I’ve been asked to cage some camelias. Could there be a crueler yet prettier fate?

There are parakeets on the towpath, beautiful fluorescent free green ones…

I think they’ve flown over from the graveyard…maybe we could teach them to chat?

I’ve read up on the subject and it works…but English or French?

Whilst I think of blooms behind bars and get my Henry Higgins hat on have a peek at these adorable vintage illustrations, most definitely on the Christmas list.

xxx

Flowers aside this week I’m really jellybugs as I’m missing Agatha Christie Week…batty Miss Marple, Tommy ‘n Tuppence and Hercule fans en mass, machinating over murder on the English Riviera. It’s too much.

Imagine the clattering lipstick stained teacups over cream teas? The faux moustaches and theme tunes, walking sticks and comedy murder set ups?

I know I know I can be a real snore about Agatha Christie stories, it’s the covers that get me and their dusty book jackets have always held a place in my heart.

They live in crooked half read piles in the cabin, crammed secretly in to in cookbook shelves and can be found a top of O’s record player.

So. I’m peeved to think I won’t be with the hundreds of fans who’ll be tritt trotting around discussing in rich tea whispers whether Roger Ackroyd’s murder was the best ever written or if And Then There Were None was indeed her finest hour.

I personally would have to scamper around her cutting garden snipping at the hydrangea, camellia, magnolia and rhododendron which she so avidly grew…and lament the bad casting of Miss Marple since Joans demise.

I really should be donning white mittens, my best starched floral frock and taking the 4.50 from Paddington …hmm maybe there’s still time?

TBG? …only her best short story ever. xxx

After a weekend of friends, film scripts and the lure of life with flowers on Columbia Road its most definitely feeling like autumn on our blustery boat.

Today it’s grey and leaking through the portholes… but all about making prop umbrellas, teacup raindrops and steering our ship towards a pink palette for winter.

Although I’m not swirling in whirl of leaves and bangers and mash, just yet, canal seasons definitely sneak in early. This means Aggies who dunnits at bed time and high teas with darling Tim at Julies complete, please, with fondant fancies.

Cats shivering through portholes, french films with cringeroonie subtitles in the cabin, the smell of a wood burner, plans for bonfire night and talk of New Years Eve…

I know Ines would approve too (Caroline’s great interior blog tip) and as well as that it’s making sure shop windows look cozy and hydrangeas are dried in time for a leafy afternoon tea here.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0r3CPsVKgxs&feature=related]

Of course as only boat dwellers know so well the spider hoovering and wearing of woolly tights (tree trunk fluorescent fuscia please) gets underway too.

xxx

Flowers for a bride and the case of the missing vases …must be the weekend.

A great deal of this sort of shizzle is played on our boat of an evening. Blossom Dearie, Jelly Roll Morton, Dr Buzzard and Minnie Riperton all take their turn to bend the needle and though I do try to get a bit of Rock Hudson in it rarely occurs.

Still, O, did once hang out with Cliff Richard in a Flower shop so tho I may not trust him to condition a rose he can spin the discs anytime.

With Mabel loaded to the rafters with roses, I give you September songs and a promise that this weekend I’ll be dispelling the romantic myths of living on a boat… spiders, bogatoo’s and cold mornings here we come. xxx

I’m now, like my cat Madame Cholet entering an old dotage…one hundred rambles about flowers and this and that have passed on this blog.

I frown about whether it’s a load of flim flam and takatooka, if I’m punctuating properly, but weigh up as I cautiously scrawl that it’s a good place to store my thoughts on all things floral and jobs I’ve loved or loathed.

The yearned for frock, a prized posy, what lovely things we’ve cooked, the obligatory song title, some old fashioned show offing, a Youtube vid, an ode to a 50’s starlet all seem to follow a formula. I admit it’s a road well trodden by my flower shop shoes. I shall ramble on falling in puddles I’m sure, but in the meantime…

One hundred things – what’s not to love? xxx

Dancing, flowers, cats, recipe books, interiors, black pearls, Agatha Christie, San Pellegrino, Arnold, A cat named ziggy, peonies, boats, stripey tops, clocks, old florals, wonky china, flapjacks, Count Basie, mannequins, garden roses, Rigby and Peller, lavender jellies, fountain pens, ranunculas, mary janes, chaise longues, jugs, my friends, Columbo, fagin gloves, coloured pencils, Blossom Dearie, Hydrangeas, chantily lace and cakestands.

Margaret Rutherford, old glass, Grandma, jelly moulds, ticking, buckets, stephanosis, fashion, a rabbit called Cecil, Jazz, Apricot jam with ginger, pots of tea, sweetpeas, Satin ballet shoes, Daphne Du Maurier, dahlias, strawberry sandwiches, good luck brooches, mint, treehouses, Paris, honeysuckle, blue skies, spring, lily of the valley, cream satin, birds, Honfleur, sheep, Debussy, Ealing comedies, blackcurrant icelollies, Amaryllis, Eames, Murder she Wrote, Wysteria, table presents, Constance Spry, our towpath family, ribbon, Gigi, Jackson 5, Mme Cho, free flower market entry, St Johns, my friend Tim’s piccies, lie down shoes, Brigitte Bardot, music sheets, candlelight, O’s tracks, black treacle and bonfire night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With O off deejaying in Barcelona I was boat alone this weekend and found myself bucketed up with hydrangeas, hypericum and seedum set designing locally.

Another 20th Century Theatre event and with autumn on the menu it was a tartan, twinkles and tamarind affair. Any excuse for a foliage love-in and I jump in my cab.

Once home to Olivier – don’t you just love his De Winter ? It is full of ghosts, funny passageways and so many sets of stairs I thought I was in an Escher painting.

My first autumn weekend in London. Once lit, the sight of kilts a plenty dancing around my September plumage was just the ticket.

Happy Birthday Scotty.

xxx

Although my camera never lies it can act seriously inebriated…

Most florists will tell you what a nightmare it is managing to get pictures on jobs, I’m either juggling with urns, delicately wiring flowers for a model or running at breakneck speed between venues.

As for persuading the art director, a dishy groom or an erstwhile helper to get a few shots, it never happens.

So, in ode to a beautiful event at the weekend which resulted in a blurred urn and salty tearstains we’re in search of a really good camera with which I can work some fine photography moves and capture the darn delphs.

Not a vintage polaroid – have.
Not a low res digi – have.
Not a super blinkin 8 – have.

A high res capture the wasp winking in the sunlight sort. If you please.

xxx

Today is a day for sourcing bits and bobs, reflection and flowers for a funeral. Old dutch roses for a distinguished dame and lots and lots of cups of darjeeling tea.

Walk in to any trendy flower shop these days and you’ll find a shelf of cool crockery, old flower books and china floral figurines… sources of old school inspiration. I love the clatter of a teacup with a rose and this pic is perfectly friday.

xxx

Rainy days and wednesdays.

Wishing I had a better camera.

Not knowing what to wear.

The Flower market messing up orders. And and and, a bicycle puncture. Pff…it’s not always fun being a florist.

Still, there’s always music.

And a great recipe for jam from Jamie. xxx

Monday’s shopping list paves the way for window dressing and a gentlemens’ soiree, starring in no particular order…

Roses in this here lovely colour
Flowery fabrics
Agatha’s Thirteen Problems
Silver coffee pots
Bunting for a boat
1977 Le Mondes
Catnip for Madame Cholet
Trips to the Tailors
Barcelona blues
Tartan ribbons
Umbrellas for a chap
Goldfish bowls
Cushions for a cabin

As september rolls there’ll be candlelit weddings, the arrival of snowberries, the last few weeks of dahlias and mounds of autumn hydrangeas.

All in all it’s a good time to love flowers.

This is Tim and I’s absolute favourite time of year, the smell of autumn, new school tights, apple crumbles on the cover of Donna Hay, a vast pot of chicken stock and the imminent nesting for winter on the boat.

O donning his warm captain gear and me digging out my wellies, and it all starts on my I don’t have to run day… xxx