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Thursday, February 26, 2015

Ebony & Ivory



Packing is the sort of thing that can tip me over the edge. No matter  how many lists I write, I just don't have a methodical mind and I'm always suspiciously envious of  women who can plan their travel clothes to the nth detail,  I smell the whiff of hedonic hip swaying dances with the devil.
This last trip was a long one and as a sartorial lazybones  with  a busy trip ahead I kept things simple and 
    aside from one ivory jumper and one grey sweater dress, I packed my suitcase with inky ease. I just didn't pack enough, however, for such a long time away, so by the end of the month I was inwardly shrieking that I would not wear black for a least 4 weeks. 
Of course I am now sitting here in black, it's just too easy. Opting for a black clothing palette always reminds me of this verse from Corinthians, you must know it:

Black is patient; black is kind; black  is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful... It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. 

I couldn't have said it better. 
LA/London based designer,  Catherine Quin's latest collection  has caught my inverse magpie eye, she adheres to  Henry  Ford's maxim that you can have any colour as long as it's black.
Her pieces are  soothing and  elegant 
Consider me sold.



I'm also loving ...

Penguin's Little Black Classics 

Spending a penny in style at the Hotel Bel Air

Marks & Spencers new Chinoiserie bed linen.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Pleasures of the flesh



Apropos of sheer nosiness,  I was just wondering, for those who indulge in roast beast, are you still saving the wishbone until it dries and making a mid-week wish?
It's one of those much revered childhood rituals in my house.

Sunday, February 22, 2015

LA Stories



The warm kiss of the Santa Ana winds,  the sharp scent of flowers and the sunlight, oh the sunlight pouring down from a cobalt blue sky. In the depths of a British winter, there is no more sensual escape than being hurled in a steel tube for  5,000 miles and emerging into the fecund splendour of SoCal. 



My holidays here are rather ordinary, I've been coming to California with a  flower in  my hair   all of my life as one half of my family are from this part of the world, so I do the same old, same old,  every single  time. I base myself in my favourite area, Malibu and then  drive off  and do exactly what I do at home but in  much more beautiful surroundings. 



So...spinning/gym, perusing the plethora of Whole Foods supermarkets, going to the library, the cinema and worshipping at the  marvel  of outdoor magazine stands. I'd like to call them papery 'oasises' in the desert but I don't think that's a word!

There is a positivity here that acts like a Vitamin B shot to us Brits and which, hopefully, lingers long after the scenery returns to normal. 



Of course this wasn't my plate! 








The Hotel Bel Air swans  




After almost a month away, I'm going to miss bathing in this light.
(Michael -  I ended my trip here, just missed you!)
P.S.  My Internet access is sporadic for the next few days, please excuse my tardiness at posting and responding to comments.