WANDERLUST RISING...

Looking through my photos of places I've travelled to makes me want . to . GO . SOMEWHERE . NOW.

1- Florence, Italy, May '08
2- Champagne, France, June '08
3- Musandam Peninsula, Oman, December '07

CREATIVE VISUALISATION...

I went to pick up my glasses and um, I don't really like them* at all! But the optician said no, they really suit you, especially with your job being a librarian.

I went, what? I'm not a librarian! Oh! No! I was just messing around when I was trying them on and saying oh these ones, I'm a librarian, these ones, I'm an architect etc etc.

He looked quite dismayed.

That was a little flimsy for a blog post I know. Maybe I should get Twitter?


*I have them in dark mahogany/aqua and they don't have a flipping guitar on them anywhere. I feel cheated now.

COCO...

I went to a screening of Coco Before Chanel last night. (Merci E!)

I noticed a good few women there were wearing ropes of pearls or were dressed in black, and I admit even I re-pedicured my toes with Rouge Noir. Something about Coco Chanel makes you feel she would be perfectly capable of rising from the dead to give you a good bollocking for seeing 'her' film improperly groomed. Thankfully, Audrey Tautou was perfectly capable of inhabiting the role of Coco, almost spookily so. I loved her in it and Benoît Poelvoorde as Etienne Balsan was like a charm missile.

In one of the first reviews of the film I read, Alessandro Nivola (who plays Boy Capel) said that when they were filming in Paris, every time he walked down rue des Archives (gayer than gay street in the Marais) sporting the moustache he has in the film people would keep going "Allo Freddie Mercury!" And that was really all I could think of every time I saw him and his 'tache.

The main theme is Coco's early love life (which continued to be extraordinary - no wonder more than one film is being made about it) but the costumes, even more so than the story, tell you how and why she rose to such legendary status. I have also read her biography by Edmonde Charles-Roux which explains how the strict dress code and the nuns at the catholic orphanage she was sent to influenced her rigorously simple style. Some of those details were more subtly suggested in the film, but may have been more obvious to me because I already knew.

What was really fun for me was to see visually recreated this woman striding about in trousers and a mens' boater or a striped marinière top tied with a simple black ribbon, when all the other women are wearing elaborate hats and corsets with long sweeping dresses; so brave and sure of herself (to all appearances), yet totally alone. She was way ahead of the wave and able to infiltrate high society and convince everyone to follow her way.



As Coco herself said;

'In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different.'

Although the film doesn't really focus on the House of Chanel years, it struck me again that what we all still think of as the height of elegance and chic is what she made popular. No one has replaced her.

{1st photo: It's Audrey, it's Coco, it's Audrey. 2nd photo: Coco in the 1920s}

p.s. Thanks for your wishes, Lola is feeling a bit better today.

QUIET...

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

AESOP...

I finally visited the Aesop shop in Mount Street, an area that has undergone a radical transformation from sleepy Mayfair backwater, home to a couple of posh hairdressers, in the past couple of years. Balenciaga, Lanvin, Annick Goutal, the revamped Scotts and The Connaught are the sights, not the quaint old fashioned shops, though the butchers and the tobacco shop still seem to be hanging on. A Goyard store is about to open - and of course there's the man who enticed them all there: Marc Jacobs. Aesop has been open for about a year now but it was the first time I'd seen the StudioIlse designed shop in person, on my way to the new Marc by MJ store.


Now I'm obsessed with the paint colour, the sink, the light fittings, the lightbulbs and Aesop Rejuvenate Aromatique body balm - a blend of vanilla and sandalwood that nearly had me levitating with its gorgeous aroma.


I've always liked Aesop products but the prices always make me hyperventilate a bit too. I shall go for the 120ml as the larger size is over £50 and that's just a wee bit too much, even for something that makes you levitate. If I could I would have a bathroom full of Aesop products and have Ilse Crawford design my bathroom as well, oh go on then my whole flat. It strikes me that many of my peak London experiences have occurred in Ilse designed spaces: Cecconi's on my 30th birthday for one. I will make it my mission to seek out more - spaces and peak experiences in them.

p.s. I'm not going to mention the Marc by MJ store - oh ok, well all I can say is ol' MJ has got to be having a laugh. At us. Cheap, mass produced shit with an MJ label on it is still cheap, mass produced shit. Is it supposed to be a post-ironic comment on Chinese sweatshops or something?

{Shop photos from StudioIlse, products from Aesop site}

PIANO...

I'm in a funny mood today. I either want to go back to bed or buy things instead of paying my parking ticket.

The Piano Shirt I liked from last A/W is half price at Toujours Toi...

NEWS...

*The Evening Standard has suffered a horrific re-design, in particular the ES magazine, which I've been picking up every Friday for god knows how many years, now looks like a free small town gazette or some kind of brochure that sells yachting equipment. That title font: How could they? (They've also given Peaches Geldof her own advice column, but at least you can flick past that.)

*A.P.C. are apparently opening a London shop (again) near Dover Street Market. It's hard to understand their strategy with London - first there was the shop in Draycott Avenue on a Joseph owned site; that closed eons ago. Then the one in Ledbury Road; that closed too, maybe 7 years ago? And A.P.C. is now easier to get hold of than ever in London.

*I chose some glasses, which I pick up at the end of this week. I can't find a pic of them online and the Paul Smith bit of the Oliver Peoples' website is down. The whole *I thought I could see but I can't* thing has been quite unnerving and now I'm completely broke as well.

*The posts that weren't: Due to laziness I often don't post things I mean to. One of those things was how I've ended up dressed like Dustin Hoffman in The Graduate for the past six months, thanks to my Sessun desert booties and duffle jacket worn with peg trousers. Now someone else has gone and claimed Benjamin Braddock as their inspiration. This always happens.

p.s. I just bought these shoes to cheer myself up (about being broke! Now even broker, but not much). p.p.s. (I think I may have been Marais USA's first customer - I just realised they opened their web shop at 4am EST, which is 9am here and I bought the shoes at 9.04am!)

THE INTERNETS HAVE FINALLY BLINDED ME...

Well, that is perhaps a slight exaggeration. I had an eye test yesterday; my first in er, cough, oh look over there, um, never. Wow. I'd never needed one before because of my perfect 20/20 vision you see. That was the misapprehension I had been labouring under anyway. But since all I ever do is stare at a computer screen, scroll, type and read I thought I'd better get it checked out. They put me in front of a mirror and projected some letters onto the wall so I could see them in the mirror.

Optician: Can you read the first line for me?

Me (straining): Are the letters back to front?

Yes. So I need glasses, but only for reading and being at the computer. Oh and I have a muscle weakness that, had it been discovered when I was a child at one of the eye tests I didn't have, (dropped the ball there parents) could have been corrected. I can't focus for long or do that thing where you focus on a pencil and bring it closer and closer. No, I am completely unable to perform that task so crucial to everyday life.

Secretly I'm chuffed that a whole new world of accessories has been opened up to me, after years of people making me accompany them as an unpaid spec stylist when they need new frames. I do realise from personal experience that someone blathering on about which glasses they should get is a fast route to being bored witless. But humour me would you, it's my first time.

Should I go the Louise route and put prescription lenses in my Wayfarers, which I know suit me? But I don't want to look like one of those people that wears fake glasses though (Not that she does.)

Of the 387 or so frames I quickly tried on at the opticians, the more out there ones looked better on me than the more normal, trying to blend in ones for some reason. And since I won't have to wear them all the time I can perhaps afford to get something a little different, no? I mean frame wise, not huge glaring logos or anything. Should I buy some vintage glasses and get my prescription lenses put in? Who makes good glasses? Chanel? Lafont? (Ooh look! Good morning Miss Moneypenny.)

Actually I like all the Lafont Re edition glasses:

Maybe I should wait until next month and get some glasses in Paris seeing as French people always complain about how hard it is to find good glasses in London. Oh, all the possibilities. I mean these things are going to be on my face every day so I'm looking for some pretty spectacular specs - and I plan not to lose them very often.

So HELP ME glasses wearers - I'm relying on you. Tell me your secrets.

THEN AND NOW...

Then: Charlotte Rampling in Georgy Girl - Now: photographed by Jacques Bosser.

Then: Jane Birkin with Serge - credit unknown - Now: photographed by Carole Bellaïche

Continuing on a theme - I have been pondering this so much that I think I could fill an entire book on the subject. It's hard to marshal my thoughts though.

I'm wondering how it is that (I'll speak for myself at least) Jane Birkin and Charlotte Rampling are such enduring icons. Is it because they are still beautiful, (I would argue that Rampling has become even more beautiful with age) with no apparent signs of tampering; that they look very much the same as they always have and both have a recognisable simple style? Is it because they achieved that seemingly impossible feat of being English girls who moved to Paris and were able to crack the notoriously hard shells of the Parisians? Is it more than external - to do with the choices they've made in how they live and the work they do? Or are they just lucky? You could say that Brigitte Bardot is an enduring icon I suppose, but she is more an example of how not to age! I am by no means saying it's just about skin deep beauty though - it is something from within. I must say that though I can watch Bardot in an old film and think what a pretty girl, there is not much that really interests me about her (unlike Serge who was with both Bardot and Birkin! Apparently Bardot's breasts "frightened" him so he moved on to the slighter figured Jane.)

Have you noticed how as people get older they kind of set hard? Something about them becomes immovable and perhaps, if you're not careful, the way you set could be an unfortunate reflection of your state of mind and spirit. Or perhaps the secret of Birkin/Rampling is that they've never set, they just evolve naturally while keeping the essence of themselves. That seems like a lot less trouble, and far more palatable than the lengths someone like Madonna goes to.

It's funny to me that when I was a teenager I pasted pages of editorials from magazines all over my walls, as I'm sure many of us did. A way to collect influences to help define who and how we would be. But lately when I look at models I just find they mostly look incredibly frail. Now in my sketchbook and here I am posting photos of women more than twice my age, as if somehow this will help me navigate the rocky path of well, not being a girl anymore. (Arrghh, no Britney, no!)

I call it notes for the future.

OH MARC, LOLA LOVES YOU TOO...

She will be impossible to live with now Marc Jacobs has gone and named a perfume after her.

(I do believe Venetia Scott's daughter is also called Lola)

TREASURES...

My mum and my uncle c.1949,
My granny c.1910

My mum and granny c.1960

{family photos ©}

RETURN...

I've been away visiting family far away from London. This photo is misleading: I took it round the corner from my flat before I went. I hardly took any pictures there but it was green, so green everywhere. I saw a lot of cute lambs and then I ate one. Trying to assimilate back into a life that doesn't include doing the Telegraph cryptic crossword every day (as my aunt does, my mum did and my grandmother did) or baking, or big pots of tea. I can't remember why I live in London at the moment. Lola and I have been catching up on reading blogs this morning...

LOVE . THIS . MASHUP...

People are so clever.

A REALLY LONG POST ABOUT LUGGAGE AND NOT EVEN ANY PHOTOS...

{*But click the links and I'll try to add some photos later...}

Believe it or not, there are a few things I dislike shopping for. Most electrical goods for one; really anything where function exists without any thought to form. If I have to buy stuff, the criteria is always style and substance. There must be both or I get very grumpy at having to shell out the cash.

I've only ever had crappy luggage: a black nylon holdall from Herve Chapelier that had lasted me oh god, probably 15 years or so. (I actually bought it at the very first Space NK shop in Covent Garden that sold clothes! And had a cafe!) I also had a black Ikea wheelie suitcase which was fine. You can feel my enthusiasm can't you. It's just that all luggage except Globetrotter is so insanely boring and bufugly that I really couldn't be bothered with it, even though I travel quite a bit. And I don't have the muscle bound menservants that travelling with Globetrotter luggage requires. In fact, I do have a Globetrotter suitcase that was my granny's and I love it dearly even though it is completely knackered and smells of mould inside. Globetrotter are going to re-line it for me though because they are amazing like that and then I will store stuff and things in it.

So when I found myself having to throw out every single piece of luggage I owned because of - well you can probably work out why if you're a regular reader and if not, sorry you'll have to scroll a bit because I'm so bored of myself typing those words over and over again; when I found myself needing to buy new luggage I thought I am only going to do this once. I am going to buy something so durable that I won't ever have to traipse around Selfridges luggage department forlornly searching for something that isn't completely mediocre, or have to scour the internet forever and ever and ever.

My starting point was a friend's Tusting holdall, which I had admired, but I don't like to get the same as friends - it feels weird. I reckoned I needed something that would hold my stuff for 5-7 days as I rarely go away for longer, and my big Anna Corinna bag is big enough for an overnight stay. So unfortunately although I of course had a spare £2,200 lying around, the SC 4 LV bag would not suit my requirements on this occasion as it's not big enough.

I wanted canvas with leather trim, not nylon. I started haunting the mens' department at Liberty. Here, there were a few that came close, but not quite. This one from Ally Capellino is nice but not sturdy enough, this Paul Smith one is nice but too small, this Mulberry one is beautiful but too expensive etc etc etc.

I then began to hang around gentlemens' outfitters in Piccadilly but all I found were some Japanese tourists wearing tweed plus fours. Nothing! But that was when I realised: I had been trying to find something traditionally English, whereas of course, the people doing that traditional English heritage thing really well are of course: American.

All along I had been thinking of this holdall featured in Blueprint. When I dug the issue out I saw that it was made by Billykirk - who have no stockists in the UK. Grr. Then A Continuous Lean posted about Filson's collaboration with Urban Outfitters. That was it - my bag. I emailed UO in the UK to find out if they would be carried here, which I knew was unlikely as Filson is a US brand and not much heard of here. After a lot of Googling I found myself on a British fly fishing forum that was discussing Filson; with people saying things like, and I quote:

"Filson clothing is extremely durable and lasts forever, which is crucial for my survival in the wild."

What's that mate, been attacked by a giant salmon have you? I do love that men geek out over practical clothing, but if you had switched out the words *fly fishing* for *mascara wand* from that forum, it would have sounded just like a load of teenage girls discussing Diorshow on Make Up Alley. But thanks to those brave fly fishers I found out about Ptarmigan which is the only stockist of Filson in the UK. They also stock other foreign outdoorsy hunting/fishing brands. I ordered the medium bag in tan and about half an hour later I got a phone call from a lovely man to say it was out of stock but the green one was really very nice. I won't bore you with the details as this is getting long enough, but I was so bowled over to get an actual human phoning me up and discussing a product knowledgeably that I agreed to have it in green to see what I thought. And I love it.

A week later I got an email from Urban Outfitters in response to my query about the Filson collaboration that said: Sometimes things that are on our US website aren't on our UK website. Thanks.

No, no, thank you for your exemplary customer service. Anyway I am totally thrilled with my Filson holdall and I love their slogan:

"Might as well have the best."

I'm going away for the weekend so we'll see how my bag holds up *in the wild.*

HOW TO MAKE BEAUTY LAST...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DELAY...

Brayne note warkeing toaday. Tomorrow better promise.

In the meantime, can anyone guess in what very important way the girl in the photo is connected with this blog?

{photo Terence Donovan}

MAD ET LEN...

There just aren't enough pictures of Mad et Len's gorgeous bath products online so I decided to rectify that with a hasty poladroid or two. At a local shop I fell in love with their packaging and then succumbed to a swooning fit over the Gardenia candle. But it was so expensive - like £27 for a small candle or £47 for a bath oil. The next time I went back the whole display had been removed and I assumed they hadn't been able to sell the range because of the price. Then the next time I was there it was back at half the price, though not on sale. So I think someone must have made a little pricing error initially. I was so elated that I greedily bought both the Gardenia candle, which is amazing, and the bath oil without smelling it first. (There are lots of different fragrances but the Gardenia had me at first waft.)

Unfortunately, though it is made of high quality natural ingredients it smells exactly like the scented disinfectant my mum used to use. Every time I take a whiff of it all I can think of is the loo in the house where I grew up. Oops. Ah well, it's only the most expensive bath oil I've ever bought for myself.

But away from dubious olfactory memories and back to Mad et Len. (The name is a reference to Proust's madeleine.) All the products are in these swish apothecary style black glass bottles with rubber pipettes - they're just about the chicest thing you could ever have in your bathroom. Mad et Len are based in a village in France and make everything by hand to order. They don't seem to have a website, but I managed to glean that they are a husband and wife team. They gave up their jobs as lawyers to get back to the land and make natural products. (Here's hoping my disinfectant remark isn't libelous then!) That aside, I would definitely urge you to have a sniff of all the scents should you see their distinctive packaging on your travels. It just might conjure up a more exotic scent memory than the one I had.

{In London I've also seen it at Bluebird on Kings Road and at Petersham Nurseries.}

DIAL L FOR LOVE...

How did we ever live before you could wake up in the morning with a song stuck in your head and immediately watch the video on youtube? I really don't remember.

This morning my song was Word Up by Cameo. (That's quite a codpiece first thing in the a.m.)

I took my new shoes for a spin this morning and so far, so comfy. I'm always schlepping about on foot and after years of pounding the streets in summer wearing ballet flats or flimsy sandals with paper thin soles, I finally worked out why my feet and knees are so fucked up. So these shoes are actually quite sensible - supportive and all that. I'm trying to be restrained with the post moth-alyptic wardrobe rehabilitation programme (POMOWARPRO) and not just go out and buy a whole bunch of stuff I don't love. I hope to wear these all summer long - and you might as well look cute while you're schlepping, right?

I think the colour goes quite well with my deathly pallor. I'm so glad I didn't get black as I now realise they would have looked too *snazzy*. I never end up with black shoes, which doesn't seem to have harmed me too much.

Anyway, continuing on my morning walk I started feeling a little horse.
*I have been dying to use that phrase.*

This is Thomas. He's a very placid gelding and he's quite small, which is good, as I'm fairly terrified of big horses after an *incident* a few years ago. He grazes in this totally incongruous paddock near my house. Yes, a random paddock, in a very urban area of London.

He belongs to some guys who have stables, (STABLES!) in the mews that runs along the back of the gardens in my street (where the coach houses would have once been - now mostly garages.) You can walk along the mews and they all connect up without you ever having to go on the street. I only found out about the horses the other day when my neighbour took me to visit their BABY SHETLAND PONY.

And now I'm all excited because I could walk Billy, who is the size of a dog, (I keep calling him Dave for some reason) up the mews and into my garden, which currently looks like this:

I could have a baby Shetland pony grazing in my garden! I'd never have to mow again! As if all that wasn't nearly too much, on the way back up the mews, almost opposite my garage we came upon this woman in full beekeeping gear (my neighbour took the pic, I was too shy.)

It was quite surreal to see her standing there in a swarm of bees. I must get some honey from her.

*Uh -oh, I can feel a blogging roll coming on. I have so many things swirling around in my head it feels like they'll all tumble out at once so check back; as I'll probably be posting more often than usual and over the weekend...

DEAR SEE BY CHLOE...

Dear See by Chloe,
I would like to purchase these See by Chloe sandals. Not in red (Browns), not in yellow (Net-A-Porter), not in purple or beige (Poste Mistress), but in black. In size 37.5. Please. Don't tell me to try Harvey Nichols; I couldn't get a word of sense out of their shoe department. The only place that has them in black is FarFetch, where the price fluctuates daily with the exchange rate, but it's always about 20 quid higher than the price of all the other colours I don't want here in London. Add on £23 shipping and it turns out I don't care about shoes as much as I thought I did.

HELP ME.

{photo: farfetch}

IS ALWAYS THE NEW...

Apparently Deptford isn't the new Hoxton anymore, but the new Paris.

Hahaha. I love Deptford, but...
Deptford Deli however, and the charming allée it sits in, is quite lovely.

{photo by me - taken at Deptford Deli}