Thursday, July 17, 2014

Maggie Laine

Something about the grain on this photo... And yes, I can put my denim shirt on tomorrow but it won't look this good. Plus. I note that she has the little rucksack that I keep meaning to buy in for the shop.  I missed a lovely eggshell one on ebay the other week.  Must try harder.

Thanks for the lovely Photo

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Natasha Goldenberg

Pulling off pregnancy dressing gown chic to the point that I want one.  The dress not a baby.

Wednesday, July 02, 2014

The perfect tee.

The one my mum wore in the 70s that I stole to wear in my 20s, until it got lost.  I am still looking for it.  Navy blue, long and fitted in the arm and the kind of scoop that is only there to give your collarbone a role.  And after decades of washing, the only thing that happened was that it just got softer and softer until it was like putting on silk.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

Made a dress

Butterick 5145 made up in a yard and a half (no wastage) of slubby 80s raw silk off Etsy that seems to have been tea dyed.  In real life, where I and the dress transcend this image, it is classic 80s The Cloth style textile design that has a certain lustre and fall.  What you can't see is the beautiful Victorian seal etched into glass set in filigree brass round my  neck that my husband bought for my birthday.  How constantly surprisingly he knows me well.

Sunday, June 22, 2014


Young girls from the Bronx in the early 80s (the early 80s, listen to it again.) making amazing music that was then later sampled and monetized by the boys. I am more than a bit fascinated by their story. I was reminded of them by my friend Clare who saw them live just the other night and said they were amazing.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Just a peep

Throughout the rooms of the eighteenth century mansion house where I work I am fairly sure that I walk a little differently.  A more deliberate step, a more elegant hand, even if rushed.  Maybe it's the eyes of all the oil stroked faces that follow me around.  Maybe after a solitary morning, passing through the still house with the only real sensory changes having come from weighted scents, I allow myself an indulgence of imagination...