Penthouse

Should I trade all my worldly goods (yes, including dogs) for this view...

 Oops, wrong pic. THIS view...

Tempted.

Four Candles Please

When I went to Pilates last night I spotted something very familiar propped up in Kate’s hallway: a dirty rectangle of wood about the size of a kitchen-cupboard door and screwed onto it, in a haphazard arrangement, were a random selection of filthy door handles. We looked at each other, “General Woodwork” we said simultaneously. Kate had been to the closing down sale of our favourite shop of all time. (When I say ‘favourite’ I mean most visited. My favourite shop of all time is a vintage designer boutique in the cloisters of the Palais Royale Gardens – not having the guts to even enter the shop I have only respectfully admired the exquisite mannequins through the glass, expecting to be asked to move on at any moment.) 

The General Woodwork Stores on the High Street has been there forever and with stock from every decade of the last century gathering dust out the back it has been the most perfect place to find all the trimmings that we have ever needed to accessorise this outlandish place. A sturdy, beautifully carved piano leg, covered in cobwebs made the perfect newel post; funky, gilded door handles from the 70’s were just right for the Barry White bedroom; the biggest, brass, Victorian door knob for the front door; pretty, lemon-yellow, plastic handles for a 60’s kitchen; a whacking great big swathe of tree trunk came in handy for a shelf: they had everything you could dream of and more. Some years ago someone had painstakingly and unwittingly created works of art by taking one of every fixture or fitting in the shop and fixing it to the boards that lined the walls and it was one of these that Kate had procured and brought home.      

Unlike the Paris Boutique the staff at General Woodwork were not the least intimidating – three old boys, I think they were brothers owned the store and they never laughed at us once: smiled a little maybe when we explained some hair-brained scheme that we had in mind for, say, suspending a very heavy beaded curtain from the cornice or dismantling and reassembling an old cupola in the back garden. They’d listen patiently and then say

“I’m with you Brian... one of these might do the trick.”

GWS didn’t just sell fancy stuff: hundreds of tiny flat- headed, copper nails to fix the lead roof back onto the cupola; one extra large hook for the hanging chair; a yard and a half of medium-gage chain for said chair; plastic, recessed handles for sliding doors; hinges, nails, screws, bolts and brackets: anything and everything you could possibly need for any DIY project and the nice thing was nothing came in rigid plastic packaging and you didn’t have to buy ten of something if you only wanted one. Oh, and somewhere out the back they even had a box of dog biscuits to keep the whippets happy. We will really miss it.

Kate says “What are you going to do without it?”

“Move” I reply. “Sell up and move to a modern flat where everything’s already done.”

And I have just the place in mind…

Up at the reservoir they’ve built a 29 storey tower block with views all over London and beyond. Brian and I are going to have a look at an apartment there this afternoon up on the 23^rd floor. It’s still a hard hat area as they haven’t been fully kitted out yet. Perhaps I can request a 70s style kitchen and an 80s dining room and I’d really like a 50s bedroom and a Mad Men lounge. Hmmm... maybe a new build isn’t for me after all.

Dog walking at the reservoir yesterday.

Lad's Pad

Brian prefers this one, "less porn baron" he reckons...

Fab Pad

Thank God I never got myself one of those turreted, fairy-tale chateaux in France that I'm always lusting after. I've just found my dream home!! It's in the UK and it's for sale!
Cop a load of this...

and this...

it even has a gorgeous swimming pool...

and you'll never believe the bathroom - floor to ceiling coral-coloured marble, smoked glass shower room and a wealth of gold fixtures and fittings - of course.

Just need to scrape together £900,000.....

Sad really - I bet whoever buys it guts it... They're bound to rip out that fabulous staircase and the column of lights that continues on up through the ceiling to the bedroom. 

Hang on, I have a plan -  think I'll just lurk in the bushes 'till the skip arrives and get first dibs.

Selective Hearing

It’s Wednesday again. John’s doing a photoshoot at the shop this afternoon and so we’re going to drop him and his gear off at Strut on Broadway Market and head on to Chimes on Silk Street to pick up the sheet music for Good Morning from Singing in the Rain for Ed’s exam. We may just have time for a swift dog walk before nipping over to Italia Conti on Goswell Road to collect Ed and drive him to his acting class. I’m just getting the whippets into their new black knitwear. I think the black, 60s style, polo-necks will look quite striking alongside the brutalist architecture of the Barbican.  I also think colorful, flowery organza looks fantastic against the thundercloud grey of the Barbican. Anything looks good in the Barbican. I love the Barbican. Anyway…   

"Come on Enzy Wenzy Woo. Up you get. Aww, come on, I know you’re all comfy wumfy by the radiator but we’re going on a lovely walkies. That’s it, put that paw in there. Well done. And this one in here. Good boy. Now where’s your collar? Do you want to wear this one today? Yes it's nice isn't it?  You go and have a little drinkie while I find the leads. Clever boy, off you go…" Grumpy is on the sofa watching Top Gear. It’s the last day of his antibiotics and he’s got his voice back.

"Mum. MUM. They can’t understand what you’re saying you know mum."

"Course they can. They understand English perfectly."

"Rubbish"

"They CAN. The other day we went into this swish new pet shop in Highgate. That’s where I got these jumpers. Well, Capri was having a lovely time. She sniffed all round the shop and she was really good while we dressed her up in various different coats. She posed for a photo, sat perfectly for treats and they made a real fuss of her saying how beautiful she was… Are you listening? She was about to have a lie down on a lovely doggy blanket when the girl in the shop said  ‘and we’ve got a state-of-the-art dog grooming parlour out the back.’ Then she realized that whippets don’t have a lot of need for a state-of-the-art grooming parlour so she added ‘maybe they could come and... have their nails clipped.’ Well, with that Capri got straight up and dragged me to the door where she stood and yelped until we left the shop then she bolted for the car.”

“That is such gas.”

"I like my new jumper Mummy"

Dining in the Dark

I suppose I should be thinking about how to pay my credit card, or what to feed the kids when they get home, or seeing if the artist is OK... and maybe taking him up a bit of toast or something, but I have been whiling away the hours day-dreaming about MY LATEST FIXATION.... a DARK, candle-lit dining-room. There's a sweet-smelling, wood-burning fire. The vestiges of an effortless but elegant meal are strewn over the table - a simple candelabra, linen napkins, graceful Georgian wine-glasses, cracked wall-nuts, pretty crystalised-fruits, an exquisite bone-handled knife left beside a piece of crumbled cheese, a cascade of grapes... I can make out dark, velvety chairs in the dimly lit room. A black cat is curled up asleep on a window seat. All sight and sound of the outside world is muffled by heavy silk swags and drapes at the windows. Decades of candle smoke have turned the ornate plaster-work ceiling a soft sooty grey. The satiny walls are so dark they look black but the sheen on them softly reflects the candlelight giving the room a warm lustrous glow. It's like being right in the middle of a Dutch oil painting. This isn't a scene from a film... or my imagination: it's the beautiful front room at the Dennis Severs House in Spitalfields. We went there last week and I have been lusting after it ever since. 

In danger of being swallowed up by looming, thirty storey office blocks on all sides, the terraced Georgian house is like stepping into another world, where the smells, sights and sounds of life in 17th Century London have been perfectly conjured up. Lots of inspiration for Dark Weekend! Which reminds me... if you haven't received your email invite get in touch sarah@hackneychateau and I'll send you all the details.

That'll Put a Spoke in Their Works

Ron Arad's Bicycle.

I'd like to see their faces when the thieving bastards hack-saw their way into the bike shed and find one of these. Ha!

Time Travel

Every summer, depressing as the thought is, I resolve to shop for school uniform earlier. My heart sinks when all the high street stores plaster their windows with Back to School banners in July - the day after the kids break up. Little mannequins dressed in grey acrylic jumpers and teflon skirts. Ugh! And so, inevitably, in early September, I find myself at M&S in Angel, snatching trampled black trousers off the floor in the vain hope that they may come somewhere close to fitting one of the boys. Just a few steps away from the scrum and a million miles from the ubiquitous chains of Upper Street I retreat to Camden Passage for a mug of hot chocolate outside the Elk in the Woods and a stroll around the vintage jewellery stalls and antique shops. I always stop for a browse at Odyssey, 11 Pierrepont Arcade. The little shop is lined with glass shelves displaying a myriad of  jewel-coloured vases and ornaments from the the middle of the 20th century. Voluptuous Murano glass sits cheek by jowl with icy Scandinavian crystal. Cutesy folkloric wall plaques jostle for space with kitsch advertising memorabilia. An enormous, cut glass ashtray in the window is so decadent it must have surely come from Roger Moore and Dorothy Squire's Mansion. A more utilitarian fruit bowl, identical to one we had in the 70s instantly transports me back to the security and familiarity of my childhood; laying on an orange wool rug with my sister and a couple of kittens, watching Ace of Wands on the black and white telly. Glance up and the ceiling is crowded with funky lights from the 60s; wicker pendants, dazzling chrome and glass contraptions, atomic sputniks... Chatting to Paul the owner he says he's getting EVEN MORE stuff in over the next couple of weeks! Starting Christmas shopping in September? I think that will be an easier resolution to stick to. 

The Black Hole (I'm not talking about Chelmsford)

After a couple of blissfully quiet weeks in Greece Ed and I hit London (well Chelmsford in Ed's case) with the enthusiasm of a pair of whippets shredding toilet rolls - BRIAN.

While Joe and Ed headed off to Liverpool Street to catch the Essex Express to V Fest, Brian and I went for a stroll around town. We took in the BP Portrait award at the National Portrait Gallery and delighted in slagging them all off for being too drab and worthy. Dry.

Arm in arm, in the late afternoon sunshine, we sauntered past the sparkling fountains in Trafalgar Square and along the Strand until I was drawn to a dark hole beside the Adelphi Theatre, with a neon AMUSEMENTS sign outside. Whoaaa! this is possibly my favourite interior of all time, and definitely a little bit less obvious than the favourite rooms chosen by 9 stylish designers in the September issue of Elle Decoration - ie The Hall of Mirrors in the Chateau of Versailles, Duh!

As I moved closer and my eyes adjusted to the gloom I could make out the sulphury artificial glow of twelve chandeliers, reflected to infinity by mirror lined walls. Wow! I didn't dare go too close and no way would I have stepped inside. Years of programming had informed me that you just don't go into seedy gambling joints and start stroking the arcade games and cooing over the gold mosaic ceiling. I think I'd have been set upon by the dodgy staff if I started taking photos so this furtive shot is the best I could manage with the iPhone. 

  

I would happily move into this place right now - complete with it's grubby cinema carpet (carefully designed not to show filthy chewing-gum splodges and fag burns), pink-metallic, retro shove-hapenny consul featuring a revolving disco ball and strobing one arm bandits. All exquisitely juxtaposed with the marble columned, gilt-mirrored, perfectly lovely room. Not really so different from Versailles but instead of feeling like a sanitised museum, swept clean of all its over-indulgent history, it's more like a private debauched club - exciting, magical and a bit dangerous.

I hardly need show you the interior of Versailles but have a hunch it's where the Kray Twins got their decorating inspiration.

iPod Culture

Touring the architectural hotspots of the island we were really pleased with the way the boys soaked up the culture and didn't just spend the whole time playing daft games on their iPods like most children do.  

If, like John, Joe and Ed, you can't get enough of the fabulous Manrique houses and gardens check out our Flickr photos.

N16->SW19->N16->SW19->N16->SW19->N16

Brian has been gone for some time. He flouted my tried and tested route to Wimbledon and went some trendy new way and has thus been caught up in a street demo near Vauxhall where all the roads are closed and traffic is at a standstill. Never mind. Thank goodness page 11 wasn't quite accurate and curtain call is 10pm and not 9.
I have walked the dogs, planted my geraniums, watered the garden, swept the front steps and made a paella. Might even have time to complete this origami stallion before he gets back. 

Dog's Breakfast

Oh how we laughed our heads off at the cream of the country's up and coming business talent in The Apprentice last night as they were asked to dream up and market a luxury biscuit. The guillotine beckons....

Pass the Laduree darling!

                                                               That's more like it! 


These beautiful biccies were a gift from Gordon and Lee. The pretty macaroons are much copied now but no-one has managed to capture the perfectly lovely colours.... 

...or elegant powder-blue packaging.

Makes me long for Paris... ahhhh

Top Tourist Tip - and it's free!

I like to think of the dazzling One New Change and all its shops and restaurants, slap bang next to St Paul's Cathedral as my local shopping centre. Its not really. Morrisons and CarpetLand at the end of the road are but I like to PRETEND that it is. If I had a flat in the Barbican it would be a pleasant stroll away but on Sunday morning you can fly there in ten minutes in the Volvo and nab the best parking space in town for free.

The gleaming escalators glide you down to a tranquil M & S food hall with more staff than customers. All the other shops are open too, but pretty much deserted on a Sunday; it feels like being a figure in an architects drawing. Ed and I took in some tennis on an enormous TV screen; dozens of pristine striped deck chairs laid out on an Astroturf lawn, we ate strawberries in the cool while centre court sweltered.  

Designed by French architects Jean Nouvel the building is a stunner. Nicknamed The Stealth and with 6,000 shaded, smokey glass panels set at different angles like a huge faceted crystal it almost disappears into the grey London sky and in my opinion (but not Prince Charles's) sits in perfect contrast beside the imposing dome of St Paul's (actually designed by Wren to appear even larger and more dominant than it actually is). 

A ride up to the 6th floor in the glass elevator is the most exciting trip I've made in a long time and on Friday evening, after dinner at Jamie Oliver's Barbecoa for Ed's birthday we had the entire roof to ourselves with the most incredible views over the cathedral and the whole of London. 

Highly recommended.

It's All-White

I sometimes daydream about living in a simple, all-white space, maybe near the sea: wafting around the sun-filled rooms, fresh white flowers everywhere, I'm folding fluffy white towels and stacking them in my white armoire. Of course the reverie soon turns into a living nightmare. I spent last night guarding a couple of dreamily sumptuous, exquisitely dressed beds that The White Company had been prepping and preening all afternoon, ready to come in and shoot this morning. The snowy-white linen impeccably pressed, the bedspread draped just so, the Egyptian pillows plumped to perfection. I can read Enzo's mind and it said
'I'd like to make myself a nest in the middle of that lot.'
'Enzo! That's not the look they're going for - and remember what happened this morning in Dirty Blonde Boutique... I know you were bored with me searching for a vintage swimsuit but vomiting on the floor, twice, was uncalled for. They won't let you in there again.'
'Good' he replied telepathically. 'Anyway, Brian told me to vomit. It was his idea.'


As well as the impracticalities of an all-white home, (the only white furniture we have is wipe clean :)) I don't have the discipline to live in a pale, monochrome environment. Bits of colour would creep in and ruin it. And it would mean you couldn't have a go at this look - if the mood took you and you had a bit of time on your hands one weekend.

A house like our mates Jo and Graham's gaff requires just as much discipline to achieve as any blindingly white, minimal interior. It's my dream pad and is a haven of sophisticated, elegant style but still a fun family home. Have a look.

The White Company manage to make their lovely interior shots look effortlessly easy. They picked these few flowers from the rain soaked garden this morning - just the kind of bedside table arrangement we all have, non? 

Here are some pictures, shot here, from their last winter collection. I took the catalogue into my all-white with quite a lot of green, a bit of lilacy-blue and some yellow, (yes, yellow - Ed insisted on buying a tray of zingy-yellow antirrhinums) dripping wet garden to photograph this afternoon. I would have scanned the pages but John has erased the software for the scanner off the hard drive and Brian binned the disc so we can't reinstall it. Groan.

PS. Thank you to everyone that emailed me about the Cornflower Blue Vans. Your sympathy is appreciated. Thanks to all your hot leads I placed an order this afternoon. x

Again, again, again!

Okaaay....


     would you rather drive one of these...

    or one of these...

My first car was a Ford Capri, a metallic green one. It was by far the nicest car I've ever had and I'd love to get hold of one now. We named the first whippet after my first car. When we went to collect her from a tiny terraced house, full of dogs, in the shadow of the North Sea ferry terminal in Lowestoft, the breeder, Eileen, asked (in a broad Suffolk accent)  
'So what are you going to call her then?'  
'Capri,' I replied, 'after my first car.'
'Ooo, that's nice. Capri.... that suits 'er lovely that does' said Eileen, approvingly. 
Then Brian pipes up in ridiculous toff accent ' We were going to call her after my first car but we thought Lamborghini would be a bit of a mouthful.'
Eileen wanders off.


In no time at all Capri settles into her new life in London.

Stephanie Beacham and Capri, photographed at Lordship Park by Oly Barnsley.

Ed wouldn't be seen dead in anything from the 70s and wants one of the cute Fiat 500s so he can be dropped off and collected from school everyday. (I'm not allowed to show up in the old Volvo, and anyway, there's no-way I'm prepared to pay £9 congestion charge every time I want to drive the half mile from Angel to the Barbican.) London's full of the little Fiats (probably because they're CC exempt) but that hasn't put me off. So, what's it to be...... sex on four wheels or something that's so sweet it's more like a pet? Think I'll stick with the Volvo.

My Favourite Game

Would you rather have.......


                                  One of these...

                                  or one of these...