Up'n'at 'em in Manhattan

This post is being brought to you from New York City but we shall rewind to the beginning of the week, back in London to the scene before we set off. As you can perhaps imagine those days were snuggly filled with activity. Mark assembled the screen printing machines in our workroom on the Clapham Road and a happy bi-product of that industry is that the heater used to dry the freshly inked tee shirts raised the temperature in there above freezing for the first time! The Bedlamites were then most marvellously augmented by Tim'n'Ian, two dear friends who live across the street from HQ and whose souls are so perfectly matched that they are only ever referred to as one fused entity. Between them have a fine design pedigree. One of Ian's more notorious and hugely successful graphics is "FCUK" and Tim was senior menswear designer there at French Connection for many years. In Paris, where I first got to know them, Tim had the same gig consecutively at Balmain and Daniel Hechter. So that's a pretty cool pair of interns we're sure you'll agree and I will return to post photos of their intense apprenticeship once we're back in England (now we have the big desk top i-Mac I got overexcited and uploaded the photos to that so now they are there and, dur, I am here).

Tim Chapman - from Balmain to Bedlam, proving you're never too grand or too, um, mature, to learn a new skill

Over night on Monday the photosensitive ink dried naturally on the screens in the cupboard under our stairs (incidentally, where my old charges Sneaker Pimps recorded arguably their finest work, in the cupboard under the stairs at Liam's dad's house). Tim presented himself for duty the next morning and first watched Mark print the acetates of the graphics that André had Mac-ified. Together they exposed the screens to halogen heat and light for one minute and fifty seconds and a more assiduous time keeper than Tim you could not have conjured. Heaven helped out by providing a beautiful day on Tuesday so we could put them in the back garden to finish drying.

Our first screen is prepared

Then we decamped to the studio to get printing. It was quite a goose bump moment when the first Earl of Bedlam garment came off the presses and soon a rail was full - hotdiggity and Hallelujah! We only had ourselves a studio, a shop, and stock! I alerted the waiting world to this news via Twitter and it was perhaps appropriate in the light of the shared production secret shared above that it was one of the Pimps themselves, Joe the Bass, who replied within seconds to bag the first one.

Posh apprentices Tim'n'Ian dedicated themselves to following the production process

Little Ian lends a hand

Hands clasped in wonder we beheld the images  manifest

There was an important technical reason for this, it just escapes me right now

On Wednesday evening I returned to Tian's underground workroom to collect the trousers and pinstripe-suit-with-a-twist. It was humbling to be presented with such wonderful tailoring then to be asked with genuine concern if I was satisfied. Classic Cuts deserves to be regarded as a bastion of classic quality. It suddenly occurred to me that should we get some orders we'll be needing more of the fabric (!) and called up Crescent Trading, that sits on the other side of the Whitechapel Road. Flirty Philip answered the phone saying I was lucky to find him there at that hour, he was loading a van. We know that we are lucky. He promised he'd wait and I bumped down the cobbles of Brick Lane to find him standing in the middle of the road looking out for me. He put some bolts aside and wished us Godspeed. I leapt back aboard, excited to get to the studio lickety spit to show Mark, Tim'n'Ian and Andrea who was on her way over from the Victoria & Albert Museum:

The lovely Andrea pays us a visit from the V&A and carries off, as #1 Centurian, the first Bedlam book bag!

I shall pause here as we must get to dinner with Stefan who last year took us into Vogue where he worked before he started presenting a TV fashion show here in the US:
http://www.stefancampbell.com/
http://www.bravotv.com/the-fashion-show-ultimate-collection/season-2/blogs/stefan-campbell/behind-the-curtain

The Earl hits Manhattan

The Lady loves New York

Back in a bit Bedlamites!

Open for business Sesame!

Barnzley the Beneficent came through with another top hook-up. With Mark barely able to walk from the pain in his ankle, leaning on my great-grandfather's cane or tap tap tapping it along the sidewalk like Bind Pew in Treasure Island, and me not much better, tottering under the perceived weight of this, that and the other but numbered amongst which are preparing forecasts and writing proposals strong enough to convince potential partners of our viability, we took the tube to Aldgate East to find a tailoring workshop Barnzley had said might help us finish the samples. Tian, the elegant Chinese patronne, told us over the phone to present ourselves at the secret bunker:

This might be Classic Cuts, it might not

Emerging onto street level I suggested to Mr. Wesley that we ask a nearby policeman if he knew the way as I could not contemplate him walking one step more than required. It is testimony to his agony that he did, because being a man he would NEVER normally ask for directions. A little while later we hobbled in bearing our fabrics that Tian straight away deemed "beautiful" and in so doing, put us at better ease. She asked when we needed finished garments and I tensed myself for a brittle laugh and the door but instead she calmly pronounced it possible and did we want pockets slanted or straight? As a result, this capable and skillful operation takes on work for many top drawer clients but I should perhaps consult before I rattle off names. She thanked us warmly for our business and hoped she could pass screen printing clients our way - for there will be two tiers of the company now: the daily bread of the screen printing and the jam of the fashion collection. Back above ground we looked at each other in some sort of amazement. Truly it felt as if Heaven had opened and a facilitating goddess had come down on a cloud.

Revitalized, if not quite skipping, we followed Tian's advice to go to the Button Queen on Marylebone Lane- http://www.thebuttonqueen.co.uk/ There we consulted with Martyn, son of Toni, the lady who created this rightly celebrated specialist spot, and who, we learn sadly, only recently passed away. Her memorial service was last month and we salute a great character of South London. Do click on their website to read her story, it will reward you. Our efforts, meanwhile, were rewarded with a set of blue mother of pearl for our pinstripe. From one angle they look quite board-room conventional but hit by a glitter ball's beam they go all dance floor groovy. Style mags are always wittering on about ladies' outfits carrying them from office to after-hours cocktails and I think we can provide that duality for the gentlemen.

The Earl of Bedlam with purveyor of finest buttons, Martyn,
scion of The Button Queen

From Marylebone Lane we limped into that shrine of haberdashery off Hanover Square, MacCulloch and Wallace, for poppers:

On we shuffled, past the hallowed shrine of Browns, through Berkeley Square to Curzon Street to collect our business cards. But there was too much imperfection in the print, which was conceded and the job was sent back to be redone. On the off-chance I called up my godmother Elisabeth - our fairy landlady of yore at Arlington House - and she urged us to come straight over. She then took us out for a damn fine supper which continued the process begun by Tian of putting us back together. The finishing feather in our hat was the jolly exchange we enjoyed with Mr Wesley's hero, not perhaps so predictable - Mr Jeremy Clarkson, at the Wolesley once again, during a cigarette break. He won his fame as a motoring expert of course - http://www.topgear.com/uk/ - but acquired some notoriety for his anti-dress sense. Still, he did sincerely admire my raccoon hat and I may just have to get him one when we return to NYC next week.

The Earl of Bedlam and Mr Jeremy Clarkson, Fashion Anti-Hero Supreme

Cleaning up the cave

One of the funnier things about Mark's adoration of Mr Clarkson is that he doesn't actually drive. He loves cars but doesn't trust himself to steer a straight course so long ago decided best avoid temptation by never learning. So it was very kind of his dear friend Mr Scanlon to offer to drive him all the way, in a van, to Barking in Essex no less to collect the screen printing machinery that had just arrived from France. This they then unloaded into the premises on the Clapham Road at The Oval that our Turkish dry cleaner Yashar has been keeping empty until a suitably romantic project presented itself. Ever since I left my mother's car in front of his at the petrol forecourt opposite her street - forgetting I had driven and walking off (??!! I know, I know) he has claimed in his Ali Ba Ba boom that we are destined to do something together. Now he has uttered the words "iftaH ya simsim" and given us access to the cave, which may yet fill with treasure - the basement of the empty shop. This we can use as a workspace and upstairs we can peddle our wares and punt for clients! Open for business Sesame! That is, when I have drafted a "what's-in-it-for-him" deal memo. But Taffy Centurian has most generously opted to act as honest broker and put together a deal, as well as putting some runny golden honey on our screen printing bread.

Shifting furniture and fortune - the white stuff you can see on the shelves is dust an inch thick

A different kind of treasure was handed over by my mother in the shape of two button boxes passed down by my grandmothers. With Mark's eldest son Harry, we sat at the kitchen / cutting table and sifted through them, making sets of the buttons from my father's army uniform (and one from his Boy Scout uniform!), my grandpa's RAF uniform, special occasion dresses from Paris, smart winter coats and who knows what other stories.

My family history as told by buttons

I twisted one set on to an old hair pin and wondered which of my grandma's had used it to pin her hair and whose lingerie required the little blue buttons on the card

I like the one at the centre, bottom, that looks like a Licorice Allsort

Four-leaf clover suede leather buttons, the key to the door to Happiness and a little brass book stamped "The Royal Family". The metal pages once held photographs, now all gone but for one that looks like Queen Alexandra

As things start to roll and the days tick off towards our trip to NYC to see Mr Bell at Barneys the Bedlamites are on round-the-clock stand-by. Saturday saw an all-nighter at our place as André booted up the new i-Mac and prepared the graphics for the screenprinting; Marika sewed the sweats at the smoking machine and her sister Lesley put the finishing touches to the knitwear. We hope to reward their time and talent with more than a Chinese take-away (oh! Happy New Year to our local - "If you need any help we have good contacts at Hong Kong factories!") and some plonk.

The Earl and his Bedlamites

Marika and Lesley, camera shy but talent bold

The Earl at his cutting table

The Great Cross-Dressing Dummy Hunt

Upon reading the last posting here, Mr. Wesley's old friend and lunatic about town, Horatio Barnzley Nelson Armitage - http://check-me-out-now.blogspot.com/2009/06/there-is-only-one.html - immediately and generously offered to lead us blindfolded through cobbled backstreets to a secret location - his own nomination for top quality / top value fabric supplier. We picked him up at A Child of the Jago, the store of his eponymous fashion house on Great Eastern Street - http://www.achildofthejago.com/ This is just about the only line of current days to which Mr Wesley will doff his cap and indeed he modelled for them in the Spring / Summer 2010 show:

Mark and a dog called Bastard in the Child of the Jago show S/S2010

Barnzley designs the line in partnership with Joe Corré who is the child of Vivienne Westwood and the late Malcolm McLaren. Previously he created the fancy pants peddler Agent Provocateur with his ex-wife Serena Rees, that they subsequently sold for a fine'n'fancy fortune. Already his new Child has won windows at Selfridges as well as club kids' kudos. Oooh, while we are on a Westwood wicket, I should mention that a few weeks ago we met Francis Lowe, menswear designer at VW. He was uncommonly nice to us and told how he had started out in the company as a sales assistant - having been a plumber before going into retail. Andreas Kronthaler (Dame Viv's partner in life and business), undeterred by his lack of fashion school qualifications, asked if he would like to give the designing a shot and mentored him to the top job. That story reflects well on all involved I think.

So we parked up outside an unprepossessing unit on the outskirts of town where children ran wild in the streets and stray dogs scrapped over a box of bones and followed Barnzley into a warehouse. It was hard to walk with bags over our heads and I stumbled as we went through the door. It had been quite hard to drive too, come to that. Now inside we were revealed by the master of Terrorist clothing (Child collections often take inspiration from those hors de la loi) to find ourselves blinkingly swept up in the good humour of the greeting that awaited him. Barnzley is, after all, a man unacquainted with indifferent reaction. Philip and Martin  here buy up surplus fabrics from British mills which already tells you that the stock will be of supremely pukkah quality and normally super pricey. When Prada / Gucci / whoever come to collect their order they sometimes shriek "Porco Dio mama mia Bolognese! There is a snag of .0000001mm only visible under a microscope, we cannot possibly take it!" Which is when these gentlemen appear as if by magic in long capes and wide brimmed hats to off to take it off the mill owners' hands. It's all quite Robin Hood really - the mill owners' children get to eat after all while the fashion students of the nation and penny-wise start-ups like ourselves get to work with fabulous fabric. That's the kind of win-win scenario I'm talkin' about.

Flirty Philip the People's Pimpernel, and the double trouble duo Wezley and Barnzley

Philip and Martin 

Then Philip lead us to a bolt of the near-mythical worsted that is Guanaco. I no longer pretend to know anything about anything and readily admit that I had never heard of this yarn. So extraordinarily special is this - it makes cashmere look like acrylic  - that it normally retails for £1200 PER METRE!!!!
"Can I have a sample?"
"No."
Fair do's haha.
If you would like to know more about this cloth of gold consult here:
http://www.guanacosales.com/product/guanaco_yarn/
The advice runs "don't wring out or agitate too much" - mmm, same can be applied to me too.
Ya wanna see? Sure you do:

The Queen of Cloth and the thumb of someone who cannot be identified in order to safeguard supplies

A still sumptuous silk and cashmere mix

One of my favourites that day

The label we want to see

Presently, Barnzley had business needing his attention but before we parted he gave us ANOTHER top tip - for finding a tailor's dummy, such as we urgently need for our sampling. Spitalfields antiques market was on, it being a Thursday, and he reckoned they surface there most weeks. Someone else had advised checking out Morplan, the shop outfitters just north of Oxford St but we found that to have mostly display mannequins inspired, or so it seemed, by either porn stars or Muppets:

The more I look at this the more disturbing I find it

The price of a regular display mannequin is around £500 - if you're passing a shop window see how many there are in it and do the maths.  I even rang up the daddy of all dummies, Stockman in New York - http://www.siegel-stockman.com/men.html - and had a lovely chat with Lucia there who had one for a Canadian client uncollected I could take but it was $585 and duh, in New York (they have a place in France but no outlet in the UK). So we walked into Spitalfields market and the first thing we saw was a bashed up lady torso for which the seller wanted daft money. We made our excuses and wandered on across the covered square. On the far side was another lady of Whitechapel waiting for us in a state of louche undress, but in perfect nick and the English "Stockman" no less - http://dspace.dial.pipex.com/kennett.lindsell/

Although we want to do ladies wear in a few seasons we are focussing on the boys while we get rolling. We resisted her solicitations and mooched on to find John of Portobello on Parade doing his East End stint. Mark got an outrider's cape from him that he's worn every day since and as attracted not just admiring glances but enquires from the yout' of Stockwell. Then we succumbed, returned to Patrick's stall and paid a mutually agreed amount of folding money for Lillie (as she will henceforth be known).

Mr Wesley carried her over his shoulder, much the way he does me on occasion, and made it all work by figuring that although she is a size 16, there are a lot of man boobs around these days and so Lillie will be our cross-dressing dummy.

Tired as we were, we thought we'd pop in to visit Josephine, our friend with a stall at the Battersea Antiques Fair - http://www.josephineryanantiques.co.uk/ - and rang to say we were on our way. We mentioned our find and she exclaimed that someone had ten tailors' dummies no less on a stall in the marquee. We tore across the city, flinging Lillie about in the back as she wouldn't wear a belt, and screeched to a halt in the park. We pelted up to Jo's stall, and she lead us round an aisle where we saw a whole group indeed, but every last one of them had lady bumps (except for the children's sizes):

As disappointed as we were, it was non the less a pleasure to meet Lord Robert Brady of Albrighton whose stall it was and who delighted us with the history of his career which included being a tailor. YES IT DID. If the dummies pictured here are just what you are looking for, do contact DJ Green Antiques -http://www.djgreenantiques.co.uk/

The next day, driving up to the Borough, we spied a whole gang of abseiling dummies who can maybe be press-ganged into our workroom:

For now, however, Lillie remains our trans-gender mascot.

One Wonderful Weekend

Things got off to an epic start on Friday morning when we acquired our 100th "Likee" on the Earl of Bedlam Facebook page. Incentive was offered in the form of a prize, which did incite something of a limping rush, but the tortoise who hared across the line was Chris "Allways Diggin'" Archbold. He has been duly warned to temper his expectations regarding the reward - "the value of which will increase across the years if not immediately apparent upon receipt." We were grateful to note that he lives in Sydenham, not so far from us in London, which saves us postage.
Then I worried about acknowledging the far-flung Early Adopters - one doesn't wish to act like the mortgage lenders or broadband providers who give all the good deals to new customers. So I noted down every name of the Bedlam 100, such as future legend will hail as the stalwart Centurions who laid the foundations of our mailing list, and it is our true intention to cast a medal, at some point, when we have some tender-type metal, and see that each gets their due. It may turn into one of those "Ninety-eight year old veteran at last receives recognition" tear-jerkers, but I will get it done. (Just saying, it might take a while). (If anyone has a spare smelting pot and the know-how then drop us a line).

Saturday got off to a noisy start - the builders next door came in to work to bash at the non-stop-party wall some more. Luckily we had Taffy Centurion's offer to accompany him to an altogether better party on the Beaulieu estate in the New Forest. We packed the car and pootled off, managing to miss the motorway at every opportunity and travelling almost the entire way on A- and B-roads. When at last we crunched into the drive we found we were joining the birthday celebrations of Nick Ashley, scion of Laura, all round man of mettle, motorbikester and fashionisto. He designed menswear at Dunhill for a while, where, he told us, he was treated like James Bond. I imagine he stepped up to that role very well. Now he has his own line and is reassuringly uncompromising about getting the majority of it made in the UK:
http://www.nickashley.com/
When we got home we found an article Nick had written on buying the right leather jacket and let me assure you that it faithfully conveys his nifty wit and savoir-s'habillier:
http://www.finchsquarterly.com/features/skinning-up/
As introductions were made, Nick admired Mark's jacket which was a great way to start the evening seeing as it was one of Mark's self-made. What can I tell you that a picture cannot convey better? Here is how the night ended up:

The Earl duets with Nick Ashley. Think this was "My Generation"??  Earlier, they scared the horses with "Should I stay or should I go?" Nick was asked to join the Clash as drummer but told Strummer he was a bit busy studying at St. Martin's.  And good call too. Who wants to be a drummer when you can be Lead Designer?!

Taffy too made a new friend, and they have been texting a lot since the weekend:

We had a scream and thanks are due to Ari and Nick's daughters too for making our noisy, drunken selves feel so welcome.
Sunday morning, we were up with the pheasants to slug back to London. We had to stop at a service station for a can of Red Bull and a piece of KFC each, so utterly hang dog were we. Still, we shambled in more or less upright to my mother's birthday lunch where one of my godmothers had made a surprise appearance. "And to what are you up?" she asked. In twenty words or less I attempted to summarize the canon of this blog. I have, I informed her in conclusion, decided to approach ten people and ask them for five thousand pounds each. Then if, God forbid, we go head over the handlebars, the only people to get badly mash up will be us. While my mother was distracted by her delight at the dusty rose marabou neck cushion we gave her, my godmother leant in and whispered "I'll write you a cheque". I was so tired and felt so fragile that it required the most enormous effort not to cry. And sure enough, at the day's close, we had our first solid investment.

So far this week we have applied for our VAT number, persuaded Colin Young that he does want to take on the burden of our multi-million pound potential turn over accounts, opened a business account, deposited the cheque, booked our flights to New York to see Mr Bell at Barneys and been up to Berwick Street to buy gorgeous fabric from the Cloth House  - www.clothhouse.com - and trimmings from the Christmas grotto that is Klein's on Noel Street (greetings to Raymond): www.kleins.co.uk

The Cloth House on Berwick Street, and below.

Kleins on Noel Street, Soho

In the link to Nick's article above is a posted comment about A2 jackets that lead to another find, the Good Wear leather company:
http://www.goodwearleather.com/pages/index.html 
From their homepage comes this:
"In the 1940s, A-2s were mass produced in factories, going from one station to another (note how some jackets have several different colors of thread in the parts), which led to these jackets having an organic, imperfect look in the details, yet a classy overall character. That’s what we like."
Us too! Indeed, we would be more than satisfied to be described that way ourselves - 
"Imperfect... yet a classy overall character."

And I guess that's what makes it emotional when someone fills in a cheque and hands it to you - it is proof on paper that while you may be imperfectly in need, someone thinks you are a Good Bet; that you possess the integrity to caretake their money - even give them it back and then some - yet have enough character to use it boldly.

Wishing you a very Natty New Year!

"A solar eclipse of January 4 will encourage you to be more adventurous and to explore the world with a joyous, curious spirit." So writes my lovely friend Susan Miller for Taureans such as myself on her much consulted site www.astrologyzone.com  
I assure you and her that I am ready to be taken over by such a spirit, Lord be praised, indeed I am. Just yesterday we went to see "Jack and the Beanstalk" at the Hackney Empire - as restored to plush seated glory by Lord Alan Sugar - and you will take my word for it when I say that I thrilled to Jack's warbled vow as he scaled the vital vegetation just before half time - "Now's the time to show your mettle, now's the time to grasp the nettle." 
I don't wish to invite Fate to contradict Susan's soothsaying by quoting too extensively from Mark's 'scope but the words "Hooray - help is on the way dear Gemini" do feature.


Now you may have expected us to have celebrated in some extravagant social situation on New Year's Eve. And in which case you may be surprised to learn that we spent the daylight hours with couturier, and mother to Carolyn, Madame Christiane Randolfi, in her work chalet at the end of her garden in Dulwich. This woman of remarkable and resilient spirit grew up in Limoges (from whence derives the word "limosine", incidentally and a propos  of not much) before making her way to Paris. There she trained as a seamstress before coming to London and working with the Ravhis sisters. This is the only information I could find on them - http://fashion.ukfirst.com/labels/Rahvis/index.html 
So Mrs Randolfi's memories here will add significantly to the archive.


In that exalted couture house of its day, at 19 Upper Grosvenor Street, between 1961-3, Mrs Randolfi - then Mam'selle Christiane Robert - crafted meticulously beautiful clothes for princesses such as Margaret and Alexandra, filmstars including Lana Turner and home grown glamour puss Joan Collins, and even Mrs Butlin of the holiday camp fortune. Every year she had to have her work permit renewed by the Immigration Office, and assure them she was only working as a seamstress. Many of the other girls came from Norman Hartnell's workshop Christiane recalls. There was a Polish lady called Natalie who was a good friend and when Christiane got engaged to master glacier Michael Randolfi of the iconic Joe's Caff on the Old Kent Road, the girls made her wedding dress. Here is a poor scan, for which I take full responsibility, of a photograph of the creation. While the detail definition may be weak I hope the romance is strong enough to vibrate across the decades / screen and thrill your hearts a little:

Mrs Randolfi's wedding day

Christiane was a "second hand", following instructions from a girl called Jessie, the "first hand", who cut the fabric and did all the fitting. On one floor they made coats, on another dresses, and on the top, hats. It was the Golden Age of matchy matchy outfits. If it is considered that each decade does not assume its own character until a few years in then you must remember that the convention of super smartness from the 1950s still prevailed. My mother, then a buyer at Harrods in the Dior Room (she met Christian Dior himself), remembers it as a most prestigious operation. 


Ah A-HA!!!! BREAKING NEWS!!! Mrs Randolfi's son Paolo has put my investigations in the shade and found these Pathé News clips of the Rahvis, one of which references Dior, the Colossus of  Couturiers at the time. What a find these are, and what characters the sisters evidently were (love the dark, dark glasses removed only to answer a question from the reporter). The young Graham Smith appears as their in-house milliner - he went on to make his name with Kangol. Here he looks about fifteen years old but is worldly enough to give a most knowing look to camera at the end having been asked who makes a better designer of womenswear, a man or a woman:
http://www.britishpathe.com/record.php?id=35499


Paul found a second one too (below), as well as a credit for the wardrobe of Miss Harris and Miss Bouquet in the Bond film "For Your Eyes Only" as late as 1981.
http://www.britishpathe.com/record.php?id=44435


So you can imagine our pride to discover that not only has Madame Randolfi deigned to help us with a spot of sewing but that she removed a front tooth over Christmas to get into the Mark Wesley look-alike club:

The Gap-Tooth Gang: Mark and Madame Christiane Randolfi

They worked away together during the afternoon until Madame R called time for tea. Mark was much encouraged to see how fine the top looked that they were sampling:

Incidentally, when my black cat died and I sold my house in London to go to LA some four years back, I dispersed my belongings around those dear to me and the purple witches' hat hanging from the rafter in the photographs above was one of the bits I bequeathed to Madame R. Anyway, her powers lie in the bobbin not the broomstick and I prefer to be a bit more undercover these days. This photograph makes me laugh only because it appears that Mr Wesley is reprimanding Madame R and nothing could have been further from the truth:

We went home and did a spot of tidying up in anticipation of a visit from Harriet and Andrea whose passage across Blackfriars Bridge was blocked by Boris and his barges laden with fireworks. We made a couple of half-arsed attempts at getting lively but recognised the voice of Tony Blackburn coming from the radiogram in the kitchen as the epiphanic moment it was: this was the year to wake up sober and fresh, ready to show our mettle, and seize the nettle. And so it was we settled on the sofa to watch "Ned Kelly" - a distant relative of Mark's by marriage according to his sainted mother (expect some armour-bodied suits some season). But I didn't make it to the final credits. I saw Boris turn the air blue, and red, and green, with his gun powder smoke, but then lost my battle with Morpheus and was sparko shortly after midnight. Wait 'til word gets around and you mark mine, everyone will be pretending they stayed in too.


We are naturally excited to see if Susan's predictions come true but already she appears to be hitting targets - "There is a very good chance you'll be at the airport taking off in February" she writes for Mark and whaddya know?! First day back to work our buddy at Barneys, Jay Bell, e-mails to say "February is sounding better and better" for our trip to NY. 
A very Happy New Year to you all!


PS: Here's a song Tony Blackburn didn't play but we are very taken with it all the same, and could make it our company anthem (with a funky little back beat perhaps??). "Tom O'Bedlam's Song", written anonymously in the sixteenth century and recited most marvelously:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfceiMe45go
"Of thirty bare years have I
Twice twenty been enraged,
And of forty been three times fifteen
In durance soundly caged.
On the lordly lofts of Bedlam, 
With stubble soft and dainty,
Brave bracelets strong,
Sweet whips ding dong,
With wholesome hunger plenty."


So may this coming year find you clothed and fed and all the rest be a blessing.