Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Saturday, 6 March 2010
London, interrupted
...by a few days with family on an extended stay back in the UK waiting for a visa for India.
A grey morning behind Marble Arch, the start of ten days during which my suitcase became a natural extension of my body, melded with my right arm.
A weekend in the East End and after a lazy morning at the York Hall Spa in Bethnal Green, cream tea at The Albion in Shoreditch to start the carb-loading a week early for the half marathon.
Carrot cake, chocolate brownie, fruit cake, a scone the size of a saucer, enough cream and jam to cause diabetes and my sister pouring the tea.
A vintage weekend
Brick Lane, so painfully trendy, so vintage it's mainstream. But much fun, with great bars and restaurants. Hunky Dory vintage is a favourite, where I left my gloves behind briefly, flung down in a fit of excitement while trying on a sixties little black dress that fits perfectly; inevitably Rokit; and harcore hunting ground Planet Vintage, which threw up some nargain-basement finds including a seafoam scarf, a red plastic envelope clutch and a sixties scarlet shell top, with a floral Peter Pan collar, all to be listed on pink milk vintage in a couple of weeks when I'm back from India. There is also a wonderful shop for real vintage hunters, the name of which I have forgotten (- about half-way down on the right-hand side I think?). Not an asymmetrical haicut, shabby demin hotpant or striped tight in sight, this is a calm world of fifties lingerie, thirties gowns, and forties suits where you can browse in peace to a soft jazz soundtrack.
A grey morning behind Marble Arch, the start of ten days during which my suitcase became a natural extension of my body, melded with my right arm.
A weekend in the East End and after a lazy morning at the York Hall Spa in Bethnal Green, cream tea at The Albion in Shoreditch to start the carb-loading a week early for the half marathon.
Carrot cake, chocolate brownie, fruit cake, a scone the size of a saucer, enough cream and jam to cause diabetes and my sister pouring the tea.
A vintage weekendBrick Lane, so painfully trendy, so vintage it's mainstream. But much fun, with great bars and restaurants. Hunky Dory vintage is a favourite, where I left my gloves behind briefly, flung down in a fit of excitement while trying on a sixties little black dress that fits perfectly; inevitably Rokit; and harcore hunting ground Planet Vintage, which threw up some nargain-basement finds including a seafoam scarf, a red plastic envelope clutch and a sixties scarlet shell top, with a floral Peter Pan collar, all to be listed on pink milk vintage in a couple of weeks when I'm back from India. There is also a wonderful shop for real vintage hunters, the name of which I have forgotten (- about half-way down on the right-hand side I think?). Not an asymmetrical haicut, shabby demin hotpant or striped tight in sight, this is a calm world of fifties lingerie, thirties gowns, and forties suits where you can browse in peace to a soft jazz soundtrack.
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