EASTER...

How was your Easter? I went on a bit of an eating rampage over the long Easter weekend. I mean, you're supposed to aren't you. From Thursday night through until Monday night's grand finale roast chicken, everything I ate was delicious - and I ate everything. By Sunday my mantra was: I'm going to stop on Tuesday.

I would also like to take this opportunity to thank all the people who went away for the Easter weekend - London without many people in it is lovely.

On Monday we sped through empty roads to Petersham Nurseries and I gorged myself some more - then gorged on flowers and I took about eight billion photos.

LET THE RIGHT ONE IN...

It's been a very long time since I loved a film this much.

INTAKE...

I've been taking things in, rather than expressing them lately; hence the current sparseness here. I could fill up the space with any old content every day when I don't have much to say, but I think you'd tire of it fairly soon and I don't want to clog the blog, as it were.

I've been inspired by a lot that I've been reading online recently and I'm really excited by the thought that (let's call it) The Current Global Situation (in lieu of using the R word) could be helping people reassess how they live and bringing new ideas and creative projects to life. I'm especially excited that the Internet might even be helping us to communicate and define new common ideals instead of going straight back to a world of mindless consumption. Sounds a little rose tinted? Maybe. I suppose if you get your information from the Internet, as opposed to the one track feed of mainstream media, you can always find something that fits in with whatever you want to believe. But I can't help but pick up on the amount of buzz I'm hearing on this subject, and it wasn't something I set out to look for at all.

Scout - Holiday just posted about Merci and I can't wait to go there the next time I'm in Paris. It's such a good idea - and a win/win for the people behind it. I can't imagine a huge concept store where the stock is donated by the makers, and the profits go to charity really flying in Paris even a year ago. There's more information about it here.

Pia linked to this post by the editor of Dumbo Feather. Instead of hunkering down, I propose we band together, support each other, buy local, and most of all, use the adversity as a challenge to come up with new ideas and ways to use resources more efficiently.

Also, I've been loving Jason Martin's clear and thoughtful guest posts on designsponge this week, in particular Who Is Your Home? (Worth reading even if you know exactly who your home is.)

I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE...

The premiere has happened, it's being released in France on the 22 April, no official UK release date as yet. I hadn't realised it was adapted from the Edmonde Charles Roux biography of Chanel, which is the best biography - of anyone - I've ever read. Sigh, those pyjamas are fantastic, sigh.

FULLY DOMESTICATED...

Lola is still confused about why I have taken away her favourite place to sunbathe: the goatskin rug (location of many a Lola photoshoot) - I have tried to explain where it's gone but the words "infestation" and "landfill" aren't in her vocabulary. Still, she's been trying out a few new spots.



For someone who categorically hates fitted kitchens, I am feeling quite potent lust for this one, seen on The Selby. I just want to rip my kitchen out and make it like that. Somehow, I've got back into cooking again and I am now fully hooked on the Tamra Davis Cooking Show. I may not have little kids in tow (or be married to Mike D) but these coconut macaroons took me 12 MINUTES to prepare and cook (then about two seconds to eat six) Oh, I left them undecorated as I'm supposed to be a grown up. It's mostly easy and fast stuff, using healthy ingredients, which I'm into. My only complaint is she uses a lot of Seitan, which as far as I'm concerned is Satan.

I made a pompom! See, I am Martha. The instructions are here. The only thing was, it was so perfect it didn't look right. Then I suddenly thought of that bit in the Marc Jacobs/LV documentary where their flower corsages arrive and they have to fuck them up to make them perfect. So I set to it, crumpled it up and attacked it with pinking shears. Now it looks much better.

THE QUEEN...

...is miniscule! Everyone keeps going on about engraved IPods and whether Michelle touching her back broke protocol; or that Prince Philip made a gaffe (hardly a newsflash). But nowhere is it mentioned that Her Maj has shrunk. I know Michelle is 6 foot 3 or something, but ER barely grazes the mantelpiece, she's only just taller than a table lamp. Sorry but that's news.

{photo: Photo Pool/Anwar Hussein Collection/WENN.com}

CURSES, FOILED AGAIN...

This morning I was looking forward to a day of playing hooky, which is one of my favourite things to do. I find almost all experiences are that much sweeter when you're supposed to be doing something else. (Also known as le grand procrastination.) I had plans, big plans, to drive all the way to Charleston in East Sussex, which I told myself was "research" for something which with a little (a lot of) imagination I could consider the "precursor" to what I'm actually supposed to be working on, which is to do with 1960s mod fashion, so obviously it is vitally important that I thoroughly investigate the 1920s artwork of the Bloomsbury Group. I was supposed to be going to Charleston with a friend who lives down that way, when she can get her hubby to babysit her wee ones, but I am very impatient. This is how I always end up watching films twice at the cinema, because I cannot wait for the person I promised I'd watch a certain film with to become available. Schedules: boo, spontaneity: oui. Charleston kept calling to me, knowing that today is the first day of the year it opens to the public. Everywhere I looked this morning I saw Bloomsbury influenced things. I thought how nice it would be on an actual rare sunny day to drive out of London, away from the unrest and into the countryside. Ahhhhhh....



Like an old, responsible person I check the oil, screenwash etc levels of my car. I bring a jacket in case it gets cold. I drive approximately half a mile and become aware of someone whistling and clappping. Bloody pervs, I think. The boy at the bus stop catches my attention and shouts, "You've got a flat tyre mate." Long story short: I make it to a nearby garage (since I have been driving on the flat tyre unaware, I assume it's ok to continue a bit further) where they inform me that both my rear tyres are f**ked and if I'd gone on the motorway they both would have blown. They fit my little comedy spare tyre, which is only temporary and not allowed near a motorway or over 50 mph and I am not sure if I'm really unlucky, as everything I try to do lately gets thwarted somehow*, or incredibly lucky that the boy at the bus stop saw it and told me.

*First my entire inventory of stock for the online vintage shop I had been planning for over a year was destroyed in the mothalypse and had to be thrown away, along with most of my own clothes; then I got really excited about experimenting with my dad's 1970s Canon SLR (for which I have a huge box of lenses and filters) and the winding on mechanism broke halfway through the first roll of film. It's just like that at the moment and I know it will pass. But I don't want to get too excited about anything, or even state "I'm going to do this or that" because, well, a spanner always seems to get lodged firmly in the works.

But I know that today I was really lucky.

{photo: Louise Dahl-Wolfe/Harper's Bazaar}

I'VE GOT THE OUTFIT...

...now all I need is for a mystery benefactor to buy me a ticket to somewhere hot and dry so I can wear it.

Birthday present ruffle bikini from Reiss, straw hat from French Connection, (Studio Violet Friends poster in background - birthday present from me to me)

SAKURA SAW...

One of the best things, no The Best Thing about my street is that it's lined with huge plum trees. Forget Japan! Each time I step out of my house or round the corner into my currently pink cloud of a street I can't help but gasp. There is a plum tree planted roughly every 20 paces (I paced it out especially for this post!) and they alternate between green leafed (light pink blossom) and dark red leaves (those have the big puffy pepto bismol pink blossoms) At the moment the lighter blossoms are out and the darker ones are budding nicely. It's like living in a fairytale make believe world - at night the blossoms glow in the light of the lamp posts. I wish the blossom could stay forever and that I could capture the magic of it more successfully for you.

Ah, spring...I can feel my bleakness thawing bud by bud. Winter: you did not succeed in killing me.

These blossoms are for Elizabeth* - sadly erstwhile Bluepoppette, but who continues to be a creatively prolific powerhouse while living with 3 feet of snow until May. She is the creator of Squam Art Workshops, now in its second year, which just looks absolutely amazing. Are any of you going? I mean, look at the place:

It would please me greatly if, when asked if I have any travel plans, I'd say, "Well yes, I just happen to be going to a really cool lakeside arts retreat by the White Mountains, how about you?"

I was thinking of going to the fall workshops in September which focus on writing and visual arts (and I'd better make a decision as the classes are getting really full, though there are still some spaces.) I was tempted by the spring workshops in June, which I bet will be buzzed about all over the craft-o-sphere (there are some really amazing teachers at both sessions - they even have Derek and Lauren from The Curiosity Shoppe teaching a workshop) but even though I think I'm so nifty with a needle, a retreat to play with words and art? I could really do with something like that.

*BP forever (waves flimsy homemade flag).

SUNDAY NIGHT...

What's wrong with embedding? Here.

OMG SHOPPING!...

Annoyingly, this blog is listed in a blog directory I didn't ask to be in as being about "Shopping, Shopping and more Shopping!" Um, no it's not. OK, I mention clothes quite a bit, but whatever software they used to trawl my site for keywords would not have found "Shopping!" written about all that much; and certainly not in a capitalized manner. Shopping in London doesn't float my boat that much to be honest. I only really enjoy buying clothes in Paris and I can't really do that much anymore with the current exchange rate.

But today they are actually right because I went shopping, sorry Shopping! - in and around Oxford Street no less. I went to: Uniqlo, Topshop, Urban Outfitters, H&M, Zara, American Apparel, Reiss, French Connection, Muji and Liberty (but only for a browse and a cuppa - their 15% off for cardholders thing wasn't enough when the scarf I fell in love with was £430). You may or may not know that I have a few, um, holes in my wardrobe and since it was my birthday yesterday I decided to do a bit of wardrobe basics replenishment, as cheaply as possible, instead of feeling bitter about having to wear the same three T-shirts in rotation.

First up, Steven Alan at Uniqlo. I had a feeling I might have it all to myself and I did. Pristine rails with every piece in every size available. As I was trying stuff on, a few people drifted through trying on the odd thing but it was in no way designer collaboration mayhem as in days of yore. Probably less to do with the "current climate" than Steven Alan not being heard of here unless you've been Shopping! in New York or were curious after the launch was mentioned in Grazia. But yes, so, all.so.cheap. I mean, everything was roughly £20 and even better had managed to avoid the Uniqlo + me curse whereby everything there is not quite right: the fabric is too heavy, there's topstitching where I don't want it to be, the stripe is too wide etc etc. None of that. Did I mention it was really cheap? This made it hard to choose but in the end I bought the crossback dress (pictured) in black.

And beige. And military green. I couldn't choose. The beige could perhaps be a bit Roger Whittaker, the green a bit Travis Bickle - do you see? Oh no, you can't see actually. The front is button down with two sets of patch pockets. I'm allowing myself to keep two, but definitely the black. I also bought a stripy dress, a stripy shirt and a gingham shirt and still struggled to spend £100. I also tried on a pair of Opening Ceremony mens' khaki trews but the cut didn't work on me.

After that it was all downhill and apart from a new pair of Muji slippers, a straw hat and a bikini top (apparently I'm confident there will be a summer) I didn't get anything else. Liberty is looking AMAZING, or should that be Amazing! at the moment and I saw Ines de la Fressange in the shoe dept who looked exactly as one would expect her too: thin and glossy and surrounded by tanned euro accented men.

But more importantly: beige or green?

CHILD LABOUR...

With reserves already weakened from traipsing round the Swedish Hell, I had almost decided to buy the rip off Florence Knoll sofa and the rip off Eero Saarinen table. I had tried to guilt my friend's parents into selling me their original tulip table many times and failed. I had been sniffed at by furniture dealers and had been confused by reproduction tables. Enough. So what if my flat ends up looking like page 68 of the Ikea catalogue. But I wasn't quite convinced.

We arrive at the table on display. Pretty good. Smaller than the real tulip table, a little wobbly perhaps and with a not-quite-right base that reminds of outdoor table parasol stands. But a tenth of the price of a real one. Still unconvinced, I lean closer to be confronted by this:

*In case you can't read it, it says: I am a happy table...I like to be took home...help me...Ikea.

CALENDAR: NOTE TO SELF...

*Steven Alan for Uniqlo (and Opening Ceremony among others) launches INTERNATIONALLY (whoo!) on Thursday March 19th.

*Carine Roitfeld is on CNN on Wednesday March 18th.

*Studio Violet is having a SALE starting on Wednesday March 18th.

...I've been a little forgetful lately...

CAN I COME TO YOUR PARTY?...

I've had this Henry Clarke photo from Vogue saved for so long I can't exactly remember the story I was going to use it to illustrate. One of the dresses is by Marcel Fenez - I think it's on the bird sitting under the tree. I only know this because my Granny worked for Marcel Fenez - one of those long forgotten names - not quite a couture house, more a production house. I remember her saying that Madame Fenez would shout at her all the time in French and she just smiled because she didn't understand a word.

When I worked in Bond Street, I walked down Maddox Street every morning and one day noticed an old brass plaque saying, yes, Marcel Fenez. Then I discovered that my Grandpa's office (he was in textiles - or as went the joke - he travelled in ladies underwear) was in Margaret Street, twenty seconds from where I was living at the time in Wells Street; and that a later office of my Grandmother's had been on the corner of Wells Street itself, three doors away from my flat. These threads make London more interesting to me. I may have only known my Granny as a disapproving battleaxe pensioner (!) and remember my Grandpa only vaguely but hearing that in their prime they hung out at the Cafe Royal (RIP), Cafe de Paris and Le Caprice makes me wonder at their lives back then. (I've just had a spooky deja vu that I've posted this whole story before - oh dear, sorry if I have and tell me because I can hardly remember my own name at the moment!)

I need to get back into reading Something Wholesale - it's about the fashion business in that same era and it's amazing to note how different things were. The coat department for example was called the Cloak and Mantle department and everyone is all Mr this and Miss that.

How different everything is now. Even with most designers going for recession black and safe shapes, with people talking about how it's all ground to a halt and slowed down. Most of the fashion week talk is now not about the clothes, but more likely to be twitter reports of what happened/who was in the front row. And when I see a Dries van Noten coat and think: Ha! That looks exactly like a bathrobe (exit 5) I know something has shifted for me. I don't mean that in a negative way but the former me would never have mocked the Dries, even inwardly. (I mean, come on it totally does.)

All this to say that having just thrown out most of my clothes, the nature of fashion has been brought up close to me. I've always been of the philosophy of buying good things that last (come to think of it that was drummed in to me by my grandparents) but everything changes and you change too. Fashion moves, that's what it does. Hot young labels I believed in just a few years ago are forgotten, the few *It* (ugh) items I have seem ridiculous. It's been a revelation when deciding what to get rid of, how many connotations my clothes have to me, especially when you've been holding onto things for 15 years or more. And when you sit there and go, no that reminds me of such and such, no that always makes me feel not quite right it suddenly seems quite sensible to chuck it out and start again fresh.

There are so few things that stand the test of time: a Chanel 2:55 bag, a YSL le smoking. But that could change and you can't predict accurately. Or is it better (obviously not considering the environment) to buy cheap(er) things and throw them out when you've had enough? The Sessun stuff I bought last September has been pretty much all I've worn all winter and I've loved it. It was exactly right for me, for the time. Though the 3/4 length sleeve jumper is now short sleeved and full of bobbles from being washed, the duffel jacket leaked dye into the lining and the buttons changed colour when I dry cleaned it and the booties took a bit of work to sort out the squeaking, it's been my extremely cost effective uniform. But next winter, I'm pretty sure it won't be. (Ooh am I trying to talk myself into buying the whole Sessun collection each season?)

I don't know, maybe it's a post moth destruction phase but I can't quite see myself buying/wearing designer clothes anymore. Or as my neighbour so cheerily quipped when I told her strangers kept talking to me; "It's because you're more approachable 'cos you haven't got any of your designer clothes anymore." Uh, cheers for pointing that out. When I look at something and remember the extreme lengths I went to in the hunt for it, only to now see it full of holes and going straight in the bin, I feel a little bit sick, a little bit stupid, a little bit like I'll be buying everything at Gap from now on.

{photo: Henry Clarke}

7...

Still not quite back to normal, whatever normal was. A random seven things tag though = manageable!

I think I've done this one a few times but not for a while and it's nice to be tagged - thanks to Gisele.


1. Every morning I have to drink a cup of PG Tips tea with soya milk and eat a dunkable biscuit, preferably ginger.

2. I love cocktail gherkins, eating mayonnaise out of the jar, Kalles Kaviar from the tube and the cheapest cods' roe.

3. When I broke my arm (age 6?) I thought they re-used the plaster so I kept it pristinely clean and wouldn't let anyone touch it. When I went back to the hospital to have it removed and I saw other peoples' casts with drawings and signatures all over them. I became very upset and there wasn't even a biro to hand.

4. Lola hates going outside on her own so I walk with her in the garden, then run inside once she's occupied chasing butterflies.

5. I have very good eyesight and I can lipread from as far away as I can see (my mum was deaf) - makes for some interesting observations.

6. Often just after I fall asleep I wake up with a sharp intake of breath and find myself standing in front of the bathroom cabinet. (Years of having to take a tablet before bed.)

7. When I was little I had a gang which operated from my conservatory. It was inspired by the comics of Dennis The Menace and you had to earn badges for things like catapulting worms at adults, switching the sugar and salt round and various things to do with itching powder and whoopee cushions. Those were the days.

*edit* Oops I'm out of practice. Forgot to tag anyone else. Well, no pressure but if you'd like to, go ahead...

SLOWLY EMERGING...

I love the bags, I like the shoes; but more than that I LOVE getting even more tantalising glimpses of Sofia's apartment.

This really made my day. I don't know why, it just did. If you don't know I'll let you read it and have the OH. MY. GOD. moment. Ah, love in springtime. And a very classy way to let it be known.

Coco Avant Chanel is being released much sooner than I realised. (22 April in France). I can't wait.
Here's the trailer...(why do trailers always have such bad music?)

FEBRUARY...

EDIT* Did I say very soon? I did didn't I. Soon is so relative. Still not quite there yet...but look! Pictures! Oh, you've seen them already.

 ...is almost over.

I took the first picture when it snowed at the beginning of the month; the last today. That first picture seems a very long time ago. February: 28 days but feels like the longest month (I typed moth - seriously, I just typed moth by mistake.)

THANK YOU so so much for your comments and emails. You don't know how much it helped. Really, thank you lovely kind readers and blogchums.

I'll be back very soon with a real post with like words and sentences and stuff (and I have a tag to attend to.)

-

I just re-read all your amazing How To Crawl Out of a Hole comments and they were really comforting. You are so good. (I'm not sure if I mentioned it before but the white SOS telephone in the sidebar is a permanent link to that post.)

I know a lot of people who are having a tough time at the moment and are dealing with it really well. I won't bore on about moth destruction or about all the other overwhelming shit that has piled up since then, but I am having a tough time and I am not coping with it well. I've always felt proud that I'm so independent and self sufficient but right now, having no support is not a good position to be in.

You know when you think, wow, this winter has been really long - and hard. (That sounded like I've been chipping at the frosty ground with a blunt pickaxe trying to unearth one potato on which to feed my seven children.) Then you remember that last autumn, summer and spring weren't so easy either. And the winter before that wasn't much fun. Then it dawns on you that the last few years things have got harder and harder to cope with until...

Everything seems so far away at the moment that it's hard to write the sort of thing I usually write about here. I'm shuffling around dishevelled in a daze and kind strangers keep striking up conversations with me. I'm not taking pictures or writing or reading or sleeping or eating properly. I did note that I liked Proenza Schouler and that Marc by Marc was back on form. But it was sort of like that information was connecting with some distant part of my brain that automatically records these things.

I'm sure I'll be back to being myself at some point. I've been writing here for 3 and a half years through all kinds of shit that I probably didn't even mention. But for the moment, please bear with me.

FALLING LIKE...

Belatedly adding my little voice to say I will be sad to see Domino, the one and only magazine this former magazine addict subscribed to, go. I also think Conde Nast are total idiots not to keep the Domino website up and running as a subscription site.

Before the MA (moth apocalypse) when I had time for such things, I was trawling through the website trying to save images before they take it down. But there was too much good stuff. I always really liked the little how-to videos - especially the gardening ones, which soothed me through many an insomnia fuelled night. I'm glad to see that lots of people have been posting their favourites - (here is a good place to start) so maybe eventually some of the goodness will be preserved. I found it too overwhelming to go through everything though and then MA happened. So here's my favourite of all - Amedeo Pace and Kazu Makino from Blonde Redhead's apartment shot by Coliena Rentmeester.

...

Ten days of doing nothing all day and night but focusing on the aforementioned Great Moth Apocalypse of Feb 2009: washing, washing, dry cleaners, charity shop, favourite stuff in the bin, worry, worry, spraying chemicals, worrying about the chemicals, getting dermatitis from the chemicals, not sleeping or eating properly, getting overwhelmed and getting professionals in to spray different chemicals and then worrying about their chemicals killing Lola will do that to you apparently. (That was a long sentence.)

So I went to The Providores in Marylebone last night and Lola was still alive when I got home. I was an hour and a half late, yes. I gabbled about moths for roughly the first half hour (maybe longer?). I drove the wrong way, wore the only outfit available to me, no make up and a crazed look. But after a couple of glasses of wine, some indescribably lovely tapas and some good company my blood pressure came down a bit and this morning I feel...almost human.

My home is still topsy turvy with half my stuff in bin liners but I'm getting there. I miss my normal life.

But Stephanie (who I am buying my first post moth piece of clothing from - whee!) inspired me with her post on perfume bottles; so here's one I love.

Vol de Nuit by Guerlain - maybe I've posted about it before? It's all about the bottle and the story behind it. I'd buy it except I don't like the smell. Oh well.

Jacques Guerlain created Vol de Nuit, “night flight”, in 1933 in homage to the brave aviators of the 1920s and Air France Company. The French company Aéropostale was one of the first operations to fly the mail from continent to continent. The chief pilot of Aéropostale's operations was Antoine de St. Exupéry. After serving as a French combat pilot during World War I, he wrote several books, among them Wind, Sand and Stars, Night Flight and The Little Prince. He disappeared during the World War II while flying a reconnaissance mission in 1944.

Vol de Nuit was named after a novel by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. The bottle is emblazoned with the shape of French Air Force wings and is made in dark amber colour.

(Quote from here.)

p.s. It's Valentine's day - I forgot.

p.p.s. This is good news to soften the bad news. Makes me want to go to New York. (via Scout-Holiday)

ONE WAY TICKET TO CRAZY...

I've been a bit preoccupied the past week. When I try to sleep my dreams are full of giant insects chasing me. I haven't actually slept so apologies if I ramble a bit. My living room is full of bin liners containing different types of clothes with labels on them saying: washed, not washed, to freeze, charity, throw away. The dry cleaner loves me and this is my new favourite shop. Once the dry cleaning bill hit triple figures I started freezing things - (it kills the eggs if you wrap things in plastic and freeze for at least 72 hours so I'm told. I'm still on the first batch, so I have no idea yet if it also damages your clothes.) I wasn't even going to mention the plague that's been visited upon me because, first of all I felt silly for getting so upset when my clothes get attacked; secondly I felt like a bit of a brat - like boo hoo my cashmere casualties are all Marni. Poor me.

So moths. The moths. I had some vintage clothing (not mine) stored in my flat to sell and they brought some friends along who decided to move in. I caught it right at the beginning which is lucky I suppose, but actually more gross as I got to find the eggs and larvae - yum. And you have to either dry clean, wash above 50 degrees c or freeze to kill the eggs. And of course you can't wash cashmere ( or anything except manmade fibres which, obviously, no...) at 50 (where the fuck is the degree key?)

After the first week of spending every waking minute of every day dealing with the plague I started to look at my clothes in a new light. I mean, all this is incredibly time consuming. I had never had moths before because I spend an inordinate amount of my life sorting out my wardrobe, dry cleaning, moving things around. (By the way did I mention I'm just on wardrobe No.1 at the moment. The other wardrobe, where all the nice dresses are is probably being munched through as I type, but I don't have enough space in my flat to do them both at the same time - and the killing sprays etc haven't arrived yet.) I mean, it's not as if something like this hasn't happened before with stored clothes. (Ha - just noticed the title of that old post - my freezer really IS Narnia now.) I had been keeping things I never wore because I could sell them or pass them down or whatever. And I was extremely sentimental about them - they sort of told a story of all the years I worked in fashion and had access to these heavily discounted or free amazing clothes -(See? Poor me - you hate me don't you). And after last time I told myself I got the lesson, but I didn't.

Then yesterday I suddenly felt free as I shoved a vintage feather headpiece that I'd vaguely been promising to turn into some kind of Ban.do thing, but would never have got around to, into a bin liner and threw it in the bin. I'm eyeing my antique silk kimono suspiciously and thinking - do I really get any pleasure out of it hanging on the back of a door, or is it just a disgusting moth party waiting to happen? And I think the goatskin rug has to go - it's vintage, it's fur, it's...hanging outside (in the rain) awaiting its fate at the moment.

So now I'm throwing things away with abandon. I have things I've been keeping for DECADES that I never wear, don't have the facilities to store properly and feel too guilty to throw away because they were expensive. And then I feel guilty buying new clothes because I have so many. Most of the things I had been saving for my future online vintage shop that I could never find the enthusiasm to get off the ground - gone! I realise I hate all the faff of selling things online; I should do something I actually enjoy with my time and ideas. (I'm sure my local charity shops are totally infested anyway but I don't want that karma, so anything beloved by moths like wool or cashmere goes in the bin.)

Also, having cleared out a total of five relatives houses after they died, seeing what they accumulated over the years that had to be dealt with somehow has quite a profound effect.

When I've finished I will be left with only the clothes I wear regularly and maybe a couple of special things. Shoes I'm keeping - that's the only collection I'll have. My latent O.C.D. was very happy going to Lakeland to buy clear plastic boxes for them. And each piece of saved cashmere gets a plastic bag to live in. (Oh, I might even go and live in an oxygen tent - am I scaring you?) I always thought you weren't supposed to store clothes in plastic; apparently I was wrong - and Rachel Zoe stores her vintage collection wrapped in plastic so it must be ok.

I'm excited to receive my package of chemical warfare (tomorrow hopefully) and I shall commence extermination.

The middle of a recession may not be the best time to lose half your clothes and need to shop, but I'm going with it. OK, if you saw me I would have a slightly crazed look and I may be rocking backwards and forwards but it's just because I'm cold (nothing warm to wear!)

NICE SOF(I)A*...

As we know, Sofia Coppola has flawless, impeccable taste in - well, everything. This apparently includes...sofas, as she has not one, but two of my dream sofas. First there was the blue George Smith number in her New York place (below).

But in the Ultimate Paris Apartment of Wildest Dreams I kept getting tantalising glimpses of this white linen covered arrangement. First I got a peek at it in the Marc Jacobs LV documentary; then, this photo in Vanity Fair surfaced (below).

Then, there it is again with Maryna Linchuk reclining on it in the Dior ad (I'm starting to feel grubby - my furniture stalking secret is out) ...

...and we know it has a corner, as evidenced by this picture in Paris Vogue:

But now, thanks to the current steady flow of press generated by the (totally gorgeous, totally out of my price stratosphere) bags and shoes Sofia designed for Louis Vuitton and the Miss Dior Cherie ad she directed, we see more than a glimpse in Vogue Nippon.

Not that I could ever afford it - and even if I could it's bigger than my actual apartment. I guess I'll stick with the original budget plan of getting a Bemz cover for my cat scratched Ikea sofa.

*The title - I couldn't resist!

{Credits: House & Garden - ph: Paul Jasmin, Vanity Fair - ph: Melodie McDaniel, still from Dior Miss Cherie ad, Paris Vogue and Vogue Nippon - ph: Andrew Durham - scanned by me.}

SNOWDAY...

VERDE & CO...(AND P.S...)

On Friday I found myself in Spitalfields, not somewhere I go much these days. The market regeneration has led to some unforgivably cheesy shops opening up, which I do my best to ignore. But luckily one part of Brushfield Street still retains a bit of individuality, with Verde & Co the beacon of good hope. How what is basically a small grocery store and deli can give one such a feeling of contentment is hard to define. For a start, everything is pleasing to the eye in a way that the phrase higgledy piggledy could have been made for. The old shop sign, the shelves of produce, the macarons, cakes and tarts displayed on the table, the copper counter you can sit at to drink your coffee, the actual fire in the fireplace and the (oh yes) Pierre Marcolini chocolates.

I'm not sure how they fit it all - and the staff and customers - of which they have many, into such a tiny space, but they do. It somehow doesn't feel stressful to negotiate someone's brushy, hopeful dog sitting at your feet, the fireplace (which I'm sure a less imaginative grocer would have utilised as storage) and other assorted people waiting for their orders. I can honestly say it is the one and only time I have felt jealous of the city bank workers around Liverpool Street, as they can get their freshly made lunch here every day (you can see the menu here - simple but gorgeous sandwiches and salads.)

The thing I notice most is the helpfulness and knowledge of the staff - and here I must stop before you become suspicious that I'm writing an advert. On my most recent visit I discovered that Verde & Co is co-owned by author Jeanette Winterson; perhaps having a writer involved is a clue to how its been thought out. I can't think of anywhere in London I'd rather plonk myself down by the fire on an icy winter's day, hiding behind the cakes with a good cup of coffee and a book.

Monday morning P.S.
!!!!!
I'm such a witch. And to think I used up my snow excitement photo on a mere sprinkling.