"Help me to be sensible!"

For my friend Ian's birthday this week, a bunch of us took a trip to see the live production of Brief Encounter at the Haymarket. It's truly magical. From the time you go in, it's era-perfect - a little skiffle band playing around the auditorium as you enter, uniformed attendants serving refreshments. The same people get onstage and turn out to be the cast, and then provide the intermission entertainment. It's tickle-me-pink funny and unbearably sad, and the staging is so inventive and gorgeous. If you're a Londoner, I recommend it heartily.

They are apparently taking it to Broadway, and Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick will play the leads. Ugh. I imagine Sarah Jessica Parker will relish the opportunity to be TERRIBLY! DRAMATIC! AND! OVER! THE! TOP!!!!!!!!! OH! WOE, WOE IS SHE!

Rather you, dear New Yorkers, than I.

Anyway, we thought we'd have a jollier time if we dressed up, so dress up we did. I can't really do 1940s very well, because I have neither curl-friendly hair nor pneumatic bosoms. So I went for a marcel-waved 1930s look. I know I look like Olive Oyl - it doesn't need saying, so don't say it.



And here we are with the lead actor, Tristan Sturrock. He seemed much taller onstage, but then he wasn't dressed like an emo mime at that point. Still, a very nice man, stripes or no.

Vogue Nippon

I love these images from the May issue of Vogue Nippon. On one level they make me think of Vermeer paintings - the colour and the poise are incredibly painterly, each colour seems to have been painstakingly mixed and crafted, not snapped [and, I guess, photoshopped].




[Images: Yasunari Kikuma for Vogue Nippon, scanned by Linka-Lebedeva in Livejournal/Foto_Decadent]


[Image: Johannes Vermeer]

They also make me think of Nancy Cunard - they have something distinctly late '20s / early '30s about them, and the hair fashioned into a turban-like headdress is something I think she would have wholeheartedly approved of; the photos seem to tap quite strongly into early twentieth century society's well-meant [if rather patronising/insulting - circle as appropriate] fascination with what they deemed the exotic.


[Image: Curtis Moffat]

Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day

Following below's mention of the upcoming film adaptation of Winifred Watson's Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day, I found this very lovely new edition of the book - Persephone Books have re-released a string of books in this format, and the little brother's staff discount in Waterstones encouraged me to buy this one.





I was looking forward to reading it before I even opened the cover, but then I flicked through, and saw that I shall cherish this book for a long time. Mary Thomson's illustrations are splendid and very charming, and if they're anything to go by, Miss Pettigrew's going to be a far less sedate read than I expected - copper-bashing, cheerful drug use and drunken OAPs. What larks!









[Images: scanned. Copyright Persephone Books Ltd]

'The other woman has fresh-cut flowers in her room...'

What fashion-enthusiastic woman doesn't want a dressing room of her own? Somewhere to shut herself away from the world, surround herself with her most beautiful possessions and style herself as she wants to look.

Old novels and period films always make me hanker after such a thing. The only modern movie I can remember that celebrated the dedication of personal space and time to one's wardrobe was Clueless - everyone remembers Alicia Silverstone's modern miracle of a computer that mixed and matched her outfits for her, and that ridiculous circular, colour-coded closet. It was a bit Clarissa Explains It All though.

What I'm really talking about is Glenn Close, stalking about her mirrored and gilted rooms in Dangerous Liaisons, exuding puff powder and spiritual venom. Emily Mortimer in Bright Young Things, hiding behind the telephone in her beautiful apartment with its interior railings and curved walls, covering her eyes in glitter and kohl. Colette's aging but still graceful Lea, with the incorrigible Cheri running amok within the walls of her home.

missbondage's post on The High Street reminded me of it, as did the photos of Dita Von Teese's vanity room in Fur Coat, No Knickers.

This is mine - it's an optimistic mess, marred by awful yellow and terracotta [!] walls [not my doing], dodgy laminate flooring [also not my doing] and a woeful lack of space. The redeeming features [beautiful old wooden furniture, pretty trinkets, my desperation for it to be better than it is] fight frantically with the sheer dreadfulness of the room.



[Two] [more] images

Interior design blog Brilliant Asylum provided me with plentiful inspiration though.




From Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day - I shall certainly be seeing this, as much for the magnificent Frances McDormand as the delectable set design
[Images: IMDB.com]





Katie Lee Joel's dressing room in New York. Covered in gilt. Gosh.
[Images: Town & Country]

I've been inspired to take action. I will blitz my sorry looking 'other room' with paint and whatever gilt, crystal and lacquer I can lay my hands on [albeit in moderation - there's only so much a small room can take].

I WILL surround myself with beauty. I will.