skaterboys

                                         

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.

the london greats

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 Whilst now, in the harsh glare of 2009 these may seem totally outdated and uncool (some for good reason, while others remain untouchable), I would like to transport you back to a time when they were really rather special and made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.

munich

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.

ice

As a young person I spent most winter afternoons - (always Wednesdays because there was no school on those afternoons 'round these parts) whizzing and spinning round the local ice rink in my fabulous white leather skates. And my jeans had to be worn 'just so' - ie. tight as hell and NEVER tucked into my boots but arranged over the boots. This was of utmost importance. As you can see from the picture on the left, nothing's changed much. Only that maybe these days I have no shame in flashing a bit of red sock to offset the white from the denim. Today's trip down memory lane was thrilling. Not much because of the style factor, but because of the sheer beauty of this wonderful spot that we found, tucked away at the end of the Valle Verzasca. So we really went for it. The ice was superb - fantastically smooth as if it had never been touched. And whilst in my younger years I would casually, cooly skate in circles round and round and round trying to appear super-confident and giggling with my girlies, today was a rather different story. There were 6 in our party - my friend with her 2 sons and me with my 2 boys. On the ice, us six. And nobody else. Ha! We got hold of our hockey sticks and our boys and shot the pucks 'round the rink like rockets. All you could hear were our shrieks. Then we'd stop and just look up in stunned silence at the unbelievable mountains, majestic and menacing, flashing edges of sharp granit through the snow.
After our considerable exertions we thought we'd join the locals in the bar, overlooking the rink - for the second time in as many days sense prevailed over instinct and instead of joining the old leather-faced dudes in a glass of Fendant or Merlot, we opted for hot coffees. Next time, Ali.