Spent a fretful night, fretting. Had fallen asleep by 9pm when Claire, our friend and feretter outterer of vintage bits and handy people called to say "You MUST buy these buttons!" http://ifoundgallery.com/online/index.php?_a=viewProd&productId=623
So then awake I called my ma and ended up wound tighter than a metal thread on a steel bobbin. Cos it goes like that sometimes. Couldn't get back to sleep for hours as worries jack-hammered my brain. Must've finally dropped off but was awake and nasty by six. So reheated the spat with my mother then had ridiculous phone call with Mark. I hung up on him as he said "I don't want to talk to you like this. Let's speak lat..."
I e-mailed back and forth with a Turkish lady who has offered to be our broker with factories there. She responded to an alert Mark sent out on LinkedIn. Facebook's fine for mucking about, but LinkedIn is for serious grown up professional runnin's. Now it seems the UK is beyond our means at this point, I have put out the word to friends to recommend people. Tim Chapman has just come back to London from a big design gig in Turkey after being at French Connection but his top tip was for Portugal; Tim Bailey was going to ask his LK Bennett team for ideas; and Mark Campbell has asked his River Island colleagues for leads. People - and not just friends either, some of these are busy people I hardly know too - are being extremely kind and generous with their time and advice and connections.
Next I sent an e-mail to David Bradwell whom we met at my friend Nile Rodger's concert some weeks ago. He is MD of StockingsHQ and we mentioned our handcuff motif and he said wellwhaddyaknow, they had a new product with just that arriving any day! This morning he wrote back immediately to say how nice it was to hear from me and how funny, as he had just been thinking about us, sat as he was with (not in) the new handcuff embellished hose. "Please just let me know if there's anything we can do," he wrote. Gee, even my grinchhead was being softened up by such sweetness. The night of the show David was with his friend, a Mr Swash, who simply will have to own one of our Swash Buckler jackets.
Then I corresponded with Mr Dell regarding how many sample collections he would need (maybe one for Ireland he said, which had never even crossed my mind. Now it has I must, as an Irish citizen, discuss with accountant Colin any benefits to creating the company there).
My darling friend Michele woke up and wrote from New York to tell us a) she had been to see the new "Wall Street" movie and how proud she is to be broke doing something she loves (writing) that at best adds to the world but at worst does no harm than to be a rich "success" by using or worse, destroying, other people and b) about a new bar with which for reasons obvious we must be acquainted:
I was now sufficiently palatable to be allowed out and walked down Oxford Street (urgh) (not the shops but the shuffling pavement purgatory) to my opticians on the Tottenham Court Road, having broken both pairs. As I reached the entrance, two cop cars screeched up at the curb. Police pounded through the doors and, hanging back just slightly I followed them in. Got to the counter just as my phone started to ring. Saw it was Mark. "Miss Butler?" he asked.
"Maybe."
"You are under arrest for being grumpy, the police have been informed and will be there any moment." Turned out they had been called to cart off two shoplifters but once again the cherub of mirth had smiled upon Mr Wesley.
More serendipity lay ahead. As I walked back to Arlington Street an arresting figure caught my eye. That lean, elegant silhouette could only be one man - Ozwald Boateng. Thankful that I had at least put a foxy coat on, a Moschino leopard, I told him we had witnessed his models boarding the bus outside his shop and he asked well why had I not come to the show in that case?! It was in Leceister Square and had, he told me proudly, something of real magic about it. I replied I had imagined it was by invitation and he gallantly said well of course it was but "for you!" all necessary accommodation would have been made. I couldn't help myself from touching his coat and then confessed this new venture to him. He offered congratulations and again confirmed himself as being not just fitted out as a gentleman but the veritable deal from his head to his toes which is a considerable distance let me tell you. I told him we had seen the cream dream cruiser on Savile Row and that I had even popped in on my walk today to ask the assistants what it was but no one could tell me. Neither could Ozwald. It was nothing to do with him, he said, some guys had hired it.
My mood was mellow as butter now but it took this to make me melt: an article on one of my most favourite lines, from whom I must buy more than any other company, Toast:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/8018867/Spreading-Toast-a-fashion-success-story.html
They have just launched their first menswear collection and how I love that they rebuff the hoary "who is your target customer" question -
"There is no Toast man,’ Jamie [Seaton] insists, no notional customer that he designs for. The Seatons’ tastes define the Toast aesthetic or ‘handwriting’, as they call it; a combination of the bohemian, the relaxed, the handmade and the unlikely."
My parents are acting as our press service, clipping out relevant articles - with real flair in finding what's helpful, useful, inspirational - saving magazines and catalogues and newspapers. There's a bit of a backlog and I spent some time looking through it all as I ate dinner. From Sept 17th in the Daily Telegraph is a piece that should encourage investors, about the House of Commons report, the "Value of Fashion":
http://fashion.telegraph.co.uk/news-features/TMG8008413/London-Fashion-Week-Why-British-fashion-is-worth-21-billion.html
I rang my ma again to say thank you.
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