SCRAPS...

*Right, so all I need for next spring/summer are the legs of an adolescent Russian/Eastern European model. OK. I'm sure someone's selling them on the internet...

*I hear on the grapevine that Sofia Coppola hasn't been resting on her pregnant laurels. She's been meeting with Charlotte Rampling. For what reason I don't know, but that's a collaboration I'd love to see happen...

*Apologies for the delay in posting my Bust Magazine Paris article. I don't have a scan of it but I have the pdf, I just don't know where to put it so you can link to it. Some kind of hosting fandangle? If anyone knows, let me know...

*I saw plenty of thigh high flat boots on skinny Parisian girls this time last year. They actually looked quite chic, usually toning down the Tina Turner connotations by pairing them with a chunky cardigan and jeans. Now I keep seeing them on chunky thighed British girls, often worn with inadvisable puffball skirts. I thought London was supposed to be the trendsetting city...

*I've forgotten the last time it stopped raining in London. The ground is so waterlogged now that the rain just slides around on the surface. Sometimes it seems to stop but water still leaks out of the sky and drips off the trees.

*Is it just me or wasn't the whole sporty vibe present in many of the collections so far hugely reminiscent of a certain late 90s Prada collection? Some used the shiny fabric, mesh and strips of vinyl as a starting point, which they then made their own. Others...


...referenced it more literally.
I'm onto you Ennio Capasa!
(Costume National ss/07)

DECADENTLY FRUGAL...

Oh, internet how I've missed you. You probably haven't even noticed I was gone, I know. But I haven't been able to read any blogs or anything online, much less compose a post on this one because the ow, ow, ow, agony of scrolling, how it burned my eyes and frazzled my brain. That's the punishment you get for ignoring for two weeks the fact that the entire left side of your body has seized up and your joints click loudly every time you move. You get a mo'fo of a migraine. I mean really, how old/drunk do you have to be to need a craniosacral osteopathy treatment to deal with the effects of going to a party two weeks ago? 30, and very, apparently. Ah, but I slept last night. Do you know how wonderful it is to sleep in a position that does not involve having to lie on your stomach and prop up your left hip?

Here is the post I kept eking out in dribs and drabs this week and to me it reads so very, very strangely. Perhaps because I was dosed up on various painkillers at various times and didn't bash it out in one draft like I usually do. But it's all I got for yous today. I'm off to catch up on Sarto.

I always get the feeling that half the people in my life think I am too frivolous and decadent, and the other half think I am not frivolous or decadent enough. The same conflict goes on inside me - I'm drawn to all things that enhance quality of life, then I feel guilty when I enjoy them. Somehow linked to this inner wrangling is that this week I re employed Granny Dragon's leopard print coat. (That was actually what our entire family called her; non family members addressed her simply as The Dragon.) Granny Dragon's arch manner would have had Anna Wintour cowering in a corner, but she did have a shit hot wardrobe. I've had this fifties A line black and white leopard print raincoat that was hers for years, but always felt a bit "look at me!" wearing it. Now at the ripe old age of 30 I've grown into it. Not literally but in the sense that I now wear the coat, it does not wear me. And frankly if you don't like it I metaphorically raise my middle finger in salute to you. See what the coat does to me? Soon I'll be quaffing G&Ts and referring to the window cleaner as "that dreadful little man". Anyway it's all in the attitude. And this coat does change me. Like a shield it allows me to ignore the frugal voices in my head. And do you know what I discovered, that I'm sure my Granny knew all along? Decadent frugality is the antidote to false economy.
I shall explain.
Wearing The Coat I went to the Post Office in Borough High Street. It was lunchtime and the queue stretched out of the door and along the street. Normally I would have waited, becoming increasingly agitated with each passing minute. So I left the queue and wandered down to the market to grab a bite to eat. I could have gone to Pret a Manger and paid about £7 for a sandwich and a drink. I could even have bought a very posh and delicious take away drink and sandwich to eat sitting on the kerb, costing about £10 from Konditor & Cook. (Who were single-handedly responsible for my gaining 12 pounds in two months when I worked near their bakery) But somehow due to the coat, I ended up seated at The Wright Brothers Oyster House with half a dozen oysters and a glass of white wine in front of me. I felt so guilty until looking around, the place was busy. No one else was simultaneously beating themselves up whilst slurping down oysters. Then I realised that my super fabulous lunch wasn't much more expensive than either of the other options. I must go there on a Saturday when they open at 10am for 'The Breakfast of Champions'. Apparently oysters are a great hangover cure.

Still sporting my coat I headed to Piccadilly and Jermyn Street where I had an appointment. I felt peckish - again, and my knee was about to fall off. Again I had choices - Starbucks, Caffe Nero, all the usuals. But hello one of my favourite places, The Wolseley. So again I chose the decadent option. The Wolseley does look a bit imposing from the outside, but inside it's just lovely. If you're ever visiting London I insist you go there for afternoon tea. You can sit in the main cavernous bit, but I like to sit in the salon to the left of the door as you enter. I ask you, how, just how is it preferable in any way to get a £4 slopped over the rim, gloopy caramel macchiato from Starbucks and drink it at a dirty table, than to be seated by a nice waiter at a corner table in the Viennese style grandeur of The Wolseley, peruse the menu, then order a hot chocolate made to your specifications? Pure melted chocolate in the base of the glass, topped up with milk (soya for me - cows' milk = pus = no thanks) and its own little whisk to blend the two together. You can sit there in the black and gold lacquered salon watching the clientele eat precision cut sandwiches and scones from tiered silver cake stands and the umbrellas bobbing along in the rain outside for hours. The only time the staff will bother you is for a friendly chat and to make sure you're ok. This costs THREE pounds. That's what I call good value, the other option is false economy.

At this point half the people reading this who know me in real life should be thinking “that’s SO the kind of thing you would do/say”. The other half, and the ones much more likely to actually be reading this will be thinking “why didn’t you have afternoon tea, then go for a manicure as well?” I love you all, but I would really prefer to go for a drink with the manicure encouragers.

My new inner mantra is "At the end, nobody will thank you for not living your life." I can adapt this to the situation, for example "nobody will thank you for choosing to drink a £4 caramel macchiato in Starbucks when you could have had a £3 hot chocolate at The Wolseley."

*Post painkiller update: I also remembered that the last time I wore that coat was years ago when I still lived with my parents. To get to the station I had to run the gauntlet of funny stares from the narrow minded inhabitants of our suburban commuter village, so I could hop on a train to London and civilisation. It was when the Eurostar first started running and I'd watch forlornly as it zoomed past wishing I was on it going to Paris. Who knew? I always look out for that station when I'm on the Eurostar and every time we pass it by without my noticing.

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?

LOVING LOVISA...

Since Paris Fashion Week starts tomorrow I thought it was a good time to profile a Paris based designer whose elusive clothes I've been chasing for most of this year.
I've briefly swooned over Lovisa Burfitt's aesthetic here before. What makes her clothes all the more covetable is the difficulty in actually buying any of them. The Burfitt collection is only stocked at TwoSee here in London, and they never have more than one or two pieces which are of course never the ones I want. In June I had an appointment to view the whole Burfitt collection at her press office in Paris and - laziness strikes again, I thought I'll just go and have a look in the shops that stock her collection instead. I went to all of them - admittedly there's only a few, such as Olga, and the collection is only produced in small runs. Could I find even one T - shirt? As soon as the shops received the T-shirts featuring her trademark illustrations of Kate Moss, or any of her supercute sailor shorts, they were snapped up. The shorts are now available online at Creatures of Comfort for those of you lucky enough to have no thighs. And that's the thing. It's more the whole vibe that gets my heart racing. The styling and photographs by Julia Hetta on the Burfitt website and the distinctive Lovisa look of previous collections.

I could never pull off those sailor shorts, (probably couldn't even get them on, harhar) and although I love the little mask and headpiece things, they're more of an editorial fantasy item than something I'd actually wear. Burfitt isn't on the official Paris show schedule but I'm sure she'll be presenting her collection somehow, somewhere low key in Paris and I'm pretty sure it will be amazing.
I reckon Selfridges will eventually pick up on her in a year or two, like they did with Vanessa Bruno and Isabel Marant. But for now I'll content myself with imagining I'm the kind of girl who could rock super long stirrup leggings and a white canvas micro rompersuit with heels. Sigh.


all images Julia Hetta
p.s: Lovisa's illustration work ain't too shabby either...

FROM MIUCCIA TO ME IN 2 SECONDS - A CINCH...

I've been so lazy lately. You know when you keep obsessively reading blogs, then you check your own, expecting it to have been updated? Then..doh!

So Prada and Marni caused quite a stir didn't they? I keep leaving comments on blogs all over the place that posted about them both, so I might as well cobble together my thoughts in one place since...(at this point I have re-written a sentence eight times re: my "unique perspective in the blogosphere" when it comes to both companies and then deleted it due to possibility of getting sued and/or sounding irritatingly coy and witholding. Like that last bit sounds. Gah.) Er, shaky ground. Moving swiftly on!

Even my dad mentioned the Prada show. What jumped out at me were the leather belts. And thank God, those tunics were supposed to be tops not dresses.

I loved the wide bands of brown leather and elastic at Marni worn over thin fabrics - swoon! It was the brown that really got my attention.

I'm not one to jump on every single trend but this one I adapted for myself immediately. Yesterday I wore vintage YSL navy sailor trousers (I still wear them D!) and a burgundy thin cotton APC painter tunic, with a brown second hand men's leather belt that wrapped nearly twice around my waist. It was definitely a nice step on from the wide belts in bright colours everyone's been cinching their waists with for ages.

And yep, I was too lazy to take a photo...

I really like the look of a floaty fabric tunic or dress with a bashed up, very masculine 'boyfriend' belt over the top.


images

THE PERFECT LBD - FANTASY & REALITY...

Yesterday I toddled along to Christie's South Kensington to have a look at the 20th Century Fashion & Accessories Sale. Christie's was both much better and much worse than I'd imagined. Never having been to an auction house in my entire life before I'd imagined it as some sort of grand building with marble floors, something like the V&A museum nearby - everything in glass cases and an air of hushed reverence for the beautiful artefacts.

In reality Christie's South Ken resembles more of a storage warehouse, with tatty grey corporate carpeting throughout, and is in need of serious refurbishment (except for the auction room which is wood panelled and therefore fits my narrow criteria for what an auction room should look like). When I arrived I discovered that as well as the sale I'd come to view, there were also amongst others, a modern design sale and a film memorabilia sale. Oh my God. Three of my favourite things. There was also a Barbie sale but I could never relate to her - I was always more of a Sindy gal.

I found it really strange that everything from all the various sales was sort of mish mashed together. I had to hold myself back from rearranging a room full of Eames chairs and the like into more aesthetically pleasing arrangements than the way they'd been plonked haphazardly around the place. Some of the clothes from the sale I'd come to view were in the auction room where a Barbie auction was taking place. Every time I moved my arm to get a better look at something and heard the auctioneer say "to the lady in the back 300 pounds, bang", I panicked I'd inadvertently bought a 1984 Rollerdisco Barbie.

Now, something else I couldn't help noticing were the staff. I thought The Sloane Ranger was extinct. But no, a whole tribe of braying Sloanes are alive and well, and working as interns at Christie's. Yes, the Hugh Grant hair, the pink shirt and beige jumbo cords, the fnar fnar guffawing - if that does it for you, get down there and take your pick.

So any - way...now for the good bit. Are you ready? I met THE DRESS. The first thing I saw at Christie's which I was not prepared for was The Original Little Black Dress. Made by Hubert de Givenchy in satin for Audrey Hepburn and worn in the opening scene of Breakfast at Tiffany's. The very same one I've watched a million times on Audrey as she gets out of the yellow cab on 5th Avenue and eats her pretzel, (or is it a bagel?) and coffee whilst looking in the window of Tiffany's.
This one...
Guide price (auction in December) ahem, £50,000 - 80,000. It was just there, on a mannequin right in front of me. It was roped off but I could get close enough to touch it and see every little gather at the waist. I can confirm that Audrey was a teeny, perhaps less than size zero waif. Smaller even than you'd think. In her films they used to pad her waist and hips out because she was so slight.

After seeing that dress I started to think maybe the staff/decor thing wasn't remotely important. I walked ahead to a glass case full of vintage Hermes Kelly bags which - if you were in the market for a Kelly were quite a bargain I thought. I don't know how much they go for in the end but a vintage one was certainly cheaper than a brand new one. There was apparently a Birkin but I couldn't find it. Wouldn't you rather have a worn in battered Birkin than a brand new one? Christie's - my new favourite shop. Ha! Although I did start to think I would not be entirely bonkers if I bid on something.

For example there was a beautiful 70s Ossie Clark dress in black crepe with red and yellow panels (lot 436) with a guide price of £200 - £400. You would have it forever, pass it down to your children - hmm wasn't really considering having children but the old heirloom justification seems pretty solid doesn't it? Everything I picked out as "would bid on in imaginary life if had sugardaddy" was black. They were the pieces in the best condition but were also classic and wearable.

There was also a gorgeous in person Balenciaga skirt suit (lot 249) in thick black wool - the brown jacket I'd seen on the website and liked was practically falling apart, as were many of the lots. There was also a black Gucci trenchcoat with this amazing red printed lining - mint condition - sold! And the best bargain of all: the original design that inspired designers which then inspired the high street to make the rip offs everyone will be sporting this winter. A 1960s Pierre Cardin mini shift dress in thick black wool jersey (lot 379, sold with alligator shoes!) £150 - £250. Bargain!

Speaking of bargains and speaking of LBDs I was on a roll yesterday. If you happen to be near Marylebone High Street and are a British size 12, do pop down to the Cancer Research charity shop. Because they have a black satin Prada classic knee length shift dress with a wide neck and 3/4 length sleeves. And they are selling it for £90. (It was there at 6pm last night, you might want to phone them first to check they still have it.) Really, could I give you any more hot tips? Yes, in fact I can also tell you that round the corner from there at Jezebell in Blandford Street, if you go downstairs they have shoes by Lyell and Rupert Sanderson on sale for as little as £50! (R.S shoes usually cost closer to £400).

*Grrr, there was no point posting pics of the lots because the quality of them on the Christie's website is so bad. (click the links, then click enlarge) Their website is the clunkiest, most unresponsive pile of poo I have ever been reduced to tearing my hair out by. Excuse the haphazard linkage, the site just wouldn't play ball. So it's not just the staff and the carpet that's stuck in the 80s!

BUST...

The new issue of Bust Magazine featuring my guide to Paris is out today. (Pages 48-49) If you're in the U.K and don't know Bust, it is, to borrow a phrase from them, about women doing cool shit. I love that.

**Bust is a U.S publication. Here in the U.K it's stocked only at Borders as far as I know. I'll try and post a scan of my piece when I figure out how you do that!

BEWARE LOW FLYING LOUBOUTINS...

Talk about airing your dirty laundry in public! I don't know who will eventually come off worse in this clash of the egos, but for today at least it provides a little insight into the kind of behaviour that passes for normal in the world of fashion PR.
Who said it stood for public relations?

via Almost Girl

ALL I CAN SAY IS THANK GOD FOR PETER JENSEN...

Otherwise yesterday's offerings from LFW prompted head in hands wailing of "No, no, no, wrong, so so wrong". I could appreciate what a kick arse cutter Todd Lynn is. The sharp rock and roll leather vibe is not my cup of tea, but compared to white bikinis that made even Lily Cole's thighs look a bit lumpy, polka dot bloomers and mono boob baring leopard print dresses it was a relief to see. There were O.K pieces in the collections I hated but the looks they sent out that no human would ever want to wear overshadowed any potential. Ack, I really was not expecting to have such a negative reaction, and slagging off people's work indiscriminately is not something I aim to do. It's just my personal opinion but I do find the kind of obvious, intended to be headline grabbing desperation of pulling those kind of stunts quite offensive.
One thing I really do like is off kilter preppy, and that's exactly what Peter Jensen's collection was.
I'd rather only mention the shows if I have something positive to say so the old er, commenting on LFW might be a bit less comprehensive than I thought.

image source

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A FASHION WEEK FREE ZONE...

With all the excitement of New York fashion week from afar I found myself thinking "what am I gonna do now it's over?" I was all "Is Lam the new Lim?" And "Did you see how long and perfect all those editors' legs are?" And then I remembered, "Oh yeah, it's London fashion week, here, where I am." I have to lay my cards on the table a bit here and say that I, like many others had written LFW off over the past few years. I found it really hard to be interested, and made disparaging remarks along the lines of "what's the point?" on this blog, and in general.

That is really because of my personal history (ooooh) with LFW and of working in the British Fashion Industry. Ten years ago (I'm not as old as that makes me sound) I was down there at the tents, involved, excited - working my arse off for the latest Great Hope in exchange for bus fare and a couple of free dresses. But of the three Young British Designers I worked for at different times - all of whom were lauded as incredibly talented, winning New Generation awards and getting oodles of press coverage, two went bankrupt at the height of their success, and the other went stratospheric and is now one of the most successful designers in the world thanks in part to the backing of Gucci Group.

It's just so risky, heartbreaking and as one of my old bosses once said " one minute you've got a six page spread in Italian Vogue, the next you're being evicted from your studio because you can't pay the rent". And the reality of that happening is not at all glamorous or fun.

When I started styling I would go to the shows, but then I just...stopped. Completely jaded, I just couldn't muster the excitement of old. It was too small, too unprofessional, the clothes often badly executed. And you just knew that there wasn't much point remembering these names, because most of them wouldn't make it to the nest season.

I tentatively think things are changing, and I was surprised to find that for the first time in a long time there are a few shows I'm interested in. Today there's Noir and Richard Nicoll. Tomorrow Jonathan Saunders and the big ticket of the week, whose front row pictures will no doubt be splashed accross the newspapers the next day - Bella Freud for Biba. Wednesday there's Christopher Kane and the lovely Giles who I'm not scared to like because he seems to have solid backing and business sense. Not likely to drop off the edge of the world next week. And PPQ and Erdem on Friday. That's a big turnaround compared to last season when I looked at the schedule and groaned inwardly.

Obviously it's my attitude to it that's changed - or there's just enough going on to pique my interest. I'm just dipping my toe in again. I was going to wait until all the shows were over then do a little round up of my faves, (usually London wouldn't get a look in) but I might comment just a little bit on this week. We'll see. Honestly, I know I sound it, but I'm not 108 years old.

OK GO!

I do believe this is the bestest thing ever.

p.s. Turn your speakers down if you're skiving at work!
via Amy Ruppel

And check out The Sartorialist's sterling snapping of fashion folk at N.Y fashion week over on Style.com.

QUITE GIDDY AND FEVERISH...

Oh mah sweet Lawd. I didn't think it could get any better than the Balenciaga exhibition I saw in Paris. I still haven't really got my head around the sheer amount of pristine condition, carefully archived pieces that were on display there. My favourite bit, apart from gossiping with E, was the video screens where they showed different eras of Balenciaga alongside each other. I was transfixed by the backstage footage - from the late 50's I think, where people were calmly sitting on actual chairs, models were wandering around sedately and Mr Balenciaga was taking his time over last minute adjustments. I half expected to see a butler come round with a tray of cucumber sandwiches and a pot of tea. I was born in the wrong era. So civilised!

But NOW Christie's is having a 20th Century Fashion and Accessories Sale here in London - which you can spend dreamy, starry eyed hours browsing here. There are 421 lots in all. I am quite taken with the Balenciaga mole fur lined jacket (Lot 243). It's so "Audrey relaxing during a break from filming when she was married to that Italian doctor bloke even though it's not by Givenchy".

There's quite a bit of (palpitating slightly now) impeccable 50's and 60's lots - mostly from bold face Parisian houses (The pics are terrible quality, you have to click on the thumbnails and enlarge to see any kind of detail). Although the actual auction is on the 28th September, it's open to the public between the 23rd and 27th September. Reserve prices are mostly between 300 and 500 British pounds which (ha!) makes it sound quite reasonable, but I wouldn't want to get into a bidding war with Cameron Silver and end up living on the street wearing a black gazar cocktail dress.

I can't wait to go and swoon, only I will have to wear a straightjacket so I can't do anything insane like register to bid.

SUPER KAWAII...

If you have Monica Geller tendencies (which I absolutely do) and gain joy and satisfaction from organising your underwear drawer, then THIS is for you.
It works! Oh the hours of fun I look forward to re-folding all my tops this way...

I found this through another blog but I can't remember which one, sorry for the lack of linkage!

I STILL LOVE YOU...

Yes, you Paris, you teaser. What a relief. I was a little apprehensive about this trip to Paris, after my last visit there a couple of months ago. I shouldn't have worried; I always have a completely different experience each time I go. I've experienced on various different visits the romantic Paris, fashion week Paris, tourist Paris, arty cultural Paris, literary Paris, student Paris, ex pat Paris etc etc - you get the picture. Last time I experienced 'cold shoulder' Paris.

But just before I left London this time I realised that I never allow myself to just relax there. Probably because I'm self employed and don't keep 'regular hours' I feel guilty so I always combine any trips with something work related, even though in my case something work related might be finding an interesting new designer or two and going shopping. I even feel guilty about the fact that that is part of my work! I'm starting to wonder who this person is that's judging me. Is it me, my conscience? Or what I think people will think? So even though I already feel guilty for work being something which sometimes gives me access to beautiful clothes and shopping on a huge scale, I kind of approach my Paris trips as if I'm prepping a styling job. I have my lists, and my information, I pound the pavements at such a pace to fit everything in, but I never just chillax, man. Once I worked that out and realised how ridiculous it was I decided to give myself a break. Literally. Even though I love shopping and clothes, for me it is also work. Did I just say the same thing in different ways about three times? Anyway. For me to relax I had to replace clothes with yum, food.

And I had a lovely, lovely time. I strolled about - sometimes looking at window displays, occasionally browsing in a couple of shops. It felt so good not to buy anything (whichever God judges me for buying bags at Vanessa Bruno was very proud) - I seem to have (temporarily I'm sure) cured myself of consumerism after throwing out so much stuff recently. I don't want more stuff. So I meandered and pottered, slowly taking everything in. I sat in cafes and thought about what I'd like to eat or drink next. I bought a couple of little things - a Charlotte Gainsbourg CD and some olive oil, but not some expensive investment piece of clothing like I usually always do. I suppose that's what NORMAL people do when they go on breaks. However I was tempted to buy the most decadent thing I have ever seen. GOLD PLATED PAPER CLIPS from purveyor of haute stationery Calligrane. They were beautiful round swirly ones that don't look like paper clips at all. In the end I bought the brass ones in the same shape because I couldn't stop thinking about all the other uses they could have except as paperclips. I should have kept schtum about that, now when I have my new chain necklace/belt/rings on people will snigger and say "Oh my God, she's wearing paperclips! And they're not even gold."

Pa-ris in fall...isn't that a song? There was no way I could think of to segue smoothly from paperclips...


I really did have a lovely time. Did I mention that? I went to the Balenciaga exhibition with the lovely Elisabeth and was also most honoured to meet the King himself, Negrito of Gritoland, and Mr. PrixdeFlore. At La Perle which has now become more mainstream popular since I first went there over a year ago (cos you know I'm so avantgarde) - still plenty of white jazz shoes but at the weekend lots of 'out of towners' and visitors who've heard about it.

I kept meeting Italian people everywhere which was great because I could actually speak to them in their language and not feel so bad about my hideous French. (At this point any Italians who know me will be thinking, "Lei non capische un cazzo d'Italiano" or something) But actually if someone addresses me in Italian, say at eight in the morning at the Red Kids market when I'm not awake enough for my brain to cut in and go "huh, but this is Paris, oh God am I using the right tense,and shit now all the French and Italian is mixed up, oh God they're gonna know". Then, I can speak Italian. And when I'm drunk of course.

There were also some other very important people I had to visit.


If you ever find yourself on the Quai de la Megisserie, with all the flowers, plants and pet shops please go and say hello to the kittens at Vilmorin. I have to visit them and you know, the staff, they just love me there. Oh how they chuckle indulgently when I play with the little ones through the gaps in the glass even though the entire place is plastered with 'Ne pas toucher, merci' signs. Not. Well what are you supposed to do when they stick their little paws out and want to play? I feel so sorry for them with their 1000 euro price tags, cooped up right next to puppies, yes puppies - how stressful! I used to worry about what, you know, happened to the pedigree kittens because I can't get my head around anyone wanting to actually BUY a cat in the first place. When rescue homes are bursting at the seams with cats that need a home, I really can't imagine that many people have 1000 euro's or more to spare on a kitten. But the man who works there and once, when it was quiet, let me take a little persian kitty out of the cage and hold him, told me they all go to good homes and I kind of really wanted to believe him. Oops I just wrote more about the kittens than anything else in Paris. You may have realised by now that mostly I prefer cats to humans, so there's no point trying to hide it.

I found a new (to me) favourite breakfast place as well. I usually go to Le Pain Quotidien which I love but it seems a bit silly because we have it in London and er, it's Belgian. So I was happy to discover that Heurtier bakery has a little cafe upstairs and they do breakfast. It's on Rue de la Verrerie and overlooks the little square at the end of rue du Bourg-Tibourg just before rue de Rivoli. The cafe has big plate glass windows overlooking the bustling square, and these cute pink and beige boucle tub chairs. The croissants are big and buttery, the tables are just right for notebook scribbling in peace and I was happy to be somewhere where all the other customers were French.


I have so much more to say but I think that's enough for now. So yay, I love Paris again, autumn may just be my favourite season there. I can't think of many things more beautiful than the Place des Vosges on a sunny day when the leaves are turning or the Place Dauphine, below....

LA, LALA, LALALALALA, LALALALALA, DOODOODOODOO...

......perfect breakfast, perfect lunch, mirabelles, mousse au chocolat


Certains l'aiment (chocolat) chaud at Angelina - fun to play with the little pot of cream, making swirly shapes before slurping its divinity. I can't believe I got high on hot chocolate, then I had to lie down.



In the important matter of the macaroon challenge I had a clear, hands down favourite. I went to both Laduree and Pierre Herme in rue Bonaparte and purchased ten macaroons from each, all different flavours. (No, I didn't eat them ALL at once!) Then I sat in the Jardins du Luxembourg under a tree and commenced my testing. It's a hard life. The first Laduree macaroon tasted pretty nice I thought. But as soon as I tasted my first Pierre Herme the jig was up. After the yummy smoothness of P.H and the subtle, balanced flavours - Americano Pamplemousse (Campari and Grapefruit) Huile d'Olive and Vanille - sounds weird, tastes divine, I didn't even want the Ladurees anymore. They tasted too crumbly, a bit gritty and the flavours too strong. And although I was trying not to judge on anything other than flavour, I must admit I preferred the experience of the Pierre Herme shop with its quiet professional atmosphere, to queueing up with a coachload of Japanese tourists in Laduree. It felt a bit 'Disney'. I hate that feeling, but maybe that's just me. So now I know I'm a Pierre Herme gal - how useful this information will be in daily life has yet to be asserted. Not that you know, I'd turn down a Laduree, or any kind of macaroon if you offered me one. Just in case you were going to.

BON{JOUR} APPETIT...

I am so glad I have a cold. (Although I feel sympathy for whoever has to sit next to me on the Eurostar tomorrow surrounded by my snotty tissues.) Because when I have a cold I have a BIG appetite. And what better city to eat your way through than Paris? Mmm creme brulee, oh fromage. Artichoke soup at Le Fumoir that is nothing more than a bowl of artichoke infused cream.

Let's face it, as everyone and Karl Lagerfeld knows, fashion and food are somewhat uneasy bedfellows. For God's sake I actually know people who think picking at a punnet of raspberries before pushing them away is "so filling" at lunchtime. Usually in Paris I allow myself a few little treats, but this time I don't care. I'm going for it. It's all about food. I'm going to have a croissant for breakfast every day, perhaps two.

Don't be alarmed, but due to my recent purging of clothes (see below) I don't really feel like shopping. Well, maybe just a leeetle bit then. But no compulsively going on a mission to all three Vanessa Bruno stores and both Isabel Marant stores just in case they have different stock. Ditto the other usual suspects. That wastes valuable Tarte aux Poires (which I find really hard to pronounce) time. I will swap my allegiance to these temples of style for other, tastier temples. Those of Laduree and Pierre Herme. I am determined to settle once and for all, based solely on flavour, all snobbery aside, which one makes the best macaroons. It is, I think you'll agree a tough challenge, but I will valiantly do my best to return with an answer.

I can't wait to go to Monoprix and buy my very favourite vanilla brebis yoghurts in the little glass jars with the stamped foil lids, and to the bakery to buy the good bread. Also somewhat un French I can't wait to go to the lovely Swedish Cultural Centre cafe where it's all light and bright and full of smiley blond people. Cinnamon buns they are a calling me.

And of course I can't wait to finally try the chocolat chaud at Angelina. This will be the equivalent of my visiting the Louvre for the first time on my 18th visit to Paris, though I'm sure it will be far, far less boring. Thank you so much for your recs, I have them all written down in my trusty notebook. Talking of which, I won't be taking my laptop - I'm only away for a few days so I will rely on that quaint old fashioned practice of scribbling in my notebook with a pen and taking beaucoup photos. I'll be waddling back on Sunday to tell you all about it...

A bientot!

SUFFOCATING UNDER THE WEIGHT OF MY OWN CONSUMERISM...

What would happen if you found a room where all the clothes you'd ever worn resided? Freak out maybe just a teeny bit? Searching my parents' loft for a box of various jeans I knew I'd stored there years ago I stumbled on pretty much that. At some point - maybe 12 - 15 years ago I had filled multiple bin liners and boxes with clothes and shoes to be taken to the local charity shop. Instead, they'd somehow found their way to the loft where they languished, before jumping out at me like ghosts. I didn't know any of it was there but now it sort of makes sense. I had felt the weight of too much stuff. I already had too much stuff I didn't need without this.

As I opened more and more boxes the only thing I felt was nausea, and surprise at my not very discerning quality control. I was also amazed at how tiny I was. I'm a U.K size 10 now but when I held up a pair of trousers or a skirt (bottle green lycra jodphurs?! White PVC A line miniskirt?!) the waistband was about half the size of my waist. One particular box had been sealed up - obviously to keep for a moment in the future - this moment when I would open it up and be glad I'd kept the carefully selected garments that had meant so much to my teenage self. (Funny actually because lately my teenage years have come back to haunt me once again. You think you're done with it all and then they go and bring back Lisa Bonet pants.)

But my teenage self had no problem with synthetic fabrics. Everything I pulled out made me want to vomit - save for some things I'd made myself at college or bought second hand in the first place. A bin liner contained 25 pairs of shoes which really only summed up about a year of my shoe wearing life. I didn't want to keep a single pair. Oh, feeling sick. Feeling guilty, knowing that since then I've had regular clear outs and got rid of stuff I liked more than this crap.

I learned something though. Vintage is the only thing that stands the test of time, probably because it already has. Keeping jeans (maybe ONE pair you absolutely love) is pointless. They will always be the slightly wrong cut/wash when you put them on again. Just get rid of them! I have to admit I did keep back a pair of Gaultier jeans with (arrgghh) Andy Warhol-ish FACES of famous folk like Marlene Dietrich and Marilyn Monroe woven into the denim. These were the coolest thing ever when I was 18, and I'll keep them for comedy value.

I suppose until now I've used my parents' place as a decompression chamber for clothing. I find it really hard to part with shoes and can always think of scenarios when I might want them again, pointy toed shoes will always come back round again etc etc. So I'll sneak them into my old wardrobe for a few years until I can safely say they have to go. I knew I had a lot of clothes, but after the lot from the loft got boxed up and sent off to Sense I made a start on the rest of the cupboards. I've been putting this off even though my father has said when he moves house soon he won't have space for anything of mine. I was thinking of hiring storage space, moving to a bigger flat even. Now I realise I don't need ANY of this stuff. I am going to be overwhelming charity shops and solidly ebaying for the foreseeable future.

My reaction to these blasts from the past was not one of nostalgia, it was very, very strange. I even took my last day at school covered in writing shirt outside and burnt it. I'd been keeping it all this time and suddenly realised I hated school, I can't even remember who most of the people who signed it are, why would I want to hang on to a piece of it? Because that's what everyone does and you're supposed to? Burning it was a strong reaction to have I admit, but that baby went up a treat (polyester...eugh).

But the guilt at the amount of STUFF I have bought over the years is still there. I came home and started putting things I never wear into bags, again for charity and ebay. Offloading all this stuff at the charity shop may make me feel better, and someone will want it, but the waste, oooohhhh the waste. It's not even about the money (although I winced at remembering how much some of these items cost - I was never a High St gal) it's the feeling that with all my recycling of household waste and interest in sustainability, I had completely overlooked the huge impact I was generating with my clothes shopping habits. I have always loved clothes and thought of them as my 'collection' the way people have stamp collections (that was my excuse anyway). I don't shop the way I used to - I rarely buy anything throwaway trendy these days, it has to last.

This year I've really enjoyed reading craft blogs where people make things by reusing vintage fabrics. And this chick certainly has the right idea. I'll be in Paris next week and what was on my agenda? Checking out the Cheap Monday jeans shop in rue de Sevigne and a bit of A.P.C. jeans action. I need new jeans you see 'cos I threw all the others away! What would be better? This is a new path for me, but for the sake of my conscience my next pair of jeans are going to be super stylish but somehow sustainable (but not second hand). Edun? Any ideas?

THE END OF SUMMER...

I do love a bit of accidental art, and even more so when it fits in perfectly with my 'end of summer, feels like I have to learn to make an effort with my appearance all over again' theme.

I saw a leaf poking out from the edge of this book and when I opened it up; TA DA! This is what I saw. The image is a 1950 Vogue cover by Erwin Blumenfeld. I must have put the leaves there years ago.

I have so many sewing projects, furniture renovation/re-upholstery ideas, other crafty projects, things to sell on ebay and blog posts brewing my head is spinning. One thing at a time.

The most urgent (and easiest) project is 'sleevies'. I can't find any elbow length gloves yet, which is not fair since the shops are full of cheesy Christmas decorations already. Where are the gloves? Even though it's not really cold enough yet my little wrists get chilly because absolutely everything I own, including my trenchcoat has 3/4 length sleeves. So the answer for that tricksy transitional season is sleevies. I have some cashmere sweaters that are too old, shrunken and felted from being thrown in the washing machine to wear as anything but an extra layer under another top. I can't bear to throw them away so I'm going to cut the sleeves off to make armwarmers, (don't laugh, it'll look good, just wait!) and maybe make little vests from the body. We'll see. I'll post the results when I've done it. Hopefully before next spring, eh?

Once the weather turns cold I feel like I need more 'stuff'.
Books, more books, music, films, scented candles, comfort food, MORE snuggly knitwear, blankets, copious cups of tea. A month ago I didn't really need much, just some sunscreen and enough water to drink. A girl could get quite depressed.

My survival strategy also includes getting outside whenever the weather allows and realising that this is the time of year all those stodgy British culinary standbys make sense.

Last weekend was a Bank Holiday which equals: Double Sunday! There were good things and bad things:

Saturday:
The bad: Cooped up indoors being a complete misery guts and hating the rain I had to get outside in the break between two rainstorms. I went for a walk to my local park as the sun was setting. The good: The light was beautiful and it seemed like most of the neighbourhood was out walking their dogs. The cool air on my face made everything seem better.


Sunday:
The good: We tipped the rainwater off Duckie's roof, put it down (perhaps the last time this year, sob!) and headed out to Knole Park in Sevenoaks for a National Trust breakfast of scones and Earl Grey.

Like the little rapscallions we used to be, we spent the day climbing trees, swinging from branches and doing handstands and cartwheels.
The bad: Waking up the next morning with aches and pains in my wrists and places I've long forgotten the names of: That bit under your tricep that goes from your armpit to your elbow? The front of your thighs?

Monday: The good: Finding beloved cafe (which really deserves a whole post devoted to it) Blue Mountain open for breakfast and happily tending to the hungover masses of South East London, with big English breakfasts and cappuccinos. I had The Full Monty breakfast which includes nice thick toast so you can make a bacon sarnie as well. (No photo due to ravenous gobbling.) The bad: Feeling pukey all day because of my breakfast gluttony.

And tonight? Fish and chips mate.

PANTS OF SLOUCH...

I admit I have spent practically the entire summer slouching around in these Lux trousers from Urban Outfitters. In fact I have them on right now! T.M.I? I was going to post a pic of me wearing them because in the Urban pic they look so awful, but when I took one of myself in them they looked just as bad! (Except the Urban Outfitters model must be about 4 feet tall because mine come down to just below the knee, and obviously I have much nicer ballet flats.)

I call them my Lisa Bonet pants because they remind me of a time long ago when I thought Lisa Bonet as Denise Huxtable in The Cosby Show was The Coolest Person In The Universe, and at the time she wore much more extreme jersey harem pants. They are sooo comfy and perfect for working from home/blog-arsing. Not quite track pants and just about acceptable as not being pyjamas for when you have to open the door to sign for deliveries. Otherwise I'd just stay in my P.J's.

But the Lisa Bonet pants were so comfy I started to wear them out and about as well. I just couldn't take them off. And what was the point if everyone else is just wearing jeans and loafing about? That's one of the good and bad things about London. No one is going to tut tut judgementally at you for having scraggly cuticles or going out to buy a loaf of bread with just washed wet hair, but it does make for laziness. Slippery slope...

I RATHER LIKE THIS ONE...

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says.
Yeah, I'm always callous at the end. and I'm a genius when it comes to irony.
(Rinko Kawauchi, The Eyes the Ears)

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can...what do you touch first?
Furry ear.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?
Repeat of The O.C.

4. Without looking, what time is it?
Midnight.

5. Now look at the clock; what is the actual time?
23.49.

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
Rain.

7. When did you last step outside?
Twenty minutes ago between my car and the front door.

8. What are you wearing?
Pansy print pyjama bottoms, a grey T-shirt, a silver necklace with a tiny star pendant, a purple blanket and stripy slippers.

9. When did you last laugh?
Last night when Caroline laughing was making me laugh.

10. Seen anything weird lately?
The backs of my knees in the Topshop changing room mirror.

11. What did you dream last night?
Ha ha, oh God you don't want to know.

12. What's on the walls of the room you're in?
Eggshell blue paint, a huge painting that belonged to my grandmother, a convex mirror that belonged to my other grandmother and some other things that didn't belong to either.

14. What do you think of this survey?
I like it but 13 is a good number too.

15. What's the last film you saw?
Streamside Day - part of the Pierre Huyge Celebration Park exhibition at Tate Modern.

16. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?
A bodyguard.

17. Tell me something about you that I don't know.
I never iron my clothes, and they look fine.

18. If you could change one thing about the world, what would you change?
One thing?

19. Do you like to dance?
Oui.

20. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
Gia maybe, but I'll probably change my mind.

21. Boy?
Carey.

22. Would you ever consider living abroad?
Absofuckinglutely.

THINGS TO COVET WHILE THE RAIN FALLS INCESSANTLY...

I know it's all about charcoal and grey this autumn/winter but colour co-ordinating with the sky is taking things a step too far. I want to escape, and the weather forecast for the next ten days predicts...more rain.
For now I escape by looking at lovely things and trying to resist buying them...


Jo Riis-Hansen's jewellery. I love the birdy.


High waisted jeans - controversial I know, but bear with me. Cut well like these wide legged ones by Grey Ant from Le Train Bleu they can be super flattering - as long as you have a waist. They elongate your legs and just think, no more builder's bum or chilly draughts blowing around your midriff. Cosy AND chic. Eh? Eh? I am sensing some resistance. 'Tis futile.


Okay I bought this book. For educational reasons. I blame you Ms Spinach! No one else to blame for the behind the scenes Marie Antoinette book though. Amazon just gives me twitchy credit card fingers.

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.

VENA CAVA, VENA CAVA, VENA CAVA...

...is the name I keep hearing everywhere, repeated like a mantra. I like the A/W collection but what I really, really like is this:



Super loveliness from the spring/summer collection. The photographs of it are perfect.

via Lena Corwin

I BOUGHT IT. I TRIED IT. IT WORKS...

I am such an innocent. So naive. There I was reading a blog I've been quite enjoying lately when it struck me. There was a cheery post nestled amongst the rest that was promoting an item so incongruous that I realised: DING! This person is being paid to promote some old shite disguised as something they are personally excited about and interested in sharing. This really bothers me. I don't mind too much if blogs have ads. It's not for me but I wouldn't go as far as labelling this an Ad Free Blog - although I like what Keri Smith does and that owl symbol is kind of cute. With ads you can see there's an ad at the side, and there's the content. Which is separate! Are blogs really going to go the way of many magazines and become thinly disguised advertisements? Does everything have to be stripped of integrity and turned into commerce? This lovely bloggy space isn't about that, that's why I bloody read them! Which is not to say that I don't enjoy blogs where artists or other creative folk show their work which is for sale. That's a different thing entirely. The thing I'm bugged about is the same way I'm bugged because a thirteen year old will go out and buy a lipstick credited in a magazine as the one used on Mischa Barton. When I know full well that the make up artist has used something completely different but needs to namecheck whichever brand she's getting free products from. It makes me CRAYZEE.

I think the reason this niggles me so much is because being something of a professional consumer and shopaholic, I regularly mention products I like. (So A.P.C should be shipping me the entire A/W collection for free just about now?)

Let me solemnly declare that I shall never and have never promoted or recommended anything on this blog that I am not totally into, and if it's a product I have paid for and tried it myself. And IF (wow I'm really ranting) I ever got a freebie in return for a review I would make it totally crystal clear that was the deal. AND what's all this shit about mentioning certain keywords to get more traffic? Seriously. Who does that? I'm sure if I checked my stats quite a few people would've dropped in via Google because I mentioned Charlotte Gainsbourg the other day. I mentioned her because I am kind of excited about her new film and album. If I wanted to do that I would talk about the "sexy housewife" look a whole lot more.

So, Bliss Steep Clean. I bought it, I tried it. It works.
When the weather was hot and sticky I'd come home feeling like city grime had somehow worked its way into my skin. No amount of cleansing or exfoliating helped. So I decided to have a 'Steep Clean' treatment at Bliss Spa. Having steep in the name should serve as a warning because it costs ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY BRITISH POUNDS. It's one of the most expensive treatments they offer. It's their 'problem skin' treatment and I'm sure they know that people with problem skin will do anything to make it better. That's the only possible reason I can think of for the price being so high. So if you have one make sure you fill the pockets of your robe with the cupcakes Bliss provides in the groovy chill out area, (where they play SATC on a loop) and drink as many smoothies as you can stomach. Maybe even pilfer the robe?

I settled for buying the Steep Clean at home treatment instead which comes in at a slightly more reasonable £32. It's in a tube and it comes out stripy blue and yellow like toothpaste. You have to rub it together in the palm of your hand until it goes uniformly green to (here's the science bit) activate the enzymes. It smells pleasingly of papaya and pineapple but doesn't appear to actually contain any. You massage it into your face and leave it for 15 minutes before wiping it off with a warm cloth. You're supposed to use it no more than once a week and I've used it four or five times so far. And you know what? It works. My skin looks brighter and clearer, more fine textured. It's a MIRACLE. No, it's not that amazing but it has evicted the stubborn grime from my pores. Oops, there's the doorbell - it must be FedEx with my two year supply of Bliss products.

MAYLE SAVES CHLOE?...

Now THIS is a rumour I can get excited about for a change...

...For about five minutes. In the Telegraph article Jane Mayle says both that she's not very good at having bosses, and that she never looks at archives when designing - which is kind of something one would do with the Chloe archives at one's disposal. Is she absolutely ruling it out or is it just nerves? How would you feel if you had gained a solid reputation amongst the fashion cognoscenti by doing your own thing, your own way - keeping it small for years, and suddenly this big old carrot was dangled in front of you? You'd probably be terrified. Of failure on a huge scale, of not thriving in a corporate big business environment. Of not actually wanting the life that a job like that brings. This is obviously all conjecture on my part, but since I mentioned Jane Mayle only yesterday - along with the fact that her clothes have until now been so hard to get hold of here in the U.K and the fact that her shop in N.Y would be one of my first ports of call next time I go there, makes me think that if she found a way to feel comfortable taking the Chloe job people would respond well. Her design aesthetic would be a perfect fit, but would she?

LINKAGE PART DEUX...

Me: I want to see that new film Gael Garcia Bernal's in

C: Who?

Me: Cute little Mexican guy

C: The one who was in that Ananas Peperones film?

Me: That's him

C: Oh yeah? Who directed it?

Me: That guy Michel thingy who did um, Eternal something of the er...

C: Thingummybob

Me: Yeah, and he did all those videos for um, you know...whatchamacallit

C: Should be good

The Science of Sleep (trailer here) isn't out in the U.K until 2019 - no actually it's November. But it's out in France so I'll be able to see it very soon in Paris. Vive La France and doesn't he look cute, I mean doesn't the film look good?

Charlotte Gainsbourg's in it as well. Her new album sounds lovely, although when I hear her and her sister Lou Doillon speak in English it freaks me out a bit. I always think they should sound husky and French, not like escapees from St Trinians.

IT'S SOMEONE'S BIRTHDAY...

HOW QUICKLY I REVERT...

If I could choose to look like anyone at this moment in time it would be Jessica Miller in the current Paul & Joe ads. I need that shirt, hair, eyeliner and a piano ASAP. I had to look a while before I realised it was Jessica Miller, she's usually made to look so hard edged and rock chicky.

I've been umming and ahhing over the Paul & Joe Sister collection as it trickles into stores here and there are some pieces I really like, although their website does not do anything - especially that gorgeous in real life trompe l'oeil top in look 3 justice. I think I'll reserve judgement until I go to Paris, where I'll have a proper look at everything at the enormous Paul & Joe emporium in Av. Montaigne - where I'm only going to buy a make up bag. What? Why is that funny?

Still on a bit of a frivolous fashion tip today since being thrust back into the world of work these past few days. I know, work - outrageous! I can't stop thinking about this Phillip Lim coat in Selfridges (sold without the funny fur bit). And those grey brushed herringbone tweed wiiiide M.J trousers with braces (suspenders to U.S people) we used, I need them.

I think I'll go and do something mundane like change the cat litter before I start saying things like "that's so a good look" and "camel is really not my colour; however I think I can work it if I add some interest at the neck".

Save me!

EDIT: Bad cat mummy! I was so wrapped up in fashion frivolity I left Lola outside during a thunderstorm. She is now wrapped up in towels, if a little sniffly.

DEBORAH TURBEVILLE/THE WAPPING PROJECT...

It took the promise of Deborah Turbeville to finally get me off my arse and over to The Wapping Project. I'd been meaning to go there but never quite got round to it. The chance to see D.T's work up close and not just on the glossy pages of a magazine was the incentive I needed. I was expecting The Wapping Project to be a bit wanky and pretentious to be honest. A converted hydraulic power station, it sits just behind the river Thames on a cobbled street, amongst shockingly expensive, beautiful wharf and Victorian loft conversions. Unfortunately Wapping also has its fair share of heinous crimes against architecture - known as the 'Luxury Executive Riverside Development'. I feel sorry for the aesthetically sensitive millionaire folk who live in the nice converted wharves on the river but have a view of these hideous floating casinos. Well, actually not that sorry. The Wapping Project is also bang opposite the oldest riverside pub in London, The Prospect of Whitby, which is pretty damn lovely, with a long zinc bar and a beer garden on the water.

So - I arrived at The Wapping Project just around lunch time (you can park there for free and it's not in the CC zone - total bonus) expecting it to be full of braying pseudo creative types who long ago sold their souls for a luxury wharf and a custom BMW, tapping away at Macbooks whilst simultaneously eating and talking on the phone. But no, it was completely empty and I was welcomed by the sweetest staff who enthusiastically told me all about the exhibition, the space and the lunch menu. And wow, what a space! Sunlight streaming in from all sides, I can honestly say this was the most beautiful former industrial building I've ever set foot in. Just really, completely stunning. Still with rusty girders, peeling paint and cracked tiles, the soul of the building was intact - you know when you go somewhere and it just has a really good feeling? I can't explain it better than that.

And Deborah Turbeville's work sat so perfectly within that space, the graininess, the detail of the individually worked 35mm negatives blown up to a huge scale, against the background of this building...I had to go round twice. I'll stop gushing for a sec and show you some photos I took...





I was already a big fan of Deborah Turbeville's work so it was great to see this and get the back story. It put the work of what I had previously considered a somewhat mysterious visionary into context. In a very condensed nutshell the story goes that 'discovered' by American designer Claire McCardell she worked as her sample model/assistant at a time when McCardell was the most important designer in the U.S. Diana Vreeland then gave her a job as an editor at Harper's Bazaar but it soon became clear that "she had a special vision that could not be contained". Richard Avedon took her on as his protege after she showed him some of her photographs taken on a shoot she was styling. Her six month training with him was the only photography class she ever took.

I feel I don't want to refer to D.T as a fashion photographer, although there's nothing wrong with being one. Her 1975 'Bathhouse' series published in American Vogue is iconic as is her work in Vogue's Italia, Paris and U.S and other magazines over the years - but her photographs are not really of fashion, they don't scream it. They are pictures of people, in haunting, dreamy settings. The clothes are most definitely not the main character. She says "Fashion magazines should be about raising the standard - but now because of the demands of advertisers they have to stoop to fit in with everything else." Amen.

I loved the way the images were shown, some blown up as canvases, but others collaged together loosely with pins, or hung on taut wires with bulldog clips, along with quotes scrawled in pencil on parchment paper. I felt I got much more of an insight into her process by it being presented in this way. The antithesis of your average, 'if you blow up any bog standard ordinary photo and stick it on a blank white wall in a gallery setting it will look great' mentality.

I haven't even mentioned the food have I? Well The Wapping Project is known for the food. They do Sunday brunch which I will probably never experience since they stop serving it at 12 noon. I won't lie - the food is expensive. They do lunch, afternoon tea and dinner during the week and brunch, lunch and dinner at the weekend. It's all completely open plan so I watched the chef preparing my lunch - I just took a starter and that was £7.75. But does the gushing stop with the food? Nope. I had scallops with pancetta on a pea puree which again sounds a bit pretentious and wanky but pleasingly complemented the pea green tiles on the wall. Pretentious or not, those were the most perfect few mouthfuls I have tasted for a very long time. In an 'if I was on death row that would be my last supper' way.



So yeah, The Wapping Project was ok, I suppose.

Deborah Turbeville
The Narrative Works Photographs (1975 - 1997)
Until 14 October 2006
The Wapping Project
Wapping Hydraulic Power Station
Wapping Wall
London E1W 3ST
12 to 10.30pm daily - Sunday to 6pm

HAPPINESS IS...

Picking blueberries from your very own blueberry bush...



and eating them for breakfast...

FRUITSTOCK: THE AFTERMATH...

Things I should have taken to Fruitstock but forgot:
Sunglasses, sunscreen, a blanket to sit on, non alcoholic liquid refreshment, a straw hat, a baby/toddler and cumbersome buggaboo stroller.

We drank and drank, and danced and danced with the sun beating down on our necks.
I was able to piece together the events of the day because I somehow filled my camera's entire memory with photo's of random humans. Apparently I was stalking a girl in a yellow dress and various blokes wearing sunglasses. I do not remember any of this. But the evidence is all there on flickr.

BELATED BLOGIVERSARY TO US!...

Well it seems it was our blogiversary on Tuesday! There I was, gadding about with lovely boys, feeling quite celebratory anyway. Later at home Lola was trundling around at my side and striking adorable poses for me to photograph wherever possible - and we forgot! I thought it was in October as that's when I started posting regularly from Paris. That was such a fantabulously inspiring time. But before then, the first tentative (not very interesting) post was on 1 August 2005. It seems like an age ago. Do you know, I actually had DIAL UP then?! One year (and a few days) later I'm happy to be a blog nerd. I can't believe how much things have changed in the past year, and for the better.
In fact only happy, happy, goodness has come from blogging.

Er, what happened to the celebration cupcakes I baked?

FUN, FRUIT AND FLIRTING - ALL INNOCENT...

Are you going to Fruitstock this weekend? I'm going to Fruitstock! How nice are the people at innocent smoothies? Fruitstock is free and it's full of good stuff, much like their smoothies except they're not free. After missing Fruitstock every year so far I.am.going.to.Fruitstock on Saturday because that's when the Puppini sisters, Nouvelle Vague, and the legend that is Norman Jay (MBE Your Majesty) are playing. I may tootle around the farmer's market, or do a bit of knitting or yoga - but seriously, by Pimm's o' clock you'll be more likely to find me staggering off the Pimm's bus in the general direction of the flirting tent.

Fruitstock
Regent's Park
Sat 5 - Sun 6 August
12 noon - 9pm

PARIS, PARIS...PARIS...

Yes it's that time again. I just booked my ticket for my next trip to Paris in early September. I'm only going for a few days but I still get that little tingle of excitement every time, even though it has become a kind of normality to be back and forth, and my last couple of visits there were, ahem - mixed. I have a back log of kick arse places I didn't have space to mention last time because I kept posting about how I wanted to kick various Parisian arses. So I might post about those places in anticipation. The best feeling I ever have in Paris is in discovering somewhere absolutely new to me. I think I still have a kind of fantasy Paris in my head that exists from before I ever set foot in the city, and which I'm still searching for.

I already have a long list of places I want to go next time thanks to the lovely blogosphere, including the Balenciaga exhibit at the Musee de la Mode et du Textile - thanks to BP for the heads up. And thanks to Julia in both her guises, I have a good few places to check out via The Flaneur by Edmund White. There's always, always somewhere new. You could live in Paris for years and keep discovering new places.

So, here's a plan: If anyone has a favourite place in Paris that I may not have been to, it can be as out of the way as you like - a cafe, bar, museum, shop, street - anything - let me know via the comments or email me and I'll check it out and post about it, thus allowing you to actually be there vicariously! Kind of.

I AM OLD...

When is the '80s revival going to be over? We've been plundering the depths for years now. I can't stand all this nostalgia anymore. '50s or '60s nostalgia - no problem, I wasn't there first time around. Yesterday I went high street shopping with childhood friend Gracie. The music playing in the shops was Rio by Duran Duran, then Holiday by Madonna. I tried on a pair of yellow jelly shoes (just for a laugh) which took me straight back to my childhood when I had 2 pairs in exactly the same style. I thought I was the epitome of cool with my jellies and yes, I admit it - floral jumpsuit.

Can we just get into the '90s revival please? I've had enough of getting into the groove (harhar). I get it - harking back to those carefree days pushes our nostalgia buttons, making my generation with our disposable income punch in our credit card numbers like good little sheep. But please, this is winter stuff I'm seeing now and - still gimmicky '80s! I think we passed saturation point some time ago. Now we're just regressing. Yesterday after seeing only and exclusively clothes that we had already purchased 20 years ago in child sizes, Gracie and I found ourselves eating sausage, 'potato' smiley faces and peas for lunch from the childrens menu at John Lewis' The Place to Eat cafeteria.

Later on, I intermittently watched the last ever Top of the Pops. I didn't catch all of it so I missed the '60s and '70s archive footage, but of course switched it on just in time for the '80s clips. Madonna wearing a pink wig and writhing around the stage - I actually remember watching that at my primary school as we waited for our school play to start. The Womble Song! I remember that too, rushing home (I must only have been 3 or 4) to watch TOTP on a Thursday evening. My memory for trivial things like this astounds me. I can remember The Wombles on TOTP but I can't remember my first day at school. Frankie Goes to Hollywood - rollerskating up and down the hallway singing "Relax, don't do it - when you wanna come!" at the top of my voice, having no concept of what the words meant. And finally asking my dad what a virgin was when Madge's Like a Virgin video (watch it here) aired for the very first time. He told me it was someone who isn't married. Quick thinking, Pa! So here I am on my own nostalgia trip, helped along by Jimmy Saville wearing a no doubt custom made for the occasion shiny gold tracksuit and brandishing a cigar.
I realise this will mean nothing to anyone who wasn't too young to know any better in the '80s, or who missed the golden age of TOTP.

What do you remember about 1986? Just don't get me started on Rubik's cubes.

FIDDLE, FIDDLE, FIDDLE...

Do please excuse us if you see funny goings on here for a while - we are caught with our drawers down so to speak. Now that I've managed to change the font I think I'm sooo clever. I am an html virgin taking my first tentative steps and tomorrow morning I'll probably go 'oh my god what the hell have I done?' And not be able to change it back.