The Style Inside

Wien

2011-12-12T22:35:00.000+01:00

It's official. I'm in love with Vienna. So much grandeur, such imposing fabulous historic importance, and all those coffee houses (my personal favourite is absolutely Café Bräunerhof, very arty and intellectual, in that stark Austrian fashion).

There's an awful lot of glamour, too - many fur clad dames and "fesh" lads (who are so, so tall.... what's that about?) in hats. Oh and speaking of hats, we came across one of the nicest and chicest hat shops ever - and upon researching Mühlbauer further found that they've got a pretty darn cool website, too! Get them!

And a famous Gustav Klimt angel at the world's most beautiful pharmacy, the Engelapotheke right in the centre of town, near the Stephansdom.

ole lynggaard

2011-11-10T12:47:00.001+01:00

Helena looking nothing less than spectacular. What is it with the Danes?

See my piece for White Line Hotels on wonderful Danish jewellery brand Ole Lynggaard. I am smitten and know you will be too.

bleach london

2011-10-27T18:22:00.001+02:00

I have a particular weakness for coloured hair at the moment and given half the chance (location and facility) I'd be off before you could say powder-me-pink-darling to Bleach London and have myself transformed into something along the lines of the pink glory above. Well either that or a dip dye. Is it me or is this not totally beautiful? I found this amazing image today of Bleach London co-founder Alex Brownsell's work on a Thakoon NYC model courtesy of British Vogue.

apartamento magazine

2011-10-26T10:45:00.001+02:00

The focus over at Whiteline Hotels is on Barcelona throughout the whole month of October. Here's my first Barcelona related piece.

whiteline hotels

2011-09-29T15:16:00.001+02:00

Whiteline Hotels shines the spotlight on Vienna.

Was asked to write a piece for them.
Here it is.

the wow factor

2011-08-26T09:46:00.013+02:00

If you're not one of the afflicted and if the economic downturn has in fact turned you sunnyside up rather than made you chomp at the bits like the rest of us, then this may be of interest to you. I always reckon that if you're going to do something properly (negative or positive) then you may as well do it with style. Only this morning I came across this amazing website (thanks Amanda!) and was instantly transported back to the UK where I started an imaginary bout of househunting, one of my favourite pastimes. Not really being a great fan of art deco I couldn't help but adore the beautiful house in Marylebone (pictured above), very Poirot and also something about it reminded me of the Casa Batllo in Barcelona, I think it's the light within or maybe the grand staircase. Take a peek inside and see for yourself.

And if renting's your game then the exquisite property in Spitalfields (pictured below) may be to your liking. In fact for Swiss standards the rent the owners are asking doesn't seem that unrealistic, if the property were over here it would probably be double if not triple. Just saying.

And with our fave London famzy in mind, I think the one below may fit the bill to their quest for finding a "gorgeous 60's bungalow in Suffolk". I mean, who could ask for anything more?

You can find these and many more beautiful UK homes for sale or rent on the fantastic WowHaus website by clicking here. Happy hunting.

Young British Designers

2011-08-04T14:46:00.005+02:00

Clearly becoming a bit of a habit.

This time it's about fashion, young glorious British fashion!
Click here to find your way to Futurespace Magazine and the YBD story.

grasilver

2011-07-07T15:53:00.001+02:00

Here is the most beautiful collection of modernist scandinavian vintage

jewellery you'll ever come across. Via Futurespace Magazine. My piece.

Glamour Hunter

2011-06-23T10:30:00.004+02:00

Guestwriting can be ever so distracting. And addictive. And hugely rewarding. But much more nerve-wracking. And cool. Especially when it's for Futurespace Magazine. If you're still with me, then do check out my piece on Hunter by clicking right here.

futurespace magazine

2011-04-06T08:30:00.006+02:00

Instead of skulking around here on The Style Inside, today I'm just gonna send you over to the guys at Futurespace Magazine. Not only because they're quite cool, but also because they asked me to write a piece on Baselworld 2011. Today my piece has been published. Read it here.

Enjoy your trip to Futurespace but remember your way home.

liz

2011-03-24T13:21:00.000+01:00

I like New York in June, how about you?

2011-03-22T09:06:00.002+01:00

This wonderful clip from 1974 of Kenneth Williams being interviewed by Russell Harty was sent to me by my dear friend and The Style Inside reader Andrew. It's simply marvellous and ties in fabulously with the recent "Working The Crowd" post. I love how his simple and beautifully delivered statements are as true today as they were then. The whole "corruption" thing is hugely relevant. Love it! Thanks Andrew. X

vintage cycling

2011-03-14T17:43:00.008+01:00

Today turned out to be a bike-themed day. What with him indoors all giddy at having signed up for the übercool L'Eroica vintage bike race in Italy, followed by some quick but very rewarding research on girlie vintage bikes, it's little wonder I've managed to tick practically nothing off my day job worklist!

Firstly some info on the said vintage bike race. It's a rather charming event which takes place every year in September in the Chianti region of Italy and competitors dress up vintage-style, really looking the part complete with fag dangling from corner of mouth and hip flask containing anything BUT water or Gatorade. Check out the website to really get a feel for what it's all about. It's the perfect venue to show off that beautiful Bianchi or Cinelli of yours.

For the girlies on the other hand it's another excuse to indulge in some serious online shopping with these two really lovely Bike Dealers offering exquisite vintage style bikes in fabulous colours and matching accessories. I know a couple of ladies who are already smitten with the models on offer (especially the red one) and I bet you'll be tempted too once you start browsing. The first online shop is the fantastically tasteful Abici - unlike with politics, the Italians really do seem to know what they are doing when it comes to bikes. I dare you NOT to fall in love with their Pantone Universe range.

The other site I found is charming UK-based retailer The Old Bicycle Company, offering beautiful well-made traditional vintage style cycles. Lovely! If I had more time on my hands I could probably get some more sources for you but my boss is throwing daggers so must dash.

working the crowd

2011-03-13T14:47:00.008+01:00

I was slightly taken aback (in a good way) the other day when I noticed a friend actively working the crowd and bringing to life what otherwise would have been a brief and possibly unmemorable chance encounter between a group of people. The reason I noticed this phenomenon was not so much because I recognised some of my own moves and tactics in my friend's highly skilled social display, but because I was mesmerised by her huband's reaction. His palpable sigh of relief at not having to get involved himself but let his wife do the work combined with his very endearing facial expression which screamed "Isn't she good?" made me smile, albeit in an exasperating way. I also promised myself that I would write a post about it, so here we all are.

You either do or you don't, right ? Well, as I said before, I, like my charming friend, am one of those that do. At social gatherings with the husband I am not the one who sits back and observes, looking cool and sophisticated. That, would be him. No. I'm the scary one with the broad smile and matching body language who's coming right atcha in a bid for some contact. I can't help it and I don't make excuses although sometimes I admit, it would be quite nice to "have the day off" and let someone else do the PR.

So what's it about? "Why does she do it?" you ask. I can guarantee that a deep-rooted need to people-please is a huge part of it just as much as a genuine belief that we are all humans and no matter how northern you are, inside every person male or female, is a big need to communicate, to connect and to feel loved. Or not? Isn't that what it's all about? Sure, there's upbringing. My parents for example, taught me a) to be compassionate and b) to shake hands properly, openly and with a smile on my face.

Of course once you start using words such as "social" and "communication" it's hard not to touch on the whole subject of social media - that amazing new world in which we're all finding great new ways of communicating like never before. Where does that leave our social behaviour and ability to connect with others in the real world? I for one believe that the tweeting, chatting, blogging, commenting and "liking" is actually helpful as we are learning to express ourselves and communicate more than ever before.

What do you think, dear readers? Maybe you'd like to answer some of the questions raised above and below with your own valid and highly valued opinions? It would be fantastic to hear them so why don't we get a little conversation started....

Do you work the crowd for your other half or are you happy to let him/her do the talking?
Is it important to connect and communicate with others socially and how do YOU go about it?
Do you make the first move or do you prefer to let others come to you?
Do you think upbringing is the key to our social behaviour?
Does all this matter? To connect, to communicate....?
How are your kids' virtual and personal communication skills going?

Thanks for reading and thanks so much in advance for participating - if you prefer to remain anonymous you can send an email and I will publish your comments without names on the comments form below.

1969

2011-03-01T20:32:00.003+01:00

A little Music Update for you, just a quickie, nothing that will take up too much of your time but that will undoubtedly give great pleasure to some of you, and which seems, from where I'm sitting, important and well-placed here.

No, it's not about my latest obsession (Plan B) but my longterm love (Sinatra & Jobim). Some of you faithfull followers will remember many posts ago my ode to ye that art great (Sinatra, Jobim and mein Papa). Now we have the next chapter of that story:

Yes, last year, a mere forty-one years after it was recorded and forty years after it was pulled from the shelves by eager fans, Sinatra/Jobim can finally be heard as it was intended to be. Trust me when I say, it’s so been worth the wait. 1969 was indeed a very good year. Barnes & Noble put it rather nicely in their Review right here.

There's a time and a place for Plan B, but some days, some moments, only Francis Albert will do.

beauty love

2011-01-25T18:12:00.005+01:00

Twitter, just like love, is a many splendoured thing, and The Style Inside loves some of the beauty bloggers who over the past months have become constant companions and given great tweets and fabulous beauty news. A girl's life in general, not just on Twitter, would be dull without the musings of these ladies on vital matters such as nail colour, shampoos, lip stains and foundation.... The thing is, when I read their blogs I know I'm listening to a *real* woman. Someone a bit like me. A contemporary. A partner in crime in matters of glamour/fashion/beauty/life. Heck, we can even share childcare tips with these girls. We like that their vast professional experience and talent is given further depth by their real, no-nonsene, non-artificial personas; it's what counts, it's what's important to us and it's what comes across stark and clear in their blogs. As if that wasn't enough we even get Wit thrown in for free, and that's what clinches it for me every time. Whilst we girls (and more and more boys) are used to hanging on the lips and words of the last uttered beauty giant's promise, I'd rather have my info filtered intelligently, realistically into neat, bite-sized chunks by someone who I can a) relate to and b) makes me laugh.

Not being much of a beauty blogger myself except for maybe here, I thought it would be a good thing to point my readers and followers in the direction of the beauty gals that count. I list them in no particular order or preference and encourage you to a tasting session, see which one ticks your boxes. I'm a glutton so love 'em all.

The Style Inside Beauty Ritual

Product Placement

British Beauty Blogger

The Beauty Pages

Modesty Brown

Beauty Parler

Obviously these four are only the tip of the beautyblog iceberg, each one offers a huge number of more beauty links you never knew existed.

The Trunk

2011-01-23T13:52:00.011+01:00

I've already tweeted about it once or twice but the arrival of The Trunk really does deserve a proper mention on here too, I feel. Having neglected the blog for way too long it seems the perfect icebreaker and hopefully will serve to re-open the floodgates for me, writing-wise.

Last year a friend's neighbour had decided to sell her house with a great deal of furniture and nick nacks still in it, as she retired into a local home for the elderly. Before putting the house on the market, the immediate family came and checked all the 'remnants' and told my friend she was welcome to purchase any of the items marked 'for sale'. I was over at my friend's for a cup of tea and a natter one afternoon when she invited me to go next door and have a peak at the things she'd chosen for herself and 'Who knows,' she said, 'there may be something you'd like?'. Well, I do love a house clearance as well as antiques plus I'm by nature too nosy for my own good, so took great pleasure in accepting the invitation. There were a few lovely little pieces: wardrobes, interesting cabinets, paintings and prints, a globe and some luggage and of course the pièce de résistance, an old Louis Vuitton Steamer trunk. When I saw it I thought 'Oh gosh, we've always wanted one of those' but was certain that if my friend hadn't earmarked it for herself, the family surely would have. Instead nobody showed any interest, apart from me. I registered my eagerness and awaited confirmation that I could purchase it from the owners. Whilst still in the house I took pictures and sent them to him indoors, he promptly came back with 'Get it! Get it!' or words to that effect. 'He's keen', I thought. My friend and I took a few moments to inspect the case, we opened it and couldn't believe the interior, it was very impressive with beautiful original mahogany Louis Vuitton engraved coat hangers and it seemed in relatively good condition considering its age which at a guess I'd say was just over 100 years. We moved on, had more tea and eventually said our goodbyes - she said she'd let me know and of course there was no hurry on my part so I told her not to worry. Although I must admit to having felt an underlying excitement within me, in my gut, which told me this was a nice piece to have come across, casually in such a way.

I eventually received the 'OK' via my friend from the family of the lady and also the price which I felt was very reasonable indeed. Especially as I had chosen a selection of items, so the price was for the lot rather than for individual pieces. It took 2 strong men to carry the LV down about 100 steps and into our car. It now stands resplendent in our office. A magnificent beast of a trunk, I've started researching its origins and history as well as the monogrammed letters on the lid (RvS... ironic, no?).
I also came across this wonderful 2010 project called "Louis Vuitton: 100 Legendary Trunks", an exceptional book which showcases the most beautiful LV creations through more than eight hundred photographs. In the book you'll find many incredible pieces, along with the equally incredible stories of their creation. To find out more and to be transported into the glamourous world of Louis Vuitton and luxury luggage, go directly to the Louis Vuitton website and select "The World Of Louis Vuitton" where you'll find the link to the Legendary Trunks page and its exquisite video.You'll also find Bono and his lovely wife Ali somewhere there.
Oh, and there's even an app!

Anyway, here's our beast. We're having it valued next. Christie's I think.

social

2010-10-28T22:40:00.020+02:00

Nowadays I often wonder what it would feel like, to live in the big city again. Four years ago we opted out and decided to make a massive change in favour of our children's upbringing and our own sanity in terms of social pressures and that whole middle class safety-in-numbers thing. We've always liked to do "our stuff" slightly left of centre and to conform is our idea of hell. We love that we have our imagination and our dreams and aspirations "in tact", like a virgin in a bubble floating through time*, with lots of optimism on top.
You may laugh but to us this was our USP and believe it or not, it really is what keeps us going to this day. We both (him indoors and me) still have our dreams together in our little box and never for one minute have we felt like we're chasing rainbows. I try to define this aspect of our lives but fail miserably each time because I don't like to justify it. It may not have always been an easy ride, what with the odd sacrifice and set-back, but always our little box, drawing us forward relentlessly. "What's THAT about?" I've often wondered, thinking of myself as naive and totally, utterly idealistic. It doesn't last long however; then our dedication and the courage of our convictions come soaring right back with great vigour and renewed energy.
We (here I refer to earthdwellers in general, not just to Mr R and moi) make our decisions by following our dreams and our gut, right? Tell me we're not the only ones. Tell me, that in this supersafe country of caution-loving, risk-hating, money-hoarding individuals, we are not the only idealistic, risk-taking, caution-into-the-wind-throwing dreamers. Tell me it isn't so. Tell me also that 4 years ago there were others like us, in a super-cool city with gorgeous friends and family around them that thought: ok, we're off, we're gonna get us something better/different/challenging/mind-blowing. Obviously both of us have some sort of deep-rooted need to explore and expand/alter the status quo on a fairly regular basis (no..., really?).
So, here we are, 4 years down the Swiss lifeline and my biggest fear is that our wanderlust may set in again. I do hope not 'cos I'm really rather tired of moving, rather happy and raring to go career-wise.

Do I need a bit of reassurance? Do I want confirmation that we made the right choice(s)? Not really. Because today, as I'm sat here in my teeny village I feel like the world lies at my feet. I have the most amazing family, the most incredible friends (local and international) and I have him indoors, the sons and soon a dog.

Plus I have Twitter (alright, and Facebook) and I'd be so dead without them.

This whole post was in fact born from the idea of "giving thanks to social networking sites" (an ode to, if you like) but as often is the case, I got rather carried away and only managed to get to the point here, at the end...

What I'm trying to say, rather badly, is that if like me you have a strong need to socialise, Twitter for example keeps you going, love, doesn't it? It works for me, and I feel like I'm in touch with what's going on in the outside world, in my kind of world. Can't imagine my life today without either one of them.

I have a constant battle with my other half who really struggles with Twitter. He says to me regularly and with much scorn: "Talking to your imaginary friends again?" or "They're not real, you know" (he really IS a very very nice man). I remember to breathe and I let it wash over me. I know he'll "get it" one day. It's just taking him that little bit longer, bless.

*sounds crazy but describes it perfectly, bear with me.

pink month

2010-10-06T08:20:00.011+02:00

Just in case you didn't know, October is the month of breast cancer awareness. Therefore, like it says, be aware. Take a moment to check yourself out and go see your GP if you find anything at all that seems strange, different, weird. If there is something, even if that something is barely noticeable, don't say to yourself "it's nothing", just make an appointment and be sure.
I'm sat here with my morning cuppa thinking firstly about the women I know who have been affected by breast cancer directly or indirectly (alarmingly, quite a few) and secondly I'm thinking about myself and the monumentous madness my life would turn into if ever I had to face up to this disease. My children, my husband, my parents, my siblings, my friends... unbearable, how would I cope? My natural optimism, would it be of help here? With any luck I won't ever have to find an answer to these questions. But "aside from non-melanoma skin cancer, breast cancer is the most common form of cancer in women (Pink Ribbon International)" so I feel I'm in there with a chance.
Yesterday, during one of my lessons, we were discussing what it means to be a genius and by pure chance I was made aware of the brilliant surgeon and oncologist Umberto Veronesi who founded the European Institute of Oncology based in Milan. If breast cancer has touched your life in any way, these two links will definitely be of interest and hopefully of use.
I also came across this fantastic blog (soon to become a book) dedicated to surviving breast cancer, it's an inspiring and dare I say funny read and definitely one for the favourites bar.
Anyway, my tea's gone cold now, must get on with the day.

eric

2010-09-23T23:29:00.011+02:00

The decision, after years of toyfully playing with the idea and then discarding it with a nervous laugh every single time, has been made. As a family we have always had pets. Well cats, that is. Right now we have 3 gorgeous kitties. I've always been a cat-person, dogs just never felt right. A bit like a fab coat that looks awesome but the minute you try it on, you just know it's all wrong. That's what the idea of owning a dog felt like to me.
So what the hell happened? Why am I all of a sudden possessed with the desire and need to have a dog? What's that about? This time it's not some superficial whim or crazy fantasy fuelled by my husband's secret desire to have a Pointer of some sort. It's deep, it bubbles up inside me and comes flowing out in great big waves of happiness because I've realised that having made this unheard of decision, feels righter than any pussycat can. There have been outside influences all along, especially of late. My sister-in-law has just acquired a dreamy Labradoodle called Archie, and several of my Twitter-chums have also come out of the blue as rather fabulous dog-owners. Of course there's D., my friend and fellow blogwriter (Salcottroad), who has been a steady, enthusiastic, enlightening and heavy influence where dogs are concerned. She is not only the owner of Max, a superb Kurzhaardackel, but has also recently become mum to Ottavio, the most beautiful Bassett Hound pup that you've ever laid eyes on.
So for years I've been listening with an incredulous look on my face to various friends telling me how they searched high and low for a particular breed and then drove 2 days across Europe to pick up their new little 4-legged friend. Who in their right mind would DO such a thing and why, for goodness sake? I never knew the answer until today. Today the penny dropped. It was probably an insanely wild mixture of emotions and situations, the full moon, my two boys growing as well as the knowledge that I'm not going to have another baby, the husband's and my realisation that we only live once and just generally why the bloody hell not?
It all seemed to become so easy once we decided which dog. That was the key to everything. It unblocked the fear of the unkown and just made it feel like home. We found a breeder and I've already bonded with her in a BIG way over the phone today and on some weekend in early December we are going to drive those 2 days across Europe ourselves to go get our little boy. Nothing weird in that, I can tell you. Imagine, he's not even born yet! But we won't have long to wait, the puppies are due in just under 2 weeks and I know that when my breeder NBF calls to announce their arrival, I will have trouble speaking to her because of my wobbly chin.
The husband, true to form, has started compiling endless lists of names (btw this all feels SO familiar - last time we behaved like this was when we were expecting the birth of our sons). This is all very well, you may say, but what exactly lies behind it, eh? Yes, I KNOW what it's about, call it what you like but an Ersatzbaby is what it so obviously is. Bring it on.
The name Eric is not final but it's a strong contender. And our new dog will probably look not very unlike the one above. Our 2 sons are beside themselves with excitement and we will of course be spending every single day from now until the puppy's arrival in December, talking, planning and dreaming of him. I can already feel the influence he will have on us.
Just for the record: I promise to stay reasonable and not lose my mind over my dog. If you do notice obsessive behaviour on my part, please slap me.

friends reunited

2010-08-31T22:18:00.062+02:00

I am excited beyond reason. Do you remember when I told you about my blue and white friends way back? Well, I couldn't believe my eyes this evening when by sheer coincidence I came across this beautiful website. I was just googling "cornish blue butterdish" (my own shattered into a hundred pieces today after being accidentally hurled across the kitchen) and wasn't "feeling very lucky at all" when up from nowhere came this site - obviously pretty brand spanking new and totally, gloriously restyled! For us Cornish Blue lovers this is very good news indeed as there really seemed little hope that the company might survive its recent troubles but bless my knitted socks here it is, taken into new and clearly very capable hands.
They even offer an online gift service... oh and have you SEEN the packaging?
I wish the company all the very best and hope they reach new heights ensuring I shall never be without my dear friends again.
And, get this, they have a blog!

mad

2010-08-24T12:43:00.017+02:00

Not much of a feminist me, so I'm not even going to start. It kind of bothers me, actually, feminism. The sheer idea that there could ever have been a difference between the sexes intellectually or on any other level drives me nuts, and that we even had to discuss it and fight about it, bores me. It's all down to ignorance on a monumental scale. I've always been of the opinion that this is a humanistic issue rather than a social one. Of course I'm not sticking my head in the sand, nor am I that stupid to claim that there hasn't been "an issue" of sorts, but I've never felt the need to fight for my right. Then again I was born in '68, which may explain my attitude. Also I've probably arrived at a table that is all set and has allowed me to just go ahead and tuck in. I think what I don't like is feminism amongst my agegroup. That's the (big) difference. So before some of you ladies log off never to be seen again, please rest assured that I'm talking about MY timezone and not eras gone by.
Which leads me straight (?) into Mad Men and my slight obsession with Joan Holloway. I only discovered Mad Men about 4 months ago and it's taken my admiration for American TV show making to another level. Apart from being the most supremely stylish show ever to hit our screens I love it for its subtlety and it's very satisfying attention to detail. First class stuff. Also love it for all the fantastically un-pc things it doesn't say but that are glaringly obvious in the beautiful delivery of its cast. Subtlety can be so wonderful. Plus it's totally rekindled my love affair with America, especially with New York.

a good look

2010-08-18T16:14:00.134+02:00

We came across a beauty of a shop on our daytrip to Luzern the other day (well to be honest quite a few but this one's colour-scheme was particularly photogenic). I should have taken more pictures but the shop owner was hovering around and I'm never quite sure if my snapping at their wares and stylish displays is that much appreciated. Then again we all know it ends up here, on t'interweb. Once, on a city-break to Munich visiting my father, I was very snap-happy in a store of sorts (remember this?) and was given a right old telling off for my impertinence. The Bavarians are ever so slightly tetchy though, so I should have seen it/her coming. I tried in vain to explain that I wasn't there to copy or rip off but just to praise and promote. She wasn't having any of it and and it turned into a bit of a mind battle. There was me hoping for closure on what seemed such a trivial misunderstanding. By this I mean a simple smile, signalling her delayed appreciation ie. trust in my regard, but looking at the icy stare, I knew that was about as likely as seeing the Pope in a pair of Lederhosen. I stomped off in frustration. So much for closure. I wonder whether her insistence with me and other visitors will ultimately pay off.
Anyway, in Luzern it was fine, the owner of the above pictured flower shop actually smiled and was not at all bothered. The shop was Blütenblatt and can be found in one of Luzern´s most charming quarters, in the Kleinstadt.

Afternoon tea time

2010-08-12T18:01:00.006+02:00

This is what I'm going to have (well, Julie two and me two, obv) just as soon as I've finished typing. In fact I reckon I'll have scoffed my share before I've finished this post. Being an accomplished multi-tasker that shouldn't really present a big problem. Rainy afternoons were made for this. Of course I'd love to stay and write more interesting lovely stuff for you to read but I simply can't. Oh, and I've just noticed An Affair to Remember starring Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr is about to start (thank you, Lord!).

Bye now.

posy

2010-08-12T00:36:00.010+02:00

The smallest, simplest things make such a difference. A posy, courtesy of Eveline, whose undervalued concept of selling freshly cut, random-coloured and intensely fragrant roses direct from her walled rose garden in Avegno is one of my absolute favourite spring/summer pleasures. Prices are great too: CHF 1 to 1.60 a stem. She has a large fridge from which you can pick and choose your blooms, and a tatty old till into which you are invited to deposit the relevant amount. The whole transaction is based entirely on trust, which makes it all the more charming. Eveline has 2 fridges laden with roses (does anyone know of a third or even a fourth?), one is, as stated, outside her house and garden in Avegno and the other on the piazza here in Verscio.

puppy love

2010-08-03T12:05:00.004+02:00

I seem to be surrounded by stylish dog owners at the moment and when I saw this I couldn't help but think of my dear friend Dani. She has just become the very proud new puppy mummy of the most gorgeous Bassett Hound you have ever laid your eyes on. All ears and big eyes and huge paws. Beautiful. Her name's Norma and this "Pup Tent" has her name on it, I feel.

Click here to find out more about super cool Slade Architecture and their fantastic contribution to the annual auction for New York's Design Trust for Public Space.

Once again this particular style gem comes to you via the rather smashingly wonderful Contemporist.

shady spot no.3

2010-07-20T10:22:00.001+02:00

shady spot no.2

2010-07-20T10:20:00.001+02:00

shady spot no.1

2010-07-20T10:19:00.004+02:00

The time has come for summer guests. Every year we hope they return and this year, we shall not be dissappointed. The heat is practically unbearable (for some - not for me - and possibly for the houseguests as they arrive from cooler climes) and therefore I thought it might be a good idea to think about shady spots. Here are a few which might take our guests' fancy and which will give them a taste of things to come (you know who you are!). The sunlounger is my particular favourite and in the afternoon there is nothing better than to read ones favourite book and nod off ever so slightly.
We are considering launching as a B&B...

nostalgia

2010-07-20T08:29:00.002+02:00

First time back on the computer in 3 weeks! Feels weird and very big and really comfortable. During the hols I've been posting from my iPhone (don't you know it) and after my initial exhilaration at having conquered my temporary inability to write, I soon realised that miniature blogging was about as appealing as applying factor 30 on sand covered skin. Of course I'll never stop loving my iPhone (until I realise that I can't live without the iPhone 4 - which I reckon will be real soon or at least once they've sorted out the signal probs) but nothing beats a good old chunky keyboard where I can blindly and flawlessly tap away without forever going back to correct the ridiculous amount of typos that appear when I blog from my phone. No offence Steve, but you need fingertips the size of chopsticks to type, even when going horizontal.

Anyway glancing over my recent holiday posts, sat here in my holiday blues stance in front of above mentioned computer, I realise that the photos are just a tad over-sized. Funnily it doesn't bother me much, in fact I rather like it and they suit the blog, particularly when taken with my beloved Hipstamatic (if you haven't got it, please do just get on with it). For anyone my age, who loves a little weep while leafing through old family photo albums, then this is the app for you. I've just taken a load of pics of the family beachside and if I didn't know any better, then I'd swear they were taken in 1968 or '72, depending on which fabulous lens/film you choose. I'm sure most of you actually have it already installed, but you never know.

'bout time

2010-06-28T21:12:00.001+02:00

OK well that only took a week. To unwind, I mean. Don't know why I'm making it sound like some great, big revelation. Year in year out it's the same story: nothing but tension and apprehension during the first week followed by such total relaxation, that you'd have trouble finding a pulse between the lot of us. Luck would have it dear readers, that the kids have give or take three months off in the summer and we "as a family" insist on taking a ridiculous 3 weeks' holiday (because we're worth it) in glorious posh Sardenia (but we're camping so that's ok), and so we just settle and try to enjoy. Like I said it takes a while but oh, does it happen. We're now "in the zone" after bickering and swearing under our breath for a week, and can look forward to sweet abandonmemt on the sand, in the sea, and by the bar. I was getting a bit nervous this year but what a relief when not a moment too soon it happened after all.

wrap it up

2010-06-25T22:01:00.001+02:00

GeoTagged, [N38.89710, W8.87803]

I remember being delighted at the sight of this paper last summer and thinking "oooh, I must put that on the blog" (but alas that was pre-iPhone and therefore inconceivable to post on the spot; and to do it 3 weeks later in the lull of homely doings would seem a bit irrelevant as one of my BIG things is to give in to my impulsiveness). I couldn't resist therefore when I went to our little supermarket for provisions this morning and was handed several little parcels neatly packed in this lovely "Nonna Isa" paper. Simple and lovely, don't you think?

proof?

2010-06-24T21:40:00.001+02:00

GeoTagged, [N38.89710, W8.87803]

As if you needed proof that this camping malarkey is all it's cracked up to be and more, right? Here is a peek at a moment this afternoon, post-lunch. Sarongs blowing in the wind and hammock-happiness.

living in tents, part 2

2010-06-23T21:50:00.001+02:00

GeoTagged, [N38.89710, W8.87803]

Am deliriously happy that our campsite has WiFi. It's completely changed the whole feel of the place. Well, of the bar at least. All of a sudden everywhere you look there are iPhone users and people sitting at tables under the eucalyptus trees catching up on goodness knows what - it all looks very serious but I bet most of them are either tweeting or on Facebook. As for me I have no laptop, let alone an iPad, but I have pen and paper and a serious bout of writer's/blogger's block. Handwriting though seems to be so NOT the point with this blogging thing. It has to be typed, surely. I did try yesterday to scribble in my notepad (no not the electronic kind, just a plain old hardbacked black 'n red book) and whilst I felt fabulously intellectual and old-school, I somehow couldn't get half the momentum going that my tapping fingers can, plus my hand really hurt. I have my trusted iPhone though (and WiFi!!!!!) and some app that promises to link up to my blog and publish. We will see. I have a feeling the format will leave much to be desired for but as I have some serious catching up to do, post-wise, I really see no other option. My posts will look a bit different over the next few weeks dear friends, but heck, at least I'm writing and seem to have got over the temporary but rather disturbing aforementioned block. All I needed was a bit of sun. And some coffee. And some time off. And to be back here, in our beautiful hideaway. With WiFi.

The Contemporist

2010-05-19T15:49:00.005+02:00

I'm not saying it's my ideal house but I just can't get enough of The Contemporist's daily feeds. And a few of you seem to be house-junkies like me so I reckon you'll find the pictures and the articles interesting.This is another lovely example and be sure to visit the blog to view all of the interiors and front views.
Well, I'm not sure about you but I've certainly had my daily fix.

a toast to summer

2010-05-17T18:35:00.004+02:00

It's that time again. It's summertime at Toast. Go see before there's nothing left.

thought of the day...

2010-05-14T13:41:00.001+02:00

A taste of things to come. Full blogpost will follow shortly.

chasing houses

2010-05-12T20:50:00.006+02:00

My beloved sent me a link today (click it NOW... loads more amazing pics) and it completely got me. I am bewitched. The architect is Natalie Dionne and the house is in Montreal, Canada. It's called the U-House. It was featured on the CONTEMPORIST a while ago, which by the way, is a fabulous blog for architecture and interiors junkies.

changing it no more

2010-05-09T19:40:00.093+02:00

Living in a small village is probably some people's idea of purgatory (it's my new favourite word: purgatory - so on point, so Dante), but to me it's heaven and a real life-saver. We moved our big family-life, lock stock and 15 barrels four years ago now, although by the roots growing beneath my feet you'd think we've been here most of our lives. Which is in fact what I'd like you (and myself) to believe, but then I wouldn't be the person I am today. Without those 8 longdistance moves (I'm talking countries people, not houses, please!) I probably wouldn't be able to tell a story or two on this blogthing.
Nevertheless here we are, in our bliss, having to once again face up to the idea of change. As some of you know the word "change" brings out the worst in me. Just ask my husband what happens when he suggests something along the lines of "Why don't we move the sofa over there?" I go all weird and pannicky, it's not a pretty sight. In fact he knows better now than to just make such suggestions without priming me first ("Take a deep breath, nothing's going to happen, we can put everything back the way it was in a jiffy, I promise"). Unsurprisingly I already have my fingers dug deep into the ground, desperately gripping with my hands and feet in an attempt to not alter the status quo.
But the good thing about this change I suppose, is that it doesn't involve another country but only another house. Heck! I can do that with my eyes closed. But even to take me out of the village (nevermind the country), would mean you'd have to kill me first. Even the neighbouring village is difficult for me. I am so woven into the fabric of my local surrroundings now, the friendly and very familiar faces, my little superstrong supporting network of very good friends (some of which actually do live in the neighbouring villages but I won't hold that against them) that leaving all this now would cause irreparable damage (how dramatic does THAT sound, eh?). What I'd like to know though, is how I got to this stage? What happened in the last four years that have turned me into this wanderlustless person? It's probably my age and it's more than a little likely that it has something to do with the fact that I have spent too much of my time moving around and now that my greys are growing quicker than I'd care to mention, I am possibly showing the first signs of intollerance that from my personal recollection, become a very recognisable character trait in the elder generation. Just kidding, I'm young and I'm raring to go. But I am petrified of change. Make of that what you will.
So, after this very longwinded prelude I finally get to the point. Which is that we are in the market for a new house. Here in this part of the world, real estate agents don't really have a great time as most transactions happen through word of mouth. Houses are not seen as investments and they certainly don't increase in value over time as they do in the UK. Once you buy a house here, you stay in it forever (now there's a nice word) and if you do decide to move, you tend to let it as selling it would instantly place you in a much higher tax bracket. Land on the other hand is much more desirable as architecture and build-your-own are 2 very realistic and also very chic options. So how about it? Why don't we try our hand at this housebuilding malarkey? As it happens I have a dream. It's a Neutra kind of dream...and I'm sure you'll agree, it would look spot on, on trend, on point etc, right here in my little village. It looks something like this.

empty beauty

2010-04-21T21:56:00.006+02:00

I came across this wonderful site courtesy of a fellow writer. It features images of abandoned houses in and around Detroit. 100 Abandoned Houses is a magical labour of love by local photographer Kevin Bauman whose specific interest in Detroit's Brush Park and its surrounding areas produced a wonderful image bank of abandoned houses. Read his story here.
The pictures are so strong, that absolutely no text is needed. Each and every house has such personality and becomes a character with its own story to tell. I am fascinated rather than sad when I look at them, they're mesmerising, don't you agree? There is mystery here and there is life (albeit as a memory) rather than death. Houses that are empty are always more intriguing to me than those filled with people. When they are empty or more devastatingly even abandoned as in Bauman's case, we're just left with the luxury of imagination to make what we will of their history. Super stuff.

outside the box

2010-04-19T23:13:00.007+02:00

Well let me tell you that it's at times like these when I think that it's certainly not about Style! Emotions have been running high of late. What with vulcanos throwing up their ash and causing total European havoc and of course the elusive warmth of spring leaving much to be desired for, we're all feeling a bit let down aren't we? Add to that the last soul-destroying, persistent shreds of a much churned over world economic crisis together with a looming election (if like me you have part of your heart anchored in the UK), and you may as well throw in the towel.

Well, being the incorrigible optimist that I am, I just refuse to believe that we are on any friggin' slope to nowhere. On the contrary. This, to me, is the moment when we gather strength from the things that really matter. Simple things. Take the vulcano. I bloody LOVE that volcano because for one thing it's reminded me that flying is not as vital as all those Easy Jet and BA ads would make us believe. Let's just regroup here for a moment and remember there are other ways to travel. Train. Bus. Car. Heck! How about bike? Better even to just stay put. And hey, it's only a journey. This is nature being kind, not cruel.

Alright, I'm done with that. What I really came here for is to tell you about my recent trip to Milan. It's the Salone (actually it's SO over now, it finished on Sunday, keep up!). Carpe Diem and all I decided to grab the interior designer husband by the hand and head (by train!) to Milano Centrale for a bit of FuoriSalone-fun (totally fab iPhone App called Interni Guida FuoriSalone is a bit of a winner!). We're slightly over the Halls in Rho and decided it would be much more exciting to head for Tortona and Lambrate for a bit of cutting edge design. We weren't wrong. Of course we really should have taken 2 days (maybe 3) and some comfy shoes (omg the blisters on my heels!) to really do the "fringe event" any justice but it was totally worth it. Loads of inspiration and beautiful exterior and interior furniture offered up delectably in picturesque, ivy-clad courtyards and canal-side settings. Unbelievably, we live one-and-a-half-hours away from Milan yet in the past 4 years have never bothered to take the time to go (en amoureux, as my friend Alec would say) and roam the streets of this lovely city - especially as professionally and personally speaking, architecture and retail are somewhat of an obsession of ours. Sheesh! Well, we've already made our next appointment and this time, we'll be taking the kids.
Ultimately our conclusion was that no matter how happy you are or think you are (!), it's quite important to make the effort to step outside your comfort zone every now and then (whether you live say in Ticino or California - off the top of my head now). Otherwise you really may as well throw in the towel.

on second thoughts

2010-04-01T19:43:00.005+02:00

Call me fickle but let's just say that if Toast World is full, I'll happily opt for Topshop County. Here is what I'd just LOVE to be wearing this Easter....

...and if the cold really persists then I'll have to throw in this one too for good measure:

here's a toast to spring

2010-03-31T21:56:00.000+02:00

I will never stop singing its praises, it is quite simply perfection as far as style (fashion and home) is concerned. In Toast world I would live very comfortably, never wanting for more. It really is that simple. There's a very nice new feature on their website called Toast Travels (no, they haven't started selling holidays), a cultural scrapbook (a kind of blog, really) of delightful visual stuff as well as some written bits and bobs that are quite inspiring and dream-inducing. Tonight I also noticed that my current obsession features heavily in their online catalogue. Will wear, must order!

super

2010-03-23T13:14:00.012+01:00

So remote is it here that I only heard of Superdry last Christmas during our stay in London. Whilst we did quite a bit of shopping we somehow missed this one completely (I was too distracted by Anthropologie and Topshop not to mention my frantic search for a pair of Bailey Button Uggs - so over them now) until that is, we came to Gatwick. There, in the departure hall, quietly humming away, was Superdry. Looking like some Japanese interpretation of Abercrombie and Fitch when in fact it's 100% British. We all had a browse and got our plastic out one last time before boarding the plane and heading back to our well-known retail-free safety-zone (Ticino). I came away with their cute lumber twill shirt in rodeo blue and today I'm working the look for the first time, celebrating the arrival of spring. The website doesn't do the clothes any justice in fact I suggest you skip the site and go straight to their blog which is so much better. Check it out.

80's girl

2010-03-22T22:53:00.009+01:00

Indulging in a bit of 80's Free Association, something surprising came up. I was (ahem, I AM) a bit of a Simple Minds freak. Who knew? Well, it's news to me but I'm having quite the time of my life singing at the top of my voice to Waterfront and Alive and Kicking. I know the whole white tights, black boots and flappy coat look (on men) doesn't seem like much but stick Jim-I-like-to-wave-my-arms-about-Kerr in 'em and I beg to differ. Phwoar! I mean what WAS Patsy Kensit's problem?

For me, music-wise the 80's where all about big anthems, right? Simple Minds, U2 and Tears for Fears. Real big-time anthems though, not the repackaged crap that the Ministry of Sound have been trying to sell us for the past 10 years on Amazon.

So while I was watching a few of those oldies but goodies on youtube it became obvious how very unsophisticated they were - compared to let's say Beyonce and Lady Gaga's Video Phone video. Beyonce can wipe the floor with her productions as can most other current and cutting edge artists, but there's something quite endearing and raw about all that 80's footage. I know, you had to be there and as I type I'm realising that my age is unashamedly revealing itself through my rant, but still... I'm proud and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Christ, have you SEEN Bono in With or Without You?

cars again

2010-03-15T23:33:00.010+01:00

Well if you know me well, you'll know I'm a petrol-head - and if you've been reading the blog then you may have guessed. The fact that I have 3 males in my household is purely an excuse to indulge in my auto-passion without appearing like too much of a freak. I mean don't get me wrong I can do "girl" reasonably well, I've got the long hair and I occasionally wear skirts and wouldn't be seen dead without make-up, but there are times when I love talking cars just as much as the next bloke. Let's just make out that it has everything to do with style and then everyone's happy and we don't have to worry about compartmentalising too much. Alright? Can we move on now?
With this year's Geneva Motor Show drawing to a close (I promise next year I will go, I PROMISE!), I can't help but write about them. Cars. Which reminds me: how about NOT having bikini-clad girls draped over cars (so weird to me) but instead doing the right thing, the much more natural thing and have guys, suitably attired and posing in a cool (not naff) way next to the 2011 models. Does the car industry really still believe in this outdated presentation-mode? (Feel free to answer). For next year, let's use my updated male-presentation-mode. That would be really nice and I'd actually go then, not just say that I would.
So yeah cars. How much does it matter what cars people drive? I'd say it kind of depends on your perspective. You see for me there's an unavoidable link to style and therefore it becomes an aesthetic rather than a practical matter. I can hear you there, in the background, chuntering something along the lines of "...only need it to get from A to B" and "...environmental repercussions..." and you've lost me, I'm afraid. And before you say any more let me just remind you that this, is a one-car-household (and there aren't many of those around nowadays) so my eco-guilt is practically negligible. I just like people and their cars. Well, let me re-phrase that. I like some people and their cars. I don't particularly get turned on by blokes (no matter how gorgeous) cruising along in Citroen's version of the Noddy car (of which there really are way too many round here, it has to be said). Instead I kinda like pick up trucks and I love old Porsches and there's something a bit sexy about Ferraris and Lambos. It's birdwatching by any other name. Just something pleasing to the eye that occasionally also gets your pulse racing (the engine, not the bloke of course).

I care not a jot for defining people by what they drive, that is an altogether different sport for which I have neither time nor enthusiasm. To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, just think of Steve McQueen in one of his many Porshes (or in his Jag below), Sean Connery's Aston, Jay Kay and his Ferrari-love and take a look at beautiful Jimmy Dean below.
PS: This lovely blog is one of my favourites. No words but pictures that say it all and more.

Honda "Impossible Dream" Commercial

2010-03-15T23:09:00.001+01:00

must be big

2010-03-02T19:34:00.084+01:00

How absolutely fantastic are large sunglasses? Was reminded of this by my friend D. who breezed by on her bike today looking wonderfully spring-like and glam in her mimosa yellow cardi, tencel jeans and unbelievably large shades. It's a bit like marmite I guess, you either love it or hate it. John Lennon wireless teeny weeny circles? I really don't think so. Larger than large where's-your-face plastic circles? Mmm, yes please! I'm already dying to hit the shops* and see what the high street and designers are serving up this season. Thankfully this style doesn't look like it's ever going to go away so you'll find most designers come up with their own version season after season. I am so grateful. It's all to do with glamour and who wants to live without THAT? Nina Ricci relaunched "big" with a fantastic collection of coloured frames (picture below) dedicated to the very one and only Jackie O. What do you think? Gorgeous, eh?

I've also been drooling over Tom Ford...well not really him but his S/S10 eyewear collection - find it here. But don't stop at the eyewear, go navigate round the entire website it'll make you go weak at the knees. Mr Ford is such a style master.

I'll be indulging my Jackie O passion as usual at the local H&M store where I'm always guaranteed to find at least 3 or 4 superduper oversized styles to stop my craving; and all at the very ridiculous price of CHF 12. I say just buy 2 of each style and be done with it.

*this time I'm not complaining, the local stores offer a very satisfying selection of eyewear collections.

I am SO finished

2010-02-15T20:58:00.021+01:00

Hello my darlings! Whilst last February seems to have been alight with frenzied productivity here on the blog, I've just noticed that we are already halfway through February twentyten and not a peep has been published. Accept my apologies for this annoying inconvenience and let me just announce that I am disrobed of this God-awful winter mist and ready to chatter away into spring. I want to take you back to this and let you know what happened next. Oh, don't worry it all weaves back into the whole Style-thing, I'm not about to force you down my own little Memory Lane just for the hell of it. Consistency is paramount.
Well, after the beaches of southern California (still the best and please take me back there NOW) I decided that No, this was not quite the 'feel' I was after. Instead I pursued my true love. London. I left all my beloved loved ones behind and boldly boarded that plane headed for Gatwick and a promise of exciting Londoney things. A juxtaposition of two locations more opposed would probably not have been possible. From the laid back, barefoot, bareskinned sandy, sunny beach-life, I arrived smack-bang in the middle of Barbour-clad-hooray-Henry-Fulham (Parsons Green, guys - need I say more?) and was duly kitted out in Laura Ashley's latest pinafore (I know! the words "impossible" and "OMFG" are dancing round my dreamy head too right now). And guess where I was going to start my post-California-High-School-of-Distinction education? No, not the London School of Economics, nor Kings College or the Royal College of Art; heck! not even RADA! (chip on my shoulder, moi?) No dears, I was teetering off to Knightsbridge's Brompton Road, to Lucie Clayton Secretarial College (Finishing School to you and me) to be groomed and finished well and proper. The only thing that keeps me from NOT EVER MENTIONING THIS IN PUBLIC is the fact that Joanna-goddess-Lumley was a pupil too. Admittedly she took the modelling course that was oh-so popular throughout the 60's and 70's whereas I decided to go for the sensible, emancipated 80's option and chose Shorthand (I am soooo good at it, yet it serves me not a jot) and Typing (I am soooo fast at it) and, I hope you're ready for this, Flower Arranging (you'd never know), Grooming (I insist that Mum not Lucie taught me everything I need to know here) and Law (consisting of a very dishy, only just graduated London lawyer popping round to have his ego massaged by a room full of 19 year olds). People, the stories I could tell on this unbelievable excuse of an "education" and how I could make your eyes water by revealing the fees!
I suppose the only real skill that I can boast having gained over, I dunno, YOU LOT, is that I know exactly how to get IN and OUT of a sports car in a mini skirt, without flashing my knickers. A very useful skill if you're a wannabe posh bird, say from Cheshire, pursuing a more 'lucrative' life in London. Let me also add that at the school there was in fact, in the middle of the grand classroom, the ludicrous wire frame of a sports car into which we had to gracefully climb in, and out of. Oh, I just don't have time for this. I like to laugh about it now because finally I can (!) and I realise that it really was a very special place once (not in my time unfortunately). And of course in spite of it all I met one of my best friends there. Sarah A. She was my saving grace and got me through it with so much laughter and so many jokes that live on to this day. We both knew it was a stop-over to bigger and better things. Incidentally we both ended up in fashion (she went to Rifat Ozbek and I went to Katharine Hamnett) and that was seriously cool. So, a worthwhile educational experience nonetheless? It probably was. At Lucie Clayton's we were all part of something unique which just about cut the mustard, then. Now it would most certainly be laughed off the edge of a cliff and of course it's not called "Lucie Clayton" but has been relaunched as the imposing and politically correct "Quest" with not a flower or young lawyer in sight. It would interest me to know how much really has changed since my time there.
So, back to Joanna Lumley. Would she have ended up as Purdy or Pats WITHOUT the Lucie Clayton connection?
I DON'T THINK SO.

can't YOU feel it?

2010-01-28T17:00:00.010+01:00

How does it feel for you? Isn't it the same for everyone? To me it's flying. A huge welling up of an enormous emotional tidal wave that takes me all the way up to where I belong. It definitely makes me cry (most things do now) and it gives me chills. It makes me feel like a child again. Without it I'd be dead inside. My inspiration, my imagination and my life are fuelled by it. It cons me into thinking that I can move like Michael Jackson, nevermind sound like him. It has no gender, makes me feel like I could be a man just as well as a girl, I love that! My healthy obsession. Music. Not all music obviously. I have my standards or my level (as Mr R would point out dryly). I'm a teeny bit mainstream but my passion is true and I feel it. Deeply. I can do Elvis and Frank just as much as I can do Jay Z (surprising, isnt' it?). I love music more than any other art - nothing fills me with more hope, happiness and strength. I have a longstanding tug-of-war going on with my husband along the lines of "passion does not equal obsession". He thinks I've gone over the edge when I listen to one particular piece of music constantly for, dunno, 3 months. I can't help it if it makes me feel so good and so happy. Through no fault of their own, both our sons are now also showing (encouraging) signs of this finely tuned sensitivity to music. One more so than the other but both are definitely "on their way". I was considerably (I want to use the verb "brainwashed" but that would be so wrong) influenced by my own parents (father - Frank Sinatra, mother - Julio I. and Demis R. oh yes!) and I'm very grateful for it.
Back to the here and now: we are having a very long, very emotional MJ moment and it won't be long till my youngest (with his iPod firmly plugged into his ears) will be able to recite the entire repertoire of songs including the dates they were recorded. It's a start. Actually it's a very good start. A fantastic musical foundation on which to build future passions, I think. So from our long, emotional MJ moment (have we done our 10,000 hours yet, Rich?), here are some firm family favourites. Feel it, it's just like flying.
PS: In my music fantasy, when I act out the video sequence of "The Way You Make Me Feel" I never know who I want to be more, MJ or the cool chick. How weird is that?

wehey!

2010-01-24T17:29:00.043+01:00

One year guys, one whole year of The Style Inside. It started on a whim and look at it now. My own little blog, chugging along and churning out (fairly) regular short stories and thoughts on style. Happy Birthday, blog. Am not having a cake or a party but what I'd simply love is a little retrospective exercise to remind me what the readers really like. You'll see 2 new items on the left: firstly I've added a blog archive divided into months, this contains all the 2009 posts starting with the very first one a year ago today. Secondly above that, you'll see the so-called retrospective exercise, in other words a simple poll. Answer the question (anonymously and even if you're a newcomer) by just clicking the month that features your favourite story. Of course it would thrill me to bits if you were to actually give me an indication or a key word from the exact story by placing a comment here, but I feel that would be pushing it. I know how precious everyone's time is, so a simple click will do. Really.

Needless to say I am nothing without you, dear readers, so let me embrace you with gratitude.

looking ahead, not down

2010-01-19T21:40:00.011+01:00

Clinging on for dear life here in little old Verscio, mid-January with no sign of spring WHATSOEVER the only glimmer on my horizon at the moment is the thought of a forthcoming birthday... but hang on, even that's not exciting anymore. I don't mean to sound ungrateful but a good old moan, especially now, in the chill of this first 2010 month is something that a few of you may feel like doing too - whether you live here in Verscio or in Manhattan. Same difference. Mind you it won't last. The grimness. It never does. And especially not here. It's only a phase and if I can only inch my way through it, keeping my head down and remembering to boil the kettle and feed the kids between tweets and statuses, I'll be just fine.

Eventually I'll pinch myself, wake up and focus on the positive as always and work hard at making our dreams come true:

Travelling far far and beyond with Mr R and the lads, and...

Happy New Year everyone.

Number Six London

2010-01-18T09:45:00.006+01:00

I love menswear and especially if it knows exactly what it's doing, ie. if it has the courage of its convictions. So, if you're a guy (aged teen to well and truly matured) and you like cool and if you happen to be in London then head straight down to Brick Lane to get yourself kitted out with some sharp typically London-cool wardrobe staples. Just thought I'd mention it. I'm talking about Number Six (aka When We Were Casuals). The lads there say that they have some new tricks up their sleeves for 2010, just visit their blog for a preview. If you're in a rush and don't have time to visit their website, here are some of the brands you'll find there: Lyle & Scott Vintage, Fila Vintage, Barbour, Farah Vintage, Adidas Originals, Fred Perry, Napapijri, and so many more. In fact everything that a man's heart desires when it comes to looking pretty darn good.

Oh, and I almost forgot: sooner or later everyone in our family seems to develop a thing about shoes (fetish, passion, obsession, call it what you like) so we got understandably but unreasonably excited when we saw this!

rado

2010-01-12T20:08:00.113+01:00

I know what you'll say... "living in Switzerland is just one great big excuse for writing about watches" and although you're not entirely wrong, there are other things that can set ones pulse racing round these parts, apart from a good watch. I'll write about those another time however.

In the meantime, I will rant on about a few watches that have become increasingly hard to ignore, they are hypnotising in their beauty. So reminiscent of the 80's but so much better now, in 2010. RADO's r5.5 award winning collection designed by British design God Jasper Morrison marks the company's third phase of a very successful cooperation with the designer. Morrison's approach of giving minimalist design a unique character goes hand in hand with Rado's aesthetic concept. Rado watches are not for everyone, all that monochrome can get a bit hard to live with, but they are deserving of their iconic status, for their design consistency if nothing else. They've never been my cup of tea, I must admit, but this is different. I want one of these. The watches are unmistakeably Rado but Jasper Morrison's touch has given them a powerful contemporary edge and also a bit of sex appeal which always helps, doesn't it?

Read up on Rado's commendable efforts in promoting young designers here and check out radostar.com, an exciting social networking platform launched at the Salone del Mobile 2009 by the brand; it is conceptualised and produced purely with international design students in mind. How cool.
For all you Rado die-hards there's also an iPhone App... Get it, go on, you know you want to.

cleanse

2010-01-06T18:27:00.024+01:00

In an attempt to renew energy levels and cleanse the system of all the toxins contained within copious amounts of Prosecco, Bailey's, Nocino and the odd glass of red wine that were consumed over the festive season (I won't even mention the snickety snacks and all that chocolate), I went browsing through the chemists and health food stores over the last few days and got hideously sidetracked by the vast amount of exquisite little packets and delicate boxes of vintage-looking concoctions that seem to be very popular round here. The Swiss, the Italians and the French do remedies and toiletries like no others and these coloured gems caught my eye immediately. They'd do well in one of those gorgeous shops on Columbia Road and would probably sell for 5 times the amount that they cost here. At first glance you'd be forgiven for thinking they contain soap.

Not sure how useful digestive pastilles will be to me in my quest for purification, but they mean well. And they look gorgeous, especially in my bathroom.

twentyten

2010-01-01T09:57:00.001+01:00

Happy New Year everyone, lovely to be back and looking forward to spending many happy blogmoments with all of you! Is it me, or does the number 2010 emanate positivity in great big tidal waves?

did you know...?

2009-12-17T16:18:00.012+01:00

As some of you may know, in my other part time job I teach English. I came late to teaching and found it to be surprisingly really rather satisfying and not the nerve-wracking experience I always imagined it would be. My first ever lesson was of course Hell but now, 3 and a half years later, I'm more confident than the most confident person in Confidencetown (to use my iconic sister-in-law's expression), when it comes to explaining the ins and outs of irregular verbs and pronunciation. I've developed such a passion for grammar and especially pronunciation that I even bore myself with it sometimes, not to mention my sons and husband. So today I bring you a tale only marginally related to teaching (you'll be pleased to know) and mainly about Christmas and Italian men. Phwoar, you'll say. Well yes, I guess.

I have a wonderful little group of learners, I affectionately refer to them as "my pathology lot", whom I teach English once a week. They're all Italian doctors and work in the local pathology department. Really fascinating stuff and a charming bunch of people. No, really.

During today's lesson, and as it's our last before the festive season gets well and truly under way, we had a lively discussion about Christmas and what the UK traditions might be as opposed to the Italian ones. As I may as well be British, I of course feel that there's no better Christmas than an English one but I was very keen to learn how the Italians went about it. From their explanation it seems that it's maybe a little bit more low-key than ours, not so much singing and drinking and not a lot of emphasis on obscene amounts of presents as in other parts of the world. As part of our discussion I asked them if they could give me 3 words that for them, define Christmas. All were unanimous in their nominations apart from the words "Christmas tree" (for the females) and "Nativity" (for the males). There was this very odd but very clear divide. The gals loved a tree, and the blokes were all for a Nativity scene. One of the male doctors patiently proceeded to explain that in Italy, "men do the Nativity" and "women do the tree". He then very seriously continued and told me that baby Jesus is only placed in the crib on the 24th and that the 3 wise men don't appear till the 6th day of January (they are in fact gradually moved along - by the man - as the days go by, I kid you not). I cannot imagine that every Italian male carries out this particular ritual with the same passion or dedication as my pupils tried to make me believe, but I was assured that generally the scenes are meticulously planned out, constructed, installed and lit and watered ("there are real fountains with real water and moss is gathered, and stars illuminate the sky and..." I listened enraptured...) not by the women but by the men. Back home I researched pictures of Nativity scenes from the UK and compared them to their Italian counterparts and must say that when it comes to creating a religious scene, the Italians obviously have an elevated ambition and passion in this department. Not for them the minimal, wooden purist set.
Having always placed Italian men in either an Al Pacino type category or a Giorgio Armani-ish one, I was a bit puzzled with this new aspect of the Italo male. What now? It's endearing for sure, but is it sexy? I've concluded that it is, because somewhere inside my head I really can picture Al on his knees, carefully arranging the hay in the second stable ready for the ox and donkey. Ok, that's where I'm gonna leave it for today.

good morning

2009-12-11T08:31:00.001+01:00

Happy Friday everyone! Not much time to sit and blog at the moment but wanted to post this picture for the longest time as it's just so beautiful and simple. Nothing like the colours of a succulent plant. Right! Off out now. I finally got that hair appointment. *smiles in blissfull anticipation*

try this

2009-12-07T13:07:00.002+01:00

Jeannette Lunde, a Norwegian graphic designer is creator of the Fryd + Design blog as well as Fryd + Shop. How can you not fall madly in love with her colours, creations and photographs? All beautifully presented with such exquisite sense of detail and style.

The above picture is taken from one of her older posts and I do hope she doesn't mind me using it to give you a taste of her lovely work.

this one's for me

2009-12-01T22:02:00.003+01:00

I promise I'm not intentionally plugging you-know-what or anything but this little bit (excuse the pun!) is really too distracting for me. Not really much of a jewellery girl, apart from my extra large rings and pearl-string-thingy, I'm loving the look of this bracelet. Mind you I'd probably only wear it the once but it's still too gorgeous and it makes me dream, and that's why I put it here. Where it belongs.

happy thanksgiving

2009-11-26T11:42:00.001+01:00

A very warm wish to all my wonderful US readers for Thanksgiving Day! There's quite a few of you over in the States and I always look forward to your visits on The Style Inside. Thank you for you support, it means the world to me.

A special mention and huge Thanksgiving hug goes out to 3 very faithful readers: one in Old Lyme, Connecticut, the other in Evanston, Illinois and then of course you over there in sunny Santa Cruz, California.

I would love to hear from all of you!

falling in love again

2009-11-25T19:41:00.005+01:00

Whether it's a classic car or a classic bag, both make me go weak at the knees. And while my classic car collection leaves something to be desired, I'm well on my way with the bags. My Gucci Jackie O Logo Bit bag (unofficial name made up by me on the spot right here right now) is my absolute armcandy du jour. It's been tucked away in my wardrobe for at least a year without so much of a glance, albeit luxuriously wrapped in its brown silk dustbag, and has only resurfaced this week after my brain was kicked into "Gucci-mode" following some mention of the brand on Twitter. Wonder whether anyone quite appreciates this particular intrinsic value of social networking sites, bet Gucci doesn't.

The beauty of a true classic is that it's not a trend and you can therefore rest assured in the knowledge of a safe investment which is just going to keep giving and giving and giving in terms of satisfaction. Stylewise a classic will also usually keep up with the rest of them (let's face it, that's what we pay good money for), not 100% of the time but most of the time and when used cleverly, a classic item is never boring. I love it when I can use my Gucci unconventionally, with something unexpectedly un-classic. Juxtaposition of styles is a passion of mine and works best for me when a classic's involved. I could never wear head-to-toe classics though, I'd pass out from sheer boredom.

I also like to think of these special pieces as insurance cover when I need it most - like now. My absolute favourite jeans are fraying and ripping but I can't bring myself to "put them away". My hair is in dire need of highlighting and cutting yet my hairdresser won't confirm an appointment that's soon enough for me. So what do I do? I slip on my GJOLB-bag and it's a look!

Has anyone else tried it? Do let me know.

business & pleasure

2009-11-18T22:29:00.048+01:00

I was reminded what it's like to be a career girl this week when I had to travel to Lucerne on a 2 day work trip. Not bad for a change, good to get out and play at the business game. Whilst business was good and very interesting indeed, I think the best bit for me was the impromptu off duty evening I was able to spend with my husband who also just happened to be in the area. He knows I'm a bit high maintenance when it comes to hotels - I can't be bothered with average, it really has to be something thrilling. So while my client had booked me into a very grand but bland hotel, I was whisked off by my husband to an altogether different setting. Walking into the Astoria in Lucerne I felt all excited and tingly, THIS was more like it! A cool, smooth affair, whiter than white with a divine reception desk all covered in minute, sparkly mosaic tiles begging to be touched and behind it a suave but friendly male receptionist eager to please. Swiss architects Herzog and de Meuron (Tate Modern London, Allianz Arena Munich, Birds Nest Stadium Peking and Prada Tokyo to name but a few) extended this hotel in 2005 and created something very special indeed. If ever you have the opportunity to stop over in Lucerne, try this, I reckon you might be impressed. You don't even have to walk anywhere at all to get to the coolest bars, lounges and restaurants, as they're all in the hotel itself. Incredibly convenient. We tried the Penthouse bar for aperitivi and then headed for the excellent Asian bistro Mekong located on the ground floor. Unfortunately I cannot report on the rooms - from the website though it would appear that Superior and Deluxe are the way to go. Steer clear of Standard - that's the rule.

oh melissa!

2009-11-13T18:42:00.015+01:00

A shoe is never just a shoe. Don't let anyone ever tell you any different. Proof in the pudding came just now via Twitter where my fabulously stylish friend D's been celebrating the arrival of her incredibly special order. This is not JUST a shoe. It's a shoe that deserves so rightly to be celebrated and written about, actually it deserves poetry and tears. Yet another "Volltreffer" for my stylish friend who can never put a foot wrong!
For those of you also afflicted by shoelove check this out....

skaterboys

2009-11-12T15:14:00.002+01:00

My boys are not only having a major MJ moment, they're also discovering skateboarding and the whole skater-look bigtime! In fact while the eldest seems to be more concerned with getting "the look" just right, the little guy is actually more passionate about his board and how high he can jump with it. They've been playing Tony Hawk's Pro Skater playstation game for years but now is obviously the time to get their little bottoms in gear and get out on the street to put all that theory into practice. A face injury does not seem to have put them off, in fact scars are obviously all part of the look. Today I found out that skater God Tony Hawk's got a gig (if that's what you can call it) in Paris - looks fantastic and I wish we could've taken both boys along to watch some serious grinds, kickflips, ollies and a few aerials. If you're interested and more local to Paris than us, here's the link for the show.

2009-11-12T14:46:00.002+01:00

One of my favourite quotes and one that keeps me going, keeps me running, keeps me doing what I love doing and generally drives me to the next block. Thought I'd share it with you.

make it simple

2009-11-09T14:59:00.010+01:00

I've started thinking about it (how can you NOT, with shops strutting their Christmas decs since early October) and realised just now that the only thing I really want this Christmas is simplicity. No fuss, no stress, no shopping madness, no garish decorations, not even a tree and as for presents, well let's just say that 'bare' and 'minimum' sums it up quite nicely. My children won't be impressed I'm sure but they'll be so distracted by the fact that we are spending it in England, that they'll hardly notice any lack of tinsel. Could I finally have come out of my childhood at the tender age of almost-42 and had the epiphany that it's really not about buying, eating, giving/receiving and generally over-indulging? I do hope so. Probably it's more to do with being fulfilled and happy and not really, at the end of the day, wanting for material things. Oh don't get me wrong, I'm the girl running hysterically 'round London's newly opened Anthropologie but given half a chance I'd do that at any time of year and preferably NOT during the Christmas period (however if you are browsing 'round this store, and if Christmas decorations are your thing, then look out for the charming fish pictured above).

Quite consciously and blatantly slipping into granny-mode, my view this year is that Christmas is about being together; about family and remembering what we have and appreciating how lucky we are. Just the thought of spending the holidays with our family makes me fell warm and fuzzy - give me an armchair or preferably a sofa, some knitting or a book and I'll gladly just sit there watching the kids as well as the adults merrily chatting. My only regret is that we can't all be together. We'd need a house the size of Pemberley (oops, I mean Chatsworth) to all fit in comfortably. Maybe next year.

new denim

2009-10-29T20:18:00.003+01:00

Ok, time for a new pair. You all know how I feel about denim. I've worn the boyfriend all summer and rediscovered my beloved floppy French Connection carpenter jeans. But now I need my new fix. It's autumn and after having sifted through all my old styles and edited out what had no business inside my wardrobe, I am at a serious loss for words and alternatives. I need new denim and here, in Locarno, there is none! How am I meant to operate under these conditions? "You exaggerate!" I hear you exclaim. I don't think so. I'm not asking for Anthropologie, I'm not asking for Topshop and I'm not even asking for The Gap, for goodness sake. All I want is a pair of cool jeans. Globus have dissappointed me profoundly (I won't even give you their link as they're just not worth it) - they're usually my only hope around here but alas, the buyer seems to have had a temporary bout of incompetence and ordered only weird Italian styles boasting about 17 details too many. My search continues. I shall let you know what happens, I know you're all dying to know.
The picture above is courtesy of the current J Brand advertising campaign. J Brand is my denim nirvana.

apron-time

2009-10-22T21:39:00.014+02:00

As the nights draw in and the going back (or is it forward? I'll never get the hang of it I swear, it's just useless, why don't we abolish this custom, who's idea was it anyway? Answers please!) of the clocks looms, we're not out and about so much. Instead we're at home more and generally busying ourselves with indoor activities. Or at least that's what I've been doing. The heating's on and of an evening we're already very well established in our light-the-woodburner-routine. It's kind of nice and you don't feel so guilty for resembling a sloth, as the weather really doesn't entice us to any sort of outdoorsey activity. Heavily engrossed in all these homely thoughts and non-activities, while proudly wearing one of my many aprons (you don't want to know how many cakes I've baked in the last week!), I got to thinking about my kids and how much time, effort and most of all parental love goes into ensuring that theirs are perfect lives. While we are all "of course" individuals, making our mark and making a difference where possible, we all tend to flock together when it's about what we want for our children. We all want the same for them, don't we? Coming from divorced parents I tend to overcompensate for a lot when it comes to my children's wellbeing and happiness but I'm pretty sure that the majority of us parents just want our kids to be as unburdened as possible ie. carefree, happy, stable and most of all safe (incidentally I am pretty sure that both my own parents, divorced or not, still want exactly that for me too). So, with our two sons slowly growing into young men, I'm savouring baking them cakes, cooking them lunches and generally sitting with them during homework-time or telly-time and even just perching on their beds while they sleep (I am hopefully not the only mum that STILL does this). I am of course hoping that all this will stay with them forever and that when they look back at their childhood, they will have warm and happy memories flooding through their heads. At one stage during this thought process I actually asked myself how I would know that they are living a happy childhood now...? "Hi darling, so c'mon, out of 10, how d'you rate your family life?" A blank stare would have been all I deserved for such an irresponsible question, yet I was tempted, if only to give myself a laugh and a pat on the back for having a wicked sense of humour.

Well it won't last forever this childhood thing, and let's face it, after my recent revelation that Patsy Stone's my evil inner twin, the homemaker personality won't last that much longer either as she'll soon be hit over the head with a Marc Jacobs 'Stam' or a bottle of gin. But realistically now, it will have to come to an end eventually as I'm sure the girlfriend or wife won't appreciate waking up to mother-in-law, sat on the end of the bed with a tender look in her eyes...

Maybe it'll be me who needs to let go of the apron.

I have a thing about aprons (vintage aprons, please) and while scouring for a suitable image for this post I came across the one above from a lovely blog dealing in exactly that, vintage aprons! Delightful.

a prime specimen

2009-10-19T14:47:00.002+02:00

The blue is "the original Mercedes colour spec" - this being a 1966 SE250 Automatic Coupe. One that has been lovingly restored (as so often is the case) and which regularly sweeps majestically up and down the mountains, engine purring softly. The owner, a neighbour and another one of Signor Belotti's esteemed customers, talks with much enthusiasm and animation about the origin of his car and the painstaking effort and investment it has taken to get it to look this good. After listening appreciatively to our friendly neighbour, there is nothing left to do but collectively sigh and stand back in silence and admiration. Sunday mornings were made for this.

pats

2009-10-13T22:26:00.101+02:00

One does like to be naughty every now and then, and for me there's nothing naughtier than indulging in my very own particular hero-worship of the ultra-fabulous Patsy Stone. You may scorn and splutter but I think of her as my evil inner twin. Always have done, ever since AbFab appeared on our British screens in 1992. In an age, ie. at my age which is 41 almost 42 actually, when one is fully immersed and floating on that wonderful, soft (or wire wool, depending on what time of the month it is) cloud of motherhood, I do enjoy going right off on a tangent pretending for one long moment that yes, deep deep deep down, I am (still) that glamorous rough tart of a fashion babe JUST back from the shows ("...backstage parties, landmined with bitch fashion editors and Donatella-bloody-Versace...!") smoking at least 40 (but more like 60) a day while guzzling my 5th bottle of Bolly and it's not even 6pm. I love Patsy (almost as much as I love Joanna Lumley) 'cos she reminds me that it's totally ok to be glamorous all the time - and I for one SO need the occasional (it won't kill you, I promise!) glamour injection here, in this quiet backwater. So of late I'm making an extra effort - I am rediscovering the pleasure of wearing heels and doing a lot of wafting around feeling really rather fabulous. I'll probably go back to the old denims and my All-Stars come Friday but for now, this feels pretty damn good, darling!

Do you remember the utter magic of AbFab? Do you? Do you? Well, you may say you do, but click here and here for a refresher course nonetheless. Now might also be a good time to give those pelvic floor exercises another go, ladies.

Cheers yeah thanks.

TheStyleInside aka "Executive Creative Director Chief Buyer and Lifestyle Coordinator"

2009-10-12T11:42:00.017+02:00

I cannot believe it's that time again already. Just kissed summer goodbye and our attention drifts swiftly to plans for Christmas. As in many other parts of Continental Europe, we too have a very strong tradition of Christmas markets here. And you will have gathered by now that I do love a good market (be it the Auer Dult in Munich, a good old English carboot sale, my friend's wonderful yardsale or the forthcoming Christmas markets). Here, in our little corner of southern Switzerland, at the foot of the Centovalli, our neighbouring village Tegna organises its own very special, very delightful annual market. A tireless Dutch girl is the organiser and it's because of her that every year people from all over Switzerland return to sell their wares. Last year's event was a great success with over 40 stalls and I was particularly pleased, as I was able to convince my two ceramicist friends to also exhibit their beautiful pieces. Not only did they sell the whole lot, they also took further orders from keen customers. Oh, it was very satisfying.

Now for this year, I have immersed myself even further into the role of PR and Agent (I'm sure you'll agree that all these wonderfully talented and creative people must be celebrated) and after having words with the said organiser lady (Dutchwomanabroad) to ensure that we are allocated optimal positions, I am ridiculously excited to announce that there will be a really rather delightful corner featuring some of the most exquisite creations you will come across this side of Christmas (amongst the myriad of other exhibitors, of course). So do pop over to Tegna on 6th December to indulge in a good dose of Christmas shopping and admire the simple, beautiful creations of Cri & Domi , Dani & Giovanna and of course Karin.

Whilst Dani is the very creative talent behind Salcottroad, Karin's website is Semplice-k, and both have been featured on The Style Inside, as has the wonderful work of ceramicists Cri & Domi. The work of Giovanna Weber (find it on Salcottroad) also deserves a special mention and I just know that you will delight in her exquisitely delicate creations.

Well, I've put Tegna on the map so if you're local, there's no excuse. Come and get your cup of mulled wine and mooch through the village and the stalls. Can't wait to see you!

keely & louis

2009-09-30T22:33:00.006+02:00

He's larger than life, and she just steals the show (click here to see what I mean). They're funny, talented, romantic, sexy and yes, it's all just a bit old-fashioned darling, isnt' it? But who can do modern/contemporary all the time? Not me. This warms my heart and makes me feel more alive than Justin and Madonna. From the incomparable That Old Black Magic to my own favourite, All Night Long. How can you not love Louis Prima and his gorgeous then-wife Keely Smith?

Goodnight and sweet dreams.
Oh God! I almost forgot THIS one!!!!

charleston

2009-09-24T21:53:00.017+02:00

Before moving to Switzerland, we spent many happy years living in Sussex and one of our very favourite spots was Charleston House. This was the home and country meeting place for the writers, painters and intellectuals known as the Bloomsbury Group. The interior was painted by the artists Duncan Grant and Vanessa Bell, and together with their collection forms a unique and wonderful example of their decorative style. The house is open to visitors and if you are ever in the beautiful Sussex countryside, you should pop in. It's absolutely delightful and the minute you set foot inside, you are transported back in time, very atmospheric.
Get a taste for this special place by visiting the website.

dani's bristol

2009-09-18T16:31:00.021+02:00

It doesn't take much to get us car people excited round these parts but Mr Belotti sure sets our hearts all aflutter when his clients drop off their darlings for an inspection... If cars are your drug, then he's your dealer. He is The Man for your oldtimer - drivers descend upon him from all over Europe and once they've finished their tour up and over the Simplon, speeding down the narrow serpentines of the Centovalli in a final roar of glory, they make Verscio their pitstop and let Mr Belotti Jr carefully tend to their beauties. Which is great news for my dear friend and anyone else living locally with a weakness for the classic car. So here is today's little trophy - a Bristol, but with a BMW chassis. Whilst he is clearly not a fan, Mr Belotti kindly conceded to inform me, with more than a hint of pride, that this particular specimen (the one stood in front of the workshop as shown in my very mediocre photo above) was made to order by Swiss company Beutler (1945-1987), for the 1951 Geneva Motor show. To find out this and more, simply visit this supercar website.

I was also given permission to take a peek at his handsome black 1956 Mercedes 300 C which is kept very well hidden away in the labyrinth of his workshop. It is in absolute pristine condition and is for sale he tells me...

the london greats

2009-09-16T09:57:00.026+02:00

A post on The Women's Room today inspired me and reminded me of some great British institutions. Whilst now, in the harsh glare of 2009 these may seem totally outdated and uncool (some for good reason, while others remain untouchable), I would like to transport you back to a time when they were really rather special and made you feel very, very good indeed. We used to call one of them our 'corner shop', and it was absolutely true, it really was literally round the corner but it didn't occupy a corner in so much as a whole block, as indeed it still does today. I'm talking of course about dear, darling Harrods. Due to its proximity to where we lived, it really became a trusted, huge, red brick friend who was always there, waiting for us with open doors. As a young girl in the seventies I have the most vivid and intense memories of spending endless afternoons with my mother mooching round the Food Halls, the toy department, the pet department, the super groovy Fifth Floor and of course the endless womenswear rooms where I would get lost in a sea of coats, eveningwear and shoes! What I remember most of all about those visits to Harrods are the smells and the sounds. Not sure if it still exists today, but after a particularly taxing shopping spree, my mum would take me to the Juice Bar in the Food Halls, where you could take a seat on a bar stool and choose from a vast selection of fresh fruit to have your very own fresh fruit smoothie created while you watched. It was all the rage and the waiting times were understandably long. Mine was usually some multi-berry concoction, deep, dark pink and a bit tart. So divine. I can still taste and smell the amazing flavours wafting round that corner of the shop. On Saturday mornings I used to wander down, hand in hand with my father and together we would march again and again through our beloved Food Halls and buy wonderful breads and cold meats for lunch. All you could hear in these halls were deafening echoes of people talking - actually no, shouting their orders loudly in those plummy tones - it was all a buzz, full of posh old dears and dashing gentlemen squires buying foie gras for supper. What's not to love about that? Then upstairs it was all hush hush, the sales staff were just as elegently dressed as the shoppers and I was, as in most of my childhood fantasies, swiftly transported into an Alice in Wonderland world as I ran silently on the soft grey carpet between the garment carousels pretending to catch my rabbit.

Walk into Harrods today, and little or none of that old British glamour has survived. It certainly looks the same from the outside, but nothing in its interior atmosphere (nevermind actual interiors) could be further removed from its original splendour and British class. Of course Harrods was always meant to be somewhat otherworldly and exotic, but in a very British way which it just doesn't manage to pull off today - I mean, who needs or wants an Egyptian blimmin' escalator? However I do remain faithful and hopeful that one day some fabulous English eccentric will reclaim it and relaunch it as the glorious, modern and exciting British shopping experience it so clearly deserves to be. I think it's about time, don't you?

Unlike Fortnum's which remains to this day in a class of its own, spinning in the same British fairytale era, never dissappointing, whether you're a Londoner, an out-of-towner or a tourist. I do SO LOVE their gentle dress code reminder which you can find on The Fountain Restaurant page of their website: "We kindly request that both sexes lean more towards elegance"... How utterly charming is that and how wonderful if in general people of both sexes would lean more towards elegance? Then there is of course Liberty where they have cleverly managed to maintain the department store's old and unique charm whilst also keeping up with the times and becoming a very special avantgarde London store. And last but by no means least, Selfridges. Which is so important in terms of London retail that it deserves its own special post.

So you see dear, darling Harrods, it is possible to be cool, cutting edge and totally British...

Click here for a spooky but interesting birdseye view and tour of Harrods...
Image courtesy of Shorty_nz_2000.

herb ritts moment

2009-09-09T22:25:00.019+02:00

...not quite Herb Ritts but you get my drift. I took this photo of Ben in the summer and when I saw it in black and white I instantly started singing Madonna's 1989 song 'Cherish', much to my husband's intense embarassment. Watch the video to remind yourself of 3 things:

1) how fantastic Madge used to look with some meat on her,

2) what a cool song this is

3) and what an absolute stylemaster Herb Ritts was.

Do you love it?

reflection

2009-09-01T19:24:00.034+02:00

Ah, to have time to myself again, what luxury. Not only have the kids gone back to school BIG TIME, but even Mr R has found projects far and beyond which means I have not only time to myself but also the house to myself - 80% of the time - and to me this is having my cake and eating it too. The feeling will probably give way to "routine boredom" after week 3 but for now it'll do nicely. The stillness and the month of September. My friend is right, it's probably the best month - ideal temperatures, splendid colours and the smell of mushrooms, peaches, plums and particularly the vines that are ripening beautifully in the vineyards nearby. And then of course the novelty of having to wear real clothes again, gone's the summer uniform of shorts and flipflops. Now we can rummage through our wardrobes, edit out what really can't be worn again and add what's needed for the new season. I tend to need and like less and less things, the spectrum shrinks to just the one look or better, one style. Thank God! No more experimenting, thank you! I know my (3) colours and I know my shapes. I spent yesterday afternoon sifting through my bulging drawers and shelves and just dumping stuff that's been hanging around for the last 3 years without so much as a glance, let a alone an outing! One good (but also very, very bad) thing about living here, is that I'm just not tempted anymore. No more Topshop, no more Selfridges or countless shoe shops to lure me and trap me into spending ridiculous amounts of money. I couldn't spend it if I tried round here. You wouldn't either, unless you're an ageing German, monied tourist. There are countless benefits to living in this part of the world, and retail therapy ain't one of them. I pretend that "it matters not a jot" but I get so annoyed by the lack of vision of our local retailers and when I visit the Big City (ie. Zurich, London, Munich or Milan) I feel like I might burst as I am just not used to having that much choice anymore. It's sheer hell, you can imagine (please laugh now). But then I remember the good bits and how shopping is now very, very, very, very low down on my list of priorities and I ask myself: is that not how it should be? And I am happy with my answer.

english style

2009-08-24T09:09:00.030+02:00

Over the weekend I had the pleasure of serving up copious amounts of Pimm's. And I fear I may have started something. A couple of my guests had a vague idea but the large majority had never heard of the English drink let alone tasted it, which I found astonishing but rather nice, as it gave me the opportunity of introducing the friendly gathering to this great old English summer tradition through grand tales of Wimbledon, the Henley Royal Regatta and Glyndebourne. Alas, now my Pimm's No. 1 Cup is empty and I need to make amends. Nobody seems to sell it round here so I've taken up the kind offer of my friend, whose father and brother are rather well-connected in the gastro-stakes, to make the necessary enquiries as to where one may obtain this fruity tipple without having to board a plane.

In an attempt to extend this glorious summer even further, and in the hope that my dear and well-connected friend returns with good news, I shall host a few more Pimm's No. 1 evenings. News also has it, dear friends, that Pimm's recently relaunched their No. 3 by renaming it Pimm's Winter Cup, and I have a feeling that this could also become a rip-roaring success around these parts once the first snowflakes have fallen. Who knows, in a few years we may have enough followers to present the Seasonal Ticino Pimm's Festival. I say, I think we've got something there!

NEWSFLASH: my friend has returned triumphantly from her quest - she is now the proud owner of a bottle of Pimm's No. 1 which she obtained from Locarno's superb wine store In Vino Veritas aka CANETTI's!

elvis

2009-08-16T11:50:00.011+02:00

A tribute that just has to be made today. Elvis was my first big love and I was crushed by the news 32 years ago today. I still remember being at my uncle and aunt's house in Germany on holiday when it happened. I was coming down the stairs and saw the TV; nobody in the household understood my sadness. It was huge. It still is, of course. Soon I'll be 42 years old, too. So much time's gone by yet he's still the greatest, isn't he?
Click here here to remind yourself of the magic.

kiehl's and a panama

2009-08-03T19:24:00.019+02:00

I forgot how much I love Kiehl's. On a carefree and very rare solitary wander 'round the Munich shops I couldn't resist going into OBERPOLLINGER where I walked straight into the Kiehl's counter and the very smiley German sales rep. Keeping a lid on it, I managed to buy only the one product, which in fact smells so good that every time I use it I have to restrain myself from drinking it. It's one of their latest products, a body lotion containing Moroccan Argan Oil, so the smiley Fräulein tells me - "and anything containing Argan oil or leaf extract is worth its weight in gold". Right, I'll be needing one then, and make it snappy! White Kiehl's paper bag dangling fetchingly from my arm I suddenly remembered the true purpose of my shopping trip... must not get distracted like this! So, for the occasion of my uncle's 72nd birthday, I swiftly proceeded to the menswear department on the 3rd floor where I successfully acquired a most suitable gift for a gentleman. A Stetson.

munich

2009-07-27T13:01:00.023+02:00

I love it not so much for the beer (nor for the Bavarians, for that matter) but for the city itself. Green parks, hugely impressive buildings and architecture, the shops (someone stop me), the open air swimming pools, the warm, soft pretzels (again, someone stop me) and of course the (very) distant, subtle yet reassuring feeling that somehow I belong to that part of the world.

We wondered around Stachus and Marienplatz where our regular haunts awaited us: they are Manufactum, Ludwig Beck, Dallmayr, the Oxfam bookstore, then first the Kaffee Kreutzkamm at Maxburg and second the Literaturhaus for another coffee and a well-deserved session of people-watching with my father. The Hugendubel, bookstore with a fantastic selection of English books, is just across the road. Perfection. No beer garden this time, we were heading for the idyllic Biergarten am Wienerplatz but got hideously sidetracked by our prolongued stroll 'round the Auer Dult, which is, my friends, the markets of all markets and was most definitely the highlight of my stay.

Now seems like an appropriate time for me to admit to my alarming and increasing attraction to the Bavarian traditional costume - "Trachtenmode" or "Dirndl & Lederhosen" to us German lot. I fear that this is proof, if ever proof was needed, of my indelible and undeniable German roots. The beautiful window display above shows the haute couture choice of Dirndls and Lederhosen as selected by the previously mentioned and superbly avantgarde Munich department store Ludwig Beck (and shows that Dirndls can be very cool indeed as well as just a bit sexy). Further down you will see a charming display found at the Auer Dult, a beautiful little tent tastefully filled with authentic and beautifully crafted traditional costumes. So delightful.

supersize

2009-07-22T11:37:00.016+02:00

While we're on the subject of adornments, it was a pleasant coincidence when my dear friend D. came over for afternoon tea yesterday sporting amongst her usual stylish pieces, the above rather fabulous oversized ring with an incredible blood red glass droplet. I say coincidence because I've been meaning to post some XL-rings for some time now, especially since they are another one of my style obsessions. The summer sees all my colourful friends coming out of hybernation. So here are a few of them, the ones that have been worn with pleasure this summer (except the blood-red droplet one, alas!). The yellow anemone is a new arrival, some find it ridiculous, I find it divine. They are all wonderfully reliable in that they instantly upgrade and glamourise the dreariest of outfits.

keeping it simple

2009-07-19T12:35:00.012+02:00

Some of you may laugh but it's true, I'm a low-maintenance kind of girl. Don't go to Cartier, don't bother with Harry Winston, just head down to Su Giudeu beach where you'll find the simplest, most beautiful pearls on a string. Here is my absolute favourite piece of the moment (cost me all of 8 Euros). It comes from a lovely English lady who lives in Sardinia near the abovementioned beach, and spends her summers strolling along the water's edge with her rather ingenious sandtrolley laden to the hilt with her own very special tiny creations.

basic needs

2009-07-17T12:49:00.019+02:00

Just back from 3 weeks in a tent and now I'm wandering 'round the house thinking what to do with all the space and all these rooms? The biggest revelation of all time, was how ridiculously little we need to exist comfortably and happily. There was less of everything; less clothes, less gadgets, less clutter, less THINGS! And it felt good. Incidentally this revelation seems to slip very fittingly into the current mood - a welcome slap in the face to all that dreadful excess we've been subjecting ourselves to recently and the warm and faintly familiar recognition of what it is that really matters to us. Not only do I feel lost in these rooms, but I also feel odd sleeping in them, behind 25 cm thick concrete walls. My flimsy blue Coleman Lakeside 4 was a joy to get into every evening, with it's pale blue sleeping chambers and white mosquito net - listening to the wind, the sea, the birds and the sound of footsteps on eucalyptus leaves. Of course I heard the odd snore, some night-time chatting and countless zips being openend and closed, but they did not bother me as much as I thought they might. All of us co-existed in simple, quiet harmony, taking time to sit down for breakfast (properly), fetching water, sweeping our little patch, making coffee, chatting with other campers about the beauty of our location and which fish to grill for dinner or which beach to go to that day. I doubt whether I will ever feel the same way again about that luxury all-inclusive holiday that I used to dream of. I'm already planning our next camping trip; the only ingredient I simply cannot do without though, is the sun. So we might have to stick to summertime camping. Preferably back in Sardinia or other parts of Italy where the sea is turquoise and the food is seriously good.

My other immense campsite/beachside pleasure were books - just reading whenever and whatever I liked without snatching the pathetic 4 minutes (at most) in bed before nodding off helplessly. On holiday I manage to actually finish a book - this is unheard of at home, where it takes me a minimum of 3 months.

The above photo showing our plastic cups is courtesy of Mr R, who was very inspired by the recurring colour theme of reds and blues throughout our holiday.

a charming man

2009-06-22T21:24:00.011+02:00

Today my thoughts drifted as they so often do, to times gone by; I thought of my friend Martin. A style genius - a uniquely talented and generous person with such a refined, natural sense of proportion, colour, cut, time, anything he put his hands on really... I could go on and on. His influence on me was liberating, he gave me a sense of individuality and through his guidance I learnt to trust my own instinct. I was very privileged to have worked for him. An unbelievably accomplished and respected fashion designer based initially in London and subsequently in Brighton, he has now retreated to the picturesque Sussex countryside where he resides to this day with his beloved, beautiful Cocker Spaniel, Susan. Fashion is no longer his game (much to my eternal dissappointment). Instead his time is now taken up with another passion: vintage teddies, lions, tigers, elephants, donkeys and rabbits (Steiff fans will rejoice in his collection)... his website takes you on a sweet journey visiting various windows through which you can admire all these lovely characters (my own personal favourite is Deirdre the Duck, pictured above). A magical world, I urge you to visit it soon.

youth on the other side

2009-06-18T23:30:00.021+02:00

Why is it that I always know with absolute certainty that I would appreciate things (more) in my life 20 or so years after they have occured? My youth for example. I would really, truly, fully appreciate just how fabulous it is to be 22 today. I would make a MUCH better 22 year old NOW! I think I would have a better time now. Not back in blimmin' 1990! All this started with a tremendous slap in the face earlier this week when I realised that the heartmelting singer Paolo Nutini is 22 years old. Young enough to be my son, in fact. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem being in my forties (much) - it's just that I look incredulously at the vast number of young people around me. There's so many of them. I used to be them. There was a time when nobody was younger than me except babies and schoolchildren. Now 'suddenly' (ha!) pretty much 80% of the people surrounding me are younger than me. And they all look so confident, groovy and sussed (did I ever look like that?) with their entire lives ahead of them. I know, I should just wake up and smell the cigar smoke, but I don't want to. I'm kind of teetering on the edge, not quite ready to take the plunge into mature womanhood, grey hair and all (although I am warming to the idea, what with all the style forecasts pointing in that direction anyway...). I still hanker after those years of carelessness where wrinkle creams existed only in ads, not in my bathroom cabinet. What'll it take for me to get over it and just let go? A few more chromotherapy sessions would help. I'm not so much worried about being old(er), I'm more mourning my youth - I enjoy looking at young people but I also feel a teensy bit sorry for myself because whilst I was their age, I felt immortal and very, very empowered. These days I have a ticking noise in my ear, it's not very loud - in fact some days I can hardly hear it at all - but it's definitely there.

I sympathise with all the ladies that are in this age group - a bit like me teetering on the edge or well and truly over the edge but not able to come to terms with it or embrace that new part of womanhood. Most of my friends are so cool about it and just don't give a damn and that's how it should be. But there are a few that are anxious and feel under quite a bit of pressure to look a certain way. Studying the likes of Überfrau Helen Mirren above, it does become blatantly obvious to me that to be happy with the outside, you need to be happy on the inside. And now, in a final attempt to get things into perspective, please repeat after me: "There's no solution to ageing, because it's just not a problem".

The picture above of Helen Mirren is one of my all-time favourites and speaks for itself, I think.

about a voice

2009-06-13T09:13:00.031+02:00

For some time now I've been catching a song on the radio and each time I hear it my ears prick up in serious appreciation. I've been asking myself who on earth that voice could belong to so my mind went a wondering: it sounded so Willie-Nelson-like and there was a bit of the Neil Young about it too, so I kind of figured it was some weird, old, American country singer (LOVE those guys, by the way) and something in his pronunciation even indicated that he might not have all of his front teeth. Not an attractive image you'll agree, but even if my mystery singer turned out to be the ageing toothless wonder of my wild imagination I wouldn't care, because the voice got me right where it hurts and where it matters. A voice can do that. This morning whilst driving, I heard the song again and decided that this was the day I would solve the mystery. Found him. He's got all his teeth, he's younger than me (huff and puff), and he's just a bit gorgeous. But all that really doesn't matter a jot because it's the voice and the words that I fell in love with. Ooooh... the beginning of this song is just heartbreaking. Listen and tell me about it.... (a tip: listen without looking first - look only when listening a second time. Trust me, click on the link, close your eyes and just listen). Speaking of Willie Nelson, there's something pretty cool about the picture above, right?

che bella!

2009-06-07T17:55:00.005+02:00

I found this gorgeous looking beast sat quietly in a Locarnese backwater. How could you not fall in love with it? Too divine.

diptyque

2009-05-25T21:07:00.030+02:00

Wide-eyed and innocent I walked slap-bang into the middle of the London fashion scene that eventful January day in 1990. I had landed myself a plum job, had a rather dashing brand spanking new boyfriend to go with it, and would remain there (with the job) for more or less 7 years (the boyfriend has lasted longer, he's still here). How fantastic that felt, my own office, my own little department, even my own clothing allowance... oh baby, it couldn't get any better than that, surely? They were formative years, I was so young and impressionable and when anyone said "Jump!" I would reply without blinking "How high?". Never anything wrong with my work ethic, I can tell you (thank you, dad). So yes, fashion darling. The 90's, Katharine Hamnett - KH. She was a force of nature. She inspired me so much with her British, rather posh background and her solid as hell environmental beliefs (the first designer of them all to champion and fight for organic cotton and ban the use of PVC in her collections). The lady who in 1984 went to 10 Downing Street to meet Maggie Thatcher wearing one of her infamous t-shirts bearing the slogan "58% DON'T WANT PERSHING" (note the leggings - SUCH a good look - we've come full-circle once again). The woman really is mythical and hugely interesting so I urge you to leaf through her website and find out more about her work today.

By now you'll be asking: "And what does any of this have to do with the picture above or Diptyque?" Everything actually. Katharine was the one who introduced me (and everyone else in the studio, I'm sure) to the wonder that is a Diptyque candle. One of her personal favourites was 'Baies' if my memory serves me well. They were as much part of her style as her John Smedley jumpers and her black shiny skinny trousers. Over the years, my own absolute favourite has become "Tubereuse". Once I had been promoted a few levels and was able to attend the glamour that is Paris fashion week, a stop at the shop on the Boulevard Saint Germain was always on the agenda, no matter what. The excuse tended to be "Well, Katharine needs one so I simply HAVE TO go!". Now of course you can buy the candles and scents in select department stores and other exclusive boutiques, but there's nothing like visiting the charming shop in all it's old Parisian glory. I still love the packaging (the paper bag is simply wonderful and another fine example of how right you can get it when you use the perfect font). These candles really are in a league of their own, you can't just call them a 'scented' or even 'perfumed' candle - whether lit or not, their scent wraps you in a state of bliss while looking drop dead gorgeous just stood on your dresser - I defy any other candle to look and smell this good. I am totally biased of course; as I'm sure you'll know, scent is one of those senses that plays havoc with your memory. Nothing takes you back 20 years with quite such force, emotion and ease as a familiar smell (although Dr Who does a pretty good job too, I'm told). So leave me here, reminiscing and smelling my little treasure which was brought to me by my very kind angel and roving ambassador (merci encore, ma chère).

Editor at large

2009-05-18T20:32:00.007+02:00

I have a roving ambassador - an angel travelling to places I cannot reach, my very own VIP. Next stop Paris. She will return with a style treasure that you will LOVE... I simply cannot wait! The above picture is but a mere hint, I bet you can't guess what it is that she will bring to me...

camping it up

2009-05-15T17:12:00.018+02:00

Moving within the spirit of the times, respecting the current economic climate, we have discarded the usual frills, pomp and circumstance in favour of a more natural and simple (don't you LOVE those two words?) summer holiday. Yes, we are going to brave the campsite and get down and dirty, right back to basics and finally use those 2 massive (brand) new tents that have never seen the light of the moon let alone a mosquito and go camping. Not for a weekend, not for a week - heck, no! We're totally insane and going it for three...whole...weeks. I'm playing it cool at the moment. So overwhelmed by the mere fact that very soon we'll be back in lovely Sardinia, I won't allow my joy to be overrun by dark thoughts regarding the impossibility of sandfree clothes storage, dirty feet (I have a bit of a thing about those), having to wash dishes by hand and then of course not having en-suite facilities.... Like I said, I will not let myself be overcome by all that negativity.

Instead I choose to open my mind to the possibility that this really could be a pleasurable adventure beyond compare and that with a little bit of organisation and a huge pinch of the 'chill' factor, we can all enjoy an unforgettable, uncomplicated time together. My husband will make me sign a contract in which I swear not to become 'unreasonable' about grains of sand in the tent and that if I utter the words 'I have nothing to wear!' he has perfectly good grounds for divorce. I have promised to take a leaf out of all of my friends' books who have been camping practically every year of their lives, and focus on the essentials of campsite living but make those essentials as beautiful as they can possibly be. So, I just need a few accessories to 'brighten up' our pitch and personalise it by giving it a bit of a style injection. I will start by looking a bit more closely at the Cath Kidston website and I have already noticed with great pleasure, that Swiss retailers take their camping sections very seriously indeed and I wouldn't be at all surprised if I found the bulk of my camping 'style fodder' on my doorstep at either Migros or Coop. And another thing: all that stuff we get fed by women's magazines about 'how to pack the bare essentials' or 'how to make one single garment work a 100 ways' would be fantastic for my camping dilemma IF IT WERE TRUE! It's total nonsense of course and unless you were born around 1941 and therefore frugality is an indelible part of your genetic make-up, you will know that packing the 'bare essentials' means stuffing at least 48 to 54 garments into your suitcase. So in order to make this experience work for me I'm going to:

plan out my pitch meticulously, logically and stylishly (I will allow husband to help with this)
buy an inordinate amount of tealights and little glasses that will contain them
inject a dose of glamour even into campsite life by never looking anything less than effortlessly chic (see pictures above)
not get hysterical at the sight of dust-covered sons, in fact I will learn to embrace them in their new, natural state (I use the word embrace not in its physical, but spiritual sense)
last but not least, I absolutely promise that I will chillax

Should be great!

Whilst I do realise that this post contains a ridiculous amount of pictures compared to my usual select few, I really wanted to bring TOAST to your attention once again. Their style and their photography lends itself incredibly well to my camping fantasy! Do browse their current catalogue here and especially here...

All of the above photographs are taken from the current S/S 09 TOAST catalogues (DAYWEAR and HOUSE & HOME)

California

2009-05-08T20:25:00.018+02:00

There is something about listening to the Beach Boys (oh go on then, Dave Lee Roth!) that just makes me wanna pack a bag and take off on a jet plane headed for California. That's America to me (well, that and New York) but California is slightly addictive once you've experienced its laid-back, hippy ways. I spent three pivotal years there and boy, they were good years. Boy! Boys! Beach Boys! Bleached sandy hair, tanned legs 365 days a year, surfboards, frozen jogurt, marine biology, my first CAR: a gold VW beetle (chosen in favour of a 1968 Mustang - my father and especially Mr R have never forgiven me for this faux pas). And yet some demon inside me told me to leave this sunny paradise and head across the water back to London Town. Totally inexplicable now, but at the time and with the maturity of all my 19 years behind me, it was London or certain death. These days I unashamedly spend hours trying desperately to remember what it felt like to watch the sunset over Del Mar beach or walking into the Pannikin coffee/bookstore and smelling the roasted coffee beans and freshly baked muffins. It would be interesting if I were to endeavour in a spell of time travel and be transported in my current state, to those heady days of 1986 - I would probably keel over and die with emotion. Life in southern California is, in a way, even more remote than it is here in Ticino. You are so (pleasantly) removed from what is real (I don't mean in an artificial L.A./Hollywood kind of way, no sir!) that there really is nothing else but the abovementioned ingredients (Dave Lee Roth, frozen yogurt, surfers, hippies, beetles, pot, marine biology etc). It's its own special little universe where you just live for your immediate surroundings. Sounds shallow to you? It shouldn't. Pure nature all around you, the most fantastic marine life, incredible universities where you can study till you're 90, great music culture, and the knowledge that Mexico lies at your feet. If you get bored just rent a Mustang (not a Beetle) and head north along highway 101. I often ask myself what devil inside me made me leave this place?
A few more haunts: La Jolla and Jake's and finally, for all you academics or parents with kids looking for a superb university, look not further than UCSD.

sisters

2009-05-07T16:55:00.022+02:00

Today was a hectic but good day - busy but hugely inspirational. You know, when you're just walking or in my case driving along and your mind (nevermind the car) is speeding at 180 km/h (that's approximately 111.84 mph) productively coming up with one fantastic whopper of an idea after another. I was on fire. Even the radio station kept playing ONLY fantastic songs, and that makes all the difference. Inspiration and optimism in spades just rushing through the brain. Great stuff. I started thinking about my sister, whom I absolutely adore beyond reason, and immediately realised that the next post had to be about her. It was obvious that I would write about her at some stage, but today it all took shape and crystallised into this perfect image and story which I will now try to coherently present before you.

I'm lucky enough to have gone from being an only child (albeit a happy one, I must admit) to becoming, at the age of 12, a sister to a sister. I never dreamt that I would ever have a sibling and when she was born, it was incredible. It was just the timing of her arrival that was not so good for me; I was at the cusp of becoming the worst teenager ever to walk this earth and spent the following 4 years struggling with my very own industrial sized hormonal tornado ripping its way very impressively through my emotions. So I always felt like I wasn't really there for her, and in fact I wasn't. I left home very early and had a patchy (yet very loving) long-distance relationship with my little sister. We are and always have been incredibly close, an unspoken invisible bond that is just there, no matter what. Now that we finally live in the same country again, I feel much more complete and get an incredible sense of fulfilment knowing that if I wanted to, I could see her at a moment's notice. She inspires me and makes me so proud, my sister. A determined young woman with an amazing heart and huge talent which is so brilliantly put to use in her current career.

So, that's the basics sorted now let me find the style thread... Ah, yes, there it is: The Force is strong in this one.
Apart from being blessed with an amazing physique, she truly knows what works on her and what doesn't. Never putting a foot wrong, she has a very personal and unique style which is first and foremost modern, young, subtle but edgy and incredibly pleasing to the eye. I wish Mr Sartorialist would browse 'round Zurich more so he'd get a shot of her. Her chosen colour palette is warm, earthy and never garish, complemented of course without fail by the most cutting edge hairstyle as well as (and this is obviously a family thing that our mother started in 1972) the biggest sunglasses she can get her hands on. All this is delivered effortlessly which makes it even more powerful and beautiful. How much I love looking at her, absorbing her radiance, her warmth and also her style. You couldn't copy it if you tried.

nip me!

2009-05-04T21:52:00.020+02:00

I remember last summer, lazing on our local beach by the river Melezza. Heaven on Earth as far as I'm concerned. Here, this location, this little village, these people, you see we are so blessed that it can bring tears to my eyes. So many special components make this place unique and very lovely. In the summer it just beggars belief for me. School's out in say, mid-June, and from then on depending on everyone's holiday schedules, we tend to congregate at our very own village beach. The beach is located beyond the football fields and the tennis courts (so if you have sporty kids you can just send them up for footy training or to the tennis coach while you continue working on your tan) and last summer we spent practically every day down by the river with the locals. It's so funny. In the winter and the autumn months you bump into neighbours and local friends at the post office, the bakery, the deli or the bar but in the summer you're lying half naked next to yes, you guessed it: your neighbour and your local friends. It's great. I love it. Sometimes an exotic fish comes along. Like last summer. A friend of a friend appeared, in a white two-piece looking like some sort of mythical goddess. I had never seen anything like this before. Sure, she was maybe a few years younger than me (5 at most) but she was something to behold. Not a single ounce of fat on her, not a rake either though. Toned perfection. No cellulite, skin the colour of honey and as soft as silk, jet black hair all luscious waves and those curves. And she's got 2 daughters under the age of 6! Oh my God. If I was a guy I would have drooled. Being a girl I just pretended not to notice (so glad Mr R wasn't there). Did I mention her breasts? The most perfect things I've ever come across in my life - insanely lovely. I had to really concentrate in order to continue pretending that I hadn't noticed anything at all (one doesn't want to appear rude, it just won't do), especially when she came over to say hello. I felt even more prune-like than normal. A few weeks later I found out that all this beauty was not of natural origin, but reconstructed and the result of several cosmetic surgery procedures. I felt first and foremost relieved and then reassured of course and a bit smug. I'm one of those weirdos that confidently (for now...!) says: Accept your wrinkles, love them, they are part of you - you can look good with them, glamorous, sexy, whatever! Of course never say never but knowing myself as I do, I'm pretty sure I won't be going down the nip/tuck route. Ever. Amazing though, what a surgeon's knife can do. I have since reclaimed my status as a nature girl and proudly picked up my style thread where I'd bloody well left it. That was after temporarily losing my head by agreeing to have a few no obligation consultations with dishy Dr Christian. Relax, all is where it was and where it should be and I have since found my way again, naturally.

photograph above courtesy of NIP/TUCK (FX) showing Julian McMahon as Christian Troy, Joely Richardson (some impostor actually) as Julia McNamara and Dylan Walsh as Sean McNamara.

the f-word

2009-04-28T10:58:00.021+02:00

Since I entered it ceremoniously, this world of the big four-o, I've become more and more aware of a constant feeling of being on the edge - not in a nervy way but in a "teetering on the edge of a very steep precipice" kind of way (think Cathy in Wuthering Heights or the second Mrs de Winter in Rebecca just for that extra, windswept drama effect). Which is a lot more scary and quite a new sensation for me. It doesn't leave me either. Actually it just gets stronger. Things feel decidedly different to me now. Day to day things, they seem much more important, more serious and I have a very definite sense of urgency about me which suggests that I'm watching an imaginary clock ticking away while running at an increasing speed to make things happen. Even my children's comments seem more poignant to me. Probably because I'm referring back to my own childhood when I remember making the conscious and rather stubborn decision to stop counting my parents' ages once either of them had reached 40. When I hit forty I didn't think it would make a blind bit of difference, I laughed at the thought of it: "Bring it on!" I used to shout. I don't shout anymore, now I'm fairly quiet about it. All my determination and nonchalance is nowhere to be found, in its place an overwhelming sense of life and its meaning, and how precious it is and how living for today is paramount and how every second counts. That's what occupies my mind these days. I wonder if all this is normal? Fortunately I am an incorrigible optimist - so while I'm teetering up there on the edge of that precipice, my mantra 'the best is yet to come' is also ringing quite loudly in my ears. Other welcome side effects of being forty (at least for me) are confidence and assertiveness. They make life so much smoother and more enjoyable. Like I said, I wonder whether it's just me...?

true to type

2009-04-24T23:17:00.022+02:00

Watching the very talented Mr R working yesterday I couldn't resist snatching this piece of gorgeousness from him (please be sure to click on the picture for a proper, enlarged view). Don't worry I have his consent. There's something about a typeface, about a specific way a word is presented on print that is so beautiful, powerful and to the point. No fuss. No frills. No extras. No sound. Just a word - in most cases put very simply in black on white or vice versa. I suppose it all boils back down to design. And I guess it's graphic design really - but I like to think that it actually goes back further than that. Graphics don't really do it for me, but letters baby, yeah! Typesetting and, more importantly Typography. What genius to beautifully arrange letters to create your very own typeface, Herr Max Miedinger. I do love all those wonderful Harpers Bazaar articles with the iconic serif typeface, but have to admit that it's the sans serifs that I'll go for time and time again. They're just beautiful to me. My favourites from the mood board above are without a doubt the 'Acqua di Parma' logo and the 'Eleven Madison Park'. That's how simple I like it. Whilst doing his reasearch work yesterday, Mr R showed me this website which shows some great examples of a stunning typeface used so effectively on a collection of book covers (albeit rejected ones - I can't imagine why). Mmmm books.... don't get me started on those!

cos

2009-04-20T22:15:00.014+02:00

How long am I going to have to wait? With an H&M on practically every corner (yawn, double yawn) is it really too much to ask? It can't be that hard for COS/H&M to realise that there's a market for their sublime products beyond the usual suspects (UK, Germany, France, Belgium, Denmark and the Netherlands). Why no Switzerland and, more importantly, no Italy? Where's the problem? I live in hope...and in Switzerland.

make-up anyone?

2009-04-17T22:16:00.031+02:00

So I waved and kissed our Easter guests goodbye on Saturday and promptly burst into tears. I don't know about you but I've completely given up on maintaining my composure at farewells, it's such hard work plus it just seems a bit, you know, insincere. What's the point in putting on a brave face when your heart is breaking? And with the guests gone I found myself in the middle of town, by myself and in no great rush to get back to an empty house. Instead I made tracks for our only department store where I like to have a little peek now and again at the relatively new and exciting arrival on the ground floor cosmetics department: the Bobbi Brown counter. As far as make-up's concerned this, I feel, is as good as it gets. Feeling just a little bit washed out and blue I didn't offer much resistance when the chirpy male make-up artist (Abdul "on a whistlestop tour of Europe visiting all the Bobbi Brown counters" and working his magic on the likes of me by giving very good face) invited me to take a seat for a "quick make-over" in the latest spring colours. I made a half-hearted attempt at declining but soon decided that it would be kind of cool for once to be professionally worked on like that. I might even learn something. Yeah, so make-up. Where do YOU stand on that one? I've always been fascinated by it, heavily influenced by my mother and all that advertising. Once I got into my teenage years I experimented constantly and looked incredibly scary most of the time, trying desperately to ascertain my look whilst coming to terms with my own 'colouring'. I've not been blessed with perfect skin and so the 'no make-up' option was not for me (not in a million years) - instead I developed my own little life support team of products, without which I'd never show my face in public. Ever. I know exactly what works and what doesn't on my skintone and because I would give anything not to have to wear make-up in order to look halfway decent, I have, over time, tried to perfect that natural, sunkissed look that suggests hardly any make-up at all. Since we moved to this part of the world it soon became obvious to me that there is none of the high-gloss sophistication that I used to encounter on a daily basis in the UK. Instead you have pretty much 2 very defined camps: the I-would-never-dream-of-wearing-a-scrap-of-make-up lot (bless them for they have the courage of their convictions) and the I-think-the-black-lipliner-look-is-a-winner lot... Ok, I lie: there are those of course who fall in between these 2 extremes choosing to wear make-up and looking just great. But there really is very little emphasis on make-up over here - which is a good thing as natural can never be bad, right? Well, sort of. I suppose it's just one of those things, you either do or you don't. And on Saturday, after my little make-over I was glad that I'm one of those that do. Abdul confidently applied his art to my face and made me look like me but better - it was great. Admittedly I wouldn't necessarily wear eyeshadow or lipgloss during the day, but it made a difference to my mood - I felt refreshed and bright and, thanks to Abdul, I learned how to improve my complexion with the clever use of a brush....

so here's to you, Mrs Robinson

2009-04-07T09:14:00.036+02:00

Ooooh I can hardly type for excitement! The temperature today hit 23 degrees and all thoughts of winter and cold are suddenly filed away together with silly worries about doom and gloom - at least till November. Now it's the new season (and for me the best season, or as they so poetically call it 'round my parts, La Bella Stagione - wonderful, eh?). I'm making way for positive optimism and renewed confidence and am so looking forward to new beginnings.

Which brings me swiftly to the point of this little story. New beginnings, change, change, and more change... It's that time again. The big question, the big dilemma. Is it time? Can I still pull it off or is this (ie. the sneaky suspicion I may have reached that dreaded state of mutton-dressed-as-lamb) the perfect bloody excuse to go and chop it off once and for all and shut the hell up about the blimmin' hair? Here I am, wafting around as always with my long tresses like some ageing Rapunzel. Of course I've had long hair all my life so it's as much part of my character as my character but I do get to this stage every 3 years (it's like clockwork) where I just have to go through this process - and this time, you're coming through it with me. Were it not for the sheer terror/cold fear of completely losing my identity, I would have done it years ago. It's always the same: I spend weeks lusting after 'my perfect short hairdos' (see above) and it reaches feverpitch till I walk into the salon and every single time without fail some young whippersnapper of a coiffeuse talks me out of it because she, just like me, has absolutely no backbone. Sounds harsh? Well, if only I had a little of the Annie Lennox about me (that divine bonestructure, such angles, such precision) or the soft voluptuousness of Marilyn. But alas no, I am me! And it takes exactly this process (I can feel it, I'm almost through it) to realise that I do really love this long hair thing and that it just suits me and my style perfectly. I will never forget Mr R's words to me almost 20 years ago (and a few more times since), about how he thought older women looked fantastic with long grey, salt and pepper kind of hair....Well, sir, sticking it out with me may just be starting to pay off because it looks like that's gonna be my look pretty soon. Move over Annie and Marilyn, make room for Anne Bancroft.

If you can't quite remember just how fabulous Mrs Robinson looked, go refresh your memory by visiting this week's post on The Women's Room.