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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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):
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!
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.
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| Stuart Green a.k.a Dr Filth |
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| 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 |
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| Some of my god children from the ever reproducing entity that is the Letts clan, my childhood tribe |
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| Donny Slack and the adorable songbird Miss Angela Penhaligon, who shares a name with one of our gracious sponsors |
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| Local dandy Stephen who has supported and befriended us |
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| Sam the Man from Classic Cuts |
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| A proud moment for me, escorting the Mayor of Lambeth |
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| 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 |
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| It was like meeting Elizabeth Taylor, such a glamourous moment of authentic civic pride I can't even tell you |
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| 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 |
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| 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 |
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| Carry on Carousing - the Earl of Bedlam's Godmother, my mother (dressed by Bedlam), my Godmother Barbara Thomas, her daughter Debs |
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| 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):
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| Andrew Roachford in his Bedlam trousers and homburg |
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| Enraptured onlookers here include little Uma, Miss Chris Dwyer from Universal Records and Mimi (far right) |
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| Mr André Hopley (in shades) gets ready with backing vocals |
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| 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 |
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| Errol, large character of the local quartier with Mrs Nick Ashley who had trotted up from the New Forest no less |
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| Mr Nick Ashley, Mr Mark Wesley and Mr Andrew Roachford |
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| Mr Graham "Sugar Lump" Evans |
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| Melanie Jones whom we must thank for the introduction to Unfolded magazine with Philip from Crescent Trading |
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| Corrr! Mr Paul Robinson, star of the West End and one of our exhibited artists flanked by chorus girls my ma and me |
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| My dear thespian friends Tracy Whitwell and Don Gilet (yes, the dastardly one off Eastenders) |
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| Chreos who helped rebuild our platform |
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| The beautiful Miss Anabel Cutler, Mr Taffy Evans and Mr Nick Ashley |
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| 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 |
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| Mr David Dibble Beck and Mr Richard Cookie Cook, my old muckers of yore and for ever more |
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| Yash's uncle and father (I think) |
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| Mr and Mrs Andé Hopley, handsome couple |
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| 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 |
