THE TWO FACES OF JANUARY...

I was recently invited to a special preview screening of The Two Faces of January, the directorial debut of screenwriter Hossein Amini, which premiered at the Berlin Film Festival last night. The film is an adaptation of the Patricia Highsmith novel of the same name. which will invite inevitable comparisons with The Talented Mr Ripley; but this is a tighter, more subtle film that plays on the tension between the performances of Viggo Mortensen, Kirsten Dunst and Oscar Isaac.  It's the relationship between Chester and Colette Macfarland (Mortensen and Dunst) and Rydal (Oscar Isaac) under the blazing sun of Greece and Turkey which drives the film. Any other characters are incidental.

It's the summer of 1962. First we see Chester and Colette as wealthy vacationing Americans, singled out by the shady small time con-man Ryder, who works as a tour guide, short-changing pretty American tourists. As the story unfolds, the position of who is not to be trusted changes places between Chester and Ryder several times, with the complication that Ryder is now implicated in Chester's much darker crime, and the Macfarlands are indebted to him for helping them flee Greece and the police. Eventually the action becomes a straight battle of wits between the two men, each desperate to escape, but unable to disentangle themselves.

The costumes by Steven Noble hit just the right spot - again, subtle. Viggo Mortensen's white linen suit's deterioration from pristine to crumpled follows the story arc to a T. Kirsten Dunst only has three or four costumes - all pitched perfectly. The backdrop of bright Greek sunshine and holiday resorts to what is essentially a film noir is a great contrast - also highlighting the Greek tragedy elements of the story.

{Released in the UK on 2 May 2014}

WHAT REMAINS...

It took me so many years to finally visit the Musée Nissim de Camondo, but it was worth the wait.
My favourite part of the house was the kitchen, where I could happily have spent all day/the rest of my life.

Less happy was the fate of the Camondo family. Moise de Camondo had the house, which faces into Parc Monceau, built in 1911, which he then filled with his collections of tapestries, furniture, porcelain and art. His son and heir Nissim was killed in the first world war, so Moise changed his will to bequeath the house and all its collections to Les Arts Decoratifs in his honour. The house opened as a museum after Moise's death in 1935. During the second world war, Camondo's daughter and her family were all taken to Auschwitz where they were killed, meaning the family line died with them. I imagine that if the house had not been in the possession of Les Arts Decoratifs already, then it may have been seized by the occupying German army and who knows what would have happened to it. It has always been preserved in its original condition as a family home, which is what makes it unique.

The area around Parc Monceau is not one I have reason to visit often. So after visiting the house, we walked in the bright winter sunlight of Parc Monceau, where piles of Christmas trees being chipped scented the air with fresh pine. Then I insisted on going to the cafe in Place Saint-Augustin and sitting in the same seat as Frédéric in L'Amour L'Apres-Midi, famously shown in this scene. Neither the cafe (or its menu!), nor the exterior view of Place Saint-Augustin seemed to have changed at all.

LE TIGRE D'HIVER...

If I have a resolution for 2014 apart from to cull quell(!) anxiety, or deal with anxiety better, or be less crippled by anxiety please, it's to get my camera fixed or get a new/old camera that I'm happy with. If I'd done that I would not be presenting these dreadfully awful phone pictures of an intensely amazing moment.

We were wandering the streets of Paris, commenting on various architecture, looking at trees, wandering past the Cirque d'Hiver, which I've never paid much attention to and actually always thought was an old circus that was now only used as a theatre / venue.

Crossing into the little Place Pasdeloup I turned my head to the side and looked straight into the eyes of a tiger. A real, full sized adult tiger who batted his eyes at me like a cat, from his green room cage across a yard behind railings. Tied back tarpaulin curtains framed him. We had a long silent communion and I tried to zoom in enough with my iphone to picture the moment. Mostly failed on that. After about ten minutes I wandered off in shock and later couldn't stop telling everyone about the tiger, including a four year old boy who wouldn't believe me and thought I meant a statue of a tiger, until I showed him a blurry photo as proof. When we passed by again later the curtains were pulled shut.

I feel uneasy about the existence of circuses in general and wouldn't go to one for entertainment. Though from the little I saw, the animals seemed content and well looked after in their yard. The next day I just so happened to conveniently pass by again at around the same time and my friend was waiting there, curtains open - this time putting on a Lola worthy display of flirting, paw licking, stretching and yawning. Fortunately there were several layers of bars between us - not because I was scared; I felt no fear at all - but because I would have been so tempted to crawl in and nestle into the beautiful fur of his belly.

It was a genuinely magical happening. Things that are dear to me are not what I usually share with the internet anymore sadly - the nature of the beast, one might say. But I think this incredible creature, hiding in plain sight in the centre of Paris, is larger than life enough to be a spirit animal to me and anybody else who cares to pay him a visit.

NORMANDY...

It seems I haven't photographed any of the picturesque things I did this month. Lack of available light might be to blame, so I'm craving the sweet light of the Normandy coast on a quick overnight trip there in November. Taken on a disposable camera.

p.s. The cat and dog were best friends...

TWO THINGS I LIKE...

That nature is into monogramming as much as I am, and that this photo of a field of cows in Normandy was taken on my phone, by randomly sticking my arm out of a moving car window.

I like a lot of other things too...

CAT PEOPLE...

I interviewed Inacio Ribeiro of Clements Ribeiro for brand new Cat People Magazine.  It's a beauty, with amazing design - I particularly love the collages by Lucy James. The first issue also features Bloggers + Cats alumni Quincy - chaperoned by Mat Maitland, and Laura McLaws Helms, who interviews designer Vivetta Ponti; as well as many other amazing artists and catfreaks.

Lola is pleased that cat world domination is almost complete. Thank you Jessica!

{Go to catpeoplemagazine.com to purchase and for stockist info.}

PROPER PYJAMAS...

If you know me well, you'll know that one of my very favourite things is proper pyjamas. Not wispy floral slips, not jersey leggings and a T shirt, definitely not a onesie: proper, men's style pyjamas. 100% cotton, with contrast piping preferably. I'd been looking out for a new pair for a while, since my APC swiss dot ones from ages ago were starting to fall apart, and my Toast Japanese print ones had needed some repairs - I was starting to feel embarrassed when I answered the door to the postman.

If you work from home, you need good pyjamas. If I was just sleeping in them I wouldn't bother. Lounging is also one of my essential activities, which requires the correct pyjama.

Obviously Olatz is the dernier cri, the ne plus ultra, the creme de la creme (sorry, I've been watching too much Del Boy) of the pyjama world, but they're SO spen, even when they often go on sale, and they're silk, which means dry cleaning. Can't get my head around doing that - and how often would you need to? I'll be wearing them all the time, so that doesn't really work for me.

Olatz

 I'd had my eye on the gorgeous, remind me of those Coco Chanel ones, Poplin Gatsby pjs with teal piping for so long that it actually felt almost too easy to just click and buy those (which I still may do).

Poplin Gatsby

Sleepy Jones has the vibe I am utterly down with, and has exactly the pyjamas I want, but they're not cheap, and they don't ship internationally yet. Once I saw the red trim on blue end on end of their Marina style though, I knew that was it. But surely I could find some like that here in London.

Sleepy Jones Marina

This is how I found myself in Jermyn Street, home of world renowned shirt makers Hilditch & Key (where Karl Lagerfeld gets his nightshirts made FYI) in a wood panelled room full of shirts, being measured and pinned and ordering monograms. I had to have them altered because they're gentlemen's pyjamas, cut for gentlemen, who evidently have much longer arms than me, but the same length legs, generally speaking. H&K only do the blue with the red trim in men's - though they do have ladies' pyjamas but they're all baby pink or baby blue or something not proper. I only like proper, as if I hadn't driven this point home enough. In any case they don't have red piping for ladies, although I'm sure you could probably special order it.

Hilditch & Key blue end on end - they don't give them names, cos they're proper.

For a freelancer, it's sort of like buying a suit, I thought; as I wandered back up to Piccadilly clutching my receipt for the monogramming, which was being sent away to be done by hand and collected two weeks later. There's something almost uniform-like about them; such a classic combination of sky blue with red trim. Which is when it hit me: Royal Mail. The uniform of Royal Mail is sky blue with red trim and embroidery on the chest pocket.

Instagram by Charlotte Bland of my crumpled, just unpacked pjs - this is not an accurate representation of her photographic oeuvre. 

Oh well, at least I'll be showing solidarity next time I open the door to the postman.

THE LAND WHERE PEOPLE WAVE AT TRAINS...

A long ride on a two carriage train that crosses over a river on a small rickety bridge, goes through mountain tunnels and then emerges into breathtaking scenery to hug the coastline. From the window on one side: slate, sheep grazing on hills and masses of blue and purple hydrangeas spilling down mountains - fields sectioned by miles of dry stone walls. On the other side is the sea. Whenever the train passes people, they wave hello to it.

A celebration at a little house last seen thirty years ago, still the same. Good food and wine, a cake, at night a washing machine drum and some bricks make a great fire, watching stars fall - just look up. A walk to the beach - this beach.

A failed attempt was made to recreate this picture. More food and wine, more croquet, more tea. Many, many sausages later, a train back to where hydrangeas always go faded pink and life is less sweet. At the local station, after crossing the single track, you have to put your arm out to signal the driver to stop. Couldn't get over that. Stuck my arm out like a pro. Looking across fields to the little house - to see all of them waving madly from the end of the garden. Loved that. ♡

FALL DOWN SEVEN TIMES, GET UP EIGHT...

Haha, scared you there, sorry. At some point I took a screenshot of some of the THREE THOUSAND do-not-enter signs Google helpfully replaced every single one of the images of this blog with earlier in the year, for no reason, with no apology. 

I have now replaced every . single . one . of the photos, manually, by hand, one by one. 

It was... an experience. Once I got back into the deepest recesses of the archives, I discovered some embarrassingly written posts and even some funny ones - let's face it, I was amusing in 2007.

This was a huge inconvenience, took such an enormous amount of my time that I stopped counting, and at times I was tempted to just delete the whole thing. Most people might think why on earth would you bother? No one blogs anymore anyway... 

I think the answer to that is that I'm stubborn. You mess with my shit, I'm going to put it right. 

Anyway let's replace these nasty round signs with a more pleasing screenshot. I think I'll have to delete the above one soon actually. It's making me feel ill. 

That's better. 

Do feel free to peruse the archives, while I... well I don't quite know what I'm going to do with all this spare time on my hands now. 

{Joan Didion in her Corvette, Julian Wasser}

NOT PROLIFIC...

I shot just a single roll of film between February and August this year.