Something Old, Something New...

It's official. After months of being fairly resilient, I suddenly feel my temperature raised, my heart quicken in pace, and my palms grow clammy with anticipatory excitement. Sad but true - it's a serious case of royal wedding fever. 

I could wax lyrical about  all number of aspects pertaining to the events of April 29th, but before I start waffling on about tea towels and bunting, this post is dedicated to all things sparkly.

That's right, this not-so-fashion-blogger is going to write about jewellery.

Now, massive sapphire engagement rings aside (got your M&S rip off version yet?) what I'm most fixated on is the tiara. What diamond delight is Princess Middleton gonna have perched upon her royal bonce when leaving the Abbey? According to one website, there are about 300 for her to pick from in the Royal Family's collection. That's a lot of rocks. Having done some serious research into the matter (cos, y'know, this is a serious matter indeed) I'm particularly favouring the Strathmore Rose tiara, as modelled here by a very sprightly Queen Mother back in the day.

 How lovely does she look? Scrubs up well for an old flapper.

That's the one I would wear, anyway, if it were me. Not that you would catch me marrying William Wales, (delightful a man as I'm sure he is) with those teeth.

In true wedding tradition, the tiara would be my 'something borrowed'. My something 'old' would be pretty much anything from Susan Caplan's incomparable vintage selection (although classic 80s Chanel costume might be a little too ghetto, I think a bejewelled bird brooch could work.) 

 A glitter...bird from Susan Caplan, along with a wonderful vintage Butler and Wilson necklace. 

 

If I was feeling a little bit Madonna circa 'like a virgin' phase, I could get a crucifix ring or three from Regal Rose for my 'something new'. 

Regal Rose Rings. Try saying that with your mouth full. 

 

And for sheer beautiful wonderment, my 'something blue' would be this:

   

A preserved butterfly wing from Bjorg, officially my second favourite jewellery brand after long standing love Dominic Jones. Others have pulled a repulsed face at the thought of wearing a dead insect round your neck, but my inner witchy weirdo can't see a problem with it. Especially for a wedding day. Not that I'm getting married, just to clarify once again. Don't get any funny ideas.

GL

Images: Fulham Chronicle, Royal Family, Susan Caplan, Regal Rose, Bjorg

Dave Grohl: We're Not Worthy!

A 90s grunge revival is currently underway in my household, and it is the result of two occurrences:

#1. I recently enjoyed a viewing of Wasting Light, the Foo Fighters' documentary movie, which cemented their already-pretty-secure place in my heart.

#2. My boyfriend introduced me to the wonders that are Wayne's World and Wayne's World 2. Alright, I know, I'm a nearly 25 year old who hadn't seen Wayne's World yet. Feel free to mock, and then we'll move on. 

So the combination of the musical and visual enjoyment in these three movies now means my head is filled with a Generation Game style conveyor belt of classic Foos riffs, plaid shirts, 80s hair rock and grunger boys saying 'schwing!' (If like me, you had spent the last 10 years confused by this, ask your brother.)

Although I was a little late to the grunge party, one of my first 'proper' gigs was at Earls Court, watching Dave & co. I'd paid through the nose for tout tickets, and had to smash my way back into my flat after the gig, having locked myself out, so it was a pretty memorable night, all in all.

One vivid recollection is of naively enjoying the front and centre standing position I had managed to secure, before the first strains of 'Hero' fired up, at which point it felt like the entire crowd was attempting to push past me and join the band on stage. Ladies and gentlemen, I had just experienced my first pit, and it was something of a shock to the system. How times have changed... 

Anyway, the memory that burns most brightly, is Dave Grohl's astoundingly immense, loveable, funny, loud, perfect stage presence. This man had the crowd suspended by his very guitar strings! A true rock god! And noticeably lacking in cliche rockstar arrogance, with it. What an unbelievable chap he really must be.

From then on, the Foo Fighters provided a soundtrack to the most awkward events of my late teens (cheated on your boyfriend? No worries, Dave has written a song called Best of You, all about the relevant subject, that will be played incessantly on radio throughout many a cringey conversation.)

Watching Wasting Light, however, reinforced why Dave always knows exactly what to write - he has been there, done that, been in one legendary rock band, felt the pain of a friend's premature death, the come back, with several other legendary rock bands, plus a family he adores.

 

Dave Grohl: The funniest face in rawk.

I strongly advise you watch the documentary even if you are not a massive fan (although, in which case, could you please explain yourself?!) Because it's a laugh-a-minute. Even when they are talking about the sad stuff. Because it's the most honest depiction of what being in a rock band is like. Because the guys in the band genuinely love every second of what they do, and are not afraid to show their gratitude to their fans. And, as Wayne and Garth would say, Dave Grohl really is

 GL

What An Absolute Beginner

My newly extended commute has provided me with an extra three hours a day in which to read to my little heart's content. Therefore I have been a loyal patron of Brighton library, which, thankfully, is not the usual Catherine Cookson-stuffed affair that is the norm for Sussex libraries. No, Brighton has a huge selection of great titles which I am on a mission to read (and even self-checkout machines, which thankfully don't screech at you like supermarket ones.) I really enjoy our fortnightly trips to the temple of books, laden down with hardbacks, only to leave weighed down with more.

   One of my recent literary adventures has been with Colin MacInnes' 'Absolute Beginners'; a novel that celebrates the teenage empire that was 1959, London in all it's versatile glory and the dangerous race riots on the city streets. I was lured in my the blurb's promise of neon Soho, jazz halls, teenage romance and the culture of one of my favourite eras. On those fronts, Absolute Beginners perfectly captures the zeitgeist; the language, the desires, the dreams of the first ever 'teenagers'. They were a whole new tribe who revelled in both the new-found celebration of their identity, and also the fear that it inspired in 'grown ups'. MacInnes literally takes hold of your coat sleeve and drags you through all of London, in its' Fifties glamour, glitter, dirt and destruction. I loved every second.

However, I forgot that this was not my first encounter with the nameless protagonist, his ex-love, Crepe Suzette (Suze) and best gay friend, the Fabulous Hoplite. In fact, whilst sheltering from the rain on the first day of Vintage at Goodwood festival last August, I had stumbled in to the cinema tent, a few minutes in to a showing of Absolute Beginners, the movie. It was a fairly surreal moment; having not a Scooby about the storyline or premise, I couldn't work out whether the film was set in the 80s or the 50s or a weird hybrid of both, what Patsy Kensit was doing singing in the role of Suzette, and why David Bowie was doing a tap dance on a giant typewriter?!

Having now read the novel (which is always advisory before watching a cinematic interpretation, in my humble opinion) I think it's time to revisit that crazy movie, and here's a little taster, to inspire you to do the same.

Blondes Have More Fun - Or Do They?

I have been platinum blonde/white-haired/albino for the past two years now, with a regular once a month peroxide session (thanks, Jerome Russel). It's been a blast - the allure of a super blonde 'do will never fade, thanks to the likes of Marilyn Monroe and a certain Ms D Harry. However, I picked up this zine from BLEACH hair salon about a month ago, and I haven't been able to tear my eyes away from the colourful pages.

(Apologies for the serial killer-esque heavy breathing, I was actually attempting to hold my breath so not to ruin the inspirational content. Alas, that didn't work out.)

Obviously, as a sister business to the incredible WAH nail salon, you kinda know that BLEACH was always going to be super cool. The branding is simple and slick - the name, even the typeface used for the logo is a direct Nirvana reference, and subsequently a reminder that in case you hadn't noticed, anyone who was originally 10 years old, 15 years ago, is now dressing as if it were 1992.

The salon in East London has been open since last year and the Topshop offshoot has been open for the past few months - dip dye hair has become synonymous with Toppers because every one of their campaign models had been 'Bleached'. At London Fashion Week every other lady had green or pink 'ends', and now every fashionable kid from Dulwich to Dalston is saving their pennies to go and have their standard colour hair transformed into a magical, multi-shade creation.  

 Clothes by Topshop 'New Age Constellation' collection, Hair by Bleach

Now, as much as I would love for the hair artiste that is Alex Brownsell to transform my pale locks into something more spectacular, at the moment, pennies do not permit. To be honest, I am always a little bit reserved when it comes to hairdressing; my home peroxide kits have been serving me well at £1.50 a pop. 

Step up Stargazer. Yes, the make up brand of emo kids and grungers everywhere has been going for decades, constantly supplying weirdos with every random hair colour a heart could desire. You can even mix them together, if you are brave enough. 

(And at £5 a bottle, it's a little easier on the pocket, until you can afford a trip to see the professionals!)

Basically, I have been threatening to sort out my mono-colour hair for a while now, and this weekend, my platinum days came to an end.

In the space of one quick shampoo, I went from angelic albino...

 

 (Yes, that is a signed picture of Fielding and Barratt on my dressing table, what of it?)

 ..to something slightly more vibrant. I'm calling it 'highlighter chic'.

So thanks for the inspiration, BLEACH - hopefully by the time I get bored with the pink I'll be able to leave my hair in your capable hands. Until then, I've got Stargazer and Kurt Cobain for company.

GL