Button me up

The perfect buttons for a London lover- and perhaps a good stocking filler. I am toying with the idea of using these to customise a navy cardigan, sweater or coat- they'd be cute on a bag too!



Made by Cream Rose available from All things Original.

Last minute dress

I had to look business smart with literally no notice earlier this week. I found this dress in the ever reliable Marks and Spencer (although on me it is not this short). For that moment in time I couldn't have loved them more. This was just right and only £45.

Flat out

I have alluded to the fact that I spend a great deal of my time striding around London like one Jane Austen's heroines before (heroine in the sense that I too am ruddy of complexion after walking from the south bank to the city and also in the sense that it's because I am too poor to have the carriage/ taxi all the time).

Now while I'm a heel lover- and wearer- sense and flats shoes have to prevail a lot of the time or I wouldn't be reaching any of my destinations very quickly.

I am also a lover of all shoes and think there is no less art in a flat shoe- in fact a flattering flat shoe is something I will always pay for. I can talk myself out of bright pink stilettos- don't need 'em (well much)- but perfect, low cut, dainty flats- gotta have 'em. I need them. I might NEVER see their like again.

For some time I have been wearing Jigsaw flats from last winter that are so perfect I did what I always say I will do and never do do- I bought two pairs. Sadly both have now seen better days on account of our temperate climate forcing near constant wear and my marching about probably putting them through multiple marathons- they have done extremely well but I can't keep asking them to go on or they will be lost forever and I want to keep them as they really are perfect and as comfortable as slippers.

So the quest for more has begun. In earnest. Rupert Sanderson has some delectable brogues which I can't copy to show you but are here and are lovely, dainty yet fashionable. I need them. In all the colourways. I can't really have them- though they do have very good sales at his shop.

For now, until the sales, I have bought some pleather flats that are hurting my feet and am begging the cobbler to perform magic on the Jigsaw shoes. Why didn't I buy 3 pairs? 4 pairs?

Nails: faking them and breaking them

I notice hands- and feet. I am always more attracted to a man with nice hands- which can mean anything really. I was going to say lovely clean hands but actually that isn’t true because hands covered in paint or ink are attractive. Hands that are used are so interesting as well I think- where they have been defined by muscle from their work or because they are so delicate and therefore appropriate to their work- be it playing an instrument, writing, manual work, intricate work.

We use our hands so much but I'm not sure we always treat them as well as we should.

So nails and what to do with them- it's not a weighty subject but tending to nails, like waxing, takes up far too much of a woman's time and I wish someone would just invent a method of making them always look neat and lovely forever.

I have just had my first ever set of somewhat false nails soaked in acetone and filed with an electrical device to get them off. They weren't the long scary, square kind. They were tasteful gels and were the length of my own nails- a millimetre or two of white only. I thought these were going to be a wonderful idea, goodbye to nail whitening pencils and re- touching every couple of days. Hello to always pretty hands. Not so, hello to strange peeling after just two days and no way to neaten it. Really should I have anything on me that needs removing with acetone and an electrical device (that looks and sounds like it came from the dentist) voluntarily? I'm not sure I should.

In truth what I think is nicest is really lovely, plain hands with no polish at all. Unfortunately it cannot be denied that neat hands and nails look nicer and a manicure makes your hands look better- unless you have stunning hands- and who does really. In fact I quite like my hands, but that only makes it worse- because they are quite nice they should be made the most of.

Americans are far ahead of us on this- the manicures over there really do last about 5 days. I have never had one here- including the scary removal with implements and chemicals one, that lasted more than 3 days. I can do my own manicures that last 3 days- but I don't have time.

So my hands are back to being quite English again. My lovely, real nails are just painted with some nude pink varnish and they will have to stay that way until someone invents the nail equivalent of electrolysis- although does electrolysis really work or am I just telling myself it does and that one day it will be mine to stop me from going mad as I shave/ wax/ pluck away?

Santa baby

Put a Coffee + Tea Maker designed by Naoto Fukasawa under the tree- for me.





Pictures and coffee and tea maker from the Design Museum shop.

Vionnet

I'm obsessed with the Vionnet dresses worn by Carey Mulligan and Hilary Swank recently. Just obsessed. I know they wore them a week or more ago now but the normal acceptance that I can't have gowns worn on the red carpet just won't kick in. I want them, very much. Indeed.




For more on Vionnet past and present and for these pictures go to Grazia Daily here. There's also an exhibition of Madeleine Vionnet's work on in Paris here. Sigh.

To the unknown warrior

I remember you.

I will go on remembering you. I wear my poppy with pride and think of you and every one of your fellow soldiers every time I adjust it.

I think you of you every time I see the cold stone of the war memorials, whether they are laden with flags and flowers as they are now or when they are bare but standing tall watching over us all.

I think of my great Grandfather, who I never knew. He was lucky enough to come back, but permanently scared, unable to breathe properly for the rest of his days but no doubt grateful for every half a breath.

I think of both my Grandfathers, Uncles and cousins who fought in the next war- the one after the war that was supposed to end all wars- and would never speak of what they saw. I think of my Grandmothers too, bombed out, bravely waiting, hoping and fighting in their own way. I think of the time they missed with each other and the consequences. I think of my friends who are fighting now, for a war they probably don’t believe in but who would never say so.

I remember you all.