency vet at midnight on Saturday night who gave her an injection (and almost got her expensively manicured hand bitten off). Now I have to keep Lola in, make sure she rests and give her painkillers, which seem to help, but we're not out of the woods yet (why do people use that expression?) I might still have to take her to the vet for more tests under sedation (she's more tiger than moggy) - she may have damaged the nerves that enable her to perform daily necessary functions if you know what I mean. And that would not be good.

HOW TO MAKE BEAUTY LAST...

The answer is that without the beauty in the picture there would be no Lola Is Beauty. Without Celia Hammond there would be no Lola - well there might be a Lola but she would have a different name and would probably not be allowed to sunbathe on her owner's sofa. She might even be dead.

For it was, one not very warm August day seven years ago that I entered the Celia Hammond Animal Trust with a brand new cat carrying case. I had been visited by the cat social worker to judge my suitability as a cat mama of course; plying her with cups of tea and tales of my many years of responsible cat ownership. Sweetly, they try to match you with the right cat, much like in any other adoption process. I said I didn't mind an adult cat, or one with issues. (Time to bring out the violins.)

The cat she was thinking of had a long list of previous and had been at the rescue centre for four months - about the cut off point for caged up insanity. She had been brought in by her owners because they hadn't had her neutered, she was pregnant and they didn't want the kittens. The Celia Hammond Animal Trust took her in, she had the kittens, they were all re-homed as everyone wants kittens, she was neutered (all free of charge) and they phoned her owners to say she was ready to be collected.
They didn't want her anymore.

This cat was displaying all the signs of psychological disturbance and they were pretty pissed off as had they known her owners wouldn't take her back they would have kept at least one of her kittens with her. This would have made her much easier to re-home and might have avoided the trauma of her trying to search, in a 2 foot cage, for her suddenly disappeared babies. She had been re-homed once and was brought swiftly back after attacking a child. They said I could come and see her and if I didn't want that one there were others I could look at.

Our eyes met across a crowded room - quite literally the small room was stacked floor to ceiling with cat cages, with some grouped in the middle. They do an amazing job there, but especially in the summer that place gets seriously overcrowded with unwanted cats. But I knew it was her straight away and she was looking at me wide eyed as if to say please, please take me away from here. I was only allowed to stroke her with a wooden spoon in case she bit me. I had tears in my eyes and was only able to look at the lady and nod. As we went off to do the paperwork the cat gave this plaintive miaow as if not again, how could I leave her?

Ten minutes later I was the owner of a very large, very psychotic tabby cat. After I'd struggled to lift the carrying case into the car I got in and looked at the cat I was going to call Matilda. She looked back at me with her mischievous look and right then I said no, you're a Lola.

So that's the story and it's all thanks to Celia Hammond, legendary sixties supermodel. It's always bloody Twiggy this, Twiggy that, not that I've anything against her and it's probably because she's still in the public eye that we selectively remember only her. But Celia Hammond was just as much of a big deal - if you look at Vogue covers from that era it's always her. And Jean Shrimpton was so, so amazing and was a sixties icon two or three years before Twiggy popped up with her every move and thought controlled by Justin de Villeneuve. Celia Hammond was protesting against the use of fur as early as 1967 and went on to set up her animal rescue centres. Jean Shrimpton left the limelight behind and now runs a hotel and restaurant in Cornwall.

{photos: Celia Hammond - Terence Donovan, Jean Shrimpton left - unknown, Jean Shrimpton right - David Bailey}

LET US EAT CAKE...

...Because today we celebrate three years of Lola Is Beauty!

**fireworks, party streamers, smattering of polite applause**

To mark the occasion we're going to have a little competition. See that tag line up there? You may not have even noticed it. It says, "If I could train her to make me a cup of tea every morning I'd swear off humans forever." Now, that is one long tag line I'm sure you'll agree - and frankly, whenever I happen to glance at it I'm reminded of the fact that Lola (who is a cat in case you hadn't realised) is never going to tap me gently on the shoulder at 8am and pass me a steaming cup of PG Tips with just the right amount of soya milk. Also, I seem to be generally less wary of humans than I was three years ago.

So the tag line is moribund, useless, time for a change, eh? I don't even know if I need a tag line but if anyone comes up with a catchy one that I like I will use it. And I might even throw in a signed photo of Lola.

Lola has specifically requested that all you lurkers out there, including friends and family who think I don't know they read this blog regularly and never comment (I can seeee yoooouuuu) join in.

It is her wish.

If you don't want to think up a tag line, then tell us what your favourite cake is (as if we need encouragement). I hope I don't get confused and end up with Battenberg Slice for a tag line.

No pressure! Come on, we don't bite (well I don't).


{top image: Paolo Roversi, bottom image: me using this thing via her}

HOUSE OF POORLY...

The lack of bloggage is because I've been down all week with that virus that's been going round. I'm sure you probably have it, or have had it too (in which case I empathize entirely and also ask that you stay at least 5 metres away from me). I know next to nothing about this kind of thing but I thought that human flu and cat flu were not cross contaminatory. (I just invented a damn fine word.) If so, I think we have just made history.

The little one: yesterday she kept lashing out at me, which I put down to her being bored with my repetitive entertainment repertoire of sleep, vomit, wail in agony, clutch at stomach, sleep, vomit, repeat, etc etc. Then this morning she was a little bit sick. Hmmm still a bit grumpy. Then she literally stole the snuggly thick cardigan from my back by kneading at it - you know that piano playing thing cats do - reminds them of being kittens or something. So I gently took it off as she was so into massaging?! it and she climbed inside it, made herself a little nest which covered her completely and she did not emerge for six hours; sometimes emitting a little shiver or sigh which let me know she was still breathing. I wasn't too worried until I offered to put on Sex & The City series 2 and/or the free DVD I got of the first ever episode of Dallas and she wasn't interested. Poor Loly.

STILL...

I still love Burfitt.

I love the continuation from season to season, the choice of the same models and Julia Hetta's photography. Burfitt has such a strong identity that makes me want to live in it.

Even though it's now stocked in (gasp) Urban Outfitters which I feel conflicted about. On the one hand it makes it far more likely that I'll actually be able to OWN a piece of elusive Burfitt clothing, instead of haunting the boutiques of Paris and TwoSee here in London to find it all sold out. Course, it's also good for Lovisa Burfitt financially and she'll be able to do more with that injection of cash but...love/hate Urban Outfitters. You know.

It's like when your favourite song gets used in a car commercial.

*Also, it's an oldie but since it's Lola's birthday today I thought I'd let her post a link to her favourite band who'll be playing at her party tonight...

TWO YEARS, AND STILL NOT ONE CUP OF TEA...

Hello. Today is the second anniversary of Lola Is Beauty. I've never even had a job that lasted two years so this, I think, is a milestone worth mentioning.

It's funny, because for one, the title Lola Is Beauty makes no sense to anyone but Lola and I, is grammatically incorrect and really, anyone looking here would think this is a blog about my cat, Lola, or that I was called Lola and was interested in beauty products or something.

Well, Lola is beauty is just one of those phrases that came into usage around here due to the fact that Lola is not just A beauty, she is not just beautiful: She IS beauty. So there. And of course in the official language of Cat this statement makes perfect sense. I used to say it to her all the time, though now the phrase has entirely different connotations and I type it about twenty times a day. I now say different things to her in cat language and there is absolutely no way I am going to relay those phrases to you here.

And then there's the tagline. It should probably read, "This is not really a cat blog" or, "I like clothes and Paris". It's true though, she has not even mastered the simple act of paw to kettle switch, paw to kettle switch. I tell her and she just looks up at me and goes "Mi". And then I feed her. Today she has special anniversary Sheba which, in her excitement at not having to munch her usual diet food she has just gobbled down in one go and will possibly now be sick. I heard a burp.

Anyway most blogs have funny names and you've still managed to find it haven't you? Oh, I wasn't going to make it that easy by calling it something obviously to do with style or fashion or anything (hehe good one, if I can only make it sound like I did this on purpose instead of just randomly naming it when I first started and didn't have any idea that people might ever read it.)

The one thing that's changed in the last two years is Mademoiselle Lola herself. I don't think I've mentioned the whole rescue home trauma, get the violins out sob story of how I came to have her, but when I started this blog she was a borderline psychotic, completely neurotic cantankerous tyrant who could turn from cute to murderous in about quarter of a second. Now she has mellowed, she's just my little furry companion, following me round everywhere purring. No one believes me, her reputation precedes her but she hasn't scratched or bitten anyone for about a year.

So there, I wrote a cat post. Phew, breathe, don't be embarrassed. Hey - I'm allowed to, it's our birthday. (Disclaimer: our house does not smell of cat pee and I do speak to other people besides my cat.)

We are very happy to still be here in our little corner of blogland and hope you'll continue to enjoy reading - for as long as Lola can be bothered to dictate the posts.

If you'll excuse us now we have some butterflies to chase and some sunny patches in the grass to stretch out in.

MEH. GRR. ETC...

We (by which I mean Lola and I) are most perturbed - disturbed even. Since 7.30am there has been a Polish plumber and his mate ripping pipes out from under the floor in the flat upstairs, which was supposed to happen at the weekend when . I . will . not . be . here. How, I ask you, are you supposed to eat the VERY LAST of your eurostar smuggled Pierre Herme macarons with all that racket going on? (If you want to see what all the fuss is about re: PH there are some good pics here.)
And I was saving the Abricot Pistache until last.

This week we have been mostly: 1: Hating London. 2: Doing that annoying and completely futile comparison thing where you compare everything in London to the way it would be in Paris. 3: Blaming all ills, petty annoyances and problems on London/England. 4: Not helping: Walking (yes walking! Being in Paris cured my foot somehow) through the city at lunchtime watching investment bankers rush in droves clutching sad plastic bags with plastic sandwiches in, talking on mobiles saying, "re-mortgaging's the only option..blah blah...terms of contract..blah...shall be instructing my solicitor.." and realising with absolute certainty that I have nothing in common with these people, and even if they earn 100 times more than I do, their quality of life sucks and I think they are all insane.

We, well I (since Loly has never been to Paris and is only grumpy if you try to pick her up) have been very busy with the above - moaning, complaining, being generally grumpy and so have not lavished this space with the attention it deserves. For this we apologise and make amends with this picture of cuteness.

EARLYBIRD...

Well, well, well. So these are the kind of shenanigans the sky gets up to when I'm still tucked up in bed.

By the time I wake up the sky usually has a uniformly grey pallor, spitting drizzle as if slightly annoyed. Now I know, it's just got a hangover after all that early morning partying.

The only reason I was up at that ungodly hour of sunrise was because of my own partying. I awoke to discover my boots on the floor beside me, still with jeans and socks inside. I had cat scratches all down one arm which I have no recollection of receiving.
My cream tunic/dress thingy was covered in day glo pink splatters which could only have been achieved by pouring a particularly sickly sweet cocktail down one's own frontage.

And so I was up at 7am washing my tunic/dress thingy. My earlybird wishes granted just this once.

As the day kicked in, the sky went back to normal. Red sky and shepherds...

So I went back to bed.

It's that strange time of year - in betweeny. Nothing is as it usually is, there are people everywhere displaced from their usual routines, happy to have some time off to spend sitting in traffic jams on their way to and from retail parks. It could all get quite depressing.

See what I mean?

However; some of us are merely confused:

HAPPILY MUNDANE BUT SPIC AND SPAN...

This past week we have gone into nesting mode. (That wasn't a royal we, it was a Lola and I we.) I have my new magical toe warming winter duvet which makes it very hard to leave my lovely bed, and which Lola gingerly picks her way across as if through deep snow. It's THAT fluffy.

Duckie is with Uncle Stevie for her yearly M.O.T, a new roof, new chrome bumper, and oh God all the things I've been putting off for about two years. I'm so glad I have my new duvet to hide under when I find out how much this is all going to cost. I miss Duckie though, even when she's away for two days. I walk down the street thinking, "Why isn't everyone smiling and waving at me?" At least she gets to visit her other Figaro friends. We (that's a we as in Duckie and I) were very impressed by this resprayed black one (the work of clever Uncle Stevie) Duckie's nuzzling up to here.
Actually if we moved to another country we would have to factor in the cost of flying Uncle Stevie over for Duckie related maintenance because no one else, ESPECIALLY NOT THOSE IDIOTS AT NISSAN can be trusted with her.

I don't mind staying at home when the view from the window looks like this.

I could look at that red tree all day. It really is extraordinary, I can't remember the name of it.
Yup, we have hunkered down, I am very excited by the prospect of Jane Eyre on BBC one this evening and wish I had a patchwork quilt on the go or perhaps some knitting to do while watching it. I am not going to make a quilt because I will never, ever finish it. It will be my life's work, I imagine finishing the last square just before I die, then some house clearance person will come along and use it to wrap all my valuables in, then throw it away. What a lovely thought?! Maybe I'll make a patchwork cushion to start off with.

I was going to make Lola a sock monkey to replace her icky catnip filled sock which was covered in drool and looked frankly, highly distasteful. I ended up buying one and performed a simple surgical procedure to insert the catnip into his stomach.
Lola shows her love for Monkey by sitting on him.








I've sewn on lost buttons, re-upholstered my dining chairs, and cleared out all the cupboards. It's as if I'm getting everything spic and span in preparation for something, though I don't yet know what that something is. I'm pleased to say my consumerism turnaround seems to be more than a passing phase. I seem to want fewer things, but I want the things I do buy to be lasting treasures. My new obsession is with (discreet!) monogramming, headed paper and ooh, the one that really gets me excited: personalised rubber stamps. There's just something about it. My grandparents, and in the past my parents had initials inside everything, and I remember the regular Saturday trips to the stationers to pick up a new box of our headed paper and envelopes. So maybe it's just nostalgia, I'm hankering for something real, in ink, stamped I dunno, on something, anything(!) as a reaction to this life of emails, downloads, text messages and impermanence.

QUESTIONS, QUESTIONS...

Q:
1: Why does that big spider only have six and a half legs left?

2: Who has hidden my sock?

3: Why have I woken up with blood dripping tooth marks on my arm and a vague memory of being attacked during the night?

4: Who doesn't understand the concept of rain, and still insists on running out, then coming back four minutes later to be dried with a fluffy towel?

5: Who is going to have to start seeing a psychiatrist if they don't stop with the biting?

WE HEART MAIL...

I/we received a lovely package in the post from the U.S of A...

...from Cori for the flickr photoswap

I love them! Thanks Cori...
You can see her other photos here.
And all the photoswap photos here.

IT'S SOMEONE'S BIRTHDAY...