The villagers of Chipping Cleghorn are agog with curiosity over an advertisement which reads: ‘A murder is announced’…
I should be tippy tapping and making giant fishing nets but there’s noone quite like Aggers to get you sidetracked.
Miss C adored roses and fills my bookshelves with brilliant baddies.
You can almost hear Poirot on the pebbles here, tour her finds ici and meet the best Marple here.
Blood red paint, crocosmia and bamboo await…
It’s no secret my celebrity crush is most definitely Cecil Beaton.
Fuelled by My Fair Lady I’ve found myself falling in love again with his florals and fancy ways.
His penchant for costumes and high camp fashion for Ascot scenes and Audreys.
Have definitely got me pining more floral prints for Gypsy Rose parties…a divan, deckchair or dress?
Yup, its fair to say you inspire my work all the time and dearest Cecil…I even named a rabbit after you. xxx
On my bike and back from the weekend with arms of Beswick, 1930’s postcards, old baskets and forget me not cups. I’m working on windows, weddings and with women in fash.
Sunflower central for a bakers dozen behind me I’m discovering fabulous bloggies…and I forbid you not to love karen Blixens fancy floral work.
Pain du miel I can not recommend more btw. Happy mondays xxxx
Leaving candlelit parties with friends and the boat behind, we’re bracing ourselves for:
Pink ponies in the New Forest.
Effervescent elbows at fairs in search of vases.
Visiting Grandma and ordering Eggs Arnold Bennett.
Listening to Noel and LL cool J.
Buying trotters from Toast.
Experiencing O’s Sterling Moss moves.
Most definitely dreaming of verbena lemonade.
Have a lovely weekend xxx
Farewell to France and a hello to that Friday feeling…
Bonjour to Brigitte et sa chanson, a lovely rose named after her for my flower filles, (kind of like a rasberry drenched crazy horse don’t you think?), and to Madame Cho, Arnold and Bardot’s animaux. xxx
I know I know they’re twee but rolling around in the fields of Normandy there’s nothing like dreaming of my own gypsy caravan and a porch upon which to peel my pots…
A week spent leafing through gorgeous french blogs getting inspired by Jeanne Bayol’s caravan loving ways, coveting an escape here, filling vases with ma’s garden roses, having celebratory soirees and eating under apple trees.
On the road again, a return to London, a race around Paris in the heat…no more baguettes, but blooms, boats and boutiques to dress. xxx
Is for Honfleur, homemade jams and helleborus.
Hyacinths, Hugh Fearnely (sorry O), home and huitres.
Hydrangeas, honey, happy days, honesty ‘n honeysuckle.
Hannah’s and Hannes, hypericum, and Herve.
Harold Lloyd, hollyhocks and how I love you’s. xxx
To Deauville, rolled up jeans, walking 300 metres out to sea and a gorgeous expo on the beach courtesy of Jacques Henri Lartigue.
Moules at Le Centrale, a very closed fleuriste (no loss flower friends) and a landrover zip hot on the heels of Gerard. xxx
Sunday brings us:
Cows a mooing in the back field.
The Gypsy retreat.
My teenage record collection.
Foire a tout finds.
A murder courtesy of Agatha.
An appointment with a fabulous Florist.
And and and getting jellybugs over a fashionable garden.
A Dior dance with Daschunds and dahlias? Ooh yes please. xxx
