The Third and Final Volume of the VIP (Very Important Party)

Just to prove that I am capable of writing a real-time blog (I do hear there are people who post little and often as opposed to the Illustrated War & Peace) ("often" added Tim) let me start with a photograph (OK, busted, it's from April) of the lovely ladies Corinne & Terri, at Biddle & Sawyer on Berwick St. The current affairs relevance is that I popped in there today, yes folks, and Terri enquired as to who authors this blog. I owned up and she was kind enough to say she enjoys it. But she did ask first so perhaps if I had answered "Some volunteer freelance ghost blogger" she might have said, "It needs some work." Anyway, I am susceptible to flattery, and it has spurred me to put to bed the account of our opening party and henceforth try to stay on top of events (in the same way that doing our first VAT return has spurred me, face tear-splashed and gown in tatters, like Scarlett in the tatie field while Atlanta burns behind her, to never, as God is my witness, allow myself to get behind with book-keeping again).

And now, back to the scene of the party, where we find Stuart Green, my old compadre from One Little Indian and erstwhile manager of Alabama 3, spinning in the garden, guests thronging about and me finally in a clean shirt and lip gloss.

Stuart Green a.k.a Dr Filth

It was soon evident that in attendance were friends old and new, numbering customers, colleagues from this and other incarnations, family, artists for whom the shop is also a gallery, musicians, thespians; local residents, people who had come from L.A. (BRIAN LEITCH! We were happy that he was accompanied by Alexander Lewis of E. Tautz, winners of last year's British Fashion Council menswear award) and even the New Forest; business community neighbours (all the boys from the mini cab company next door appeared to claim a mini Scotch egg or six); old, young, even babes in arms; hipsters, icons, and those who document them; gay, straight and tipsy; human, canine; white, black, yellow and polka dotted - verily all life was represented.

Daphne and Roland from the hood who have supported us with their custom and  all round congeniality. Do please remark Harriet's pink gingham roof on the Wendy-House Bar

Some of my god children from the ever reproducing entity that is the Letts clan, my childhood tribe

Donny Slack and the adorable songbird Miss Angela Penhaligon, who shares a name with one of our gracious sponsors

Local dandy Stephen who has supported and befriended us

Sam the Man from Classic Cuts

Suddenly, however, the chatter was stilled by a frisson of excitement that coursed through the crowd. Soon enough I found a chauffeur waiting for me to proclaim it the moment to usher in his passenger, none other than the Star Turn, the Top of the Bill, the Worshipful, the Mayor of Lambeth, Councillor Christiana Valcarcel. I think some people vaguely registered "the Mayor" was coming to officially declare Bedlam abroad, then expected some paunchy middle-aged male Causasion burgher to appear. Now a shapely ankle appeared from the back of the Bentley followed by black sequin trousers and all the bling of the Borough. Yash - the neighbourhood dry cleaner, Top Dog, and our partner - Mark and I went down to greet her and lead her through the cheering crowd. I presented Tony, boss of the mini cab drivers and I swear, people could not have been more thrilled if Mick Jagger had turned up.

A proud moment for me, escorting the Mayor of Lambeth 

The First Citizen of Lambeth, the Worshipful, the Mayor Councillor Christiana Valcarcel with Lady C (c'est me), Yasha Musar and the Right Rascally Mr Mark Wesley

It was like meeting Elizabeth Taylor, such a glamourous moment of authentic civic pride I can't even tell you

I present handsome Matt, the boss of the Oval Lounge restaurant next door.  When we realised we had no ice, they cranked out barrel loads for us, and cleared away rubbish from the street so it was pristine for our VIP

Tony who runs the mini cab office next door wants this picture on his wall and I must give credit and thanks to Nardip of Unfolded Magazine for many of these wonderful shots

For a while there was a scrum of people wanting to press the flesh of our distinguished guest, and that was handy, giving time as it did to do the big bow across the door way and for Donny to locate the giant tailor's scissors. Stephen Roachford set up the PA for us so fast and efficiently it was accomplished in seconds, so allowing the maximum amount of people to have the benefit of her rousing, not to say moving, speech. She proclaimed herself a Christian and said that it was customary when at the baptism of a new baby to appoint a godmother, someone to watch over the fragile soul, to nurture and encourage it. This then, was the role she was going to appropriate for herself, Godmother of Bedlam, and she went on to declare that as long as she held office we would have special privileges in her parlour (Mr Wesley's ears perked up at that). I had been asked to submit a few notes for her reference and decided it was impossible to name everyone who had contributed to this moment, and indeed some wished to maintain a discreet veil over their benefaction, but when she hailed our friends and family I was happy to hear later that Ian turned to Tim and gurgled "That's us!" Two of my actual godmothers, who stood over the font at my own Christening, were present, Thelma van Til and Barbara Thomas, the latter pictured here with my mama and, propitiously enough in front of a good luck card bearing the motto "Keep Calm & Carry On" which is apt, as her late husband Gerald directed every single Carry On film. My third godmother, already familiar to dedicated readers of this online tome, Elisabeth Ratiu, had gone to Highgrove to see Prince Charles for lunch but made up for her absence by taking a Bedlam duffle bag and one of the Royal Wedding commemorative tees (the party invite "with MC Harry Wails") for Prince Harry.

Carry on Carousing - the Earl of Bedlam's Godmother, my mother (dressed by Bedlam), my Godmother Barbara Thomas, her daughter Debs

As she cut the ribbon and proclaimed Bedlam officially abroad, the Mayor quoted my letter asking her to attend, that we are proud to walk like Lambethians. A mighty cheer resounded!

It's official! 

Shortly after this I dragged Andrew Roachford from the garden where he was having a perfectly nice time drinkin, chillin and making conversation on his night off from Mike and the Mechanics, and inveigled him to make beautiful music at our old joanna, accompanied on guitar by Stephen, that had the crowd yet further astounded and delighted (there is a clip of video on the last posting of this):

Andrew Roachford in his Bedlam trousers and homburg

Enraptured onlookers here include little Uma,  Miss Chris Dwyer from Universal Records and Mimi (far right)

Mr André Hopley (in shades) gets ready with backing vocals

Age of Reason Ali's husband Charlie, Ollie (see next posting for his emergence as the Face of Bedlam), Mr and Mrs Nick Ashley, Carmen Layton Bennet, Piers and Thelma van Til and ladieswear designer Donna Beal amongst others

Errol, large character of the local quartier with Mrs Nick Ashley who had trotted up from the New Forest no less

Mr Nick Ashley,  Mr Mark Wesley and Mr Andrew Roachford

Well I'm getting sleepy and must rattle towards the end now. It is also Mr Wesley's birthday and I have some presents to wrap while he softly snores. So here's a few more shots of our lovely guests whose attendance did us so much honour but there are some great portraits in black and white by another photographer that I will treat you to in days to come, I think in particular of the study in tipsiness I promised you as modelled by Tim'n'Ian. One late arrival was the legend that is Mr Antony Price who broke from fitting Duran Duran for their stage togs and whom I love most dearly. That he bestowed his blessing and compliments on the shop and the clothes in handsome person meant more to me than I can express but every single person there (although maybe not the staggering drunk man that no one knew who eventually we asked to leave) added either to the occasion and / or contributed to the process of getting us there. Our thanks to you all!

Mr Graham "Sugar Lump" Evans

Melanie Jones whom we must thank for the introduction to Unfolded magazine with Philip from Crescent Trading

Corrr! Mr Paul Robinson, star of the West End and one of our exhibited artists flanked by chorus girls my ma and me

My dear thespian friends Tracy Whitwell and Don Gilet (yes, the dastardly one off Eastenders) 

Chreos who helped rebuild our platform

The beautiful Miss Anabel Cutler, Mr Taffy Evans and Mr Nick Ashley

Someone's nose tip, my ma and the man who put the threads to the grooves, Mr Antony Price in a jacket of his own design

Mr David Dibble Beck and Mr Richard Cookie Cook, my old muckers of yore and for ever more

Yash's uncle and father (I think)

Mr and Mrs Andé Hopley, handsome couple

Mr Mark Wesley (wearing rude scarf by Age of Reason),  me and my Pa, who worked the bar as no guest has never knowingly been without a charged glass on his watch

The VIP (Very Important Party), Part II

To continue with the teasing account of the Opening Night Revels, I have added some bits to the previous posting and continue here with the roll call of thanks. Dear Donny Slack made himself available once again to assist and prepare. I must commend him for the most valuable of attributes, the art of ANTICIPATING what needs doing. Wielding a glue gun he attached the military buttons onto the padded wall (only, there weren't quite enough). Meanwhile, local landscaper Anders (a live ringer for Heath Ledger) was in command of the crew rebuilding the deck at the front of the shop. For some time, my father had doomily predicted the headline "Partygoers maimed in horrific platform collapse" so it was pretty much back-breakingly rebuilt by the handsome squad of Anders, McKinley (who works in Brixton's trusty Blissets hardware store that we have come to frequent on a daily basis) and Chreos.

I shall not live long enough to extol all the virtues of Harriet who came back and forth from her office off Savile Row with neon bar signs, strings of fairy lights, bags of limes and gingham plastic sheeting which she then hammered onto the roof of the wendy house (not the limes, just the sheeting). It has to be said, no, I'm sorry, but it does, that the Bulgarian contingency were lax in acquitting their allotted duties and by Monday the loo was still in no fit state to greet the Mayor or my mother. So on our way to the Albert Hall to see Bedlam's old pal Andrew Roachford perform in his day job as current lead singer of Mike and the Mechanics, we screeched into the security hut at the Victoria & Albert Museum to collect the old exhibition posters that Ms. Carr at the museum had sequestered for us as emergency wallpaper. André then set about pasting these with panache and the final effect  - WC walls of "Golden Age of Couture" and the corridor approach plastered with amusing and a propos, not a pro-pooh, decoupage, was most effective in diverting the eye from comedy (yeah, funny til it kills you) wiring and unsightly damp patches.

We held our party on the odd day of Tuesday (such as I decree is the new Thursday) because it was Andrew's only day off during the Mechanics tour. Conveniently amongst some marvellous things Bedlam recently inherited from the late and illustrious Judge Ann Goddard - http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/8510411/Her-Honour-Ann-Goddard.html - was an upright piano. On Tuesday morning Roy the Tuner arrived to do what he could with its inconvenient discordance, and rendered it playable for the evening. Playable, that is, when you are as talented as Andrew and his brother Stephen who supplied the PA for speech making and serenading and ably accompanied him on guitar. I'm making you wait a long time for the full on party action here so look, to reward your patience, get a jump start of joy from this, the musical entr'acte to which Andrew treated us and that astounded our guests in the most delightful way:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1NBICuIoW9g

My mother augmented the M&S party food, peeling quails eggs 'til her fingers were raw, blobbing dill sauce on open smoked salmon sandwiches and honey-basting chipolatas. Yum. Tim, needless to say, was tidying like a man possessed all around (a week later we are still yet to find the base of the kettle or the special stash of swatches) and helping Mark dress the new mannequins such as arrived that day to display the newly made pieces. Ian (the man who put the "in" in innuendo) was lolling around at work while all this was going on. It has, however, been noted he can quickly enough organise a day off when a photo shoot involving Bedlam poster boys McKinley, Ollie (from the Oval Lounge Restaurant next door, who, thank you thank you, gave ice and removed debris) and Anders is mooted. Wait! Did someone say "new pieces"?!

The Poacher's Jacket and waistcoat (with pockets big enough for a bunny)

The Seville Marmalade waistcoat

The Liquorice Dab jacket as modelled by Oval Area Manager  Tim

Our barman and his waitress girlfriend, as provided by my Pa after he concluded we had undercharged for the trousers made for my Ma, were in position. Corks were popped and stoppers unstopped. The Chase vodka was prised from Mr Wesley (here wearing the new "Ni Dieu Ni Maitre" tee):

With fifteen minutes to go before the published kick-off, I was on the blocks to dash round the corner, home, to scrub up. Then who should arrive early but the boys from Crescent Trading - no doubt to get me back for all the times I turn up late to get our fabric from them! And so it was that I greeted the first round of guests bare of face and in clothes so utilitarian I would (almost) rather have been bare.

Mr Martin White and Mr Philip Pittack of Crescent Trading

Prompt party goers, local design-o-tocracy, Mr and Mrs Stephen Bayley and, in the middle, Mr Nick Curtis, menswear correspondent of the Evening Standard

The lady who more or less invented the concept of modern company branding, Jean Carr

Oh brother, me looking a pitiful Cinderella pre-ball state but you had to see the lady with whom I share the frame, the most beneficent Betty Severn, octogenarian of Kennington and recent recipient of an award from the new Mayor of Lambeth, First Citizen of Lambeth, for being an OUTSTANDING citizen (ditto, friend)

Mr Lyall Watson, rock god and my tutor when I did go to the RADA with a pretty lady that he brought along

Lyall - pictured above  - is the scion, son and heir of a previous lady Mayor of Lambeth. That historical link leads us neatly to tonight's cliff-hanger break. Tomorrow, in Vol III of the party chronicles, I shall reappear in clean clothes and maquillaged. But utterly eclipsing my shakey dab at glamour, the CURRENT HOLDER OF THAT DISTINGUISHED POST, the Worshipful the Mayor, Councillor Christiana Valcarcel, will make her dazzling entrance to the delight of the assembled hordes. Until then, adieu.

The VIP (Very Important Party), Part I

So as weeks of preparation reached critical late night hammering (sorry, hotel across the road), furniture shifting and fanatical tidying (I give you Mr Timothy Balmain-to-Bedlam-Oval-Area-Manager-Chapman, the man who put the anal into fanatical) (is that too rude??) (the "ass" into "fastidious" perhaps? No? Worse, right) - most of which I hope has been recorded pictorially on Facebook, which you must forgive if that forum is not to your taste but there are only so many so' med' hours left to live - with whole days to go we sent out the invitations to our opening party:

You will note the high honour we were paid by a brace of very British companies renowned as foremost in their field. Firstly, Fentimans plied us with their deliciously nostalgic pop. Tonic, Dandelion & Burdock, Victorian and Rose Lemonade were all consumed with gusto but it was their Ginger Beer that put the fiery fizz into the proceedings. We consider ourselves red-headed connoisseurs of this tincture at Bedlam and burpily hail theirs supreme. Thank you Tiffany.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifWfXyf2qfY

Next, lovely Lauren at Penhaligons sent over the scents to perfume our revels - delicate "Bluebell" for the ladies and, pour les messieurs, "Douru". The latter was created in 1911 for Sir Percy Croft of the Croft Port dynasty. It sets out to seduce one's innocent head with a fresh lime zing but before a gal can call for her chaperone the leathery musk base note is addressing her further down:
http://www.penhaligons.com/shop/home.html?currency_code=GBP

As if the ladies weren't vulnerable enough, already, Chase delivered cases of their award winning vodka, a distillation so devilishly pure that Mr Vincent berated Miss Carr (as if!) for not making Moscow Mules of sufficient, er, stiffness, and self-served further slugs. The photos that follow will testify to his subsequent sloshiness. He will swear on oath, however, that he woke with no hangover. We owe thanks to Ms. Clarke at Chase for organising that contribution:
http://www.chasedistillery.co.uk/Home.htm

Our own cup ranneth over when Norton motorcycles also agreed to lend their name to the evening. We are indebted to Kay for that. Mr Nick Ashley, a man of sterling biking pedigree, was particularly impressed and asked how we managed to wrangle such a class coup:
http://www.nortonmotorcycles.com/
Well perhaps our sincerely avowed ambition to one day be as highly regarded as these British manufacturers won their indulgence and we hope to build our association with all of them. Last but not least, but too late for the invitations, Universal Records biked over swag galore (as we liked to call it in the music biz) - including the new PJ Harvey album "Let England Shake" - because that's the sort of top mate we have in Chris Dwyer. Our fave caff in all London Town, the Wolseley topped up the going home bags with a sexy spark for one's cigar.

A couple of friends penned messages of good will, none more treasured than my beloved Emiliana who came to visit a few days prior, bringing with her the reason we must launch Baby Bedlam soon:

Ali Mapletoft (Age of Reason) with Emiliana Torrini and her baby son

Emiliana would be deep in deepest Wales writing her next album come Party Night so she wrote something lyrical in the Visitors' Book:

Crucially, she also brought along Ali Mapletoft whose "Age of Reason" silk and safety pin scarves and snides (the rocker's snood, a word we agreed was abused) Earl of Bedlam is now proud to stock. Ali came back to London again to help get the store ready and set up the display. She has blogged with delightful enthusiasm about her first visit to Bedlam and the party:
http://mysilkyscarf.blogspot.com/2011/05/earl-of-bedlam.html
http://mysilkyscarf.blogspot.com/2011/05/earl-of-bedlam-launches-in-style.html

Before turning her artistry to scarves, Ali did the animation for Emiliana's video "Sunny Road" which won best vid at the Icelandic Music Awards in 2006:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MyuL1z2tejs

Their peach skin silk cajoles you into caressing them. As Ali pointed out, however, they are deliciously soft yet strong enough to restrain. Ahem. Well, here's the Bondage Baboushka in lush detail:

Ali unfurls the Union

For the party we redressed the pinstripe with Ali's punk pug stock (below). Unfolded Magazine, that attended the party and recorded it with many great photos, broke the story of our collaboration:
http://unfoldedmagazine.blogspot.com/2011/05/age-of-reason-scarves-launch-in-london.html

Much beauty did abound at the party - Ali "Age of Reason" with Jana Hopley

Another lady who regretted she was unable to attend, Mrs Anne Johnson, one of our first bespoke customers, penned this verse in tribute to our launch:

Girls with pearls

And Earls with curls

Are known to be well-suited

When asked where did 

they buy their clothes

"At BEDLAM", they all hooted.

And with that curtain raiser I am going to close my shutters for the night and continue with the tale of what was an epic night tomorrow.

Spring is another Season

With the rolling of one season into another, on the night the clocks gained an hour and time jumped forward, we celebrated my godmother Elisabeth's fine ninety years. We gathered at the former Romanian Embassy in Belgrave Square. This was an appropriate rendez-vous for while she comes from eccentric and authentic English stock - the Pilkington family - she married the Scarlet Pimpernel of Romania, Ion Ratiu whose first London home this building was. That he was a hero to many was proven when over 10,000 people attended his funeral. Many, likely most, of those had not known him personally, rather they were demonstrating their allegiance to a cause. In this case, to the spirit of democracy. But in a quieter, utterly unpolitical, unself-serving way, Elisabeth has won the fierce devotion of everyone whose life she touches. Dedicated readers of this chronicle will know that she helped Earl of Bedlam on its way by accommodating Mark and me in the fine neighbourhood of St. James', and by contributing genuine interest and a sturdy sewing machine.

While waiting to be called upstairs to the birthday dinner, guests mingled in a reception room hung about with photographs and portraits of Elisabeth from across her life. If I thought I was familiar with most of it, the startling freshness of her portrait as a debutante, a young woman about to be presented at Court, made me realise I have only ever known her as a "grown up". Of all the tributes paid the one I thought most apt had someone relating how they rankle to hear Elisabeth described as "a marvellous woman for her age".
"Elisabeth," corrected the speaker, "is a marvellous woman for any age."
My mother was one of the people invited to give a speech, which she did with assured sincerity, recalling when she was Elizabeth's manageress in the Dior room at Harrods. She had gone to work there when she needed a spell of "normal" life.

Elisabeth as a debutante at court

Next to the photograph above was a letter from Iancu (the familiar term for "Ion"). You may read how determined he was to win her, despite the many arguments against their union, not least that he was, by his own admission, "in for a risky sort of life":

"They are right to be worried, and undoubtedly I'm in for a risky sort of life"

In 1945 they did marry, for she was quite as determined to have him, and so they stayed until his death in 2000. There is too much to relay here of what happened in between those times, but some danger and despair would be experienced as a direct result of that strong-headedness. Undoubtedly she could have chosen a more tranquil and unchallenging union but as Taffy said the other day, "You have to go out on a limb to reach the fruit". In confidence I will tell you that Mr Wesley was moved to tears during the speeches, declaring later that you do question quite what you have done with your life in the presence of such quietly massive accomplishment. When Serban Lupu, the celebrated Romanian violinist whose talent was nurtured by Elisabeth and to whom she gave a violin made before Mozart was born, played his appreciation, Mr Wesley declared it quite definitely the Biggest Fattest Gypsy birthday party he had ever attended. Here is Serban playing the quintessential Romanian composer George Enescu's Sonata for Piano and Violin:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XvkwDyszfs

Below is a picture of Mr Wesley with one of Elisabeth's current daughters-in-law, the pulchritudinous Pamela who was formerly MRS DEMIS ROUSSOS (talking of massive, um, accomplishment) (and you thought I was going to say Big Fat G...) (you did).

And a pair of photos that will long be dear to me, of Mr Wesley and Elisabeth sharing a secret oath:

A few days after this, at Harriet's much less super-annuated anniversary, Andrea revealed that while taking her pre-soirée shower she had suddenly been consumed with the burning need to know the latest vis-a-vis Bedlam and Barneys department store. I confessed I had been somewhat at a loss to know how to broach the topic, which had indeed begun to hum here somewhat conspicuously in absence. For there had been a "rethink". It had been decided in the light of some "seasonal over-commitment" that we could get established first in London then re present for Spring / Summer 2012. The trajectory of the New York chapter had been so deliciously upward that it seemed to spoil the story to introduce a bump. "But you promised us a docu-blog and with such a platform comes responsibility!" Andrea reminded me. "It's important that the students [of life and fashion, if the two can be cleft sunder] understand there are false starts and stalled engines. You have to address this!"
"It's true," I concurred, "there is no conveyor belt to the top of the mountain."
"It's like the Jewish faith," nodded Chrissey designer-of-our-web-page-now-with-groovy-added-map-feature-so-at-least-one-thing-is-made-easier, "you have to prove you're worthy of admittance by persevering even though you may be turned away three times!"
"Oy-vey," my shoulders slumped but for a moment. "But Holy Moses you're right!" I rallied, and, regaining posture and composure, dialled Mr Bell direct.
It was a delight as ever to talk to him, and hear him say how really really REALLY proud of us he is, that one little bump pushed us into what has proven yet better momentum - the one that has created the shop; that we were not cowed by risk but galvanised.
"Spring is another season," he wisely intoned, before revealing he is coming to London in May to write the orders for Spring / Summer 2012 and that we shall get to welcome him through the door of Bedlam.


So the blossom that wraps the branches like cotton candy now will turn to sweet fruit soon enough. And day by day out along the limb we inch, ready to reach for it.

Ensign Raised, Drawbridge down, Friendly Hordes Invade

The ensign has been raised over the shop! The Earl of Bedlam name is at last emblazoned:

Mark and Lesley of the Knit painstakingly cut out the letters, which were then glued to the shop front and varnished

Our visitors included the Birkett family of Dulwich, that leafy South London suburb not normally associated with harbouring agit-pop history-makers. Do not be fooled, however, by their placid demeanour. For Derek and Sue Birkett are the King and Queen of Musical Misrule. At a kitchen table in Sydenham they created One Little Indian Records. They brought you Björk, The Shamen, Chumbawamba, Alabama 3, Sigur Ros, Sneaker Pimps, Skunk Anansie, Emiliana Torrini and a riotous host more:
http://www.indian.co.uk/artists/
They created Partisan Records for me when we - Si, Sean, Rhodesy, Gav and myself - left Moving Shadow and if they asked me to walk over a cliff I would trust they had good reason to do so and oblige. Derek always said our records sounded like pots and pans being thrown around.


My long term spa Mr Andrew Roachford also paid a visit. He is currently rehearsing as new lead singer for Mike and the Mechanics. We hope to provide a few choice bits for him to wear on tour and we're playing with designs for his own merch tees too as his own album is out later this month: http://www.roachford.co.uk/  
Here he is modelling a hat from Lock & Co. of St. James', the finest gentleman's hatter in the world, although he eventually plumped for a Homburg:

At this point the infernal decoupag-ing of the display units had reached something of an impasse. Progress was hindered by my needing to read every bit of paper to assess if it was suitable for adding (I don't like stories with bad energy man) and to help me catch up with world events. In this way I only found out that Pine Top Perkins had died! He was 97, oldest Grammy winner, blues pianist. I was in a bar in Austen Texas late one night a few years back, after a day riding as the red-headed stranger in the Bandera Hills, when Pine Top shuffled through the door and sat in with the band. So there was more PVA glue in my hair than on the shelves when Mr Tim Balmain-to-Bedlam Chapman took pity on me and went off to the hardware store to buy a packet of wallpaper paste which he said was a much easier medium - quite the most thoughtful and touching present I have ever received - and then came back day after day to help finish it. On Saturday he and Ian came in with the other Timothy, Mr Bailey, Artistic Director of L.K. Bennett, who taught us the Welsh word for trainers. Which I now forget. He signed our visitors' book while taking a hit of panda. Lou-Lou looks on:

Yet another handsome man passed through the door, and introduced himself as Paul Robinson, star of the West End (He didn't come in and say "Hello I am Paul Robinson, star of the West End", we discovered that subsequently). We apologised that decorating was still on going and mentioned we would like to display work by local artists. He promptly revealed another talent when he came back bearing a large canvas. As it complemented to a remarkable degree the black, white and red check pants in the window we hung it on the prime spot of wall without a second's hesitation:

We're waiting for Paul to bring his mate Joan Collins in

Another playwright-thespian came to hang out - they have nothing to do during the day don't you know - and brought a fine bottle of champagne to boot (to drink, actually). I don't wish to state that Miss Tracy Whitwell has now set the precedent and bar (in every sense) for visitors to the shop but if you wish to take it that way, hey, don't be hindered. Tracy's hubbie is Don Gilet who recently played the evil pastor in "Eastenders". Previously he was in a series called "Babyfather" with one of my dearest class mates from (the) RADA, David Harewood.

While Tracy was with me our first ever real life customer came in! So he got a glass of champagne to celebrate. He had to wait while I sewed in a label anyway and what nicer way to pass the time? Claire Griffin had sent Chris along and I must thank her for that and also the extraordinarily successful experiments she has been conducting in burning, searing and stamping our logo onto various stuff (technical term) to try out for the Bedlam Centurians' Commemorative Medal such as I promised a few months ago - silence does not mean it has been forgot. My favourite is the green oak. Smaller wooden discs we may now use as our house buttons. I need to get images off her to show you but meanwhile here's the Commemorative Snap of Customer #1:


I was in a fluff of excitement and couldn't find a Bedlam Lifer Bag so Chris got a Fortnum and Mason one instead (IOU a bag Chris, come back for it!). A-HA! Get me, I figured it out, grabbed it from Facebook, here is the EoB logo branded on a disc of green oak, just how beyond beyond is that?

The next adventurer to stagger across the South London savannah to sit and sip a gin sling with us was Mr Andrew Clancey, our stockist in New York. He and Mark worked on some exclusive designs for the Any Old Iron store. He was keen to have plenty of Royal Wedding themed t-shirts for the upcoming celebrations.

Mr Andrew Clancey and one he shot earlier

Mr Wesley and Mr Clancey propose to you the delights of "The Daily Terror", in house magazine of Child of the Jago, Barnzley and Joe's label that brought us together

And a nice snap Mr Clancey took of us, a little blurry but then so was I

Mr Nick Curtis, the Menswear Correspondent of London's Evening Standard, lives around the corner from our store and a few times already he has popped in to check up on progress. He, too, was taken with the Royal Wedding Commemorative Tee and we hope he enjoys wearing it. We are going to ask my old pal Goldie to present one to Prince Harry, seeing as they are quite close now and just did a TV show together. On May 7th Goldicus goes to the palace to meet HRH The Queen and we are hoping he may even be wearing Earl of Bedlam when he does. "Arise Sir Cliffy of Wolverhampton" - it's just a matter of time.

A selection of the super-luxe swatches of English woven cloth we hope will be fit to greet Her Majesty the Queen.

And here, to close this episode, our Royal Wedding offering, "One Day I will be Queen", presented in all loyalty to the crown and sovereign, displayed, somewhat incongruously I concede, with the Navajo arrow I bought from a trading post in Utah, a place now ceded from the Commonwealth:

Top Deco Tips for your ensuite Padded Cell

Work proceeds apace at the shop. Putting flowers on the desk and arranging freshly sharpened pencils just-so (as Tim said in last week's instructional video, de rigeur in any studio worth its salt) was a milestone moment. The Morplan delivery man then arrived with three more display dummies, a till and a ream of dove grey wrapping tissue (I would call it "Dior" grey but we'll eclipse that reference momentarily after the Balzacian Galliano debacle - how very Ludwig, the "Moon King", that all turned). Mark assembled and dressed them in the window while our first trusty tailor's torso was draped a la Greque in our vintage Stars & Stripes. The pirate galleon Josephine gifted me went beneath the high cell window that allows a glimpse of the outside world and its infinite oceans.
We had hoped to pull down the ceiling tiles and rip up the laminated floor but our landlord rather likes those, having only just had them put in, so we work with the gift horse we are given, and you'll see if we don't make a dressage champion out of a hobbled pit pony! Mark pulled the lights out from their sockets to dangle down like burning eyeballs and immediately transformed the look. The ceiling tiles we'll print with in-house designs.
Ferrous and Adrian from the treasure house that is Lassco's architectural reclaim up the road on the south bank of Vauxhall Bridge  -  http://www.lassco.co.uk/ - paid us a visit and agreed to give us some salvaged curiosities to make the joint more, um, curious. How pleased? Muy feliz.

Setting sail on the shark invested waters of commerce

Ali Baba (that'll be Yash) gave us the sofa and the display units

We arranged the shelving units to make a three sided cell for consultations

We had some special guest star dummies to stand in the window too. Tim'n'Ian were the first people to sign our visitors book. Later in the day Madame Randolfi and Madame Randolfi-Favel came to call. The latter was straight off the train from Paris having had the Kenzo show presented at Paris Fashion Week. Can you spot the difference wrought between visits?

TIm'n'Ian and Mark

Mark painted the shop frontage battle ship grey.We had also started to paste the display units with newspaper tearings, visible (below) to the right of the door jam. I got over-involved (as I do tend) with reading the papers and trying to find text that is somehow a propos. Mark grit his teeth and said how about he slap on the base and then I can piffle about with headlines later.

Madame Randolfi, couturier extraordinaire, and Madame Randolfi-Favel of Kenzo / LVMH

The next project was the padded wall. Our distinguished assistants (French Connection, Balmain, LVMH - not bad for a bunch of bright-eyed interns eh?) set about creating it with the aid of a staple gun and hot glue. I had expected to schlep about finding foam, getting it cut to size and blah and blah but suddenly remembered that you can get a duvet (duh!) for a song at Sainsbury's these days. We bundled over there and the single size was only on verse-chorus half price promotion! So we got two of those at £4 a pop and Blue Peter best be taking notes cos every cool kid in town's gonna be wanting a padded wall now, for those nights when you, like, can't be bothered to lie down. 

Mark staples the second duvet to the wall

Tim "Balmain to Bedlam" Chapman tacks calico over the quilts

That's the risk with unpaid staff, there's always one that mucks about

Mucks about AND DISTRACTS THE OTHERS FROM WORKING

The next day I requisitioned Nick the Bulgarian to drive me to the East End and back to the yard off Brick Lane where we get our fabric. When I was there the other day I spotted a giant's bobbin outside the builder's yard next door, the whatsit they wind cable round. The blokes working there said I was welcome to it if I could move it. Nick managed - pretty much single handedly cos I was frankly a bit feeble - to hoik it into the back of the van he uses to drop off the dry cleaning deliveries. A smaller one suggested itself as an occasional table and asked not to be left behind so I picked him up and popped him in the van. Back at the store the Daddy Bobbin now sits on the platform awaiting the needle we will fashion for him (David Taborn suggested a snooker cue, but feel free to whittle one out of an oar or... whatever, and present it to us) while Bobbin Jnr. sits inside:

"Opening soon" declares the window

Mark's daddy comes from Doncaster

Shelves white washed, we put up the tankards, candelabra, bullet belt and other assorted ephemera. So come along and toast our industry with some frothy ale by the light of a tallow candle or we'll shoot you (not reaaaally).

A short "How-To" instructional video as an interlude

Turning my hand to big budget film production while waiting for plaster to dry and buds to open, so please be enjoying this, recorded before we went to NY:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFagCTPUgRo
Tim has pointed out that with some sort of spooky omniscience Youtube have integrated the word "Fag" into the link. Uncanny.

One of our achievements this week was clearing out the yard at the back of the shop. Mark's brother Paul leant his brawn to the operation, as did two Bulgarians whose English is non existent until asked if they'd like a sausage sandwich from the Farmers' Market whereupon they chirrup "Yes please!" But when further questioned as to whether they wanted ketchup or mustard we hit a wall of non-comprehension. So I pointed to the bashed up yellow door frame - "Mustard?"and next to the red gas canister that is our bathetic attempt at drying the walls, "Or ketchup?" "Ketchup!" A little applied thought can get through breeze blocks. Anyway, together we moved some of those and mountains of other rubbish. We discovered a flower bed next to the crumbly old brick wall that separates us from our neighbours. Three lilies had survived being buried in a dump and I found a bent little conifer and some ivy in a pot on its side that I suspect had fallen from a window sill of the flats above. Back at the market in the muddy church yard I bought three pink primulas at 75p each. It rained all day as we worked. For some reason I had snatched up my best Paul Smith overcoat as we left the house but it is so well made it will recover. In one of its deep pockets I discovered a pair of airline socks from the flight and was happy to put them on as well so cold it was.

As we piled the rubble bags on the platform outside the shop, local people continuously stopped to ask what we are going to do there and to wish us luck. Over zealously, back in the yard, one of the Bulgarians chopped at a thick stem in the flower bed with his shovel, right next to the wall, thinking it was a weed. Mark and I both said "Not that! It's a rose!" but of course he couldn't understand. Mark stayed his hand as the man went to hack at it again and it was saved. It just got an extremely drastic pruning. And from the ashes of disaster grow, as you do know, the roses of success:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GND10sWq0n0
Funnily enough, bad Baron Bomburst, who takes my hero Caractacus Potts and co. captive in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - yes, an even better film than the one that commenced this post - is the ruler of Vulgaria.

Ah, the boat's at the quay for Hushabye Mountain. G'night y'all:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNCUuz4P3q8&feature=related