Pensees for the weekend…what to wear mid-winter at the stall?

Can we get away with lace, wellies and frou frou’s in December?

And how to thank the dear darling foliage boys at the market?

Luggage labels, ribbons, wreaths and painting french furniture are playing a starring role this weekend a week before we tentatively open the pop up flower shop.

It is of course pouring with rain in London rendering painting and wreath wiring atop the tug…impossible. I weep, this and the hungry fox is giving a florist a fever.

There’s only one thing for it, get to drying my rosephips and lavender, a bit of blog inspiration, charmingly cool mentions and Captain cooking a St John classic.

Ooh and a song for a saturday, a flower girl getting an education in Ronnie lane.

xxx

Polaroids by Celeste

Enter the fray and get photographed gorgeously when a man with a vintage camara captures cool moments like this. Got to type about it…it was a brilliant wedding, Tiffany blues and old fashioned hortenses for a late summer party.

xxx

With a pop up shop to pull off, moving our cats to a new abode and a fetes du marriage months away things are suddenly stepping up a gear. Squeak.

Where to move my tutu? What colour to paint behind a victorian bath, will the invasion of books scupper the gypsy style? Can I pinch some of Damiens wallpaper and just how many logs will we need for winter?

To soothe my nerves planning a trip to Paris is on the cards with Captain and a pootle about before a mad dash to platform 13 and Normandy…peace.

And although I’ve never really been much of a city girl I have to confess to a yen for a year or so living amongst the rooftops, so yes I could rock this look.

As for ships and portholes, oh dear there are more to come…

This time last year we were in Paris and found this cool calender in Colette- a shop with way too many trainers and loud music for me – but it had already sold out. Darn, so pretty pleased to have found you again.

Rainy days this weekend spells boats a dripping, a lunch at the eagle and a fast pattering of heartbeats as we open In two weeks…more on that soon.

Happy Sundays x

Girlcrush alert. …

I know I know it’s pewkishly unoriginal to like Marilyn Monroe but I love this pic and letter.

Her scribblings were akin to cat scratches so she bashed at her Smith Corona murder she wrote style – uber glam.

What’s with the low rent carnation though?

Watch, swoon, learn.

Cecil Beaton, flowers and film stars.

LOVE. xxx

This morning I got a Christmas list from my niece pointing me in the direction of lavish items such as winter coats, MP3 players, make up and perfume.

Politely emailed, fashion items featured heavily, as did dvd players, castles, Sylvanian families, new pets, whole countries, the odd book and a pink blanket.

“Dear Molly you are 7 years old, what’s wrong with a tangerine and fuzzy felt?”

Still it got me daring to think about what I could scribble down on mine.

I promise not to do a Veruca Salt if I only get a card. And if some of these lovely things don’t make their way under our tree, I’ll try and get over it.

I’d even be happy if you were to get your pritt stick out and make me something clever we can drink wine from, now that would be cool.

Some cool bed linen and a stylee coffee table book are pretty up there too. Even a trip to Paris – maybe dinner at La Cigale?

So in no particular order (although I rather love the alphabet bags) …

x

Danger on the boats…

When it comes to protecting our cats from a well fed fox smacking his chops alongside and atop our boat, gun toting mothering instincts are kicking in.

I don’t mind you having teaparties on the terrace as long as I can’t see.

Demolishing my herbs and chewing flower buckets is boring of you.

But beating up the tow path cats, Arnold and Captain, was one foxtrot (sorry) too far. So let it be known, dear dear Mr Fox…you may end up getting stuffed.

The transformation from canalside killer to a rigid, russet-coloured chap doing crochet in tweeds is suddenly looking attractive. You like?

We’ve got the boots, the petticoats and with a flick of the holster and quick draw, we’re ready for a serious slice of Betty action. Be warned.

xxx

On the avenue in blustery winds wearing mitts for the first time.

Even the benches were rocking an autumn look. Like these shoes?

A bit of Gigi striking an old school Beaton pose, earl grey tea a plenty, boutique hotels and despite Peters post, thoughts of seeds for a potting shed x

When in may I posted jauntily about how O and I had gone feverishly about trying to recreate The Good Life canalside I was hoping for a bigger crop.

Months of picking herbs, tomatoes, onions, courgettes, wild garlic and marrows in my twee basket was, fun. But my 3m sq plot of butternut squash resulted in a crop of one and the aubergine never surfaced. As for the leeks, they’re still flouncing their chive like trunks in the wind.

The french beans flourished but my red wellies fell in the canal…the rotting wooden handle fell off the large spade and the fox took to kipping in the marjoram. We knew it was never going to be a bed of roses but it wasn’t supposed to turn out quite so unfruitful.

After much discussion over a family lunch, (japanese onions, O’s desire for a dog and said squash were mentioned) my father in law elect went potato pink and spluttered theatrically “What’s happened to you all – Why are my children talking about gardening?” I have to admit he had a point.

Shamed by a sixty something who still sails the seas, talks at the Tate and likes to tread the boards in a cumabund or two. Self sufficiency suddenly feels blushingly uncool.

And my dancing shoes look rather dusty.

xxx

It takes a lot to get me off the boat but this just may do it. Our den is full of Warhol cats and with cripper creeping up – pop art whisker action is high on the list for godchildren. Can I go one step further and start the museum march?

Not sure how much illustration there’ll be, but sunday strollworthy.

Let’s agree to the option. x