Heroes, local and from outer space, and the odd doorstep villain

One hesitates to make proclamations regarding turning corners but it seems less of a come-on to Fate's contrary caprice than would be announcing an "unstoppable upward trajectory". When a local family came in back over the summer, the husband admired the poacher's jacket and said that come Autumn he might be in the mood / market for that. So not long after our Fashion Week presentation at Mansion House, I went through our visitors book, extracted the telephone number his daughter had written there and cold called. Trying to sound like a seasoned boutique owner ringing her best client to announce something quite perfect and only for them has arrived in store, I found myself reminding Tristan just who I was, from what shop, where, and mumble-fumbling about new pieces we had made that he might like, extremely sorry to disturb, thank you, bye.

In the meantime, we continued to have support from other local quarters, in the form of day to day encouragement and commissions such as this delicious chocolate birds eye tweed suit below that we made in record time for Mr Ian Taylor to wear to the Frankfurt Book Fair. He was representing his own publishing company - Ian Taylor Associates - and reading between the lines, it seemed he wanted to be empowered in a subtle and distinguished way. He confessed it was some years since he had invested in new duds and was nervous lest we try and push him down some trendy route that he was tensed not to tread. We reassured him that it was our duty to serve his requirements, not foist our own fancies upon him and little by little he relaxed into the process until we reached the rewarding moment when he proclaimed he had throroughly enjoyed the evolution of his new toggery. He returned from Frankfurt with a folder full of deals which we shan't presume to assign to our suit but will say that feeling your tip top best is the ideal way to enter into negotiations. Here he is (below) having worn it to Chelsea Football Club, where he was seated in Mr Abramovich's box no less, an invitation that has Mr Wesley's arms crossed in defence, he being a lifelong Gunner. The following week Mrs Taylor came in to order something to wear to her sport of choice - the ballet.

Along from the Borough, a neighbouring quartier of currently hip credentials, next came Vincent, DJ at Resonance 104.4 FM http://resonancefm.com/faq
A radio station of unimpeachable musical integrity, Vincent is their expert broadcaster and journalist on Congolese music. Have a read of this to get a handle on just what a cool cat he is: http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2011/mar/22/congo-staff-benda-billi-kinshasa
He came primarily to introduce us to the sterling talents of Jenifer Corker, his long time friend who is relaunching her silversmithing. Without hesitation we agreed to stock her jewellry some of which Vincent is displaying below. Straight away I invested in a piece for myself, a silver band engraved with a motto of inspiring forward thinking and optimism: "In Memoria Futuri" - in memory of the future. Her work has serious attitude tempered with finesse.

Vincent of Resonance FM displaying the work of silversmith Jenifer Corker, who looks on

While we were also admiring the pedigree belts Jenifer makes from stamped dog collars, previously stocked in Harrods, (pictures to follow), Vincent slipped into the Ginger Chutney suit that has been waiting patiently for its Raja to come. It fitted like a crystal slipper and he next chose the lining to seal the fit. Two weeks later he returned to collect it:

Jenifer's belts and jewellry are in addition to a range we already carry, http://www.leatherloop.co.uk/, that is made in South America. They offer gaucho detail at terrific value, for not everyone is in the market for a suit. I always fancied the platform outside the store doubling as a corral with a sign saying "Tether ponies and Harleys here".

Then Tristan (see top of this story) walked like Clint Eastwood back through our door. He did indeed place an order for the poacher's jacket, but with his own choice of jacquard lining and opting for plaited leather buttons over horn. He also went for the waistcoat and moleskin trousers in our signature cut of deep-placket-loser-cut-round-thighs-narrowing-to-ankle.

Tristan (centre) in his python skin jacket flanked to the left by his wife Leanne (pka "Flame" of the Gladiators TV show) in her  mother-in-law's leopard skin coat (made in Bournemouth, you get a lotta leopards down there) and Mr Wesley, to his right, in our new screen printed knitwear, here the Jolly Peasants carouse across finest Merino wool

Then Tristan told a friend about what we could do, a Chelsea glamazon who duly crossed the river to bravely seek us out. There was barely suppressed panic (on all sides) when she went too far up the Clapham Road and was driving about Stockwell in the Range Rover but we guided her in and measured her up for a hunting jacket, breeches, mini skirt, cape and flat cap. Here we are at the first fitting stage:

If you were a grouse you'd just jump into her arms non?

Buying the roll of butter soft Ermenegildo Zegna tweed was one of the smartest things we ever did, as it has now yielded the Poacher's jacket with matching waistcoat; the winter overcoat for Godmother Elisabeth; Tristan's jacket and waistcoat; and the hunting ensemble for our International Style Ambassadress. Here's our best pal Taffy wearing the waistcoat as he orders up his decadely birthday wardrobe refreshment with Mr Wesley:

Then one Saturday afternoon a few weeks back, I was at my desk embroidering a babygrow when a space ship of a car glided into the bay outside the store. I had a sense of being watched through the black windows and inclined my head in what I perceived to be a winsome, welcoming manner. It glided on. I shrugged and went back to chain-stitching the name of Johnny Rotten's erstwhile minder's granddaughter, "Treasure" across the brushed cotton of the little pink popper suit. A man and two ladies walked in. Having double-took-checked that it was not in fact Johnny Depp, I soon established that they had been aboard the space ship. The gentleman had significant presence and was, I remarked, of the same build as Mark who invariably makes up our samples in his own size - so on the rare occasions we do mingle in society, he can be a walking calling card for our wares. Hence it transpired that everything the cool customer put on, fitted. Mannequin after mannequin was denuded. I had to ask for his assistance in deconstructing the window display. While he went downstairs to try yet something else I called Mark at home and suggested he walk round promptly while I struggled to find carrier bags big enough to carry all the man had bought: the Green Indian suit, the Mr Fox overcoat, the double-breasted pinstripe, the puddle-proof trousers and more.

Mark in the Mr Fox overcoat with his little cub

Turned out the mystery shopper is the owner of a luxury goods magazine. Only that morning our landlord had apprehended Mark, saying darkly that he wanted to see some money sharpish. So it was with a smirk in my stride that I walked our dazzling customer into the dry cleaners where we process card payments (it is an eccentric but efficient arrangement that stops us blowing the rent). 

"Yippeeee!" said Mr Wesley afterwards, "This means we can make this, and this and this and that and that AND that!" 

"Now love," I said, wishing I wasn't, "this means we have covered our rent arrears and have a little in hand."

Just the sort of craftsman that our lucky touch client's magazine (I remain circumspect for a reason and hopefully but temporarily) would admire is Jason Amesbury, who was extraordinarily generous and trusting when he let us borrow his bespoke riding and ankle boots for the Mansion House installation. Jason was previously the head shoemaker at Lobb & co. A pair of shoes takes six months to make, and it is an accordingly costly process. Lasts are hewn from solid lumps of wood using traditional tools and they even make the string with which the soles are stitched out of fibres and beeswax. If you would like a referral we would be most happy to effect an introduction.

Jason with a shoe that's almost done. I really liked the splotches of yellow darning on his jumper

The bench where the lasts are chopped then whittled

Somebody I'm in no hurry to see again however is the low life loser who half-inched my Blackberry off the desk while pretending to admire the fox stoles. I stood up to usher him back into the open space of the room, getting some weird and not altogether good vibe. Then he threw me by asking, "What have you got that's new?" that immediately made me think perhaps he had been in before... otherwise what would it matter. From the rail I picked out and held up our newest print, "Street Life" with a scene of a portly gentleman on a Victorian thoroughfare. The text is written as calligraphy and I read the beginning of it aloud:
"Beware, pickpockets and prostitutes operate in this area."
To my astonishment the man announced he found that "offensive". Indeed, he thought a lot of people would find it offensive and hesitate to buy it. "Dude, " I challenged, "you have GOT to be kidding me?!"
Now if I had two brain cells I would have found the ensuing volte face when he said he would take it to be somewhat odd, a commercial non sequitur. But so thrilled am I by every sale, however large or small, that I blanked out the inconsistency and began wrapping while he claimed to be getting cash from the machine next door. A few minutes went by, and a few more. I glanced down at my desk where my Blackberry had been. My stomach flipped as I realised I had been stitched up like a kipper. The only karmic consolation I took was that the day after the Blackberry network crashed for the best part of a week. I half expected him to walk back in and throw it at me complaining "Piece of rubbish, doesn't hardly work!"

So turning corners doesn't preclude the odd pot hole but all in all the camber of late has been smooth for Bedlam's rickety wagon.

Our "offensive" t-shirt warning of the prevalence of pickpockets

Going Po-Mo at the V&A

Naturally we were delighted and not a little relieved when the Earl of Bedlam blog was considered to have passed muster and be deemed a component worth carrying over to the new V&A website when they relaunched a few months back. It made us feel even more special, yes, special, when we were invited to the top drawer bash to celebrate the opening of the Post-Modernism exhibition at the museum. I would suggest reading this over-view by its co-curator, Glenn Adamson in the Daily Telegraph - http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/destinations/europe/uk/london/8784277/Postmodernism-the-VandA.html
Suitably enthused you can book tickets here:
http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/exhibitions/postmodernism/

The moral of this episode in design history, Mr Adamson concludes, is that encounters with masses of money can prove fatal to artistic fertility. If this is true, Earl of Bedlam is yet safe in the rudest of health. As this V&A film deftly describes, the post-modernist world is one where spirit trumps order, in which case we are fully paid up proponents:
http://www.vam.ac.uk/channel/happenings/exhibitions_and_galleries/postmodernism_the_substance_of_style/

So we got spruced for the event, Mr Wesley donning the Green Indian outfit completed by Maria P-K's high top pheasant feather titfer, while I requisitioned the cranberry "Chic Secret Agent" hat I found at the Southbank vintage fair. This I secured with a pair of pearl and rhinestone pins from the Pasadena Rose Bowl flea market. I confess it unlikely now that said bonnet will ever go back on the "For Sale" shelf.

Some weeks ago, I had been asked by the museum to facilitate the invitation of two sterling characters to this night's revels - my beloved Antony Price - http://www.antonyprice.com/ - and Philip Sallon, unrivalled puppeteer of the London club scene, maestro unparalleled of night's beguiling masquerade. On the day of the event I called Antony to confirm we'd see him there. He treated me to his trade-mark harrassed routine, explaining with pained deliberation that as and when he had personally delivered John (Duran Duran) Taylor's jacket to Heathrow for a flight to LA he would do his best to appear. He did not. Next I called Philip. Philip asked for reassurance that he could bring a +1 and that there would be food. Beginning to regret my intermediary status I duly telephoned Kate Brier in the events department. As if I was describing some embarrassing downstairs symptoms I protested to be calling on behalf of a friend to know if one might hope to expect any nibbles of substance. So having foraged for information from this patient and polite lady, I rejoined Philip with the bulletin "guest fine, finger food affirmative. And the canapés should be quite good," I assured him, "As Barclays are sponsoring the do."
"Oh I wish I'd known," huffed this legend now, "I would have come dressed as a bank. Well there's no time now to make the outfit."
I am quietly confident that no one felt short-changed by Philip's get-up.

The entrance to the museum

 Philip asked if I liked his Esso attendant coat. "As long as no one tells you you look gassy," I hicced.

Social commentator Peter Wallis aka Peter York, who co-authored "The Sloane Ranger's Handbook" with Philip Sallon, who tore up the manual on etiquette to make clubland a benevolent dictatorship of style over society.

From L to R in an up-down zig zag: Philip Sallon; the debonair Damien Whitmore, Director of Programming at the V&A; Philip's niece Miriam; himself; Andrea Carr from the V&A's digital team.

The finest serving of all was a performance by Annie Lennox. She accompanied herself on a grand piano and worked the crowd like an old hand at the panto. All I have for you is a photo of the chandelier hanging above the action, having been told off by a guard when I so much as raised my camera. Peter Wallis / York then tried the same and likewise was rebuked. Meanwhile some woman next to us recorded half the bleedin' set on her i-phone with not a word of telling off. We considered ratting on her but let it go. Anyway, feast your eyes on this Medusa-esque light fitting without fear of petrification:

While other peeps may collects beer mats and postage stamps, we are amassing a rare collection of Mayors. Our first was Councillor Christiana Valcarcel, Lady Mayoress of Lambeth who so graciously declared Bedlam abroad when she opened our shop back in May; more recently, during the latest Fashion Week, we added the Rt. Hon Michael Bear, Lord Mayor of London to our cabinet of curiosities; and at the Po-Mo party we bagged the glamourous Lady Mayoress of the Royal Borough of Kensington & Chelsea, Councillor Julie Mills. I think Mr Wesley might even have patted her on the bottom. He is such a naughty man. Anyway, bring on Boris and we'll have a flush.

Councillor Julie Mills, Lady Mayoress of the Royal Borough of Kensington & Chelsea, making the third in our hand now - all we need is Boris for a flush

One interesting chap we conversed with, Tomas, only turned out, he certainly did, to live in the flat above Tim Balmain-to-Bedlam-Oval-Area-Manager (I felt it was too long since I had need to type that attenuated title). Tomas duly presented himself at the shop a few days after the party. He said he had looked us up and that he had very much enjoyed reading this blog, particularly the episode regarding the tax man. Vanity found me warmly disposed towards him. Then he said "You don't really keep it up do you?" which made me want to hit him hard because I am once again in the throes of a VAT return (our second already) and if it's not that there's something else. Really, I do the best I can. Harrumph.

Too soon it was turning out time and I was merry as a Lord, not having driven us for once. All of a tout d'un coup, Philip hailed a cab and had us bundled from pavement to the arches under Waterloo Station. His niece Miriam had been invited to an exhibition party connected in some way with MIND, the mental health charity that my godmother Elisabeth helped establish and for which Mr Wesley used to do volunteer work. I am aware I should have a firmer grasp of what it was all about but I was really quite sloshed by then, sorry.

Leaving the V&A party

Arrived and granted access to the warren of arches under Waterloo, we found a delightful scene populated with those beautiful, special children of the night such as took me right slap back to those days when I was the VIP room door lady at Heaven, finest nightclub in the world, under the arches at Charing Cross. McCrikey, my life has come full circle, it might seem, cue Flanagan & Allen: http://www.britishpathe.com/record.php?id=12695

Mr Wesley was so delighted he did a happy little dance, finding a self-contained contentment, always a useful gift to possess:

We explored the tunnels and inspected the artwork on display. I had taken off my shoes and less danced than shuffled along in stockinged feet.

Back in the music room, where a DJ was spinning, I arranged myself upon a red velvet sofa and that is where my friend the suede-head poet of note Mr Tim Wells caught me losing the battle to stay upright:

In a moment of focus I managed to switch my camera to video to follow the sweet scene before me. It included Philip leading a group in the Mash Potato and some odd fella in a tall hat with a pheasant feather who drifted in and out of the action. Here is the clip, that I hope captures something of that special otherworldly party quality that might, I dare suggest, have been found in Venice in the 00's, Harlem in the 20's, Berlin in the 30's, Paris in the 50's, London in the 60's or New York in the 70's:
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10150293889950754

It was a most marvy mix up of a good time not least as Mr Whitmore said we are now on his "Core List" of invitees (or could that possibly have been "Corrrrr! List") and if I am not smiling in the photo below it is only because I had put my shoes back on as we tottered up the cobblestones and my feet hurt v v bad.

Ow.

Yes, quite. And good night.

In Expansive Mood at London Fashion Week

You may recall from an earlier posting, Earl of Bedlam was in exalted spirits to be invited to exhibit at the Lord Mayor of London's Georgian palace, Mansion House, in the City of London. This was part of an installation entitled "Expansive Mood", a project curated by Dr. Paul Ryan, our friend and fellow Ovaltino (an adjective that suggested itself to me just this week and with which I am so pleased, as proud resident of the Oval, that I intend to wear it out). "Expansive Mood", to recap, is the term given to the stage of Bi-polar, the psychological state of extreme mood swings, that is most grandiose, when one believes anything is possible ("What's so grandiose about that?!" asked Diane), confident one can ford that river, climb that mountain, win that girl. Paul thought we represented that can-do character in clothes and accordingly asked that we create four outfits to match the mood. As it happened to be the weekend of London Fashion Week we could not have been more willing.

Les, one of the lovely Mansion House staff, with Dr. Paul  ryan who created the exhibition

We drove the wrong way up Walbrook only to see...

On Wednesday September 14th we went there to install our contribution. We screeched up to the door to be informed with impeccable politeness by Les, pictured below, that I had driven the wrong way up the street. Paul is wearing one of the "Expansive Mood" t-shirts that Mr Wesley designed for the occasion.

This plaque stopped us in our tracks. For if you consult recent postings you will be acquainted with our latest gang of interns, Tiny Tim, Merinda and Mary. They sing in harmony as they go about their chores and having spent one lifetime in the music industry I couldn't help but remark, and neither would you, on Mary's outstanding talent. Turns out she got through to the last sixteen contestants in the "Boot Camp" on X-Factor a series or two ago only to be asked to leave when she became "tired and emotional" (an old Private Eye adage) at the hotel. When Mary had to go back to college a few days before our Mansion House event she again got a bit beside herself and is now indisposed, actually taking a rest at Bethlem Royal Hospital (can you credit it?). Accordingly this event will pass without her sweet presence. Now generally Mary doesn't like her surname being revealed for although it is spelt "Haw" it is pronounced "How" but ignorant people insist on saying... well, you can imagine. So we screech up the wrong way, park in the VIP bay as directed by Les the lovely doorman, get out and see this plaque on the side wall of Mansion House. Our blessed little songbird Mary Haw's namesake was worshipped here on this spot. And so we dedicate our part of the exhibition to her and take it as a sign that in time her name will be remembered.

In the weeks running up to the show we worked with Maria P-K, wife of one of the Oval Lounge owners, our neighbouring bar-resto, to create hats for the outfits. We now deem her the Greek goddess of millinery and hope to create many more pieces with her. Maria's teacher is one of the most respected in her field and did all the hats for the movie "Jane Eyre" which is out at the moment. Mr Wesley and I had a lovely tutorial ourselves with Maria, choosing the petersham ribbon for the lining and outer hat band, and the pheasant feathers for the green felt at the Milliner Warehouse on Ebury Bridge Road near Victoria Station http://mail.millinerwarehouse.com/. My mama provided an Edwardian swoosh for the blue hat, and I must ask Antony Price, expert in all things avian, to identify them. Most of Philip Treacy's feathers come from Antony's collection of fancy fowl. If you wish to contact Maria, here is her email: naki_maria@yahoo.com

So with all the components together, including some of the finest bespoke riding boots and ankle boots you could ever find, courtesy of Jason Amesbury, formerly of Lobb & Co., we assembled the mannequins in an ante-room ready to be moved to the grand hall at the end of the week. Word got round the staff that something cool was afoot and one by one ushers and footmen appeared to sneak a peek.

Mummy Butler tries the High-Top Derby for size, having provided the fine black feather swoosh to set it off

Mansion House staff came in to sneak a peek

From left-to-right, "Top Dog" with a Lock & Co. high top "Coke" hat; "Green Indian"; "Hot Wire"; and "Dapper Fox" - the latter trimmed with the pelt of the same, having been dispatched by old age

When we went back early Saturday morning, the mannequins were in place in the fabulous hall on the first floor of the palace.

Edward VIII, the uncrowned King of England, who as Prince of Wales and then Duke of Windsor was the  style-setter for men's fashion (with the odd garish Palm Springs golfer moment), sits on "Hot Wire"'s shoulder

Bespoke riding boots, black corduroy trousers, and "Top Dog" overcoat in 100% finest "Elysian" English wool

Tiny Tim and Mark printed the cloth for the heads with the same script used on our new t-shirts "Beware, prostitutes and pickpockets operate in this area". Prince Albert looks straight ahead.

"Dapper Fox" over coat trimmed with a London fox dispatched by old age

It had been quite hard for our crew to get their heads round having to give their names for an appointed hour for an escorted viewing of the exhibition and palace. So those that did earn our special thanks. We had a rolling conveyor of VIP clients, colleagues and pals come through that included designer Anne Barclay, Frin from Vanner silks, Peter Wallis (pka York of GQ, Harpers & Queen and "The Sloane Rangers Handbook" fame), Mr Brian Leitch (who wrote the movie "Pret a Porter" amongst other many and varied achievements), Andrea Carr of the V&A, Mei, menswear buyer from Browns and Simon Burstein, CEO of that star-maker store and son of Joan Burstein. 

The Lord Mayor's sword and mace

Edward VIII mans our t-shirt table

Mr Wesley does one last security sweep

Light touch paper and stand well back  - the scorching style duo that is Mr Wesley and Mr Wallis (aka Peter York, style correspondent for GQ, Harpers and Queen and general legend). Between them is Nick Bailey's "Magic Missile" one of the artworks on exhibition

Our darling benefactors Mr Martin White and Mr Philip Pittack flanking the Green Indian mannequin, for whose outfit they sponsored the fabric as they did for all four outfits

With what pride I write this caption! Mr Martin White; The Rt. Hon. The Lord Mayor Michael Bear wearing the Earl of Bedlam's "Dapper Fox" overcoat and his chain of office; Mr Philip Pittack and Mr Mark Wesley.

Needless to say when no one was looking we misbehaved and indulged in some cheeky aggrandisement, plonking ourselves in the Lord Mayor's throne. Michael Bear is the 683rd Lord Mayor of the Square Mile:

My favourite picture from the event - Mr Wesley, Mr White, Green Indian, myself and Mr Pittack

As well as thanks to Paul Ryan we must doff our feathered hats to Lady Barbara Bear, the Lady Mayoress and distinguished sculptress herself. It was her initiative during their term of office that had the palace filled with contemporary art and she who invited Paul to make this happen. Here she is between us as Top Dog and Dapper Fox stand sentry:

In case you have admired the jacket Mr Wesley is wearing, and if you hadn't, now is your opportunity, we should tell you the story of that. Our friend Alexander Lewis is the head of Brand & Business development at E.Tautz http://etautz.com/, that won the British Fashion Council's Menswear Award last year http://www.britishfashioncouncil.com/ So we were lucky enough to be invited to the sample sale and picked up the beautiful pheasant eye tweed he is wearing. Alex told us that when they went to Scotland a scrap of it was found in a barn, attached to which was a yellowing bit of paper bearing the legend of the client's name and year it was woven - 1970, Yves St. Laurent. And so they rewove a bolt and much admired by all comers was Mr Wesley's rig out. Here he expresses his delight at the discreet zips concealed in the sleeves of his own design, the Dapper Fox:

The gorgeous ankle boots and riding boot donated by Jason Amesbury, bespoke shoemaker

More of Jason's bespoke footwear

Close up of the Green Indian in Donegal tweed with diametric patch pockets and green lozenge buttons

Close up of the buttons made from mussel shells on Hot Wire. We used them the "wrong" way round so that the ridges would work with the weave

In addition to the people thanked above we must commend the outstanding helpfulness of the staff at Mansion House. While Lord Mayors may come and go, they are the warp and weft of the upkeep of the palace and all it represents regarding the glory of London. Everyone there was so kind to us but we will name check John Davis the funniest of the guides, with whom I did a double-act turn when he would invite me to say some words to the visitors about our clothes, and William Chapman, who is Private Secretary & Chief of Staff to the Lord Mayor.

Talking of Private Secretaries to the Highest in the Land, the postman brought a letter to the shop a few weeks ago and I remarked with some relief its white crispness, a welcome change from dull brown bills. Next I noticed the smart scarlet flash of the franking and asked our friendly posty if that was the Royal Mail's new look. He took it back off me and examined it. "No. You've got a letter from Buckingham Palace," he announced. McCrikey! And so it was. And this is why - when we had our opening party, the blessed Elisabeth, my godmother, who was another sponsor of our Mansion House exhibit, and without whose assistance we could not have achieved what we did, regretted she could not attend as she had to have lunch at Highgrove with Prince Charles that day. She doubted she would be back in time or have any energy left if she was (being ninety years of age). To compensate for her absence she asked if she might take something of Earl of Bedlam to present to His Royal Highness. I wracked my brains but didn't think there was anything particularly a propos. But then inspiration alighted and I thought a-ha! how about one of the Royal Wedding tees for Prince Harry, the one depicting Will and Kate as Sid'n'Nancy with MC Harry Wails on the mic at the post-nuptial party?! As that looked a little lean, we wrapped and presented it in an EoB duffle bag. Lo and behold, now here was a lovely letter of thanks from the young Prince's Private Secretary! This has been duly framed and hung on the wall and later I will investigate the etiquette of posting you a picture of that.

For now, ladies and gentlemen of every rank and class we take our leave of you with a sweeping bow.