I miss my puppy, Scarlett

The day I said goodbye to Scarlett Ferrari. And still tears are shed. x

Coffee grrr

To set the scene:

Walking through Waterloo Station.

Carrying one heavy bag, complete with 400pg novel (dammit, it shall be read), a SLR digital camera, hideous amount of girly must-haves, my reading specs and other things which contribute to my daily life.

In my other hand, I am holding a 'coffee'. You will know why coffee is in inverted comma's, as from a previous post of my love of coffee and its importance in making it right. More appropriate term would be coffee flavoured water.

Ticket goes through machine. Casually glance at the non-ticket holders getting busted by the police. Try not to giggle as voices are raised. Giggle anyway.

Feel my hand slightly wet. Brush said hand across my coat and feel coat is slightly wet. Look down. Damn coffee lid has become semi-attached and coffee (which isn't even worth it to begin with) has dripped down my front.

Mind wanders to lunch meeting with friends who I haven't seen in two years. Will they think I've become a tramp who can't feed herself?

Pull out gross tissue from pocket and dab away, leaving lint. Look for bin for stupid coffee though being London and in a train station, damn near impossible.

Avoid stares from people looking perplexed- 'Should I tell her she's wet herself?'

Enter tube station via the stairs and casually bend down and rest my coffee on a ledge. Wipe myself down, feeling less than impressed.

Guilt over littering then see a litter lady and feel better.

Can someone put the kettle on?

It's a cold and dreary old day in London today- just perfect for rugging up, fixing some tea and devouring the written word. Not to mention Style.com... if the site would just hurry up and bloody load so I can check in on Fashion Week! Gosh!

Countdown to my birthday is on. I'll be officially in my late 20s as on next Wednesday (one week). At least I'll be in France, an avid distraction to deter me from the fact that I was once youthful. No, forget that- I invite the year of turning 27 to be the best yet! I dare it.

London Fashion Week 09'

When I think of 'London' + 'Fashion' (as the two obviously are married), I tend to think of inventive, daring, cool clothing.

The New York Times reports: "The perpetual focus on an ever-renewing young generation seems to be the mark of British fashion: always the hip chick, never the adult." Has London Fashion grown up as NYT reports?

Let's see...

Erdem (above)

Mark Fast (above)

Luella (Above)

House of Holland (Above)

Julien Macdonald (Above)

Central St. Martins graduates (Above)

Daisy Lowe...swooooon

Aquascutum

Judging from the amount of pics I have posted from Erdem, one would be right in assuming I am in LOVE with his collection. Read a review of his show here.

Perhaps NYT was right, though who wants to grow up, right?

NYC Fashion Week 09'

With NYC Fashion Week in full swing, the fashionistas inside of us get to claw out and critique! We also get to see what will inevitably end up on the high street. Seems there isn't a lot of new inspiration though which here in lies the problem.

I'll be damned if there will be yet another resurgence of prairie-'chic' again. After French designer Sophie Theallet's collection, it seems there may just be a few Calamity Jane's on the way. I say: Just stop! It's not flattering, not elegant, not endearing, not sophisticated. The frills, those hideous Ugg's (except worn in the comfort of your own home, away from prying eyes), the leather trim, urgh!

Marc by Marc Jacobs was a throwback to both an opshop crammed with tartan and any old high street shop, say French Connection. I adore him and his SpongeBob Squarepants arms though I felt this collection was, how do I say this politely...lazy.

Again with the furry boots? How anyone spends money on this fashion roadkill is beyond me. Frilled, tartan dresses, come on! Over sized, harem-esqe pants and colourful pullovers? A bit early nineties wouldn't you say? There is no need to go back where it all started Marc- just sayin'.

He is of course saved by lovely accessories, such as gorgeous little animal/fruit brooches and lovely, elegant hats. Hey, we all know that an outfit can be saved by adding such a thing, so kudos to you Marc by not completely falling off the perch.

It does seem to be the week of the waist and Derek Lam's collection did not falter this trend. Although he seemed to kill one little furry animal per catwalk piece, he did take me time travelling to my favourite decade- the 30s. High-waisted pants, tailored blazers, structured coats, elbow length gloves...oh my. Ladylike glamour- bring on cocktail hour!

From the 30s to the 60s, it was all about Mod sophistication over at La 3.1 Phillip Lim Casa. Although some of the models looked deathly (maybe a case of NYFW syndrome- too much champagne and coke), all eyes were on their threads anyway, so we're just going with Phil's flow on that one. Peacoats, (brown) opaques, mini hemlines, hip skimming trousers with torso lengthening shirts, bohemian dresses- yep, this was one groovy collection fit that was appropriate enough for a Queen.

Calling all those with a business nose- did you catch Michael Kors? Why? Cause you'll be wearing him all Autumn/Fall, so pay attention!

Boy, did he play the real life. Let's go black and/or neutral, with a waist-cinching belt, some lovely yet demure (black) heels, and throw on a short sleeved, buttoned coat (trend alert!). Are we all ready for our corporate luncheon? Our development meeting? Perhaps a funeral? Wait! I want to have some fun, can I come too? Sure, just for you, Kors threw in a couple of bright (read: fluro) lime-yellow and orange items including this fox fur coat.

Don't get me wrong, Kors' collection is not dull, just played down, sophisticated, save for the thigh high splits running up 50% of his work. I guess it's his rebellion against the boardroom, and a lovely contradiction at that (if you've got the pins to pull it off).

Now for some pretty. Well, my type of pretty which means eclectic. Brazilian designer Alexandre Herchcovitch started his collection sending models down in colourful, cerise-print dresses and headscarves. So flirty, so not Autumn! But then, the rain came down and Winter approached- black emerged and the thigh-high leather boots came a-calling. Oh well, we'll just focus on the start of what were some smiley catwalk moments.

OK, so critics raved about Proenza Schouler. Let's just say I won't go into too much detail here as I found the collection quite unoriginal. I'm not saying that every collection has to have a new invention or interpretation, though I do enjoy a new colour, a new cut. Instead, what we had here was what we've already seen. Tweed shorts with opaques underneath and a peacoat. Chanel-inspired breast cupping dresses. Lengthy, zippered, high necked dresses (which look rather sack-y to me). Sure cute, though DONE.

Thinking out loud

I really should get scooter lessons. I want to ride a Vespa, with a scarf tied around my hair, wearing dark sunglasses, dressed like Jean Seberg in 'A bout de souffle'.

I'm scared I'm going to be a total unco when I go snowboarding in 2 weeks. I don't care about looking like a loser, I care about not having a good time cause I'm shite.

Moving back to the UK has put excitement in my youthful belly again. It scares me though. I wonder when the permanent job will come my way.

Why does my homemade soup and hommus taste a million times nicer when I make it at my mum's house, then in London. Does the Multi-Pro Food Processor do an inadequate job?

I miss my gorgeous puppy Scarlett every day and hope that she doesn't think I've abandoned her. I tear up sometimes looking at snaps of her.

Friday the 13th is stupid- who cares?

2.55 101

Ok, so I have a crap cold. All I want right now is to be under a massive, beautiful floral duvet with lovely soft European pillows surrounding me though instead I am sitting in front of the tele, exhausted after my first day back in the workforce after migrating. One could easily get used to being a stranger to the workforce, though one does not get used to having no play money. Or clothes money. Or handbag money. Which leads me to my post.

Bag envy almost made me cry.

It's wasn't just any bag- it was the one and only bag that represents what I want to attain in life.

It was a Chanel 2.55.

She had bought it that day, on her husbands credit card. She pulled it out of the Chanel box, untied the Chanel branded ribbon, pulled back the tissue and revealed it. I could feel my face flush, my knees go weak, slight wincing of the eyes. The bag literally brought me to my knees.

I want this bag more than any other possession, though will not attain it until I can pay for it without a care in the world. With my own money. With a sense of pride. I want to sling it across my body, or double up the chain and swing it along the high street. I want to rest it in the crook of my arm, as I run through the lobby ortuck it under my arm, whilst drinking champagne.

I'm not one to buy luxury goods - purely economical not aesthetically put-off - but this is my love. It's classic, chic and Chanel. Swooooon.

Sorry to be lazy and copy and paste a whole bit of history, though forgive me, I am ill :)

The History of the Chanel 2.55 Bag

The Chanel 2.55 bag has inspired many imitations. However, Coco Chanel, herself had a very refreshing attitude to copies of her famous designs: “I would shed tears the day no one copied me.”

During the 1980s, a Chanel bag was the most coveted status symbol, according to Anna Johnson in her book Handbags, the Power of the Purse. With its famous quilting, the 2.55 is based on the quilted coats worn by boys at the race track, as Coco Chanel’s designs were influenced by her love of horse racing. Chanel used a running stitch, quilting the bag in a diamond or herringbone pattern, according to Stephanie Pendersen, in Handbags, What Every Woman Should Know, and introduced pockets into the bag, another passion of Mademoiselle Chanel's. The 2.55 contains a secret pocket inside the front flap, where is it claimed that in her original, Coco Chanel hid love letters received from a beau.

The Introduction of the Chain Strap

The Chanel 2.55 bag was one of the most revolutionary of its time due to the introduction of a chain strap, enabling women to carry their purse on their arm instead of in their hand. At this time, when socialites were busy holding their glasses of champagne, eating canapés, and reading their theatre programmes, Chanel recognized a need for women to have their hands free.
After becoming tired of holding her own bags in her hands, and losing them, Chanel added thin chain straps “I know women — give them chains, women adore chains,” she said, in deciding the nature of the strap. Interestingly, the double chain is said to be based on her experiences as a child, in an orphanage, where the caretakers would dangle keys from their waist.

Karl Lagerfeld's Reissue Chanel 2.55 Bag

Today the Chanel 2.55 purse is just as much an It bag as it always was. In 2005 , in celebration of the bag's 50th anniversary, Karl Lagerfeld (who took over creative leadership of the Chanel fashion house in 1983) revived the design exactly as Mademoiselle Chanel had made it, and the reissue proved even more popular than its original, according to Caz Moss, in her Female First article "Chanel 2.55 Handbag."

The most significant difference between what is known as the Reissue, compared to other recent versions of the 2.55, is that the true Reissue (made in 2005 to commemorate the anniversary) has the original Mademoiselle lock (and an all chain handle) rather than the interlocking two C’s of Chanel, which were introduced in the ‘80s. However, according to Purseblog.com, the term Reissue is now conveniently applied to other versions, since 2005, and refers to all later types of Chanel 2.55, with original Mademoiselle fastenings. Bags with an interlocking CC fastening are labelled Classic Flaps.

The Big Chill

Here's some snaps of London's biggest snowfall in 18 years- I am so lucky to witness it. An event like this (in London) only comes around 3 or 4 times in a lifetime. Whilst most had a long weekend due to the non existent operation of public transport, London turned into a playground of kinder's! Snowmen, snowballs and snow work!

Etta James was referring to coffee, afterall.

flat white noun /Austral. flaat whyette/ /NZ flet wyte/

1. An antipodean style coffee which is served as a strong shot of espresso served in a small cup with textured milk; a damn good strong coffee.

2. 51.51 (51°30') -0.13 (0°8').

flattie noun. colloq. flat white; I'm gonna smash back a couple of flatties bro /NZ/mate /Austral./

Now the above may not need explaining to the bros and mates among us, but stepping beyond out antipodean shores, a lesson is in session.

In the UK where I now reside, there are precious few reasons to order a coffee. This is because one, most believe Starbucks is the venue of choice. Oh behold a white choc mint skim frappacino or whatever the flavour of the month is (mince pie latte anyone? I kid you not). Two, a latte is not a latte - it is a heavily frothed, burnt tasting beverage made roughly of equal parts tar and water. Three, they have such pretty tea pots here, why risk a crap cappuccino when you can have a elegant Earl Grey?

When I first arrived in the UK in 2005, I was stunned by the lack of knowledge the Brits have regarding coffee. I remember entering a cafe whilst waiting for Harrods to open (my mum and I arrived at 8am, only to note the 10am opening time) and ordering a Flat White. Thinking that it was a base term, I sat comfortable with my choice, perusing the busy Knightsbridge streets below. That day, I realised that the FW was not a base term. It wasn't even a term. That day, I had received an 'Americano', a black coffee with some cold milk in a sad little pot. This was to be the first of many bad coffee experiences in the UK, so suffice to say I had few expectations when I returned a few weeks ago.

Luckily, in my absence a lovely little (read: awkward though charming) cafe has opened in Soho, to which I am thoroughly a fan. Flat White opened in Sept 2006 to bemused Londoners, though apparently became an almost overnight success with their eponoymous drinks. The beauty behind their drinks, is their knowledge- they claim the 'science'- of which is decidely spot on. I could be in Darlinghurst, Surry Hills, anywhere really in inner city Sydney where I used to grab my FWs. The coffee is delicious, the food is simple cafe goodness and the staff are antipodeon cool- it comes with my stamp of approval and removes my coffee homesickness.

Now when I'm in Central London I don't have to order a 'wet' latte anymore from a horrible chain store. Thank F for FW.

Flat White, 17 Berwick St, Soho W1F 0PT.