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.

Chimney Chic and Reindeer Ready

Chimey Sweep Chic

Flat caps have bowled out other headwear. We saw a great hat just like this in the window of Issey Miyake on Conduit Street - ours for £400. "In your dreams!" said Santa. A stroll through Mayfair to Piccadilly Circus brought us out by our friends at the tourist tat shop. They had the SAME titfer with one nought less AND they threw in a toy London bus. Can't say nattier or fairer than that! Thank you dear shopkeepers for your Christmas kindness (find them next to the Pigalle Club).

On Dec 23rd, I popped into the Wolseley to see if I had left my orange suede sheepkin flying hat and was asked by Tom Stoppard as we waited shoulder by shoulder at the reception desk if I was Lady GaGa. "Er, no, I'm Lady Caroline!" I told him. In response he gallantly claimed, "I know you are." That was an early present and it will please me for years to come but for now, the EoB and I hope you have had a safe and succulent day and wish that we may all share in well-dressed success next year. Bottoms up!

A moment of calm - yeah right

The reindeer ate my blog-work, what can I say, I'm really sorry about the hiatus, we've had a nutty week. We've been busy moving into our new flat-what-lead-us-to-a-workshop-premises (read on), so much so that we even missed the British Fashion Awards. So without a second's delay more, may we offer our congratulations to Patrick Grant and the E. Tautz team - http://etautz.com/about/#house-of-tautz - for winning Menswear Designer of the Year. That team includes our dashing friend Alexander Lewis -  we saw him sprinting down Savile Row last week and I called from across the street but not terribly loudly, not wishing to desport like a fishwife. We crossed over but he had already bolted down the rabbit hole.

I like very much the quote another chum, Sebastian Shakespeare, got from Patrick for his Londoner's Dairy page in the Evening Standard - http://londonersdiary.standard.co.uk/2010/12/fashions-new-prince-awaits-his-king.html.
The decline of British men in best dressed lists is due, then, to us having had a female monarch for so long. Come the next King, slouches, scruffbags (and possibly students after last night's distinctly un-debonair to-do in the city) will be first against the wall. And while we're toasting great achievement, hearty congratulations are due to Sebastian and Catherine on the arrival of baby Saskia Shakespeare. HURRAH!

We are lucky to know Alexander via the Earl's great buddy of the North, Brian Leitch. He checked into the seasonally apt damask and dark-wood Baron Willoughby suite at Hazlitt's Hotel last week and met us for lunch at the Bar du Marché. Brian is famous for many things, not least his time at W magazine as Paris correspondent, for authoring "Pret-a-Porter" (as directed by Robert Altman), and for changing the way we are wooed by merchandise with campaigns too numerous to mention here. After lunch we introduced him to the new second-hand shop, Reign Wear on Berwick Street. They had their press opening that morning but we had snuck in the night before and picked up a jade green veiled riding hat for me, and a black leather motor bike jacket for Mark (or was it the other way round??). Brian considered a floor length black leather coat but was off to Berlin the next morning and could probably pick up something authentically sinister in Germany, which is where, incidentally, Reign Wear source most of their stock. The prices are commendably low so - go. I'd like it on the record that I told him to get it as it was such a steal AND IT FIT and the reason that is funny can be found here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/cameron-silver/cameron-silver-the-travai_b_64147.html
Cole Nahal, our new friend via New York nights' legend, Gerry Visco, had just arrived from Berlin and he and Brian swapped acclaim for their favourite club in the world, Berghain. The surest way to get knocked back by the door men there is to dress up, be advised.

Mark, Mr Leitch and Cole Nahal - the fabulous biker boys

For our Piccadilly swan song, we attended the birthday party of Lady Sandra Bates. A very beautiful woman (photo evidence below), she was Hugh Heffner's London Bunny Girl of 1966 (WHAT a year that was if I say so myself). Sir Charles Clore, then owner of Selfridges, set her up in diamonds and furs, and a predilection for such she has maintained. The Earl did not wish to be ungentlemanly and dig for detail so I am little cloudy about whether they were carnal consorts or man and wife. Sandra was also George Best's best friend, and with him established Blondes nightclub on the very same Dover Street where we partied tonight. She was, too, VERY good friends with Frank Sinatra. As you may imagine, if you know the merest thing about me, that sent me into a sensual swoon of One Degree of Separation from which I am yet to recover. Nowadays, Sandra is a "Patron of the Arts" and the Earl would happily submit to be patronised by her and, indeed, hopes yet to be so. Paying court along with the rest of the party was Mighel Critten, a bespoke tailor who works for A Suit That Fits and it was apparent he and Mr Wesley share a fondness for a double breasted waistcoat (below).

Mighel and Mark

Lady Sandra Bates and Mr Wesley

When we left the party, to walk home all the way across the street, the snow was falling - real snow, not the Bond Street marketing magic from a machine in an upper window. The decorations have been up at the Ritz for a week now but it all did look especially lovely in the icy air of the midnight hour.

The next day Mark trudged deep into the snowy wastes of Sydenham, up hill and down dale, to collect the jumper Lesley had finished. He walked for many miles and many hours, returning with a hair-brained dreadlock of a wooly masterpiece. We were hoping to show it, and some other pieces, to our funny pen-pal Jay Bell, buyer at Barneys, the taste maker store of the USA. As it turned out, he was held hostage by Burberrys and we did not get to clink flutes with him. I can understand there are worse situations to be in. Well we shall have to take the mohair to Mohammad in January and there are worse Plan B's than having to go to New York City, to be sure.

So before we swapped SW1 for SW8 it was only right and fitting that we thanked Elisabeth, my godmother, for the cracker of accommodation she provided for us. We took her to dinner at the caff on the corner, The Wolseley. Jeremy King - along with co-owner Chris Corbin the "Rodgers and Hammerstein of relaxed eating"; "the Rolls and Royce of London gastronomy" - chatted first with Tom Parker Bowles at the table adjacent to ours before coming to greet Elisabeth. Taking our chances, we asked would he consider a fashion show in the restaurant, using the raised areas left and right to send models down the staircases and then around the room? "Absolutely" he answered most graciously "not. I'm so sorry, we do get asked a lot for events and always say no." Oh well. Gotta try. I told him we had posted a photo here of Frankie in his fine chauffeur's coat and he was kind enough to thank us and appear pleased. When I brought Antonio and Patrizia Marras here one evening we were placed on one of the platforms and I thought it showed exceptionally lovely manners that Christopher Bailey - talking of Burberrys - walked from his table across the room and up the stairs to come say hello. This evening, Mark was most energized by the proximity of Top Bloke Jeremy Clarkson and some football chappie called Alan something. News reader and professional fancy neck tie wearer Jon Snow was at the table on the other side of ours and, commendably heroic, he tried to help revive a lady who had fainted on those same stairs coming down from the platform. The paparazzi outside were energised by the rumour Cameron Diaz was within but we didn't see her. Who needs cinema when you have such theatre?


And so to the next Act, to be set at the Oval. We had not been stood more than one minute in our new drawing room with the creamy coloured carpet before drilling started on the other side of the wall, next door; the mantel mirror began to shake; and a ton of crap fell down the chimney (hey, at least it's clear for Santa). The apologetic Project Manager came dashing round with his Vax hoover and cleared it all up. 
"Don't suppose you know of any work units in the area?" enquired Mark, when the man asked if there was anything else he could help with.
"Well it just so happens I may have the very thing you need!" he replied.
Proving once again that the best gifts sometimes come in clouds of dust that may look not just unpromising but downright jolly troublesome then lo! they clear and all is promise and possibility. HURRAH!

In between making appearances at society functions we have now set up our couture atelier on Arlington Street. With screen printer and sewing machine we have production rolling. Mark's son Harry came with us on a mission down Berwick Street and having kept his eyes straight ahead as we passed down Walker's Court - the little alley where the Raymond Revue bar and other hot spots jiggle and jostle - we found ourselves in those Mansions of fabric porn, Soho Silks, the Cloth House and Shop respectively. We picked up calico for the toiles and a couple of meters of this and a couple of meters of the other.

Having popped in good old John Lewis and got the extra balls of wool for the Jumper Dept. we went down and up to visit Lesley, our head of bespoke knitwear, in Crystal Palace. To say we were thrilled with what she has produced would be a single ply pastiche of the chunky joy of our enthusiasm. The best bit of all is that we came up with a way, kinda rustic, or perhaps I should say Rastic-fantastic, for this first design to bear the mark of the craftswoman who created its pattern. Lesley and Wesley have been pals for many years. Doyenne of Drop One, Pearl One she may be but personal publicity is not her bag. Indeed, she is the Banksy of our operation.

However, I did manage to sneak this shot during the consultation in the games room at Bedlam Towers:










Buoyed up by that, on the way back through Clapham North we called into our new chum Lisa Stickley's Christmas shopping night  -www.lisastickleylondon.com Lisa knows a ting or ten about getting printed and on her generous advice, the next day Mark called up Karl Vodrey, Printed Textiles Technician at the Royal College of Art. They discussed the merits and costings of digital, and then, also at Lisa's prompting, Mark spoke with Hatley Print - http://www.hatleyprint.co.uk/default.htm
It seems for now, to get what we need for our upcoming Very Important Rendezvous, we are going to produce the small batch ourselves.

Mark had already run off the Hogarth scene of Bedlam such as Chrissey chose for our website. He attached it to a merino / cashmere crew neck sweater (my mummy did the very teeny topstitching by hand by the light of a stub of tallow candle) and framed it with fraying tweed, also used as a hat band:

And then we got silly and messed about:

Kenzo encore

Last night we made our way to Bruton Street for the Kenzo cocktail party. From my door-to-door enquiries it seemed that many if not most were there as a result of having attended the V&A show where invitations were on every chair. It was getting crowded so we went downstairs to check the menswear and only discovered Mark's old mate Jay Conley, a man who knows his Zegna from his Margiela. I left them chewing the champagne while I conducted further interviews. There was a cool bunch from the Rochester University for the Creative Arts. Thomas proved Hilary Alexander's pronouncement earlier in the day that duffle coats have gone from Michael Bond books to Bond Street:

Thomas, Kyanisha, two friends, James and Georgia Bronte

James studies Fashion Promotion while Georgia Bronte (not a bad name to bear) is at Kings College, London. She's signed with Select in London and has just done her first modelling gig in New York. We must crack on with some womenswear. They were all of them self possessed in the friendliest way and we shall be recruiting them to expoilt their energy and enthusiasm as soon as an appropriate opportunity arises. The ladies in this next photo must forgive me for mislaying their names but I was on about my sixth glass of champagne by then. One of them (mademoiselle stood to the right) had been backstage at the Kenzo V&A show helping out and is now writing a paper on the re-branding of Halston, something with which my dear friend Cameron Silver was intimately involved (and mademoiselle, get in touch with me as we discussed and I will e-troduce you for a direct quote if he will oblige). On a quick tangent, check out Cameron's sultry denim range named for his famous vintage treasure house Decades - http://www.decadesdenim.com/

There was a jolly Italian man in a cheerful scarf:

A genial couple, Jamaica and Craig, the latter sporting an arresting design across his jaw and some red lizard-effect pleather pants that he MADE HIMSELF, hell yeah:

Craig Northam, architect and DIY
 fashion hero

Yet more cool yoof:

And some more mature and extremely distinguished guests, textile designers Suzanne May and Natalie Gibson, Head of Print at St. Martin's, who has her work in the V&A archive and who tutored Ms. May herself at the RCA (1982-85):

http://www.vam.ac.uk/collections/fashion/features/1960s/1960s_textiles_database/object.php?action=&id=5&id2=0&hits=&page=&pages=&object_type=&country=&start_year=&end_year=&object=&artist=&maker=

It was good to talk to Madame Sylviane Rudier who puts on all the great Kenzo parties, many of which I have had the great good fortune to attend. This is not the finest face Mark has ever presented and truth be told I would have cropped him out if it didn't unbalance the composition but try to focus on the elegance to his left:

He did a better job here with Damir from the London store:

Meanwhile I cozied up to security:

Mr Conley was kind enough to say I was working an Anita Pallenberg look for the evening. I confess I am rather pleased with my new toy, the black velvet hat. Back over the summer, I resisted paying £40 for one almost identical at the vintage fair held once a month upstairs at the Crown & Greyhound pub in Dulwich Village (stomping ground of school days) and, not wishing to sound vacuous but it's a risk I'll simply have to take, I have rued that as a false economy almost every day since. So this week, when I suggested to Mark that we take a short cut through Liberty's and saw this one  - BRAND SPANKING NEW -for £70 I laid my money down and frankly thought it a price worth paying to quieten regret.

The lady who does the Kenzo PR in the UK - http://www.village-press.com/ - brought along her beguiling baby and I am ashamed to say, eight glasses at least to the wind by then, I did not note the little girl's name neither her papa's:

But I could not forget Mr Sizzle on the decks. Way back when, when I ran a night at the WAG club, my precious friend David  - the very same you will remember who did the Earl of Bedlam's two year cash flow chart spreadsheets - spun as DJ Sizzler. So that name was familiar enough for me to retain it until morning:

Ten glasses down I couldn't get a word of conversation out of this guest but at least she'd made an effort to wear this season Kenzo for the occasion:

The book brought out to  celebrate the Fortieth Anniversary was admired by guests:

Harriet arrived, very late due to traffic pandemonium on Park Lane and as she doesn't drink champagne, and the other cocktails were of the virgin variety, we took up our goody bags with thanks and then Mr Wesley, Mr Conley, H and I tottered round to Cecconis for a night cap:

Jay Conley and Mr Wesley, wrapped up and ready