Yesterday I fulfilled two life ambitions. I took afternoon tea properly in a hotel and I saw Alice Cooper. Sometimes days seem as though they could only happen in London. The tea was lovely: the sandwiches and cakes were beautifully turned out, the company fine and the cake delicious. As for the show, well it was everything I wanted it to be. We spotted Alice walking through the cloakroom. In a room full of people dressed as Alice Cooper, the figure himself seemed to slip unnoticed: we first spotted him from his coat. He was moving too quickly and we didn’t catch him. I didn’t take a camera because the day passed so quickly. Sometimes the good days go too fast to keep.
Recently I have been in two minds about continuing this blog. I have never quite been clear about its purpose and I am no longer sure I have the enthusiasm I owe it.
For me the year always begins in Autumn. It’s the time of year I was born into and it always seems full of possibility. In January nothing feels new, in Autumn everything looks fresh in the rain.
I don’t usually post links, but here are a few things I have enjoyed recently:
wellcome memory game, degas at the ballet, llamafont.com, vintage dog photography, tinker tailor soldier spy: and since watching that film, I’ve enjoyed an unforeseen keenness regarding pussy-bow blouses.
Oh, and I’ve also been sweet on these old French poisson d’Avril cards:
What recent encounters have caught your mind?
I damaged my wrist last week. Before I find out whether or not the bone is broken, I’ve got this fetching splint festering on my wrist. The elastic strapping reminds me of those Hervé Léger bandage dresses and a very unsexy version of these Bordelle suspenders. The massive velcro straps remind me of my old trainers. The splint leather strap reminds me of a Hussein Chalayan outfit I saw at the Bath Fashion Museum.
I painted my nails to match the splint, which cheered me up. I remember how Barbie’s nails were the same colour as her hands. The absence of pink always seemed curious, an uncharacteristic lack of adornment on a body shaped by synthetic concerns. The nails left pseudo-natural touch at Barbie’s fingertips: Mattel must have figured that they weren’t worth painting.
This weekend we’ll be moving house. Moving always seems to mean dropping off the internet for a couple of weeks at least. So to keep things ticking over, here are some links to some of the older posts from this blog, which newer readers might enjoy. I picked some that showed some of the time I’ve spent here, from classic blog posts like:
And some previously unseen images from the vault, showing time spent in the flat we’re leaving, including:
And the all-time classic:
This is owlcat in space. Or it’s owlcat wearing a cone from the vet with one of picnik‘s space effects added. You can never be certain. Either way, I’m tempted to get it printed onto a cotton bag.
So you guys know how much I love the seaside don’t you? I might have mentioned it once or twice before…
We paid a visit to the beach, the Turner Contemporary and a shall grotto. The shell grotto reckoned it had SIX-POINT-ONE-MILLION shells. I believed it. If the guide was to be believed, the shells were arranged in various shapes representing fertility (including number 14, “phallus/mushroom”.) On the way out, I bought a ‘Margate’-engraved shell (“made in Polynesia”).
After that we called in on a snoopers-paradise-esque secondhand emporium. I happened upon the STRAW BAG OF MY DREAMS which was pretty delightful.
Also tucked away in the labyrinthine shop was this little briefcase. The colour caught my eye and out of curiosity I opened it up and was delighted to find it wasn’t a briefcase at all, but a Cassette Library. I’ve modelled it here with our wonderful Fika Recordings cassettes… Check them out if you get a chance.
Oh, and lunch was chips on the beach…
My boyfriend is half French, but he gets super-French when the tour de France is on. The TV theme song becomes a summertime jingle, letting me know holidays are on their way. I have to admit it took a beautifully-filmed 1960s documentary to get me interested, which is worth a watch for the footage of journalists writing copy on the backs of mopeds alone. Vive Le Tour is a lovely little piece of film-making. I love the close-ups of the cyclists’ faces at the end and the crowds waiting for the race at the opening.
Yesterday we found some vintage cycling jerseys for sale. Sadly we’re on a buying ban whilst we wait to move house, so we didn’t buy any. But it was nice to see the fabrics that made it through the years.
If you’re still keen, Pour un Maillor Jeune is a another tour film, from later in the decade.
