I made a discovery yesterday. In fact I made several. Firstly, I am genuinely getting old – the proof came in an unexpected moment when I found myself looking for and using a different attachment for the hoover.
Afterwards I needed a full fat caffeine filled coffee to recover: I’d taken it upon myself to have an autumn-clean; a cathartic move to put away the summer and embrace the coming cold. Part of this meant pulling everything out from under the bed and doing a proper job, because our bedroom has exposed floorboards and the brass bed sits on a vintage rug, provided as a welcome mat to any hungry moths in the neighbourhood. Discovery no.2: There is a Dust Monster, and this is where he lives, along with his neighbour, the Sock Monster. (I believe these are the protectors of said moths)
But none of the negatives will stop my meshed love and appreciation of the aesthetic quality of a perfectly placed rug, whether in a bedroom or partnered with a sofa.
(All pics Pinterest)
There’s something about a rug that pulls a room together, anchors the furniture and solidifies all the opposing elements. I was reminded of this whilst watching the latest interior design competition (Interior Design Masters) on the BBC. The joy of these programmes is considering what you’d do in their position. And often I find myself shouting ‘rug’, and sometimes other words, at the screen. But the truth is, seeing where contestants go wrong is easy, particularly with the addition of retrospect. The hardest thing is always to narrow the choices and come up with original ideas in the first place. And that’s without cameras and a time limit.
Laters, Kate x
And I’m not talking about myself or diet plans for 2019…Gladys ‘Fatso’ Bentley was the gender nonconforming lesbian superstar of the Harlem renaissance born 100 years ahead of her time we have never heard of. She was outrageous – even at at a time when Harlem was legendary for its nightlife. She’s also credited with wearing the first tuxedo in public – so you can add style icon to the list of her attributes. Her later life was not without drama – she took on the persona of a straight life due to the McCarthy era witch hunt against gays in the 1950s, a visual example of how scary that time must’ve been.
Because one of the joys of the Christmas period, to hibernate against the cold and the dark, reading, looking, thinking, researching and just plain vegging: we need to do more of this, discover more things, be proactive rather than passive.
Another guilty pleasure was watching back to back episodes of Project Runway on Netflix: How much do I love the ‘ skip intro’ button? Only a smidgeon less than the ‘skip recap’. Being submerged in couture gown making, talent and taste making it was therefore a bit of a shock to see Heidi Klum’s dress for the Golden globes. What happened?? It’s a cross between Gwyneth Paltrow’s 2002 Oscar dress and a primary school project..
And then there was Timothee Chalamet – robbed last year for an Oscar for ‘Call me by your name’ (fab, fab film) he at least stepped out of the male uniform and I for one loved it. Looking back, ‘Call me by your name’ written by Andre Aciman was also one of my favourite books of the year – rare that both genres are knockout. The other stand out book was ‘Educated’ by Tara Westover – powerful, poignant and unforgettable: This year has a lot to live up too..
Wishing all a very happy 2019!
Laters, Kate x
It’s a mad old time at the moment – both kids starting new schools, husband working away from home during the week, scaffolding up, decorators in both inside and out. It does mean Bella’s room is finally being decorated – more on that later. But making the final decisions in consultation with her has meant much pinning on Pinterest. First there’s been finding the line between what she wants now versus what I believe would stand the test of time and take her through her teenage years…an interesting discussion. But there’s also been a feeling of walking between a real world and an imaginary one and reaching a point where the two seem to collide into a strange reality. As we’ve both been pinning and sharing inspiration it’s become more and more obvious that what looks good isn’t always practical, and if it isn’t practical, does it deserve it’s title of good? Take the kids room above, an eclectic vision of white pepped with colour and texture. But the ladder..why?
At first glance this is a minimalists wet dream with toys framed beautifully to catch the eye like tempting abstract art. Except how can a child reach them? Stand on the rocking chair? Maybe borrow the ladder from the picture above?
Same problem here. Except don’t you look at all of these and feel sorry for the kids? The toys are so carefully chosen and exceptionally curated, not because they’re fun to play with but because they’ll photograph well, give the right image..this is a sickness that is contagious..
Or else you’ll get the room where there aren’t any toys at all. Because..well..playing is just so overrated isn’t it? Far better for kids to just to suck it up that they’re going adults and get used to it, perception over substance, pretence over truth, the new modern dream…maybe I need to go and live with the Amish..or not! But embracing what is beautiful and what is practical seems a basic, honest step…
Laters, Kate x
Clothes are so ubiquitous it’s easy to take them for granted: fripperies, feathers and function. Except they unconsciously say so much – they are our inner identities reflected back to the world. Those moments when you have nothing to wear? It’s really because there’s nothing to express who you want to be that day.
But what if the freedom we believe in is really a myth? What if society has conditioned our thinking so much we no longer notice the rules, the divisions and the assumptions they lead to?
And there are many of them: Blue for a boy, pink for a girl, pretty dresses for girls that look sweet but don’t take into consideration climbing trees and protection against skinned knees, trousers for boys that metaphorically take on another meaning, T-bars for primary school girls, running shoes for boys, Pedestal high heels for women: the literal presentation of an object of desire: Look sexy, feel sexy they shout. Taxi shoes! We laugh, the truth covered by humour, falling for the fantasy rather than admit they’re restrictive, tortuous and totally lacking function.
What about sizing? It’s another hidden form of segregation: There’s the designer labels who don’t make anything above a size 14 – what’s the message they’re giving? That only the rich are perfect? Or that designers only want to hang their clothes on hangers, not real bodies, real people? But we still let them, maybe one day hoping that person will be us, another part of our insidious cultural brainwashing. What about the clothes store that allegedly offer larger sizes except they never have any in stock? Is it because they can’t understand why someone with that body would want to wear it? Is that really their choice to make? When what’s available for one body isn’t available for another it’s limitation, restriction, and control.
Gender is another straitjacket demanding clothing conformity, every store with racks of clothes marked out for one type of person only, the changing rooms following suit. Who has decided these divisions?
Certainly not Phluid. Phluid is the first gender neutral store that’s just opened in New York as a place without judgement or fear where it’s the clothes that do the talking, not our mental labels. Phluid says we have the ability to imagine a world without ‘because we do’ traditions and outdated rituals that don’t work. They say it’s up to us to open our eyes and fix it: Acceptance, balance, integrity, intention are so much more appealing.
(All pics Phluid)
Personally, it’s such a relief to see a store that celebrates what makes us different whilst cherishing what makes us the same: We think choice is freedom, but it only is if that choice is available to everyone.
Laters, Kate x
We saw Cinderella last week..
There’s an undeniable whiff of cheese..but Cate Blanchett’s costumes were honest-to-God-totes-amaze..
vibrant colours…wicked jewellery
All thought up by three time Oscar winning costume designer Sandy Powell..
A south of the River London lass who still lives in Brixton.
Who says fairytales can’t come true?
Laters, Kate x
There was this post about the cold water challenge three of us set ourselves in September: Could we swim in the open air unheated pool without wetsuits through the winter? Then last week, the Beast from the East dropped the temperature and raised the question could we rise to the ultimate challenge in the snow?
The air temperature was minus three, the water was one degree but both the pool and sky were an inviting blue.
For those that asked, no the changing cubicles are not heated and are open to the elements. But this helps – you get acclimatised and your core remains constant. Strangely the two moments of biggest shock are when you’re changing into a cozzie on the cold concrete floor(why-the-f***-am-I-doing-this-I-must-be-mad) to when you’re changing back again from a soaking wet swimsuit and you’re feeling fine – your whole perception of temperature and what cold is has changed – it is literally mind altering, though it helps that there is a sauna to run to to warm up for a good twenty minutes, but you’re still walking around in the wet in silly temperatures..it’s a large pool.
Oh how we laugh in the face of adversity!
The temperature categories for cold water swimming are anything above five degrees is cold water, five degrees and below is ice water. This was the first time we’d actually swum with ice.
Sophie heading in – there’s no hanging around – commitment is the name of the game.
Adding a little bit more magic to a special day: The life guard serenading our swim!
We only effing did it!
If you’d told me in the summer that this is what we’d be doing in the snow, I’d never have believed you. But this bonkers, wonderful, incredible experience has steadily proved that anything is possible: You don’t have to be the best, the fastest, or the winner…you just have to do it. And preferably with a great mate.
Laters, Kate x
‘Wow. I don’t really know where to get started on this “Jennifer Lawrence wearing a revealing dress in the cold” controversy. This is not only utterly ridiculous, I am extremely offended. That Versace dress was fabulous, you think I’m going to cover that gorgeous dress up with a coat and a scarf? I was outside for 5 minutes. I would have stood in the snow for that dress because I love fashion and that was my choice.
This is sexist, this is ridiculous, this is not feminism. Over- reacting about everything someone says or does, creating controversy over silly innocuous things such as what I choose to wear or not wear, is not moving us forward. It’s creating silly distractions from real issues. Get a grip people. Everything you see me wear is my choice. And if I want to be cold THATS MY CHOICE TOO!’
To Jennifer I say, many of us don’t realise the level of sexism we have internalised. We are conditioned by it, educated in it and live out our lives in it. You wore this dress because of an insidious undercurrent of rules that dictates female Hollywood stars should wear such dresses, full stop, regardless of the expense, the quality, the label, the fashion statement, the weather, or even what the men are wearing. You were expected to dress like this, you knew this and unquestioningly fulfilled that obligation. Where the ongoing problem lies is that you don’t see your behaviour as influenced and that’s where the sadness lies, because every time our daughters see a women, particularly a women proud to hold herself up as a female icon, refuse to acknowledge such an event or puts her well being second, or does something that reinforces the idea that being object of desire/cleaning/childcare is a woman’s primary role, we let them down. In the words of Charles Boudelaire:
The loveliest trick of the devil is to persuade you he doesn’t exist.
Open your eyes. The truth is, there should have been five human beings standing there, not four men and a beautifully packaged piece of tempting meat.
Laters, Kate x
I’ve read that personalities can be divided into two camps – cowboys and farmers. The cowboys are the restless ones, always roaming and seeking new pastures whilst the farmers solidly plough the same field over and over again. Our ski holiday embraced everything cowboy: Constantly on the go, incredible scenery, crisp air, the smell of wood smoke, peace (piste…and pissed as well) as well as a true sense of wonder.
A fusion of manmade and natural – an icicle chandelier.
We were in La Rosiere on the French side of the Aosta valley, ski-able into Italy. And by all accounts, were lucky to have snow.
They were using snow cannons when we first arrived, but as the runs were in full sun it still made for great conditions. And then it snowed.
I’ve never seen this before – three rainbows, one on top of the other, made by the sun refracting through ice crystals in the air.
It always amazes me how slopes look flat in pictures!
We decided Charlie is really a secret snowboarder!
And what did I wear?? John’s old two-piece from the eighties! Maybe not quite pure vintage swagger, but on a ski slope..the joy is no-one cares!
And now I suppose it’s time to return to farming…and wrestling with the Einstein quote that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
The silver lining is our holiday proved that perfectly decent wheels can aways be reinvented..
Laters, Kate x
It was pure fluke we arranged a holiday in Hastings at the exact time of their 1066 celebrations to mark 950 years since the famous battle which changed English history.
The enactment put on by English Heritage was epic, both in terms of scale and quality: The sheer attention to detail was a joy to behold with every costume cared for down to the last buttonhole.
Running up to the battlefield was a row of shops to supply us and any soldiers with their daily needs: boar hides, leather satchels, knives, jewellery, bone needles, hand loomed blankets, buckles and beer all hewn and authentically made so that seeing enactors interacting genuinely felt like a step back in time.
On either side of the battlefield were the camps of the Normans and Saxons, true living and breathing hives of activity.
From cooking food and tending livestock to weaving and making music.
The day was packed with individual events, including a falconry show. This is the closest I’ve ever got to a real golden eagle.
And so the battle began..
(The irony of the jester watching on..)
It was fabulous!
Laters, Kate x